JACK
The flowers were obnoxious. Huge jungle blooms that had no right to be growing at this time of year, but oh wasn’t it nice when there were people around who possessed earth magic? The bouquet, though, was really... extra. It was propped over Jack’s shoulder as he headed to the edge of town, smoke curling from the tip of the cigarette between his lips.
A little birdie had told him things. A lot of little birdies were saying a lot of things actually. Something about spitting venom and ripping arms off and biting off faces, but... well, if that had all really happened, he got the idea that Zeph would be dead rather than sulking in his house.
And he was definitely sulking, Jack would know that without telepathy. He kicked the door in place of knocking it when he arrived, squinting up at the windows through the pale sun. ”Oi, it’s me,” he called. ”Don’t make me break in.”
A little birdie had told him things. A lot of little birdies were saying a lot of things actually. Something about spitting venom and ripping arms off and biting off faces, but... well, if that had all really happened, he got the idea that Zeph would be dead rather than sulking in his house.
And he was definitely sulking, Jack would know that without telepathy. He kicked the door in place of knocking it when he arrived, squinting up at the windows through the pale sun. ”Oi, it’s me,” he called. ”Don’t make me break in.”
