Post by Lovino Vargas on Jun 16, 2012 0:19:39 GMT -4
It was extremely dark when Lovino slowly began to gain consciousness. At first, as his sluggish brain attempted to make sense of the hazy sensations assaulting his mind, he thought it was because his eyes were closed, but after several long, strenuous moments of forcing two ton eyelids open and then blinking in fluttering moments as if they weighed nothing at all the Italian realized that the room he was in was just dark. Not so dark that his now-light sensitive green eyes couldn't see anything, but not so bright that he would be blinded as he would've been either staying in a hospital or at his stupid little brother's house.
But...Lovino didn't recognize wherever he was. The room was pretty plain, and small. Nothing like what Lovino would allow into his house, with its lack of any personal comfort or subtle designer flare that says "someone paid good money to make me look ordinary". This was just plain ordinary, and a bit itchy-- No, no. That was the patches of vibrantly angry red adorning his skin. "A-Argh...t-the fucking hell..?" he croaked, protesting muscles almost refusing to work correctly but eventually giving into Lovino's stubborn growls of "Fucking work, dammit!" Not that they didn't make him regret sitting up when his head started spinning and nausea roiled in his stomach. He managed to ignore that for a moment and stand up, but while his stomach and back muscles were willing to hold him up his legs certainly would not. So the foul-mouthed Italian found himself crashing to the floor on one side, swearing up a silent storm as his burning throat refused to vocalize his frustration.
Where the hell was he? And what the fuck had he done to end up here in the first place?
But...Lovino didn't recognize wherever he was. The room was pretty plain, and small. Nothing like what Lovino would allow into his house, with its lack of any personal comfort or subtle designer flare that says "someone paid good money to make me look ordinary". This was just plain ordinary, and a bit itchy-- No, no. That was the patches of vibrantly angry red adorning his skin. "A-Argh...t-the fucking hell..?" he croaked, protesting muscles almost refusing to work correctly but eventually giving into Lovino's stubborn growls of "Fucking work, dammit!" Not that they didn't make him regret sitting up when his head started spinning and nausea roiled in his stomach. He managed to ignore that for a moment and stand up, but while his stomach and back muscles were willing to hold him up his legs certainly would not. So the foul-mouthed Italian found himself crashing to the floor on one side, swearing up a silent storm as his burning throat refused to vocalize his frustration.
Where the hell was he? And what the fuck had he done to end up here in the first place?