Florence carried on its own affairs outside, alarmingly loud, the sounds of passing cars and people, conversations distinct as if they were right beside him. Ezio drew a hand up, touching his ear as he turned a slow circle, bewildered.
Just as he noticed it, it felt as though the world turned the volume down again, and things were once more mercifully quiet. Dust motes danced in the air, lit by the sun's glow as it peeked between closed shutters and found itself muted by the heavy drapes. His second sight felt as if it had been knocked haywire, he could see each minute particle as it cut a whirling dervish path through the small anteroom. The house itself was as old as Vlad, possibly even older as many things were in Florence, kept in the family and updated through the passing years, a new layer of history for each generation to add.
It was the keen awareness of just how dry his throat felt that pulled him from his strange reverie. Water, he needed water --must be dehydrated, how long was he out for-- and needed to get to a phone. Paola would be ready to box his ears for not coming back, no matter his age. Sofia, too, he felt a sudden, desperate urge to see her that gripped him stem to sternum, white-hot like the brand of animal fear and throwing him off balance. Where did that come from?
His head felt heavy and hot once more, the rush of nausea, of muscles cramping in the back of his throat down into his guts driving him right to the bare floor again, touching his burning temple to the dusty wood with a low, guttural groan.
no subject
Just as he noticed it, it felt as though the world turned the volume down again, and things were once more mercifully quiet. Dust motes danced in the air, lit by the sun's glow as it peeked between closed shutters and found itself muted by the heavy drapes. His second sight felt as if it had been knocked haywire, he could see each minute particle as it cut a whirling dervish path through the small anteroom. The house itself was as old as Vlad, possibly even older as many things were in Florence, kept in the family and updated through the passing years, a new layer of history for each generation to add.
It was the keen awareness of just how dry his throat felt that pulled him from his strange reverie. Water, he needed water --must be dehydrated, how long was he out for-- and needed to get to a phone. Paola would be ready to box his ears for not coming back, no matter his age. Sofia, too, he felt a sudden, desperate urge to see her that gripped him stem to sternum, white-hot like the brand of animal fear and throwing him off balance. Where did that come from?
His head felt heavy and hot once more, the rush of nausea, of muscles cramping in the back of his throat down into his guts driving him right to the bare floor again, touching his burning temple to the dusty wood with a low, guttural groan.