[He couldn't have said exactly how he knew that someone was coming, nor how he knew that the visitor would need attention of some kind. The stirring in his gut, the same instinct that alerted him when his enemies found his current safe house just moments before they arrived with their blades and machine guns, stirred him from his light sleep after an evening of ghost stories at the Tsukino Shrine. Wilhelmina, still possessed and in need of exorcism despite her affectionate ways, was still asleep; Fujiko was out playing her games--like always.
Lupin sat up in his bed and pushed the sheets aside to allow the barest chill that crept in through the window to jolt his senses into wakefulness. He closed his eyes and stilled his breathing, focusing on the air currents to get a sense of sound and location. The trip to the mountains that he took with Spock had honed his focus on Kipinn's teachings. Soon, he believed, he could use his focus to muffle the sounds around him.
Stealth was always a boon.
He grabbed for the first weapon on hand--a penknife, as his Walther was hidden in a nearby drawer--and reached out to the wall for a brace. With his wings folded tightly against his back, he crept across the distance to the door...and opened it slowly.
Never before had he been so glad that he made certain all of the hinges in the apartment were well oiled. A single creak would give him away.
Darkness does strange things to the senses. It was a tool for Lupin, and an old friend. He felt rather than saw or heard the presence of another just down the hall. He tightened his grip on the penknife and stilled his breathing. Fingers barely touched the wall as he quietly padded across the carpet in bare feet--
--and stopped. There was an almost palpable sense of anxiety and discomfort in the air.
inhale.
exhale.
His voice was barely more than a husky whisper, caught in the lower tones of his vocal register:]
...You're hurt.
[Statement. Not a question. Need for stealth forgotten, he crossed to the opposite wall to find the light switch. A click, and the dim light was just as blinding as the sun.
He looked over his shoulder and frowned at what he saw.]
2am on the 29th Oh god you're TERRIBLE
Lupin sat up in his bed and pushed the sheets aside to allow the barest chill that crept in through the window to jolt his senses into wakefulness. He closed his eyes and stilled his breathing, focusing on the air currents to get a sense of sound and location. The trip to the mountains that he took with Spock had honed his focus on Kipinn's teachings. Soon, he believed, he could use his focus to muffle the sounds around him.
Stealth was always a boon.
He grabbed for the first weapon on hand--a penknife, as his Walther was hidden in a nearby drawer--and reached out to the wall for a brace. With his wings folded tightly against his back, he crept across the distance to the door...and opened it slowly.
Never before had he been so glad that he made certain all of the hinges in the apartment were well oiled. A single creak would give him away.
Darkness does strange things to the senses. It was a tool for Lupin, and an old friend. He felt rather than saw or heard the presence of another just down the hall. He tightened his grip on the penknife and stilled his breathing. Fingers barely touched the wall as he quietly padded across the carpet in bare feet--
--and stopped. There was an almost palpable sense of anxiety and discomfort in the air.
inhale.
exhale.
His voice was barely more than a husky whisper, caught in the lower tones of his vocal register:]
...You're hurt.
[Statement. Not a question. Need for stealth forgotten, he crossed to the opposite wall to find the light switch. A click, and the dim light was just as blinding as the sun.
He looked over his shoulder and frowned at what he saw.]