Something has changed within me
Nov. 19th, 2017 03:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
assassinwithahairpinBilly knew before he really woke that something wasn't quite right. His pajamas didn't quite fit against his hips or his shoulders the way that they ought to, and these were things that Billy Rocks, a perceptive man--made perceptive by a life that had not been easy--was very instantly keen to.
He woke quickly from there, though he didn't really stir. It was early yet. Early enough that Goodnight was still asleep, wrapped around him, and Mercy Beau hadn't even really begun to rustle at the end of the bed. So Billy laid there and categorized what was strange and different.
His beard was gone. Not just shaved neatly, as he liked to keep it, but absent from his chin almost entirely, except for a few fine wisps. His shoulders and wrists and hips were all finer, narrower. Bearing less weight overall.
It was with a dawning realization, laying there in the pre-dawn morning, that Billy Rocks surmised he currently inhabited the petite, underfed body of the young man he'd been when Goodnight had found him in a saloon in Texas, on the lam from killing the family he'd been indentured to in Washington. Approximately nineteen years old, he was at least happy to find he remembered the rest of his life--the man behind him, the lives they'd led, Rose Creek and all of Darrow. He merely looked this way.
Slowly, he turned over in the circle of Goodnight's arms. He watched him sleep a moment more before reaching out and brushing his fingers along the line of his jaw.
He woke quickly from there, though he didn't really stir. It was early yet. Early enough that Goodnight was still asleep, wrapped around him, and Mercy Beau hadn't even really begun to rustle at the end of the bed. So Billy laid there and categorized what was strange and different.
His beard was gone. Not just shaved neatly, as he liked to keep it, but absent from his chin almost entirely, except for a few fine wisps. His shoulders and wrists and hips were all finer, narrower. Bearing less weight overall.
It was with a dawning realization, laying there in the pre-dawn morning, that Billy Rocks surmised he currently inhabited the petite, underfed body of the young man he'd been when Goodnight had found him in a saloon in Texas, on the lam from killing the family he'd been indentured to in Washington. Approximately nineteen years old, he was at least happy to find he remembered the rest of his life--the man behind him, the lives they'd led, Rose Creek and all of Darrow. He merely looked this way.
Slowly, he turned over in the circle of Goodnight's arms. He watched him sleep a moment more before reaching out and brushing his fingers along the line of his jaw.
