For whatever reason or ill-luck, Luther sleeps in today.
He doesn't have a work shift until later, and maybe it's the feywild magic, too, making his newly-teenaged body sleep longer. When he wakes up and stretches, he can instantly tell. He's lanky and still-growing, but smaller and shorter in his bed than he remembers— and he's almost starting to lose track of how many times it's been now, that this world has wreaked havoc on his body. His self. Luther still remembers accidentally dreaming himself whole again, his regular body temporarily restored to himself. Or that time when Allison and Diego both found themselves in other people's bodies (and that quiet voice in the back of his head, wondering why not me). Waking up in the City as his nineteen-year-old self. Those flashes of memories and witnessing himself at thirteen, just a little over a month ago. And now... is he thirteen again?
He's standing in the bathroom, leaning in to stare at himself in the mirror, a hand tracing the lines of his face and sharp, stubble-less jaw. It's a bizarre experience, but this is by no means the first time. So as soon as he finishes reeling and drawing in a shaky breath, Luther turns and just slams right through the door from their shared bathroom, once again heedless of privacy, to check on Allison. Her bed's slept in and unmade, but empty. There's a drumbeat of panic in his chest: did she port out, did she port out and leave him here, alone, like this—
Luther is normal human proportions again, but at what cost? He's already lived through puberty; he doesn't want to do it again. He's reaching for his communicator, when it suddenly beeps with a still-pending voicemail message and he jolts. Almost accidentally snapping the plastic with his super-strong hands, before he listens to the message:
FROM: Number Five Hargreeves TO: Luther Hargreeves
"This is Number Three, and Five. We're somewhere downtown in a place called Nonah. Where are you?"
The voice is hers, and young, but the name is their brother's. What the fuck is happening.
He immediately stabs the screen, calls through to Five's communicator. When his brother answers, Luther's voice, too, is young again and incredulous:
☂️ #𝟢𝟢.𝟢𝟣, #𝟢𝟢.𝟢𝟥, #𝟢𝟢.𝟢𝟧
He doesn't have a work shift until later, and maybe it's the feywild magic, too, making his newly-teenaged body sleep longer. When he wakes up and stretches, he can instantly tell. He's lanky and still-growing, but smaller and shorter in his bed than he remembers— and he's almost starting to lose track of how many times it's been now, that this world has wreaked havoc on his body. His self. Luther still remembers accidentally dreaming himself whole again, his regular body temporarily restored to himself. Or that time when Allison and Diego both found themselves in other people's bodies (and that quiet voice in the back of his head, wondering why not me). Waking up in the City as his nineteen-year-old self. Those flashes of memories and witnessing himself at thirteen, just a little over a month ago. And now... is he thirteen again?
He's standing in the bathroom, leaning in to stare at himself in the mirror, a hand tracing the lines of his face and sharp, stubble-less jaw. It's a bizarre experience, but this is by no means the first time. So as soon as he finishes reeling and drawing in a shaky breath, Luther turns and just slams right through the door from their shared bathroom, once again heedless of privacy, to check on Allison. Her bed's slept in and unmade, but empty. There's a drumbeat of panic in his chest: did she port out, did she port out and leave him here, alone, like this—
Luther is normal human proportions again, but at what cost? He's already lived through puberty; he doesn't want to do it again. He's reaching for his communicator, when it suddenly beeps with a still-pending voicemail message and he jolts. Almost accidentally snapping the plastic with his super-strong hands, before he listens to the message:
The voice is hers, and young, but the name is their brother's. What the fuck is happening.
He immediately stabs the screen, calls through to Five's communicator. When his brother answers, Luther's voice, too, is young again and incredulous:
"Five?"