00:00:00 [[OMG GURL. HERE, HAVE A THING]]
In a universe where everyone is born with numbers on their wrists counting down to when they'll meet their soulmate, send me 00:00:00 for my muses reaction to their numbers hitting zero when they meet yours.
This number is not his.
This number -- 00:05:13 -- belongs to his vessel. This is the day that his vessel meets the love of his life. Not Nine. Not the first horseman of the apocalypse, Pestilence. He's known that since the dawn of time. Everything that comes with being mortal is not for him; not sleep, not food, not liquor, not sex, and especially not love.
Still, he can't help but watch in rapt fascination as the numbers grow smaller and smaller in size. From his spot on the ground, straightbacked and enchanted by the glowing number, everything else seems to fall to oblivion.
00:01:05
Nine ponders the corporeal vessel he's in. He wonders what kind of person they used to be, what kind of personality they had that would attract the person they would have met in no less than ... 41 seconds now? His tongue wets the seam of his grey lips. 28 seconds.
From the front of the agency, he can almost feel the glass doors slide open. That must be them. Nine's hand drops back into his lap and he looks up, feeling an odd ... tingling warmth wash over him when he meets Artemis's eyes. From beneath the medical mask, he feels the barest hints of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and he turns his wrist to face her. Fascinating, isn't it?
This number is not his; but Nine's absolutely no stranger to stealing.
As gently as he can manage without falling into a hush, he says, "I believe I've been waiting for you."
It's of enormous and puzzling relief when Artemis cracks a faint smile back.













