"Your heart will turn to dirt, you know," Obsidian's eyes are dark, almost darker than usual.
Celestine gulps.
This time, Obsidian steps forward, taking Celestine's chin in his hand to force his head to tilt up.
"And then none of this is going to ma...
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Celestine watches the cars on the highway from the roof of the hotel he was perched on, observing the area that was drowning in darkness like an owl would mice.
He doesn't patrol very often- he finds that there's usually no point. He's got things to do when the sun rises, too; just like everyone that was bustling around beneath him in attempts to get home.
But this time, something feels off.
Celestine isn't quite sure what it is, but while he was laying in his bed he couldn't shake the pressure from his body. It was weird; it was always weird when he got the feeling, but it was worse when he couldn't shake it.
Being out in the cool night air doesn't help easing the feeling any, though.
He's still antsy. He's unsettled, and if he fears that if he were to relax for even a second, then something would go wrong and he'd be delayed too long for him to react quickly. There was no way he could risk something like that.
Celestine shifts in his spot, then there's a flash right in front of him. The breeze was cold against his skin, and his eyes had hardly managed to capture just what it was just flew in front of him. His brows furrow, and he pushes himself off of the ledge and begins to pace quickly to the other corner of the building.
A second time, the same thing flashed before his eyes- figure completely drowning in the darkness.
Celestine visibly prickles.
He doesn't like this and he doesn't like it at all.
There's a shadow moving quickly inside of the building across from him, quick and lean behind the windows. Celestine gulps, but doesn't hesitate before he's throwing himself over the ledge of the hotel's roof and pushing off the side of the building with his legs.
He grasps a windowsill, just barely, and hoists himself up so that his toes were balanced on the edge. He holds himself to the glass, hands lifting to grab at something- anything -before he's rocking himself back and swinging forward into the window. The glass shatters, but he has worst things to worry about than a bill to fix it.
The office is quiet, cubicles of little stations free of light aside from some abandoned computers still left on opened emails. The lights are off, but the street lights somewhat illuminate the ceiling enough for Celestine to see in front of him.
He steps over the glass on the ground, as quietly as he's able to.
Celestine is eventually off of the glass, but the floor beneath him still gets scratched by the shards stuck on the bottom of his shoes.
A hand siezes his wrist, and before Celestine can let out a surprised yelp, a hand is fastened over his mouth.
"So you're the ever famous Celestine," the voice is dark, and it sends tingles down his spine, "I've heard a lot about you. You seem to be a big deal around here."
