9 Days Before [2nd Draft]

The Sixth Night

Crowley sat there, alone and tormented by the hushed, distorted tones of the current.

The smell of faint skunk hung in the building that he resides in, a cold whisp snuck through cracks of windows and doors seeping its way to the beetle that is Crowley: Hunched over, thighs to his chest, and his head arched onto his knees.

He curls his toes as the night's breeze gets in-between, Crowley wants to get up and race towards the warmest spot to beat the low temperatures of summer, but he's entangled with the couch.

"You'll never....ever-" Distortion depths into his ears, making it rattle with every flair. Crowley grunts, wisping his hand out, trying to catch it—furthermore making the sprite dissipate, curling outwards between his fingers, forming on the other side-Laughing at his expense.

"Shut up!" He swats it again, making him move from his spot, the warmth escapes the comforter, the hum boils over his closed tightened hand that was expelled outwards. Moving away from him in response, poltergeists on the spot, observing Crowley from a distance within silence.

He's peering down at the cold wooden flooring, brushing his dangling hair with his fingers, its silky touch races across Crowley's endings.

Letting out a deep sigh that's been clogged within him since the writing had refreshed his memory, seeing everything all at once: mocking a picture book that's being flipped at full speed but knowing what it holds.

Crowley hangs his hands on his head, losing a ripple of reality as he dissociates.

The Hum glides closer to him from being immobilized being inches away from his earlobe, it whispers to him having his eyes swell from the response, a flip of the picture-book escapes the right envisioning a pair of individuals, he can't make anything out besides that its gloomily lit by a small flame.

Sprite flows a few inches away going back to its patient pose, Crowley droops his hands--covering his face, escaping the sight of the distortion. Replying to his movements it swings to the other side of him, leaning towards his ear again for another whisper.

{●}

Octavia spirals down into her thoughts as she swings her sword-hitting a slash onto a built-together dummy.

Thinking about Korith, Krissy, and the unfolding occurrences.

Thud between wood and metal twists out into the lot, she tightens her grip and swings again with a thought of Korith: still wondering where of all places that she could be hiding from her, it wouldn't be hiding if it were easy for her—she makes the same mark elongated after another slash to its chest-piece showing her skill in accuracy, causing another clunk to ring.

Avias' thoughts linger on the past events, still trying to make sense of it all. She loses focus, missing the third strike she's known to hit, making her wielded piece swoosh into open air.

She stops for a moment, her blade drooping down with relaxed hands, looking upwards into the distance seeing clouds tumbling down bringing her thoughts onto that night: What Krissy explained to her, and what she said - missing her final days at the orphanage --
A scent of laundry opens to the field, she slightly shakes the thought out and turns to face the back door seeing it open, Sue stepping out with a load of clothes having clips clamped onto the baskets sides for later use.

Sue places the basket into one arm, gripping it tightly so, while using her other free hand to flop the pieces over a line that's connected from the lots tree and to the house, she looks over to her left seeing Octavia watching her do her routine, she does a faint wave to see if there will be any reaction: and there isn't.