The knocking jerks him out of whatever gloom he'd fallen into. The menu screen for The Day Kennedy Died flickers and begins another loop. Shit.
The Balladeer tries to get to his feet and stumbles, catching himself on the couch and sending a small stack of books toppling to the ground. A few empty bottles clatter over at his feet. Watching them, he has a sudden wild desire to smash one. No, that's stupid. He needs to make whoever's at the door go away, so he can stay in and keep thinking about what a terrible person he is. Ugh, he feels sick.
He intended to go to his bedroom and maybe lock the door, but the floor is shifting around such that it's a little difficult to get there. If he stays up any longer, he thinks he might actually throw up. Instead he finds himself outside the bathroom. Fine, fine. That's fine. He enters without bothering to turn on the light, and goes to sit in the bathtub. That makes sense. It's the shame tub. Maybe if he sits in the shame tub long enough, he can wash all the innocent blood off.
He snorts, though the sound comes out rather like a choked sob. Oh god, what is he even doing with his life? Sitting in the tub doesn't even seem to have worked out; he's sort of diagonal, with one leg half-out and the other folded up in an almost painful way. Did he hit it? Moving seems too hard, so he just stays there and leans his head back against the cool porcelain.
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The Balladeer tries to get to his feet and stumbles, catching himself on the couch and sending a small stack of books toppling to the ground. A few empty bottles clatter over at his feet. Watching them, he has a sudden wild desire to smash one. No, that's stupid. He needs to make whoever's at the door go away, so he can stay in and keep thinking about what a terrible person he is. Ugh, he feels sick.
He intended to go to his bedroom and maybe lock the door, but the floor is shifting around such that it's a little difficult to get there. If he stays up any longer, he thinks he might actually throw up. Instead he finds himself outside the bathroom. Fine, fine. That's fine. He enters without bothering to turn on the light, and goes to sit in the bathtub. That makes sense. It's the shame tub. Maybe if he sits in the shame tub long enough, he can wash all the innocent blood off.
He snorts, though the sound comes out rather like a choked sob. Oh god, what is he even doing with his life? Sitting in the tub doesn't even seem to have worked out; he's sort of diagonal, with one leg half-out and the other folded up in an almost painful way. Did he hit it? Moving seems too hard, so he just stays there and leans his head back against the cool porcelain.
Shame tub.