up jumped the devil

            [ is he being poked— ]

            [ he opens his eyes, the light blinding and painful; dean tries to speak, but his throat hurts. his body hurts. his very bones ache and he had no idea where he is or what’s happened and he’s being poked with a fucking stick. ]

           { Still alive. Tenacious;                       from the looks of him. }

          { a sigh of relief and a smile of her own is brandished. }

                How often? I ask because perhaps not as often as me, or just as often, or—-or maybe slightly more? Then I could weigh in on the not-so normal, not quite normal, and not normal at all scale.

        {  --how  o f t e n ?  that takes them a moment-- though it's only Vincent who actually considers the question; there's temptation to respond acerbically--                                                                                                                     all Horus, that. } 

                         Sometimes, I think. --I haven't counted. Maybe-- a lot?  

❝ Oh, oh, not mocking-- ❞  

                                Well, Horus is.                                                                 Details.

         —- Goodness, I’ve gone and misplaced myself again.

 { A shimmer of blue in nearly gray eyes; ephemeral.        Considering gaze is levied upon her, before it melts              away into warm smile-- paired with gentle laugh. }