[ cleaning is no easy feat in pitch-black dark. so, it's entirely likely that those kind of responsibilities and chores had been held off until things had calmed down. when light does break in, through windows or from lamps, there is a slight new layer of dust here and there. nothing too extreme, and for the most part, it should be easy to get solve back on track.
should be.
there's a hole in a bathroom wall and the mirror is all in pieces, and one by the door in his and luca's room. broken bits of glass or porcelain lies, well, just about everywhere. (hopefully, they have some dishes and various things left!) what used to be a thin-bound, dog-earred paperback rests in pieces of yellowing paper across one of the rooms. there can only be one culprit. he's already been told what he needs to take care of well over forty minutes ago, and he's started none of it.
nope. instead, he's taken what lamps aren't being used, an old coloring bookâmost of the images are butterflies, birds, or flowers, and most of them are missing, and one of the lambs into some small, unused bedroom to hide.
the lack of sleeping and eating he's done the last week shows: there're bags under his eyes, his wrists, already small, seem somehow smaller. his knuckles are still raw, congealing with blood from when he became furious and terrified enough to send it through one of the walls, and while the blood from bashing the bathroom mirror has subsided, there's still stains on his arm and tiny flecks of glass embedded in the skin. his knees are black-blue things, from all his stumbling over or flat out crashing onto them in moments of true horror.
so, there he is: in a corner, behind a wall of three bulbs, one flickering constantly, coloring purple petals into a flower with one hand, and stroking a lamb's ear with the other. ]
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action. (forward dated to the day after the event, and around afternoon time!)
Date: 2012-11-11 08:07 am (UTC)should be.
there's a hole in a bathroom wall and the mirror is all in pieces, and one by the door in his and luca's room. broken bits of glass or porcelain lies, well, just about everywhere. (hopefully, they have some dishes and various things left!) what used to be a thin-bound, dog-earred paperback rests in pieces of yellowing paper across one of the rooms. there can only be one culprit. he's already been told what he needs to take care of well over forty minutes ago, and he's started none of it.
nope. instead, he's taken what lamps aren't being used, an old coloring bookâmost of the images are butterflies, birds, or flowers, and most of them are missing, and one of the lambs into some small, unused bedroom to hide.
the lack of sleeping and eating he's done the last week shows: there're bags under his eyes, his wrists, already small, seem somehow smaller. his knuckles are still raw, congealing with blood from when he became furious and terrified enough to send it through one of the walls, and while the blood from bashing the bathroom mirror has subsided, there's still stains on his arm and tiny flecks of glass embedded in the skin. his knees are black-blue things, from all his stumbling over or flat out crashing onto them in moments of true horror.
so, there he is: in a corner, behind a wall of three bulbs, one flickering constantly, coloring purple petals into a flower with one hand, and stroking a lamb's ear with the other. ]