Re: WTF-I hate italics
He had not journeyed to move, flinch, blink; not even faintly, not even a cringe. The cold, hard steel of his gilded eyes were concentrated on nothing. They were not set or focused, as they stuck down at the rumbling, rippling, bumbling table, as if listening to a far off noise. As if nothing alarming were presently occurring. Murdered, the hot word repeated, made gray tufts of smoke in a frozen room of his weatherworn mind.
The usually reliable electricity in the stubborn building didn't seem to be at it's most well behaved during the tantrum of a storm, nor before it. The kicking of the hands and feet of a juvenile, but quite noticeable earthquake, caused what glassware there was to clatter together like a child smashing a plastic hammer onto a rainbow xylophone... But of course, the skies were unhappy for a number of reasons. Not just because three oblivious myths, in their sudden anger and anguish, were feeding off of the energy they knew not yet of.
The view of his friend and wife stirred his stagnant mind into action at length, seeing them labor and upset, a whole accumulation of moments. All at once. All out of the blue. All when he just wanted his wine, wife, and friend to spend time together... Simple things. Sentimental.
However, finally, his eyes came back to their sense. They had to. They bore a resolute pathway straight for the sight of Paul, with phone in hand, the receiver of the distraught, familiar voice which echoed, claws out against the walls, running through his ears. He stood up with a settled strength and volume, a degree of certainly in his gravely calm, smoldering steps, and opened his palm before his brother best friend, to hand over the phone.
The voice rang out a little: "Oh, Paul, I know Captain would've .."
But, what she said was lost in the passing of the seconds, of the eye-to-eye moment, and of course, the phone being given over.