(no subject)
The worst part is when he doesn't dream. That's never a good sign. So when Malcolm Crowe wakes up in his room, he does so with a start, and then flails around until his hand slaps the nightstand.
"Bar," he gasps. "Bar! How long's it been?"
A napkin appears. Malcolm grabs it and squints at it in the dim light.
"Dammit! Months?! Not again!"
Wait, what the hell? Why is the floor shaking?
Malcolm springs up from his bed and nearly faceplants on the floor as the sheets wrap round his legs. After a minute of more flailing, he's managed to stumble to his feet and on to the bathroom, where he's halfway through a shower before the floor starts trembling again.
Bracing himself against the tile walls of his shower, he shakes his head. "That's.... so not good."
A few minutes later, he's managed to throw on shirt and pants, and is standing at the bottom of the stairs, eying all the debris.
"Nope. Not good at all."
"Bar," he gasps. "Bar! How long's it been?"
A napkin appears. Malcolm grabs it and squints at it in the dim light.
"Dammit! Months?! Not again!"
Wait, what the hell? Why is the floor shaking?
Malcolm springs up from his bed and nearly faceplants on the floor as the sheets wrap round his legs. After a minute of more flailing, he's managed to stumble to his feet and on to the bathroom, where he's halfway through a shower before the floor starts trembling again.
Bracing himself against the tile walls of his shower, he shakes his head. "That's.... so not good."
A few minutes later, he's managed to throw on shirt and pants, and is standing at the bottom of the stairs, eying all the debris.
"Nope. Not good at all."