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morgynleri_ficAlso on: AO3, tumblr
Word Count: 185
Category: Gen
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Choose Not to Warn
Fandom: Highlander, Magnificent Seven (TV)
AU: From Rome to Mexico
Series: The Travel Collection
Characters: Ezra Standish
"To that wondrous creature that gave me life," he murmurs.
The storm is ferocious, rain coming down too heavily to see past the porch of the house, lit by flashes of lightning that herald peals of thunder loud enough to rattle the windows in their frames. Ezra leans back in a rocking chair on the porch, sipping a glass of bourbon as he enjoys the storm. It's as spectacular as any Quickening, and he's always enjoyed the rush and show of them as much as he does that of summer thunderstorms.
He'll never, though, be able to make the others understand just why he enjoys them quite so much. At least, not unless he can convince them to stand out in a storm like this with a metal rod, or some foolish thing like that. A smile quirks his lips a moment, and he raises his glass in salute to the storm.
"To that wonderous creature that gave me life," he murmurs, staring out into the storm, and smiling. Two hundred and fifty years since the storm that had killed him the first time; watching a storm raging is a fine celebration of that anniversary.
Word Count: 185
Category: Gen
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Choose Not to Warn
Fandom: Highlander, Magnificent Seven (TV)
AU: From Rome to Mexico
Series: The Travel Collection
Characters: Ezra Standish
"To that wondrous creature that gave me life," he murmurs.
The storm is ferocious, rain coming down too heavily to see past the porch of the house, lit by flashes of lightning that herald peals of thunder loud enough to rattle the windows in their frames. Ezra leans back in a rocking chair on the porch, sipping a glass of bourbon as he enjoys the storm. It's as spectacular as any Quickening, and he's always enjoyed the rush and show of them as much as he does that of summer thunderstorms.
He'll never, though, be able to make the others understand just why he enjoys them quite so much. At least, not unless he can convince them to stand out in a storm like this with a metal rod, or some foolish thing like that. A smile quirks his lips a moment, and he raises his glass in salute to the storm.
"To that wonderous creature that gave me life," he murmurs, staring out into the storm, and smiling. Two hundred and fifty years since the storm that had killed him the first time; watching a storm raging is a fine celebration of that anniversary.