( ash is preternaturally prone to overthinking — hence why at 6:30 he's been up for several hours already, too wired like something prebroken for rest. mentioning embry is not something that soothes him, but he guesses it wasn't supposed to. nothing about this message is calming. the first thought he'll have, that he'll eventually regret for the rest of his life: what did embry do now?
anyway, he's there abruptly, sweaty from an early morning run, dressed in athleisure clothes. when he spots hawk, he nods at him, greeting in the all american good boy way: a handshake and a clap on the shoulder. ash looks around. )
[if it were any other time, hawk might take a minute to envy how ash looks like he waltzed out of a fucking sears catalogue: the perfect family man, even when he's artfully glistening in sweat and getting a workout in before the rest of the mere mortals have even opened their eyes. well, there's one less mortal opening their eyes today, and he's spent the entire time with damp palms and the scent of blood up his nose wondering how the fuck he's supposed to tell the love of a man's life that he's dead.
not just dead - slain, clearly brutally gutted and strangled and then some, artfully arranged like a goddamn sacrificial lamb, which he would have probably hated if he had any kind of say.
hawk swallows hard around the lump, eyes wide and jaw tight as he reaches for both of ash's shoulders and holds them carefully. the look on his face should tell him right away - this isn't just a normal fuck-up of embry misbehaving. this wasn't mouthing off, or falling asleep somewhere he shouldn't, or snorting too much cocaine on a bad night. this is the unthinkable, the call no one wants in the middle of the night before an entire world shatters apart. and he's the one playing messenger, immediately compartmentalizing his own grief for - whatever tenuous thing they had buried down deep to process later, only so he can handle this with the clarity, respect, and reverence it deserves.
not only that, but he knows this wasn't just the house or some new monster or a vampire. he has an idea exactly who did this, and he can't say a goddamn thing about it until he has hard evidence or he can confront it himself.
his thumbs circle lightly against the soft material of ash's hoodie, glancing down and shaking his head for a moment. ironic, he doesn't even have the energy to be annoyed by the inch the other man has over him in height. all that matters is telling him - being there for him, the way embry would have wanted. asked him to, a long time ago, like somehow he knew this was a possibility. jesus fucking christ.]
Ash...this isn't going to be easy for you, okay? I need you to listen to me.
[he looks at him dead on this time, eyes steeled even with glassiness across the surface.]
Someone did this to him - and it's not pretty. You're the only one I called - Greer shouldn't see this.
[his voice drops, the slightest tremor betraying the emotion he's working hard to conceal.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text → action
( ash is preternaturally prone to overthinking — hence why at 6:30 he's been up for several hours already, too wired like something prebroken for rest. mentioning embry is not something that soothes him, but he guesses it wasn't supposed to. nothing about this message is calming. the first thought he'll have, that he'll eventually regret for the rest of his life: what did embry do now?
anyway, he's there abruptly, sweaty from an early morning run, dressed in athleisure clothes. when he spots hawk, he nods at him, greeting in the all american good boy way: a handshake and a clap on the shoulder. ash looks around. )
Mr. Fuller. Where is he?
no subject
not just dead - slain, clearly brutally gutted and strangled and then some, artfully arranged like a goddamn sacrificial lamb, which he would have probably hated if he had any kind of say.
hawk swallows hard around the lump, eyes wide and jaw tight as he reaches for both of ash's shoulders and holds them carefully. the look on his face should tell him right away - this isn't just a normal fuck-up of embry misbehaving. this wasn't mouthing off, or falling asleep somewhere he shouldn't, or snorting too much cocaine on a bad night. this is the unthinkable, the call no one wants in the middle of the night before an entire world shatters apart. and he's the one playing messenger, immediately compartmentalizing his own grief for - whatever tenuous thing they had buried down deep to process later, only so he can handle this with the clarity, respect, and reverence it deserves.
not only that, but he knows this wasn't just the house or some new monster or a vampire. he has an idea exactly who did this, and he can't say a goddamn thing about it until he has hard evidence or he can confront it himself.
his thumbs circle lightly against the soft material of ash's hoodie, glancing down and shaking his head for a moment. ironic, he doesn't even have the energy to be annoyed by the inch the other man has over him in height. all that matters is telling him - being there for him, the way embry would have wanted. asked him to, a long time ago, like somehow he knew this was a possibility. jesus fucking christ.]
Ash...this isn't going to be easy for you, okay? I need you to listen to me.
[he looks at him dead on this time, eyes steeled even with glassiness across the surface.]
Someone did this to him - and it's not pretty. You're the only one I called - Greer shouldn't see this.
[his voice drops, the slightest tremor betraying the emotion he's working hard to conceal.]
He's gone.