And there's more he could say, but that's when the shades finally locate him to herd him back into the orchestra pit. Like everything else, it hardly seems worth putting up a fight about it any longer. So he goes.
(For the rest of the night, the vocals rising from the pit seem... flatter than they were before. Not in pitch, but in quality. Nothing but a series of notes loosely joined together. The emotion belongs to Pyotr's art now, not Gaeta's.)
After Efrain's defeat, he passes a pleasant enough night atop Crane's Ridge, then takes the train down the mountainside once it starts running again. The twelve or so hours that follow occur at a distance, but a comfortable one; he continues to have no pressing concerns beyond the immediate needs of his body. What a marvel, to simply exist.
If only it could last.
When the weight returns, it's horrific. He barely sleeps at all for the constriction in his lungs, his thoughts racing so fast it makes him physically nauseous. Normally when it's this bad, he'd go to Mulcahy's house, but this time -- this time, it occurs to him that someone else lives much closer.
Which means at four in the morning, Pyotr gets a rapid-fire knock on his door.
no subject
And there's more he could say, but that's when the shades finally locate him to herd him back into the orchestra pit. Like everything else, it hardly seems worth putting up a fight about it any longer. So he goes.
(For the rest of the night, the vocals rising from the pit seem... flatter than they were before. Not in pitch, but in quality. Nothing but a series of notes loosely joined together. The emotion belongs to Pyotr's art now, not Gaeta's.)
After Efrain's defeat, he passes a pleasant enough night atop Crane's Ridge, then takes the train down the mountainside once it starts running again. The twelve or so hours that follow occur at a distance, but a comfortable one; he continues to have no pressing concerns beyond the immediate needs of his body. What a marvel, to simply exist.
If only it could last.
When the weight returns, it's horrific. He barely sleeps at all for the constriction in his lungs, his thoughts racing so fast it makes him physically nauseous. Normally when it's this bad, he'd go to Mulcahy's house, but this time -- this time, it occurs to him that someone else lives much closer.
Which means at four in the morning, Pyotr gets a rapid-fire knock on his door.