yes yes he is
THAT'S AWESOME :D
rip ocean :')
here's something based on my dream from last night (i swear i have the weirdest ones --)
The winter winds were like daggers to the face, underneath the scarf and all.
Alastair dug his hands deeper into his pockets; just a little further. As much as his five year old, starry-eyed self would’ve been proud of himself to take up the job that he only saw in newspapers, in the hushed whispers of those against, this job was not, quite honestly, worth it. At times, yes, he’d been slightly tempted to join the Other, but when he looked back at all the obstacles he barely climbed over, the ones he halfway gave up on . . . leaving them wouldn’t be worth it, either.
Just a little further, he repeated in his going numb mind.
They’d chosen a shabby motel to live in -- Alastair didn’t particularly approve, but living anywhere else would be too risky. At least they’d put the Other under the thought that they’d decided to live in their own headquarters.
The signboard came into view. Wooden and broken. His sleepiness almost made him want to give in.
Alastair shook his head furiously, knocking his hat a couple meter away. He sighed, blade-like winds now cutting into his bald head.
Almost there, he told himself.
The wooden motel came into view, hidden in what was too narrow to be called a street, but too wide to be called an alley -- both his stomach and heart gave a little jump, of fear and joy respectively. The door -- there wasn’t any door, in fact. The tattoo on his palm shone a bright blue. His heart sank thinking of his wife. She was worried, more worried than he could ever be.
He attempted to shake his thoughts away with the winds. It worked, for once.
The inside was just -- if not more, as shabby as the outside. A couple of wooden chairs in one corner, and a wooden table at the other. Tch; no receptionist, either.
A little warmth still hit him when he stepped inside, no matter if the walls creaked, it was a hundred times better than what was outside. Couldn’t they have been born on a summer’s day?
Ground floor, third room on the left, they’d told him. God bless them for choosing the ground floor. The stairs were something he trusted less than Benjamin, and that's saying something. Third room on the left.
The door, which was there, was open. His stomach twisted and froze in that position. No.
The tattered grey sheets stained were stained with red, room nothing but meek cries from someone who couldn’t quite comprehend the idea of death.