http://faithxhealer.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] faithxhealer.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] paixaorpg2007-07-25 10:34 pm

The Morning After [Completed]

Characters: Laharl, Etna, Flonne, Ivan, Carpet
Content: Ivan and Etna discover that Flonne found Laharl last night. Much Q&A ensues, as well as a great lot of relief.
Setting: Actua Are (J7)
Time: Morning
Warnings: HOMG FLUFF!

Flonne was having a wonderful dream. In it, she had found Laharl. Sure, he had been hurt, but a quick heal spell had fixed that. They had made it back to the hotel room, and she'd fallen asleep just across the bed from him. In fact, if she reached out, she could touch him.

It had been such a good dream, but it was over, Flonne knew as she awoke to the morning sun strewn across the bed. It was just too bad it wasn't real. Yawning and stretching, she rolled over, not expecting her hand to come in contact with something soft and warm.

Her eyes flew open, taking in the sight of her hand resting lightly on Laharl's cheek, the rest of him burrowed deeply in the blankets on the bed. So it hadn't been a dream..."Laharl," she breathed, hardly daring to move. It was real...he was here...her face split into a wide smile and she jumped off the bed, intending to tell everybody the good news.

Unfortunately for Flonne, natural clumsiness prevailed and tangled her in the blankets. Instead of her happy jump, she tumbled off the bed with a loud, surprised squeak.

[identity profile] callme-queen.livejournal.com 2007-08-08 12:24 am (UTC)(link)
Speechless, Etna's face fell into an awkward stare. He looked awful; covered in cuts and caked in blood, which it seems he'd managed to work into his bed covers while asleep (great).

Her mouth agape and her mind rushing, she tried to summon something to say or do; maybe how he got here or why he didn't feel the need to announce his arrival.
Or maybe she should be debating whether to pick up her other boot and wing it at the magically reappearing prince or to wait for a full explanation, then wing both boots.

But she didn't choose either and she still didn't speak. Instead, she read a thousand hours of dialog in Laharl's own eyes.

He was happy now, but tired and something was still distinctly wrong or broken.
Like an old pocket watch, Laharl's eyes seemed rusted and run ragged; His springs were losing their grip and his porcelain facade cracked. There was an overwhelming sadness, but Laharl was still ticking. Which was all that mattered, they could iron anything else out later, so long as Laharl was still ticking.