[ The hit lands just below Darius's eye, his hand swiping seconds too slow. So, yeah, he curses, sharp. Blinks, bleary. And looks up at, yep, that's Wilkes, standing in the doorway delivering a lecture.
Please. Darius rolls his eyes, pushes back at the bedframe he's propped himself against. ]
's where you're wrong, turtledove. How'd you think I got into the room?
[ He starts to reach to tap his head, but fuck it, that's too much effort, and he lets it fall again. He's pretty sure he came in through the window, anyway. Connects to a vague memory, or could-be-memory, and probably it's not coincidence. ]
Didn't want windows broken, shouldn't allow them to be breakable. And made doors more accessible.
[ With or without keys. Had that been the problem? Maybe. Maybe Darius lost his key or maybe left it here or maybe just forgot he had it. ]
What the fuck it's glass. Transible. Who doesn't break glass. Fuck it.
Hand's fine. Drop it and go to your Renault.
[ His hand is in fact not fine. There's definitely a gash along the palm, cuts along the fingers.
His hand also is fine, if speaking relatively, if speaking strictly in comparison his leg. Which is in fact seeping blood along the calf. Which stings like a fucking son of a shit. Which is currently covered by a jacket, because - again - it's fucking cold in here.
Darius is looking at his phone again, trying to remember who he was texting, thinking h knows the answer, but also, room's spinning a little, concentration's tricky a little, and also, where'd that weed go, or maybe it was a drink he'd wanted. Fuck, something. ]
no subject
Please. Darius rolls his eyes, pushes back at the bedframe he's propped himself against. ]
's where you're wrong, turtledove. How'd you think I got into the room?
[ He starts to reach to tap his head, but fuck it, that's too much effort, and he lets it fall again. He's pretty sure he came in through the window, anyway. Connects to a vague memory, or could-be-memory, and probably it's not coincidence. ]
Didn't want windows broken, shouldn't allow them to be breakable. And made doors more accessible.
[ With or without keys. Had that been the problem? Maybe. Maybe Darius lost his key or maybe left it here or maybe just forgot he had it. ]
What the fuck it's glass. Transible. Who doesn't break glass. Fuck it.
Hand's fine. Drop it and go to your Renault.
[ His hand is in fact not fine. There's definitely a gash along the palm, cuts along the fingers.
His hand also is fine, if speaking relatively, if speaking strictly in comparison his leg. Which is in fact seeping blood along the calf. Which stings like a fucking son of a shit. Which is currently covered by a jacket, because - again - it's fucking cold in here.
Darius is looking at his phone again, trying to remember who he was texting, thinking h knows the answer, but also, room's spinning a little, concentration's tricky a little, and also, where'd that weed go, or maybe it was a drink he'd wanted. Fuck, something. ]