Ghosts didn't really need to sleep, there was some argument whether they actually could, but there was a reason that the couch in the office was actually comfortable despite the residents not actually needing it to be. The reason being that Charles liked naps.
Or, he had, before Port Townsend, before a day trip to Hell and back and before the terrifying few hours in Esther's house after that, after things had looked like they were going to turn out.
Which was to say that Charles' afternoon nap ended abruptly with less of a startle towards wakefulness and more of just rolling from the couch into a coiled-ready crouch, reaching for a weapon that wasn't there partly because he wasn't wearing his coat and partly because he hadn't had time to replace the bat after it had been shattered by Esther Finch's snake.
He blinked slowly, swallowing back the instinct to growl, the sensation he could feel building somewhere in his chest, the back of his throat, not sure what it was that hadn't just startled him from his doze, but had shaken him into borderline attack mode. The office was the same as it ever was, even the downstairs neighbors weren't acting up as far as he could tell and he could only surmise that something in the dream -though he shouldn't have dreams any more than he needed to sleep- had shaken him, not that he could remember any of the specifics now that he was awake.
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timeasmymeasure
For @UptightBoy
Date: 2024-09-25 07:17 pm (UTC)Or, he had, before Port Townsend, before a day trip to Hell and back and before the terrifying few hours in Esther's house after that, after things had looked like they were going to turn out.
Which was to say that Charles' afternoon nap ended abruptly with less of a startle towards wakefulness and more of just rolling from the couch into a coiled-ready crouch, reaching for a weapon that wasn't there partly because he wasn't wearing his coat and partly because he hadn't had time to replace the bat after it had been shattered by Esther Finch's snake.
He blinked slowly, swallowing back the instinct to growl, the sensation he could feel building somewhere in his chest, the back of his throat, not sure what it was that hadn't just startled him from his doze, but had shaken him into borderline attack mode. The office was the same as it ever was, even the downstairs neighbors weren't acting up as far as he could tell and he could only surmise that something in the dream -though he shouldn't have dreams any more than he needed to sleep- had shaken him, not that he could remember any of the specifics now that he was awake.