@dxctortoxic
his journey up to this point was a mix between a limp and a sway, as he’s too dreary to walk with purpose and too injured to carry his own weight. his hand grasps upon the rusting metal fence lining this side of the sidewalk, its too short for him to lean his weight on, but he’s giving his best attempt at using it to give his weary legs a break.
when roslin takes that moment to rest and regain his energy, he also takes inventory. the blood dripping from a laceration on his forehead has made its way into his eyes, and stupidly he rubs them, as if it wasn’t going to spread the mess. ❝ f - fuck .... ❞ he mutters, as his eyes sting and they begin to water. he realizes then too, that besides this new nuisance , he isn’t in much pain anymore, instead, a numbness is creeping through his limbs and dulling his senses.
he knows that isn’t a good sign.
he looks around, hoping to find some place better to rest than the metal fence. his brain rummages through the sight of closed shops and office signs - until he sees the word ‘ doctor ’ and a light bulb flickers in his head. that could be his only hope, and while he truly believes his mind is playing tricks on him and showing what him what he needs to see, he musters up the strength to travel because this attempt would be better than succumbing to his injuries out in the open.
though its not too far away, it takes what seems like hours ( really, minutes ) to get to his potential haven. he’s hobbling and holding on to the fence, taking short moments where he squeezes his eyes shut and wheezes before he drags himself closer. by the time he goes up to the door he is all too weak to give an effective knock and instead slumps against it, causing a loud thud. ❝ help , ❞ he croaks. he struggles with the door knob , his bloody hands coating it and making it ever more slippery and difficult to grasp. hes struggling , leaning and dirtying the paint job and the ground beneath him. ❝ help ... help me. ❞
