[ closed ]

[perfectorder]

Characters: Death the Kid and Liz Thompson
Location: Gallows Mansion
Rating: ...uh....G...?
Time: May 10, late evening
Description: He's baaaaaaaaaaack. Or rather, he has been back, just intermittently. But the last trip was likely his last for a while and he was in much need of R&R.


Kid could not remember the last time he stepped inside his house let alone his own bed. A few days? Weeks? Months?

In secret he had been going out to different cities, bases, countries to see how things were going. Some were more harrowing than others, and the recent in-city uprising. He almost cancelled his last two trips, but political pressure and possible rising threats elsewhere pushed him out. The last trip had been an overall success (except for the fact that at one point he failed to resonate with Spirit and had to almost cut it early), but now he had to deal with the matters back home.

"Liz...Patti...I'm back," he called out and surprised himself by how...tired he sounded. It was also disconcerting when the hallway started to swim before his eyes and he had to grab the edge of a nearby table.

He had been fine just a few hours before. So why was he— He just quickly shook his head. No, no time to be failing now. There were reports he needed to read, mission logs to look over, files to sort through.

Comments

[tallerbrooklyndevil]

"Welcome back," Liz greeted. "Patti's asleep upstairs."

Liz hadn't been able to sleep much herself. She'd been doing what she could, running interference for her Meister so no one realized that he wasn't actually in Death City. At the same time, she'd been trying to keep tabs on how things were running.

However, things were starting to look pretty grim. The level of malcontent actions against Shibusen were getting worse. She hadn't anticipated things like non-combatant guests getting harassed.

She'd been up late trying to read through one of the reports to try and get a handle on what was going on, but the words had been started to blur together when Kid arrived.

She walked to where he was, stopping about two feet away. "Which is where you should be from the looks of it."

She didn't have a head for the reports or the politics or all that, but she'd been a mother of sorts to her sister. Right now her sisterly/motherly instincts were telling her to put the reaper to bed.