Work Text:
Stoic sat on a rock in the sand. Saltwater lapped at his feet.
His one eyelight gazed out across the water, shining red and orange from the setting sun. Port Arianna had its share of good sunsets. Good for thinking; thinking of how he wished Rana were here to watch by his side; hadn’t wanted to use him; respected him as more than a potential ‘minion’…
He ground his teeth. Tonight, without caped vigilantism keeping him busy, he would allow the tide to cover his weary bones; flow between his ribs; slosh inside his skull.
He needed quiet, not air.