[ Ephemera tries to go back to sleep, already knowing that it's futile. The dream got under his skin, the shape too familiar to dismiss outright. Eventually he gets up from the corner of the floor he's jammed himself into and he goes to the kitchen to dig the whiskey out. There's no one here to notice if he gets drunk now, and he doesn't particularly want to try going back to sleep on nothing. He's started making a dent when the message comes. Of course.
So much for trying ignore it. ]
What do you want?
[ Not an answer. But the moment is over and he doesn't particularly want to explain himself, especially not while he's still sober. ]
no subject
So much for trying ignore it. ]
What do you want?
[ Not an answer. But the moment is over and he doesn't particularly want to explain himself, especially not while he's still sober. ]