Mag Paget, Shotgun Knight (clippedwing) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-11-27 22:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, !plot: as i lay dying, magnolia paget |
and now it’s two long years just waiting around to die.
Who: Magnolia Paget ( + unconscious Aspel, cameo by Ari Chiaro)
What: Narrative. Mag feels helpless.
Where: Aspel’s apartment.
When: Right after this
Rating: F for Feels.
Status: Complete.
Her hands were shaking when she pulled the spare key out of her pocket. Standing in front of the door to The Armory, Mag closed her eyes and drew in a shaky breath. She placed a palm against the wooden surface of the door, an anchor of sorts to help her focus. It took several nerve-wracking moments to still her hands enough to get the key inside the lock. When it clicked into place, she turned it and ran into the smithy as soon as the door gave way, then closed behind her by its own weight. She took the steps two at a time, praying that Ari had been exaggerating over the network, and Aspel would be okay. The apartment was deathly quiet. The only sound was the ticking of the kitchen clock. As if commanded by the silence, Mag’s footsteps became slow and careful. The bedroom door was closed. In the living room, Ari sat curled up on the couch with her communicator. She looked up when she heard Mag, and muttered, “Aspel’s asleep now.” Her gaze fell back to her device right after. In the half-light of the room, Mag could not decipher the expression on her face. Dread squeezed her ribcage as she stood with a hand on the knob. She turned it slowly, to make as little noise as possible, and slipped inside the bedroom. Aspel lay on the bed. Only the sight of her chest rising and falling convinced Mag that this was not one of her nightmares. Yet there was nothing reassuring about the clamminess of her friend’s skin, or the sickly paleness of her face. Mag bent to press a kiss to her brow; her forehead burned hot under Mag’s lips. She could not find it in her to care that she might catch the sickness too. If she ended up like this a week from now, then so be it, but she could not bear the thought of staying away while her best friend lay unconscious with only palliatives to ease her symptoms. Left, as the white mage had implied, to rest while she waited around to die. There was a single chair in the room, brought in from the kitchen and placed by the side of the bed. Mag sat down and gathered Aspel’s hand in hers. Her index and middle fingers pressed to the inside of Aspel’s wrist, she could feel Aspel’s heart beating slowly, carrying her forward. And the kitchen clock was so damned loud, even in here. Mag wished she could take it down from the wall and throw it down the stairs. Her breath caught in her throat, and her grip on Aspel’s hand tightened. As if the contact could serve as anchor. Mag closed her eyes, and began to cry. |