Nightmare on Molten Street [Zeke, Heather]
Something ached.
Jonathan isn’t exactly sure if it was because he slept wrong (again. Being dead probably desensitizes you to things that you would normally pay attention to if you were alive), or because he fell asleep unconventionally (also, again). His head tries to wake the rest of himself up, and slowly shaking him awake from the drunken slur of sleepiness. At least, he should open his eyes, first.
He does, and it takes a while to register that the ceiling isn’t his normal ceiling. Suddenly blinking a lot more rapidly, one elbow jerks up and forces himself to get up, looking around- and it takes an indecipherable amount of time for him to snap back into a logical state of mind.
The Samurai can see himself staring back in confusion, the mirrors reflecting off each other to form an awkward palindrome of reflections the didn’t end.
He’s not alone, either; but right now, it’s not much of a comfort. Words rolling off his tongue, still numb from sleep, he forces his mouth open and just stares at the mirrors.
"Where…"
"Where am I?"
(Really, he’s dead and bad things happen to him all the time. He shouldn’t be surprised.)
