V
Vara
Guest
Original poster
Lyke rolled over with a groan, shivering. He was so incredibly cold and his back had stiffened from the night spent sleeping (or pretending to sleep) on the frigid roof. It had rained, and his clothing was soaked through. "Storm it," he growled, pulling himself up to a sitting position and wincing at the pounding headache which made itself known instantly. He was bound to catch something from sleeping like that one of those days. He'd get sick, and die. Because there was no way he would be able to stomach going to a hospital. Not after seeing Reggie die in one.
It was still dark outside, and the never ending wosh of cars on the street below him wasn't nearly as aggressive as it should have been in the mornings. He frowned. What time was it? A surge of gratitude went through him as he realized there was a way to check. Storms bless Shannie for making me buy a phone. He dug in his pocket and pulled the hideous, mind numbing device out. Flipping the case open, he blinked rapidly, trying to get used to the sudden neon light which pierced his eyes. "Well fuck me sideways."
It was four effing am. He'd slept a grand total of five hours. Fantastic. That explained why his head felt like it was repeatedly getting smacked with a crowbar. He replied to the text from Shannie and then put the phone way. Despite the obvious solution to making time go faster, he couldn't go back to sleep. He was too wound up, and had no bloody idea why. So instead, he light a smoke. The warmth from his lighter was a unexpected, but pleasant mercy. He cupped his hand around the small flame, sighing in relief as feeling returned to his numb fingers.
A pigeon from nearby glared at him. He glared back at it, going as far as giving it the bird. It didn't seem impressed. "Storm off," he muttered, leaning against the raised edge of the roof. The smoke made it easier to think. It calmed him down, and eased his headache. "I am so never quitting," he mused appreciatively, taking a huge lungful of the noxious fumes. "Maybe it will kill me some day." The thought made him smile. Someday. It seemed like such a distant time.
After finishing with the cigarette, he lit another and groped behind a potted plant for the shard of mirror he'd hidden there. It was still there, thank the storms. He angled it to catch the little light lamps from the streets below managed to shine on the roof. It was a rather nasty shade of orange, but it showed him all he needed to know. He looked like absolute motherstorming crap. His hair was doing it's best Einstein impression. His clothes were wrinkled, dirty, and wet. There were huge circles under his eyes and a blackening bruise throned over his right eyebrow. In short, he looked like he'd been eaten by Cerberus and shat out his other end. "Storm it!" he groaned, closing his eyes. It had been a long time since he'd cared about what he looked like.
But he didn't want Shannie to see him like this. He didn't want her to turn away from him and toss him back to the lonely black hole she'd managed to pull him out of. Well. Pull wasn't it. More like, shined a light in and gave him hope. He couldn't have that end, after a single day of laughter. He groaned in frustration. There was abso-bloody-lutely nothing he could do about what he looked like. He couldn't go down to his apartment. He would pass out before he reached it.
It was still dark outside, and the never ending wosh of cars on the street below him wasn't nearly as aggressive as it should have been in the mornings. He frowned. What time was it? A surge of gratitude went through him as he realized there was a way to check. Storms bless Shannie for making me buy a phone. He dug in his pocket and pulled the hideous, mind numbing device out. Flipping the case open, he blinked rapidly, trying to get used to the sudden neon light which pierced his eyes. "Well fuck me sideways."
It was four effing am. He'd slept a grand total of five hours. Fantastic. That explained why his head felt like it was repeatedly getting smacked with a crowbar. He replied to the text from Shannie and then put the phone way. Despite the obvious solution to making time go faster, he couldn't go back to sleep. He was too wound up, and had no bloody idea why. So instead, he light a smoke. The warmth from his lighter was a unexpected, but pleasant mercy. He cupped his hand around the small flame, sighing in relief as feeling returned to his numb fingers.
A pigeon from nearby glared at him. He glared back at it, going as far as giving it the bird. It didn't seem impressed. "Storm off," he muttered, leaning against the raised edge of the roof. The smoke made it easier to think. It calmed him down, and eased his headache. "I am so never quitting," he mused appreciatively, taking a huge lungful of the noxious fumes. "Maybe it will kill me some day." The thought made him smile. Someday. It seemed like such a distant time.
After finishing with the cigarette, he lit another and groped behind a potted plant for the shard of mirror he'd hidden there. It was still there, thank the storms. He angled it to catch the little light lamps from the streets below managed to shine on the roof. It was a rather nasty shade of orange, but it showed him all he needed to know. He looked like absolute motherstorming crap. His hair was doing it's best Einstein impression. His clothes were wrinkled, dirty, and wet. There were huge circles under his eyes and a blackening bruise throned over his right eyebrow. In short, he looked like he'd been eaten by Cerberus and shat out his other end. "Storm it!" he groaned, closing his eyes. It had been a long time since he'd cared about what he looked like.
But he didn't want Shannie to see him like this. He didn't want her to turn away from him and toss him back to the lonely black hole she'd managed to pull him out of. Well. Pull wasn't it. More like, shined a light in and gave him hope. He couldn't have that end, after a single day of laughter. He groaned in frustration. There was abso-bloody-lutely nothing he could do about what he looked like. He couldn't go down to his apartment. He would pass out before he reached it.