Non-verbal starter for @quoddulcepericulum - 😴 Stand by the bed to see if my muse will let you under the covers with them.
No one ever makes plans to be absent for a length of time like this, but the ex-Talon mercenary wasn’t exactly a normal someone.
Unanswered texts always served as an immediate reminder of better priorities elsewhere. Grabbing the next train out of a city, a runaway boat, or private plane wasn’t rocket science; what hoarded coin couldn’t buy, a little bit of charm went the rest of the way. The reality of the situation was more of security than desire to go somewhere else, to not put the life of someone in danger, and sometimes? Time had to be excused in order to guarantee that.
Eventually excuses ran dry though, even for medics.
Traveling was lonely, always had been, but it did afford a bit of know-how that came with boots to pavement. In an effort to bring some sense of apology back, the medic managed to locate a rare seamstress who made plush animals with silk instead of the usual faux fur. Intricate scales of blue and yellow blending into whites and grays made up the pattern that encased the form of a very plump dragon, it’s round body filled with beads scented like lavender. Though it wasn’t a flower picked for any certain reason, having a relaxing smell would be easier on the pillow than something strong.
Hopefully it would make a good impression.
Baptiste would arrive sometime in the beginning of the night, choosing to go through a window as quietly as possible for the stealthiest route. The effort of actually fitting was enough of a work-out in frustration to last the week, however, leading to some self-reflection about the experience and ultimate decision to simply use the door next time. Hanzo wouldn’t be difficult to locate even if the same couldn’t be said about not waking the archer up; it didn’t really matter if he did or not at this point, since Baptiste would make enough intentional noise dressing down to boxers to wake him up regardless.
So there he was, standing bedside in his boxers with a comically fat stuffed dragon in his arms, waiting to see if he would be invited in or kicked out of the house.
Normalcy wasn't something afforded to the likes of them. Not the sort of life either was born into - and in all honesty, not particularly the sort of life he thinks he could grow used to, after everything. Too many ghosts in his shadow. As is, some nights there's a restlessness that drives him to certain behaviours, not necessarily always good ones.
Still, there are things that normalcy affords that he thinks he'd like.
For one, less need to fret over a lack of response - no ugly thoughts about things that might have, could have, will likely one day happen. No need to triple check the locks and sleep with blade or bullet underhand in case of compromise. Concern to resentment to guilt to a bottle in hand and a cold bed, torn between the worry and the desire to take matters into his own hand for some semblance of control. But it's a foolish notion, and he's always been loathe to suffer fools.
Which brings him to the present - having nearly put a bullet through glass at the first sound of scuffling, had it not been for the soft blue glow flaring across his arm. Old voices, ancient thoughts; senses keener than his knowing better that the shape outside doesn't mean harm.
That doesn't mean he's off the hook though.
Dark eyes pierce through the black of the room, to the figure currently struggling to get through the damn window - as though he doesn't have the keys to the front door. He might have laughed if he weren't so disgruntled; a combination of being startled from sleep already hard to come, and the lingering dejection from being left unanswered.
When the man is finally presented before him, that gaze sweeps over him from top to bottom, propped up on one arm as he is. It lands on the plush gift being held like a shield, hard to see clearly in the dark - so he flicks on the bedside light, flooding the corner of the room with a soft orange glow. Silently, he holds out a hand.
