ic Ink!

[EviscerusNox]

Spitfire didn't get back to his trailer till almost an entire day later.  Stumbling in the door he immediately went to the sink and started scrubbing his hands.  Soot and blood mingled with the water turning the sink a brownish black. His hands were shaking and his chest heaved beneath his burned and ruined shirt.  Looking up into the window to look out in the night he caught his transluscent reflection in the mirror.  Fire was still pouring out of his mouth, his face covered in soot, hair matted with blood, eyes dark and hollow.  He started shaking.  Not even recognizing himself, he finally noticed a background noise and turned.  He had left the TV on.

 

"No casualties as of yet in tonight's surprise burning of a warehouse in The Fens.  Police believed the building to be the headquarters of a local gang known to sell drugs in The Fens.  This seems to be supported by the individuals found bound outside the building, tied to a lamp post.  The worst injuries among them were some broken bones and second degree burns, none of them are being held in intensive care.  Still police are looking into the possibility of a new vigilante in The Fens, one who unlike many of our heroes, has little restraint.  The fire chief proclaimed it a miracle that the fire didn't spread to other nearby -"

 

The television exploded into flames as Max screamed at it.  Luckily he had the where-with-all to keep the fire small and contained so he didn't lose his home as well tonight.  The smoldering TV offered a little light for a moment but was soon extinguised, leaving the trailer bathed in fitful moonlight.  Max went back to trying to scrub the last few hours off his hands and his mind when he saw the glass of orange juice on the counter.  The one he'd given Moira.  

 

"Dear Lord, what have I done?"  Max absently opened a cabinet and pulled a bottle of scotch from it, then set down on his couch, assuredly ruining it's upholstery.  Max looked over to the shower, he knew he should take one, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything but bring that bottle to his lips and back down to his lap.  Memories of just a few hours before haunted him, seeming a lifetime ago.  Max finally found the strength to stand up, but found that he didn't have the sobriety to stay upright, and fell down onto the floor.

 

"Hell with it."  Max slurred, bringing the bottle back to his lips and taking a long gulp before falling into darkness and unconsciousness.  His last thought was the he hoped he was too drunk to dream.

[Moira Morley]

She closed the phone. It wasn't going to do anything but tear the wound. He was mad. She was going to let him vent. Maybe she'd let him do that whole 'let him go and he'll come back' Aphrodite suggested. It sounded like some 90s sitcom lesson of the day. She turned her thoughts to other things. Love, while important, she had other things to attend to. The business. Friends. Heroism. Friends. The temple... friends, friends, friends. Dammit.

 

She spent the night in the arms of another. Confiding her problems unto them. Someone she'd known for longer than most. Someone who knew. They said the same thing Aphrodite said. Time heals all wounds. It couldn't be that simple. Could it? She sat up and reached for her phone. The text to Max was still empty. Maybe, in time, she'd have the words to fix everything. Damn time.