If nothing bad had happened, then this wouldn't be Ryslig.
It is early morning when Dio's eyes snap open to the sound of knocking at his door. He's lying in a small (but comfortable) bed in a room that could very well be a closet. The tiny space is used as efficiently as possible, however: a desk folds up into the wall about halfway down the length of the bed, and a screen sits suspended near the foot with a console plugged into it. The carpet and wallpaper is dark, matching the aesthetic of the Arcade outside - and he knows he's in the Arcade from the sounds of the cabinets bleeding into the room.
For a moment, he doesn't react. He simply lies in bed, curling each of his fingers, each of his toes, bending and extending his joints to remove the horrible stiffness of inactivity. There's a chill that clings to his body, makes the metal in his flesh tingle and ache. The sensation is familiar; it brings him back to when he woke up at Marco's.
When Dio closes his eyes, it's like he's back on the pavement buried in piles of snow, too exhausted to move because of the tantrum he threw. God, fuck, how stupid.
He punches the air and yells in frustration, kicking the blankets off in the process.
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branchandroot
i'd like to apologise for comments on this journal not having any background. it's terrible i know.
Date: 2020-02-26 03:13 (UTC)It is early morning when Dio's eyes snap open to the sound of knocking at his door. He's lying in a small (but comfortable) bed in a room that could very well be a closet. The tiny space is used as efficiently as possible, however: a desk folds up into the wall about halfway down the length of the bed, and a screen sits suspended near the foot with a console plugged into it. The carpet and wallpaper is dark, matching the aesthetic of the Arcade outside - and he knows he's in the Arcade from the sounds of the cabinets bleeding into the room.
For a moment, he doesn't react. He simply lies in bed, curling each of his fingers, each of his toes, bending and extending his joints to remove the horrible stiffness of inactivity. There's a chill that clings to his body, makes the metal in his flesh tingle and ache. The sensation is familiar; it brings him back to when he woke up at Marco's.
When Dio closes his eyes, it's like he's back on the pavement buried in piles of snow, too exhausted to move because of the tantrum he threw. God, fuck, how stupid.
He punches the air and yells in frustration, kicking the blankets off in the process.