Slate
Member
Obsidian was drowning. He was drowning in paperwork, most of it for contracts for Stonewall. There was a hand buried deep in his red curls, keeping them pushed off his forehead. It was all paperwork that needed to be done by the weekend, which meant it really needed to be done by Friday to be submitted properly on time. He took a deep breath as he looked down at what were likely fifty more sheets of paper that needed his reading and signature. Business with the security company had started to boom.
He had become so focused, that the lights had begun to dim in the office, as he pulled shadows from the corners, as his skin had begun to darken with them. He didn’t notice at all as he quickly browsed the papers. He didn’t stop, not for a long time, until a knock came at the door. He waited for it to open, now that they had knocked, but after a moment, it remained unopened. He looked up. On the other side, he could just barely make out the energy signature of Rowe.
It was calm, like a forest before a storm. He could almost visualize the green trees and the storm clouds overhead, but without the wind that they usually brought with them. “Rowe. You can come in.”
His voice carried, he knew, to the other side of the door, without him having to raise it at all. It was never the voice that people expected, not for Obsidian. Something deep and intimidating was usually what people expected. But Obsidian’s voice, when he wasn’t angry, was even and almost melodic, higher than most people expected. It wasn’t until he was angry, when the edge crept into his voice, that people felt they were really dealing with “Obsidian”.
He took a breath as he waited for the door to open, trying to release the shadows that clung to his skin. It would still be too dark when Rowe opened the door, and he’d see the gradual wisping dispel of the shades.