Post by FINN MICHAEL KIERAN on Nov 14, 2013 22:36:02 GMT -8
Finn had slunk away to the room of requirement. Well, crawled more likely. Incredibly hungover, and having no inclination of being in conversing distance of other people, he required someplace to go void of sound and people. And, well, just about everything really. He wanted to be alone mostly. Not that he didn't love a house mates, but he was a solitary creature. And the dungeons were getting awfully traffic heavy lately. So he needed a new place to drink and be alone, only in this case it was nurse the hangover, and be alone....and probably sleep.
The room that was conjured for him was simple. Dark, lit only by a stray few candles. Very small, to the eye atleast. And an enormous mass of large cushions and pillows that took up most of the space on the floor, with a blanket. Finn squinted around, looking it over. A look of stupored jubilation came over him as he disrobed to nothing but pants and shoes, and essentially flopped face first into the heap. He haphazardly tossed the blanket on himself, it only landing on his head.
"Ugh...bloody hell this is perfect." His happy groan came muffled from the fluff. The silence was like finding a chest of gold. Finn was never one to actually get hangovers. He wasn't really ever sober enough to have one. He wasn't sure how this one happened, but was very angry with it for being there. But with the heap of cushiony pillows, and the perfectly dim light, he was thrilled. And then, naturally, he wanted a cigarette. Begrudgingly he army crawled forward a bit, pulling out his cigarettes, an ashtray suddenly before him. All that could be seen were a pair of legs, a bit of back, and an arm dangling from the blanket with the occasional disembodied puff of smoke coming from with in it.
The room that was conjured for him was simple. Dark, lit only by a stray few candles. Very small, to the eye atleast. And an enormous mass of large cushions and pillows that took up most of the space on the floor, with a blanket. Finn squinted around, looking it over. A look of stupored jubilation came over him as he disrobed to nothing but pants and shoes, and essentially flopped face first into the heap. He haphazardly tossed the blanket on himself, it only landing on his head.
"Ugh...bloody hell this is perfect." His happy groan came muffled from the fluff. The silence was like finding a chest of gold. Finn was never one to actually get hangovers. He wasn't really ever sober enough to have one. He wasn't sure how this one happened, but was very angry with it for being there. But with the heap of cushiony pillows, and the perfectly dim light, he was thrilled. And then, naturally, he wanted a cigarette. Begrudgingly he army crawled forward a bit, pulling out his cigarettes, an ashtray suddenly before him. All that could be seen were a pair of legs, a bit of back, and an arm dangling from the blanket with the occasional disembodied puff of smoke coming from with in it.
