An Evensong (open post for ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hammer_helsing)
Monday, 13 July 2020 19:38Alani is the last one awake, listening to Bucharest sleeping around her.
Blood oozes sluggishly through the dressing pressed to her side.
Solomon was the last one to finally give up and get sleep. He hummed half-remembered folk songs in his old-man baritone as he dutifully checked and re-checked the hoard of Mossad equipment in the safehouse. Mischa and Sinclair drilled in hand-to-hand until exhaustion crept in on silent feet and took them both down. Renaud retired with the Dossier. It's for the best; Alani's hand still stings from when she struck him full across the face.
She sits cross-legged on the floor staring unseeing at her laptop screen. The news feeds are a blur of light in the darkened safehouse. She rubs her eye with the heel of her uninjured hand, trying to focus. The words still blur a moment later. Bucharest sleeps around her. The world spins on.
(Somewhere on the rooftops of Bucharest, a sample of her blood remains spattered across the stone. Her fingerprints remain on an empty crystal drinking glass in a nightclub. Fibers from her shawl cling stubbornly to the joints of a drainage pipe.)
(The eyes of EDOM remain fixed on Bucharest. Dracula's minions still haunt the city like a waking nightmare.)
She shivers. Tugs her jacket on. A walk in the cold night air will clear her head. A walk around the block before sleep.
Blood oozes sluggishly through the dressing pressed to her side.
Solomon was the last one to finally give up and get sleep. He hummed half-remembered folk songs in his old-man baritone as he dutifully checked and re-checked the hoard of Mossad equipment in the safehouse. Mischa and Sinclair drilled in hand-to-hand until exhaustion crept in on silent feet and took them both down. Renaud retired with the Dossier. It's for the best; Alani's hand still stings from when she struck him full across the face.
She sits cross-legged on the floor staring unseeing at her laptop screen. The news feeds are a blur of light in the darkened safehouse. She rubs her eye with the heel of her uninjured hand, trying to focus. The words still blur a moment later. Bucharest sleeps around her. The world spins on.
(Somewhere on the rooftops of Bucharest, a sample of her blood remains spattered across the stone. Her fingerprints remain on an empty crystal drinking glass in a nightclub. Fibers from her shawl cling stubbornly to the joints of a drainage pipe.)
(The eyes of EDOM remain fixed on Bucharest. Dracula's minions still haunt the city like a waking nightmare.)
She shivers. Tugs her jacket on. A walk in the cold night air will clear her head. A walk around the block before sleep.
