Dust to dust

[wings_of_a_swan]

"I won't try to make Thalia appear," Combeferre says firmly, as he attaches the strap to Bahorel's arm. "It's much too dangerous."

Bahorel somehow manages to convey the impression of pacing recklessly despite being ensconced in a chair in Combeferre's and Enjolras's rooms.

"This won't make a daemon appear, but it should measure something correlated with the presence of a settled daemon."

Comments

[wings_of_a_swan]

...it is, in fact, a thrill.

It's like being electrocuted, only not painful and not fatal--that's the best comparison Combeferre can come up with. He's utterly shaken. He feels like there's been a meteor shower within his soul...oh, God help him, he's resorting to Prouvairesque hyperbole.

He sees the anbaric spectrometer, again yelling the answer of yes, and he would grin if his face could move.

After a few moments, he unstraps himself, looks at Bahorel, and finally does grin.

[clayforthedevil]

It's a fairly quiet affair from the outside, given how Bahorel knows it feels. But then Combeferre's expression, elated and wild, is probably enough of a statement. Bahorel laughs and claps him on the shoulder. "Not bad, hey? Not bad! It feels like they'd fly out on their own!"

[wings_of_a_swan]

Combeferre stands up, shaking his head. "It does," he says. "I wish they would," he adds, before he can help himself. He does rather miss Minerva.

"But it's good to know they're still there."

[clayforthedevil]

"Hah, we'll have to mention it to our other-selves; there's sure to be a fine argument in their world over the fate of the daemon after death. No fear, friends! It stays with the rest of you, and doesn't even jump enough to leave the skin." He's looking closely at Combeferre's contraption-- with his hands clasped behind his back as he leans over, for the moment. "You know, it really does feel like this thing's about to open the way for them. Maybe you're closer to figuring it out than you thought." Come on come on come onnnnnn patience takes so lonnng.

[wings_of_a_swan]

"It would be a very dangerous experiment," says Combeferre, suddenly sober. "I won't risk having any of us destroyed, not again."

He remembers, with a sudden vivid mental picture, Bahorel's corpse. Prouvaire's last shout. The faint glimpse he got, out of the corner of his eye, when a soldier attacked Courfeyrac beside him.

Not again. Or at least, not for this.