That Dust Is Gonna Settle [ OPEN ]
Characters: Rion Steiner, OPEN.
Content: After a month-long coma that followed the fight with Birdman, Rion Steiner doesn’t have much going for him other than to wake up to yet another bedridden day. At least he’s conscious this time, which is debatably a good thing.
Location: St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Rion’s Room.
Time of day: Throughout the day.
Warnings: Angry kid is accompanied by his new set of disturbing, eyeless icons.
[ ooc: Rion is open to visitations from anyone... doctors and concerned individuals alike. That being said, everyone enter in their own threads. If you’re going to tag with another character, please ask them first. Stop by and say hi to Manhattan’s Angry Kid! ]
If it was one more thing Rion was grateful for, it was that his walkman was still functional. In spite of his episode the other day, in which he had previously sent many of the equipment attached to him flying in here and there directions... he thankfully avoided breaking anything valuable (save for maybe a few of the doctor’s equipment).
Most of that mess had been cleaned up now in his now tidy little room, even if he can’t see any that.
He could move. His left arm in a sling; fingers and muscles could still move. Getting out of bed, unfortunately, required the assistance of another and getting into a wheelchair. For the time being he couldn’t move it on his own so well with just one arm, so the others took it upon themselves to wheel him around the cathedral when strolling.
The concept proved strange and a little difficult getting used to... the feeling was strange. Everything was strange. People cared about him. People took care of him. People looked after him. This all had been an alien concept to him when before... waking up only to be greeted by pain and a syringe. Pain followed in constant company afterwards. At least now he had the morphine’s help to relieve much of that. Thanks to the drugs, though, the boy had some difficulty carrying his head as well as the rest of him, so he just stayed in bed, the sheets and heavy laid pinning his legs down like heavy weights to him.
Winter was definitely here when Rion woke up that day to the cold chill on his face. He didn’t mind the cold so much; as opposed to the Michelangelo breeze and the rains that poured down over the dank city, this was a welcome reminder to the waking world.
Sitting upright, he reached for the walkman still in tact, laying it down over his lap while probing the surface of the nightstand beside him. There, he grabbed one of the many cassettes he had organized in pile. They were aligned in two stacks Rion had accumulated over time (both when he had been living on the streets as well as mysterious gifts laid out conveniently in his path for him to find). One being a combination of music-Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, Johann Pachelbel, to name a few-the other pile consisting of radio dramas, also gifts left behind for him to locate for Rion’s convenience.
Running his thumb over the label of the one cassette picked out from the pile, the title flashed across Rion’s mind: The Giant Chicken Heart That Ate New York. That stupid cassette left behind by V, who described it as “the most memorable kitsch drama to make it onto the air, depending”...
V was a very strange man. Rion hadn’t heard much from him in awhile. Made him curious... and wonder why he even bothered caring at all. Because other people gave a shit about him now? That certainly must’ve made a difference, yes. It still didn’t make him regret what he had done, or the fact that it was all at the cost of his eyes.
In spite of the circumstances, he saw no use in complaining about the unfairness that life insofar had offered him. Rion didn’t bleat over his stipulation, or dwell over what had been done to him: The hours of torture he had endured that deprived him of his eyes, as well as the current inability to walk and use his left arm. Unwrapping the bandages from his head, Rion left the blackness of where his eyes had once been, of where they had been taken from him, exposed... he didn’t even try to hide the fact.
There was no point in being timid about it, even if it did make others uncomfortable. At the very least it saved him from having to explain, Why yes, I was, in fact, tortured brutally for several hours, had my eyes gouged out, my home nearly torn down, and my family very well those close to being viciously slaughtered in the same way. From what he understood, the cathedral had been attacked during his coma. That alone incited enough disgust in some of the occupants of this damned city.
Why are you all so surprised? Birdman is psycho, if that much wasn’t obvious from the very start. Did you honestly think he wanted to meet me so badly so we could play board games?
The route in which Birdman had taken to contact Rion over the network also should have been more than enough to establish the connection that something was not right here... assuming that people ever paid attention to small details.
Stupid. Even his brief excursion to the network didn’t help but invite further frustration with his fellow citizens. If they could be considered fellow at all. Rion wasn’t anything like them.
Having very little to occupy his morning and, well, throughout the rest of his day while he began recovering, the boy just leaned back into his pillows. He placed the headphones over his ears, listening into the words that spoke and yet meant very little to him at all this time. It was just a much needed distraction.
