Red. Deep, rich red everywhere and the soft fabric and it was a bed, and red too, and he was on it, oh gods--
A screech could be heard from outside his room, and a crashing sound, and then he burst into the hallway, scrambling away from the door as quickly as he could, to... rather un-gracefully hit the wall all the way on the other side of his hall, in his mad rush to leave the place he'd woken up.
Anyone who wants to come out to that part of the hall would get to see the burd sitting on the ground, pressing his knees to his chest, wings up around him, taking deep breaths to calm back down again, casting very wary looks at the room, if he looked at it at all, rather than burying his face against his knees. He hasn't put on a mask, so he's easily enough recognizable; he didn't stay in the room long enough to realize there was a mask, or that he ought to put it on in the first place.
The room's door was still wide open. Inside, it was already a mess. The bedspread had nearly been torn from the bed in his mad scramble to get off it, and his wings' flapping in doing so had upset the table. The bowl of apples, the key, the mask and its note, the remote control, everything had been dashed to the ground. It was probably a miracle that neither the glass bowl or ceramic mask had broken.
He had, however, stepped on the remote and turned the TV on. Should anyone look, it was quiet, showing images of a man being killed in disgustingly torturous ways, torn apart, beheaded, strangled, impaled, the list went on. Someone really hated that guy, apparently. In between those scenes, now and then, were images of someone else -- someone with long, curly gold hair, either as a peacefully, relatively neatly dead, skinny little androgynous teenager... or a similar someone, but clearly alive, a grown, obviously adult man, relaxing, hanging out in a pool or a tub or wherever that was, having a good time.
Feel free to WTF at him there in the hall, if you'd like. That screech probably managed to be heard from the other rooms, if that's what roused your interest.
Open!
A screech could be heard from outside his room, and a crashing sound, and then he burst into the hallway, scrambling away from the door as quickly as he could, to... rather un-gracefully hit the wall all the way on the other side of his hall, in his mad rush to leave the place he'd woken up.
Anyone who wants to come out to that part of the hall would get to see the burd sitting on the ground, pressing his knees to his chest, wings up around him, taking deep breaths to calm back down again, casting very wary looks at the room, if he looked at it at all, rather than burying his face against his knees. He hasn't put on a mask, so he's easily enough recognizable; he didn't stay in the room long enough to realize there was a mask, or that he ought to put it on in the first place.
The room's door was still wide open. Inside, it was already a mess. The bedspread had nearly been torn from the bed in his mad scramble to get off it, and his wings' flapping in doing so had upset the table. The bowl of apples, the key, the mask and its note, the remote control, everything had been dashed to the ground. It was probably a miracle that neither the glass bowl or ceramic mask had broken.
He had, however, stepped on the remote and turned the TV on. Should anyone look, it was quiet, showing images of a man being killed in disgustingly torturous ways, torn apart, beheaded, strangled, impaled, the list went on. Someone really hated that guy, apparently. In between those scenes, now and then, were images of someone else -- someone with long, curly gold hair, either as a peacefully, relatively neatly dead, skinny little androgynous teenager... or a similar someone, but clearly alive, a grown, obviously adult man, relaxing, hanging out in a pool or a tub or wherever that was, having a good time.
Feel free to WTF at him there in the hall, if you'd like. That screech probably managed to be heard from the other rooms, if that's what roused your interest.