[ It's a lot, looking at his own grave. Irwin has for the most part become desensitized to the image of the two helmets and the sea of headstones around them as the week's worn on - he's no stranger to death, after all - but for some reason, his shoulders feel heavier this evening. Maybe it's the fact that he's nearly out of cigarettes and has pretty dramatically failed at the whole cutting back thing ever since the graveyard first appeared near the bonfire. Maybe it's cumulative damage. He doesn't know. He just knows that he's dead, honest to God dead. Never coming back to the living world, never seeing his parents again unless by some miracle they end up being some of the select few that end up here. Quite possibly never going to see sunlight again.
Wade heaves a sigh and makes his way back to the Invincible after he grinds out the end of his last cigarette for the time being, acutely aware of the nausea and racing heart he'd inflicted upon himself by adding one final link to the chain with every step he takes. Last he checked, Rosinante and Mary are out somewhere, which is preferable - he'd like some time alone to process this; surely enough, there's nobody in the room to hear him cough and subsequently clear his throat.
It's the force of that cough that brings on a wave of nausea a lot more imminent than the vague sensation he was feeling on his way up the the grungy stairs. He has enough time to step into the bathroom without closing the door behind himself and kneel in front of the toilet, resting his forearm on the edge of the seat and his head on his forehead. Wade's not sure how long he spends like that, eyes closed, heart beating sickeningly fast behind his sternum and head throbbing. His thoughts inevitably move to earlier events of the day - seeing Jesse sitting beside strewn offerings and a broken grave marker, staring down at a candle on his own.
Oh, God, they're really dead. Wade retches. The apartment's front door opens. ]
#2 | cw vomit
Wade heaves a sigh and makes his way back to the Invincible after he grinds out the end of his last cigarette for the time being, acutely aware of the nausea and racing heart he'd inflicted upon himself by adding one final link to the chain with every step he takes. Last he checked, Rosinante and Mary are out somewhere, which is preferable - he'd like some time alone to process this; surely enough, there's nobody in the room to hear him cough and subsequently clear his throat.
It's the force of that cough that brings on a wave of nausea a lot more imminent than the vague sensation he was feeling on his way up the the grungy stairs. He has enough time to step into the bathroom without closing the door behind himself and kneel in front of the toilet, resting his forearm on the edge of the seat and his head on his forehead. Wade's not sure how long he spends like that, eyes closed, heart beating sickeningly fast behind his sternum and head throbbing. His thoughts inevitably move to earlier events of the day - seeing Jesse sitting beside strewn offerings and a broken grave marker, staring down at a candle on his own.
Oh, God, they're really dead. Wade retches. The apartment's front door opens. ]