hellsbellsdresden (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hellsbellsdresden) wrote2011-02-20 05:24 pm
hellsbellsdresden) wrote2011-02-20 05:24 pm
The story just before the beginning....
Harry shivered on the deck of the water beetle, drawing the tattered shreds of his duster about him as shelter from the lake winds. He felt the remnants of the protective wards and spells he'd cast on it, over the years, and felt somewhat naked.
It was kind of Thomas to lend him his boat, after what had happened to Harry's house, car, and anywhere else he'd felt at home, but Harry still wished that it approached a little more of the opulence that seemed to drip off of Thomas' other possessions.
He sighed.
No point beating about the bush.
He removed the coat, holding it up to the light of the setting sun. Claw marks, bullet holes, marks of flame ravaged the brown leather. He set it on the deck, and went below for a moment.
Harry re-emerged with the remains of his staff and blasting rod, the former cracked in half, and the latter just a charred stump, both unable to contain the magic gifted to him by the sly fey.
Harry pushed Mab from his thoughts for a moment. He'd deal with that looming problem when he came to it. For now, he was caked with dirt and blood, and other substances he couldn't and didn't want to name, and there was a funeral to be had.
He gathered up his foci, and wrapped them in the remains of his coat. Faithful tools, his weapons and armor, now sundered beyond use.
Harry threw them out over the water, and they landed with a sad little splash, lingering for a moment on the surface before sinking to the depths.
Harry was devoid of feeling. It seemed like he should feel a touch more sadness for these things he'd loved, but in truth, what were they compared to everything else he'd lost? The places he'd felt safe, the people he'd loved... He'd won his war, the Council's war, but the cost...
It was nothing compared to Susan.
Harry turned to walk back towards the open hatch, when a massive force wrenched him a step forward. A wave rocked the boat slightly, and suddenly the tiny shift in weight seemed impossible, his legs refused to respond. Harry tumbled drunkenly backwards. He wondered where all the blood on the deck had come from.
His knees caught the rail, and he pitched back.
The blackness of the waves' embrace was absolute.
It was kind of Thomas to lend him his boat, after what had happened to Harry's house, car, and anywhere else he'd felt at home, but Harry still wished that it approached a little more of the opulence that seemed to drip off of Thomas' other possessions.
He sighed.
No point beating about the bush.
He removed the coat, holding it up to the light of the setting sun. Claw marks, bullet holes, marks of flame ravaged the brown leather. He set it on the deck, and went below for a moment.
Harry re-emerged with the remains of his staff and blasting rod, the former cracked in half, and the latter just a charred stump, both unable to contain the magic gifted to him by the sly fey.
Harry pushed Mab from his thoughts for a moment. He'd deal with that looming problem when he came to it. For now, he was caked with dirt and blood, and other substances he couldn't and didn't want to name, and there was a funeral to be had.
He gathered up his foci, and wrapped them in the remains of his coat. Faithful tools, his weapons and armor, now sundered beyond use.
Harry threw them out over the water, and they landed with a sad little splash, lingering for a moment on the surface before sinking to the depths.
Harry was devoid of feeling. It seemed like he should feel a touch more sadness for these things he'd loved, but in truth, what were they compared to everything else he'd lost? The places he'd felt safe, the people he'd loved... He'd won his war, the Council's war, but the cost...
It was nothing compared to Susan.
Harry turned to walk back towards the open hatch, when a massive force wrenched him a step forward. A wave rocked the boat slightly, and suddenly the tiny shift in weight seemed impossible, his legs refused to respond. Harry tumbled drunkenly backwards. He wondered where all the blood on the deck had come from.
His knees caught the rail, and he pitched back.
The blackness of the waves' embrace was absolute.