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vocab_drabbles2024-08-01 10:07 pm
086: Obloquy - Time For Chaos - Late Night Friends Leave
small_fandoms for their Evening Sunset event.The sun hasn’t even fully set when Desmond Mahoney is out on the streets again, kissing the pavement in front of the pub thanks to a well-placed punch to the face.
“Fuck you!” He straightens up and spits out a mouthful of blood, quickly running his tongue over his teeth to make sure they’re all still there.
“Piss off, boy,” the man rolls his eyes. “Don’t come back until you’ve got your head on straight.”
The sound of the other patron’s jeering stops when the door slams shut.
Desmond closes his eyes and waits for the world to stop spinning.
He staggers back to his flat while mumbling to himself.
“Who needs enemies when you have comrades like those, eh?” He forces out a dry, mirthless laugh.
Desmond should be used to it by now, he’s been provoking ridicule and even obloquy for his convictions for a long time already, but being disbelieved by those who should’ve had his back stings more than he’s ready to admit.
The waning light of dusk is mostly obscured by fog and rainclouds, but still the sky is dyed the same deep, blood-red colour that seems to haunt Desmond even in his waking hours.
When he finally gets home, all his body wants to do is collapse into a pile on the ground. Instead, he takes a breath and wades through the stacks of documents laid out in an order understandable only to himself.
Desmond knows too well that he’s been running himself ragged, but he can’t find it in himself to stop. Not after everything he’s seen, everything he’s experienced. Not when he is so close.
The crossed sceptres from that night lie on his mantlepiece, unknowable power radiating off them like a siren’s call. One Desmond is all too eager to heed.
Hours later, the power goes out, and Desmond sits in the grey half-light and rests his tired eyes.
Even though his tiny, cramped flat is filled with more junk than he’s got any business with, it still feels empty. Especially now, when the silence and stillness surrounding him feels almost suffocating.
A few weeks ago he never would have believed that he’d find himself somewhat missing those disruptive guests that barged their way into his home and shattered his perception of the world.
Now he wishes he had a telephone on hand, just to hear familiar voices late at night.