Showing posts from September, 2016

1.15. Folkloric Pedantry

Mercury leans forward in his seat, his head in his hands. The back of his skull aches where the bat had struck him. Elysia, Crimson, and Luna watch him cautiously, but he ignores his audience. He would prefer not to make eye contact with them.

He had made a lot of noise when Quentin hit him: his body landed on creaky floorboards, the resulting thud echoing through the house. The twins, sound sleepers, didn’t wake up, but Lark started bawling. For the first time--and hopefully the last--her father scared her. Mercury was conscious, but stunned, when Luna burst into Lark’s room, having been drawn in by the ruckus. She helped him downstairs and to the couch, and she insisted on not calling the police (“Mercury would just run away before they got here. It’s not like we can stop him,” a prediction Mercury confirms).

“Can I get you anything, Mercury?” Luna asks as she crouches down next to him.

“Coffee. Black.”

Luna raises an eyebrow at the entitlement in his voice, but she complies with h…