Post by Deleted on Jul 4, 2012 20:59:43 GMT -6
It was the ache in the back of Wales’ mind that woke him up from his sleep, not the hardness of the ground or the staleness of the air. Groaning and rolling over, his left arm numb from being slept on, Howell unraveled himself from his awkward sleeping position, shook out the pins and needles from his hand, before yawning and stretching. Running a hand through his hair, making it even wilder, Wales drowsily looked around the room that he was in. Truthfully, there wasn’t much to be seemed save for bare rafters, various sized crates and boxes, and furniture-sized mounds covered with dusty white sheets.
“Hmm… ay must bae en the loft...”
The thought itself didn’t faze him really, he has awoken in odder places but continuing to look around, Wales blinked in confusion. How on earth did he get there? The last thing he remembered honestly was walking around some random hallway and then… Scratching his head in his perplexity, Howell winced when his hand scrapped against a rather large bump on his head. “The ‘ell?” Even more confused, the Welshman reached down to retrieve the form of his “borrowed” fire poker and began to spin the metal tool in his hand while the other examined gently the bump on his head. Coughing slightly form the dust in the air, surely stirred up from his movements, Wales began to look around, poking either his toe or the tip of his fire poke at various covered items, when unexpectedly a wave of nausea raced through Howell’s body, causing him to stumble around before dropping to his knees, groaning.
Clutching his stomach and cringing to rest his forehead upon the grimy floorboards, Wales shut his eyes tight as he pushed through waves of rolling nausea; the tightening on his insides and the pain caused him to break out into a sweat. Wales managed to only gag a few times, dry heaving up nothing instead of the precious fluids from his stomach. Maybe it was something he ate, or rather didn’t eat; perhaps it was like of water… whatever the reason was for Wales’ sudden sickness, it got to the point that he simply fell over onto his side and curled up into a pathetic fetal-position, ball. Moaning and groaning, cursing in several languages though mainly in Welsh, with his eyes shut tight, and him whimpering like a child. There was no one around and on top of everything; he was beginning to develop a very bad headache.
The room got cold, Howell’s sweats turned chilly as well and, shivering, Howell fought through another wave of nausea, his thoughts turning dark. Perhaps he was suffering from dehydration, or had been drugged while he was asleep, whatever the reason images of no reason flashed through his mind, some terrifying, others of black dragons, but in the end after what felt like hours though it must’ve only have been a few minutes, it all lessened to the point that Wales could roll over onto his knees and forearms. Cursing a few more times and struggling to make it to his feet, though having to try a few times, Howell managed to right himself up and leaning against a wooden, support pillar Howell took a few minutes to steady his breathing and wipe off the sweat from his face.
“Whayt the ‘ell was thayt?” Shaking his head without coming up with any answers, he began muttering to himself about finding a bathroom or kitchen when he stopped, the hairs on the back of his neck having gone erect and a heartbeat full of adrenaline seized through his veins. He had… heard something. The attic was dim, there were a lot of windows and the gray sky outside illuminated most of the room, but there were still dark corners and numerous places for things to be hidden. The sounds that he had heard… Howell couldn’t quite place it. Straining his ears to hear, backing up against a wall to scan the attic, Howell decided that now would be a good time to locate how the hell he was going to get of this dusty attic.
“Hmm… ay must bae en the loft...”
The thought itself didn’t faze him really, he has awoken in odder places but continuing to look around, Wales blinked in confusion. How on earth did he get there? The last thing he remembered honestly was walking around some random hallway and then… Scratching his head in his perplexity, Howell winced when his hand scrapped against a rather large bump on his head. “The ‘ell?” Even more confused, the Welshman reached down to retrieve the form of his “borrowed” fire poker and began to spin the metal tool in his hand while the other examined gently the bump on his head. Coughing slightly form the dust in the air, surely stirred up from his movements, Wales began to look around, poking either his toe or the tip of his fire poke at various covered items, when unexpectedly a wave of nausea raced through Howell’s body, causing him to stumble around before dropping to his knees, groaning.
Clutching his stomach and cringing to rest his forehead upon the grimy floorboards, Wales shut his eyes tight as he pushed through waves of rolling nausea; the tightening on his insides and the pain caused him to break out into a sweat. Wales managed to only gag a few times, dry heaving up nothing instead of the precious fluids from his stomach. Maybe it was something he ate, or rather didn’t eat; perhaps it was like of water… whatever the reason was for Wales’ sudden sickness, it got to the point that he simply fell over onto his side and curled up into a pathetic fetal-position, ball. Moaning and groaning, cursing in several languages though mainly in Welsh, with his eyes shut tight, and him whimpering like a child. There was no one around and on top of everything; he was beginning to develop a very bad headache.
The room got cold, Howell’s sweats turned chilly as well and, shivering, Howell fought through another wave of nausea, his thoughts turning dark. Perhaps he was suffering from dehydration, or had been drugged while he was asleep, whatever the reason images of no reason flashed through his mind, some terrifying, others of black dragons, but in the end after what felt like hours though it must’ve only have been a few minutes, it all lessened to the point that Wales could roll over onto his knees and forearms. Cursing a few more times and struggling to make it to his feet, though having to try a few times, Howell managed to right himself up and leaning against a wooden, support pillar Howell took a few minutes to steady his breathing and wipe off the sweat from his face.
“Whayt the ‘ell was thayt?” Shaking his head without coming up with any answers, he began muttering to himself about finding a bathroom or kitchen when he stopped, the hairs on the back of his neck having gone erect and a heartbeat full of adrenaline seized through his veins. He had… heard something. The attic was dim, there were a lot of windows and the gray sky outside illuminated most of the room, but there were still dark corners and numerous places for things to be hidden. The sounds that he had heard… Howell couldn’t quite place it. Straining his ears to hear, backing up against a wall to scan the attic, Howell decided that now would be a good time to locate how the hell he was going to get of this dusty attic.