his vision unblurs to a spacious, stranger room and an idly expectant eye almost so. ( but, he gathers, this isn't a situation he is a stranger to. ) enveloping him is an odd mixture of soft and pain. it's dim in this room, yet still light, pale colors that never fully darken. he speaks, voice edged with drowse and words like sand in his throat; " morning after? 'cause I don't think you'd be nice enough to save me. don't mind either, though. " a hint of a smirk.
Isana ertainly wished that he had saved him. It would be completely preferable to... This. His hand drops from the tight bandaging around his left side, disgustingly lumped here and there where he can't help it but even in the haze he's in, the memory floats to the surface. Standing impatiently in the washroom, hands wrapping gauze around skin that makes him so angry to see. An impatient, childish desperation as he tapes the edges down, he wants and it's not happening fast enough but he can't have with that monster-looking half in the way. It would set off the mood, he had thought again and again.
How distasteful, as Isana perches on the edge of the bed and casts one long-suffering one-eyed glare Daiji's way. Why wasn't Frankenstein's monster there a mood-ruiner for him, if the standard was ugly. Isana wrenches his gaze away, almost like pouting. His back hurts, his legs hurt, his rings look sweat-dirty and his robe's a shameful naked walk across the room.Completely distasteful, "What about neither." He grumbles before standing, slipping from sheets that aren't a high enough thread count to almost stumble to the robe. Terrycloth? Christ alive, this was terrible. He pulls it on, deciding that it'd be best for his temper to ignore how messily their clothes are cast about. Trying to ignore a lot. Staples under his fingers, a murmured comment about some white hair poking from the bandage edge. And a lot, lot more-be he wouldn't let himself get into it.
"Do you see the room service menu?" This is a hotel, right? It doesn't look like one of my properties."