The door was open, just a crack, in case anyone wanted to take a peek inside and say hello.
Content: After a month-long coma that followed the fight with Birdman, Rion Steiner doesn’t have much going for him other than to wake up to yet another bedridden day. At least he’s conscious this time, which is debatably a good thing.
Location: St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Rion’s Room.
Time of day: Throughout the day.
Warnings: Angry kid is accompanied by his new set of disturbing, eyeless icons.
[ ooc: Rion is open to visitations from anyone... doctors and concerned individuals alike. That being said, everyone enter in their own threads. If you’re going to tag with another character, please ask them first. Stop by and say hi to Manhattan’s Angry Kid! ]
If it was one more thing Rion was grateful for, it was that his walkman was still functional. In spite of his episode the other day, in which he had previously sent many of the equipment attached to him flying in here and there directions... he thankfully avoided breaking anything valuable (save for maybe a few of the doctor’s equipment).
Most of that mess had been cleaned up now in his now tidy little room, even if he can’t see any that.
He could move. His left arm in a sling; fingers and muscles could still move. Getting out of bed, unfortunately, required the assistance of another and getting into a wheelchair. For the time being he couldn’t move it on his own so well with just one arm, so the others took it upon themselves to wheel him around the cathedral when strolling.
The concept proved strange and a little difficult getting used to... the feeling was strange. Everything was strange. People cared about him. People took care of him. People looked after him. This all had been an alien concept to him when before... waking up only to be greeted by pain and a syringe. Pain followed in constant company afterwards. At least now he had the morphine’s help to relieve much of that. Thanks to the drugs, though, the boy had some difficulty carrying his head as well as the rest of him, so he just stayed in bed, the sheets and heavy laid pinning his legs down like heavy weights to him.
Winter was definitely here when Rion woke up that day to the cold chill on his face. He didn’t mind the cold so much; as opposed to the Michelangelo breeze and the rains that poured down over the dank city, this was a welcome reminder to the waking world.
Sitting upright, he reached for the walkman still in tact, laying it down over his lap while probing the surface of the nightstand beside him. There, he grabbed one of the many cassettes he had organized in pile. They were aligned in two stacks Rion had accumulated over time (both when he had been living on the streets as well as mysterious gifts laid out conveniently in his path for him to find). One being a combination of music-Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, Johann Pachelbel, to name a few-the other pile consisting of radio dramas, also gifts left behind for him to locate for Rion’s convenience.
Running his thumb over the label of the one cassette picked out from the pile, the title flashed across Rion’s mind: The Giant Chicken Heart That Ate New York. That stupid cassette left behind by V, who described it as “the most memorable kitsch drama to make it onto the air, depending”...
V was a very strange man. Rion hadn’t heard much from him in awhile. Made him curious... and wonder why he even bothered caring at all. Because other people gave a shit about him now? That certainly must’ve made a difference, yes. It still didn’t make him regret what he had done, or the fact that it was all at the cost of his eyes.
In spite of the circumstances, he saw no use in complaining about the unfairness that life insofar had offered him. Rion didn’t bleat over his stipulation, or dwell over what had been done to him: The hours of torture he had endured that deprived him of his eyes, as well as the current inability to walk and use his left arm. Unwrapping the bandages from his head, Rion left the blackness of where his eyes had once been, of where they had been taken from him, exposed... he didn’t even try to hide the fact.
There was no point in being timid about it, even if it did make others uncomfortable. At the very least it saved him from having to explain, Why yes, I was, in fact, tortured brutally for several hours, had my eyes gouged out, my home nearly torn down, and my family very well those close to being viciously slaughtered in the same way. From what he understood, the cathedral had been attacked during his coma. That alone incited enough disgust in some of the occupants of this damned city.
Why are you all so surprised? Birdman is psycho, if that much wasn’t obvious from the very start. Did you honestly think he wanted to meet me so badly so we could play board games?
The route in which Birdman had taken to contact Rion over the network also should have been more than enough to establish the connection that something was not right here... assuming that people ever paid attention to small details.
Stupid. Even his brief excursion to the network didn’t help but invite further frustration with his fellow citizens. If they could be considered fellow at all. Rion wasn’t anything like them.
Having very little to occupy his morning and, well, throughout the rest of his day while he began recovering, the boy just leaned back into his pillows. He placed the headphones over his ears, listening into the words that spoke and yet meant very little to him at all this time. It was just a much needed distraction.
The door was open, just a crack, in case anyone wanted to take a peek inside and say hello.