And so, she awoke. Did she feel any better? Not really.
Maribelle sprawled out over the couch, eyes narrowed as she snuck a look at poor, poor Roswell. He was a big ass blur, and... why was her head so cold? So fucking wet?? She reached her hand up and nudged the cold, now-damp cloth from her forehead, grimacing at the feeling on her hands. She then propped herself up in her seat, which wasn't a good idea, either. Oh, God, she felt like she was going to-- actually...
"Am I finally dead? Where's the redhead guy?" she asked Roswell, wondering if he, too, was dead, "What's happening? ..I think I'm gonna..."
She trailed off and winced again at the pain in her head. It felt like... her brain was being cleaved in two.
"I wish I were dead. This really fucking hurts." she muttered, "Why am I here? Where am I again? Roswell--" She stopped for a millisecond. "I'm gonna throw up."
Roswell sat cross-legged on the edge of his cough. Reading one of those shitty novels (namely: 'Falling in the arms of a warrior, a heroic tale of heart lust and bravery') of his. Roswell didn't even notice Maribelle waking up at first, until she started to speak.
"Yer finally awake," he said. "Don't think so Angelcakes, 'ows yer head?' He asked as he finally put 'Falling in the arms of a warrior, a heroic tale of heart list and bravery' down. " Xander? Oh he's fetching some blankets. 'nd food. Yer got beaten pretty badly." her next words made him grimace. "Don't yer dare say puke, Angelcakes," his words sounded more pleading than an actual thread.
"Yer arm did look over bad," he recalled. Carefully leaning into her direction and looked at that bandaged hand of hers. "Yer somehow found yer way to me little kingdom," a shagged apartment, near a smelly channel. In a lousy neighborhood. " dis is me 'ome," he'd explained. "Ye can stay if yer loike. Oi mean me cough is pretty comfortable." Doubt it. "Wait wha- no! Not on me carpet!" Do it Maribelle, do it.
fizzelston
Roswell van Breek
And so, she awoke. Did she feel any better? Not really.
Maribelle sprawled out over the couch, eyes narrowed as she snuck a look at poor, poor Roswell. He was a big ass blur, and... why was her head so cold? So fucking wet?? She reached her hand up and nudged the cold, now-damp cloth from her forehead, grimacing at the feeling on her hands. She then propped herself up in her seat, which wasn't a good idea, either. Oh, God, she felt like she was going to-- actually...
"Am I finally dead? Where's the redhead guy?" she asked Roswell, wondering if he, too, was dead, "What's happening? ..I think I'm gonna..."
She trailed off and winced again at the pain in her head. It felt like... her brain was being cleaved in two.
"I wish I were dead. This really fucking hurts." she muttered, "Why am I here? Where am I again? Roswell--" She stopped for a millisecond. "I'm gonna throw up."
3 years, 4 months ago
Roswell sat cross-legged on the edge of his cough. Reading one of those shitty novels (namely: 'Falling in the arms of a warrior, a heroic tale of heart lust and bravery') of his. Roswell didn't even notice Maribelle waking up at first, until she started to speak.
"Yer finally awake," he said. "Don't think so Angelcakes, 'ows yer head?' He asked as he finally put 'Falling in the arms of a warrior, a heroic tale of heart list and bravery' down. " Xander? Oh he's fetching some blankets. 'nd food. Yer got beaten pretty badly." her next words made him grimace. "Don't yer dare say puke, Angelcakes," his words sounded more pleading than an actual thread.
"Yer arm did look over bad," he recalled. Carefully leaning into her direction and looked at that bandaged hand of hers. "Yer somehow found yer way to me little kingdom," a shagged apartment, near a smelly channel. In a lousy neighborhood. " dis is me 'ome," he'd explained. "Ye can stay if yer loike. Oi mean me cough is pretty comfortable." Doubt it. "Wait wha- no! Not on me carpet!" Do it Maribelle, do it.
3 years, 4 months ago