Sunday Morning, Edgar awoke to a terrible burning sensation on his right soldier, coming right from the scratches. He immediately jumped up with a yowl, confused.
"Hey! Watch out, asshole! I'm trying to clean your wounds!" He heard Barry screech from next to him. Glancing over, he saw Barry standing on his bed. On the stand beside his bed where he kept an alarm clock, sat a cluster of plastic cups filled with a clear liquid.
"...How?" Barry didn't have thumbs. How did he pour fifteen tiny plastic cups worth of whatever the hell that was?
"Uhm. With vodka. Duh? Do I have to paint pictures of everything out for you, you tottering nut-hook?" Barry then batted the empty plastic cup off the bed, which was likely the one he just emptied on Edgar's shoulder. There was a slight crinkle of plastic as the cup landed in a small trash bin next to the bed.
Edgar rolled his eyes. "I didn't mean,- You know what? Never mind." Edgar slid to the edge of the bed. "I appreciate it, though, Barry." Barry retrieved a nearby washcloth between his teeth and offered it to Edgar, which he gratefully took.
"Don't sweat it, Ed. Besides, if die from infection, how the hell am I going to eat?" Barry shrugged it off, moving around to plop on Edgar's vodka-stained pillow.
"What happened to the old couple from 2B? I thought you were going to mooch from them?" Edgar asked this before grabbing another cup of vodka to soak a portion of the washcloth in. He bit his lip, preparing himself for the world of pain he was about to put himself in...Yet he supposed it couldn't be worse than when he actually accumulated the wounds.
"Well. The guy's wife died. And he had a major heart attack. So I'm pretty sure he died too. Or maybe he's just in the hospital. Who knows?" Barry's golden gaze never left Edgar as he pressed the cloth against his shoulder. Just as he suspected, the pain was intense. He barely caught anything of what Barry had just said as a hiss of displeasure escaped his lips.
"Uh-huh," he breathed when he pulled the blood-stained cloth away from his shoulder.
"What even happened to you last night? Did a lady get way too frisky with you?" Amusement tinged Barry's tone. Edgar glanced over at the familiar with incredulity.
"No, Barry. How could seriously think a woman did this to me? I fought a werewolf. In a coffee shop." Barry jumped up, his almond-shaped eyes widening.
"Are you shitting me?" Edgar shot him a glare, clearly iterating that he was not kidding. "Oh my God, Ed. You are so screwed. The council is going to come and knock down the door any second." Barry hopped off his bed, hopping onto the table next to the closet. He started pulling clothes out from within.
"Barry, Barry! Stop! What the hell are you doing!?" Edgar quickly sat the cup and rag aside, dashing over to snatch up Barry.
"Uhm. I'm trying to help you get your shit together. We're not seriously going to stay here like sitting ducks, are we?" Barry's little cat-eyebrows furrowed, confusion evident on his expression.
"In case you forgot, we have Elle on our side. There are more protection and cloaking spells around this apartment than there is on every entrance into the Underworld." He then sat Barry on the floor, who immediately moved to hop back onto his bed. With a groan of pain, Edgar gathered up his scattered clothes and tossed them into his closet. He'd have to refold them later...
"Oh, right. Still! What happens when you're outside this apartment?"
"They're looking for a demon. Not a witch. And I can just wear a hood and some sunglasses to hide my face."
Barry narrowed his eyes, trying to think of something Edgar hadn't already thought of on his long walk home last night. He had to distract himself somehow, right?
"Well, I'm glad you've got it all figured out. But you can't hide like that for the rest of your life, Ed."
Edgar moved to sit back on his bed. He dipped the cloth into a cup of Vodka. "I know, Barry. But I have a plan, trust me." He then gently pressed the cloth to another scratch, seething in agony.
"Right... And Are you going to share?"
Edgar finished cleaning up a scratch before he had to set the cloth aside. He hen eyed Barry, who was staring at him expectantly. So naturally, Edgar told Barry about Emily and Jeff, and about the increasing supernatural attacks.
"Ooookay. So how does that tie in with you escaping the Council's wrath?"
"Who has the paint the picture now, Barry?" Edgar smirked, turning the bloodstained washcloth in his hands. "But surely the Council must be after the perpetrators of these attacks, right? If I can find them, maybe they'll grant a pardon?"
"That's the craziest shit I've ever had the misfortune of seeing you spew from your lips, Ed. They're not going to bloody pardon you!" Barry stepped off Edgar's pillow, approached Edgar. His golden eyes seemed to be blazing. For once, Barry was being entirely serious. "At best, you're just prolonging your life. You revealed yourself. You're a threat in their eyes. And they will kill you too."
Edgar knew exactly why Barry cared so much... Before Barry was brought to Edgar by Elle, the familiar had witnessed the execution of the witch to whom he was bound. She revealed her magic to a group of school children. All their memories had to be wiped along with the memories of everyone who the kids told about the experience. And then the Council had her executed for her crimes.
"I know," Edgar murmured, glancing down at the floor. "But what else am I to do, Barry?"
"There's nothing you can do but run."
"And you know I can't do that. Not again." Edgar stood up. "I've finally built a life here, Barry! It might not be the greatest, but it's better than the road... Anything's better than the road."
"Even death? Imagine the people you'd be leaving behind if they caught you. Elle. Barnabus. Me..." Barry's golden eyes closed as he shook his head. He gracefully leaped off the bed. "But if you're so convinced, then go right ahead, Ed." Edgar was speechless. He watched as Barry steadily padded out of the room, disappearing towards the kitchen.
He slowly sat back down on his bed, realizing Barry was probably right. Even so, Edgar wasn't just going to up and leave. He was too deeply rooted here. So, that only left him with the option of helping Emily quell these uprisings.
Edgar finished cleaning up his wounds and dumped the remaining cups of vodka down the drain. Nobody else was going to drink the stuff, so no point in keeping it... Then he remembered he didn't keep any alcohol around, let alone Vodka. Where did Barry even get this stuff?
On second thought, it was best to not ask. How Barry gets anything was a mystery to Edgar.
He bandaged himself up, before moving into the kitchen to make breakfast. Today, he chose to simply fry up some bacon. He wasn't in the mood to make anything elaborate, and he was sure Barry would appreciate some.
About ten minutes later, he sat some bacon strips in Barry's bowl, before plopping down on his couch. He dug the remote out from between the cushions, turning on the TV. Since he rarely watched TV aside from the news, the station was already on the station for ABC news.
Unsurprisingly, he was met with imagines of the coffee shop. Inside, he could see fuzzy figures which were distinctly different. The massive black figure was clearly the werewolf, and the smaller, violet-tinged winged man was him. It was a strange sensation seeing it all on TV, and a news anchor spewing out conspiracy theories about what it was. Right now, the makeup-caked Blonde news anchor with the perfect teeth and crater-like dimples was blaming it on military experimentation. As serious as the situation was, he couldn't help but be amused at the outrageous points she was backing the theory with.
Edgar was just about to switch the TV off when a knock sounded at his door. He froze, wondering who that would be. The people he associated with tended to call before randomly showing up at his doorstep...
Placing his half-empty plate of bacon aside, Edgar moved to answer the door. Standing outside was a short woman, shifting nervously in place. She looked up at Edgar with wide hazelnut eyes.
"Eek!" Her gaze lowered from his face to his chest. Honestly, Edgar completely forgot he was shirtless, and had bandages covering his shoulders and arms. He probably should've threw on a shirt before answering the door.
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