Even without the press of Dahlia's palms against his chest or the blood-bright taste of her mouth against his, Everest's mind was still roaring with the purple thunder of her presence. Quite when he'd returned back to Mateo's schooner (and whether or not he'd actually completed his work at the Needle), he had absolutely no idea. All he knew was that nothing in his notebooks seemed to matter in the face of the yawning void that Dahlia had opened up in him by virtue of the violet noise silencing his usual cacophony of thoughts and needs.
Predictably perhaps his feet had taken him to one of the few places he felt safe, and where one might have expected his fingers to meticulously record what had happened in one of his many notebooks, instead those very same fingers had fumbled in drawers and searched the top of dressers for the sorts of potables and injestables for which his best friend was well known.
Soon the aviator was bathed in a new wash of colours as he slumped half on a couch, his cheek resting on an end table and his arms vaguely supporting his weight on the floor. A small box of fine blue-white powder lay nearby—its surface marred by the swipe of a fingertip—as did the remains of several half-chewed plants.
Predictably perhaps his feet had taken him to one of the few places he felt safe, and where one might have expected his fingers to meticulously record what had happened in one of his many notebooks, instead those very same fingers had fumbled in drawers and searched the top of dressers for the sorts of potables and injestables for which his best friend was well known.
Soon the aviator was bathed in a new wash of colours as he slumped half on a couch, his cheek resting on an end table and his arms vaguely supporting his weight on the floor. A small box of fine blue-white powder lay nearby—its surface marred by the swipe of a fingertip—as did the remains of several half-chewed plants.
If you keep adding stones
Soon the water will be lost in the well
Soon the water will be lost in the well
