#[ also hello! ngl i somehow missed arthur on your roster the first time i looked and WOW this was a nice surprise !

[priscnblues]

“ THEEEEERE YOU ARE. HI. WELCOME BACK. “  / @multiimadness​

THE WAKING is often much easier than the rising. there’s that beautiful moment of weightlessness that follows, like you’ve spread yourself thin enough to disappear. it’s easily dispersed by a stretch and a yawn, the rousing of muscles bringing about a whole host of aches and pains, thirst, hunger, other bodily needs - but for that singular delicious second of time, there’s nothing. 

MURDERSLAUGHTER put that minute down like a sick fucking puppy. 

THE SECOND YANCY recognizes the face hovering over his own, hears that voice like a sickly sweet southern bell rattling around his skull, his heart jumpstarts. every ounce of his soul wants to start groveling. clearly, he’s done something wrong here - he’s been sleeping on the clock again, or passed out in the library under a stack of books before he realized it was lights out. maybe he got in the middle of a fight, and got clocked - maybe he started a fight and didn’t damn well remember. there were a whole host of maybe’s that yancy could kick around all day if he felt like it, but the sum of it was he must’ve done something wrong. 

THE WARDEN’S FACE swims in and out of view, and yancy can’t put a finger on the reason why. are his eyes not opened enough? he’s got crud in them, he can feel how gummy and caked and stiff every muscle in his face is, but lifting a hand to correct the issue isn’t working. it twitches, pats the sheets underneath him, and yancy scowls mentally. that was weak shit. guess he’s gonna have to put real effort into this. 

YANCY FORCES his arm to rise, and it seems to open the damn floodgates. pain swarms every inch of him, especially when the shock to his system sends him arching, face contorted in a show of pain. that only alerts his skull to the fact he’s up and at’em - the swimming gets worse. his head is throbbing. he manages to glance down; the arm’s in a cast. god, what the hell had happened to him? the pieces weren’t piecing together. his head thumped with every heartbeat. nausea was creeping in to places it shouldn’t and yancy swallowed heavily against the pull. 

AFTER A MOMENT, he was able to breathe steadily enough to speak without shouting. or vomiting. or both. one or the other was probably still incoming. “HEY, uh .... hey. sorry ‘bout all this ... “