Break Time

From the inside of the tattered safehouse there were a few brief seconds of a sparked brightness. It was like a pattern: it would go dark for a few minutes, then those noisy flashes would have their moment. This came from the use of Silla's main weapon, which unfortunately got hit in a fight against a monster. Better it than him though, no matter how expensive it is to replace something - or some things.

“God damnit!” This time there was a bigger spark, and a hiss: not from the weapon, but from Silla. While trying to quickly remove the fused wires he ended up burning himself. It felt like acid seeping into his heart, even if it was nowhere near the organ. It was like his common sense only popped up when Emeira was around. “Fucks' sake, where are the gloves?” Speaking of gloves, he needed to buy himself some new ones. His current pair were suffering the fate of being used as protection instead of for warmth or fashion.

Silla shook the bottom of his long-sleeved shirt, loosening it ever so slightly as he made his way into a smaller room. It seemed as if it used to be for a newborn with how there were miniature pillars lined up against the corners, browned doodles on the wall, and a seemingly burnt paper back book showing a crib on the front. Yet, his gloves were nowhere to be seen. How convenient. He sighed and continued to search around the house, though the rest of his searching left him with absolutely nothing but frustration. Were they thrown away? Maybe Emeira did it, maybe he just replaced them but how could he know if there weren’t any clues he could use? Well, even if there were any he would probably skip right past them.

Hzzzz. . Hzzzz. .

“Okay, where did I last use them? It was. . er - hm.” He hit the upper corner of his forehead as if it would help his case. Silla sighed and back traced the steps he took moments prior to hitting himself, using this move to check in any drawers, boxes, under chairs - even trash cans were being considered.

Hzz. . Hzz!

Nothing, nothing at all. Not even a small piece of lint rushing through the space like some premature tumbleweed. This sucked - he’d have to buy some new gloves, just to see his now former ones sprawled across the table as if they were waiting for him the entire time: ‘How come you didn’t notice me - me?’ No. ‘. . Us? We were here the entire time, you should be more aware of your surroundings.’ Good lord, what was he thinking? They needed to be thrown in the trash anyway, it was probably for the better that he couldn’t find them.

Hzzzz. . Hz - Ksh. . !

“Wait. . fuck!”