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singindemonhq It drove the Minions twitchy, especially the more experienced ones. There were Operatives who slept in bowers of virtual rose-petals and Operatives who had portals from their palaces and slept on moons where gravity was barely strong enough to hold them to their beds. There were operatives who slept in silken hammocks hung from the jewelled branches of artificial trees.
The Oldest Operative slept, more or less, in a bed. Of course, it depended on his mood. The mattress (an impervious layer of shreilken over liquid mercury, firm or yielding according to taste and need, adapting to every move) was more or less standard, but the rest had varied through the centuries. Furs, heaped, gleaming (and usually artificial, animal dander doing nothing for the voice). Sleeping silks, multi-hued and padded, fit for a sultan’s palace - even soft, semi-sentient srykens, thick-furred living sheets that clung and purred, drawn by the warmth of skin.
The thing that was leading the Minions to develop a worried look was that he had gone to sleep wrapped in a satin duvet filled with something that smelled of lavender and sunshine – and now he slept in blankets.
They weren’t forbidden to watch, (although it was never encouraged,) and now the youngest noticed, puzzled, that the thick fabric was sliding away from the old demon, as though drawn by an invisible hand. The servant had caught the quick, “leave it” gesture of his team boss before he had decided whether action was necessary and both Minions were leaving the area when the demon turned, still sleeping, putting an arm out to encircle … empty space in the hollow of the moving blankets.
.... ....
“She’s been gone for …” the lead Minion shrugged. “I guess he still dreams about her. He’ll be in a funny mood all day, I do know that.”
“Did she … die?”
“No, no! Not that one. It’s an immortal thing. Nothing lasts, not by his standards. There’s only so long that immortals can stay together without … becoming the bars of each other’s cages. Maybe they separated to grow. Maybe she … grew out of it. Maybe he outgrew her, although I guess he’s too old to change that fast. I expect we’ll see, one day.
He’s going to want his breakfast long before we have to worry about that, anyway - so you’d better get on with it, hadn’t you?”
“Sweet” the Singing Demon,
Fandom, BTVS.
Words, 391
The Oldest Operative slept, more or less, in a bed. Of course, it depended on his mood. The mattress (an impervious layer of shreilken over liquid mercury, firm or yielding according to taste and need, adapting to every move) was more or less standard, but the rest had varied through the centuries. Furs, heaped, gleaming (and usually artificial, animal dander doing nothing for the voice). Sleeping silks, multi-hued and padded, fit for a sultan’s palace - even soft, semi-sentient srykens, thick-furred living sheets that clung and purred, drawn by the warmth of skin.
The thing that was leading the Minions to develop a worried look was that he had gone to sleep wrapped in a satin duvet filled with something that smelled of lavender and sunshine – and now he slept in blankets.
They weren’t forbidden to watch, (although it was never encouraged,) and now the youngest noticed, puzzled, that the thick fabric was sliding away from the old demon, as though drawn by an invisible hand. The servant had caught the quick, “leave it” gesture of his team boss before he had decided whether action was necessary and both Minions were leaving the area when the demon turned, still sleeping, putting an arm out to encircle … empty space in the hollow of the moving blankets.
.... ....
“She’s been gone for …” the lead Minion shrugged. “I guess he still dreams about her. He’ll be in a funny mood all day, I do know that.”
“Did she … die?”
“No, no! Not that one. It’s an immortal thing. Nothing lasts, not by his standards. There’s only so long that immortals can stay together without … becoming the bars of each other’s cages. Maybe they separated to grow. Maybe she … grew out of it. Maybe he outgrew her, although I guess he’s too old to change that fast. I expect we’ll see, one day.
He’s going to want his breakfast long before we have to worry about that, anyway - so you’d better get on with it, hadn’t you?”
“Sweet” the Singing Demon,
Fandom, BTVS.
Words, 391
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