[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; line-height: 150%; color: #494949; font-family: karla; font-size: 9pt; letter-spacing: 0.2px; word-spacing: 1px; margin-top: 10px;"]he's felt weird lately; well, he always kind of had. revise. he feels kind of weird, more than usual. he isn't sure why, but he thinks about his parents— ( "rory run!" ) — and past ( he ran, hid, but never left ) much more than usual. it's not foreign to him, as it was rooted in every single issue he seemingly had, but he's able to push it down. silence those demons. but not this time. he never believed in psychics, never believed in people who claimed to sense a presence, but after this? shit.
"closing in on the lodge with a newcomer. in need of a medic"
damn, it was the same song and dance, wasn't it? if rory could, he'd stay in bed for the rest of the day; sleep away the uneasiness that clung to the pit of his stomach but despite his minor resentment towards edmund, he felt some semblance of duty to the lodge itself. he didn't have many friends, if at all, but he did have a place— and routine— he found himself comfortable with. and plus, he was aware of holland's presence. he was angry with him—sure— nearly unforgiving, but he found himself okay with the prospect; of just knowing him from afar. rory's heart leapt every time he saw holland, still there, counting down the days he'd potentially go.
he hurries into jeans, boots, and a jacket, nearly stumbling over oakley in the process, who lounges in the middle of the floor. he glares, but keeps it moving nonetheless, hurrying down the halls until he reaches odessa's room. he doesn't bother to knock — not really one to think in under pressure or limited time — throwing the door open. "medic needed." he'd parrot, leaving the door ajar as he bustles down the stairs. the door opens just as he reaches it nearly taking him out in the process.
". . .found him during a patrol. bullet in his leg. probably would've frozen to death if we didn't get to him first." a flintlocker, announces as he makes his way inside. had rory known they were so close to the lodge, he wouldn't have bothered to dress for proper occasion. he'd summoned odessa at least, if nothing else. he veers his way to the kitchen instead, hoping to at least make his trip worthwhile where he hears it— he wishes that he was wrong, but it's unmistakable. it's a voice that haunts his nightmares, traumatizes his past, and yet the words are so innocent. "oh c'mon, I don't know about that boys. I'd like to think I was doing just fine." he's frozen, not wanting to turn in case he was right — please let this bad dream, he begs for it to be so. — and he was.
"holy shit!" you could see where he got his mouth from.
rory is unable to help himself, turning to face what he already know is true and it is; his father stands there, stupefied by lodge and he looks at right at him. they shared the same eyes, same demeanor; rory even brandished this man's signature smirk. the difference is that the man is older, more physically inclined. wrinkles caress his features, something that rory doesn't remember him being there before. no doubt the fucker's gotten older, but one thing still remained: the look. rory knew he knew, and expected to announce it to the lodge— but he doesn't. Instead, his eyes move towards one of the flintlockers that alleviate him, requesting they place him on one of "them nice ass sofas" before going into a story about his beloved lazyboy.
he didn't have to speak a word at all to tell rory he knew. hell, maybe he even got the reaction he was searching for. rory stands there nearly traumatized; slackjawed and glaring, knuckles whitening from his clutch on the counter. maybe he was a goddamn psychic.
hunter wedgeworth was alive and out of all places, he was here.
/ because i feel like there isn't anything really worth replying for, ya'll don't have to. however, if you feel like you can muster out something go ahead! point is that rory's father is here. ha.
"closing in on the lodge with a newcomer. in need of a medic"
damn, it was the same song and dance, wasn't it? if rory could, he'd stay in bed for the rest of the day; sleep away the uneasiness that clung to the pit of his stomach but despite his minor resentment towards edmund, he felt some semblance of duty to the lodge itself. he didn't have many friends, if at all, but he did have a place— and routine— he found himself comfortable with. and plus, he was aware of holland's presence. he was angry with him—sure— nearly unforgiving, but he found himself okay with the prospect; of just knowing him from afar. rory's heart leapt every time he saw holland, still there, counting down the days he'd potentially go.
he hurries into jeans, boots, and a jacket, nearly stumbling over oakley in the process, who lounges in the middle of the floor. he glares, but keeps it moving nonetheless, hurrying down the halls until he reaches odessa's room. he doesn't bother to knock — not really one to think in under pressure or limited time — throwing the door open. "medic needed." he'd parrot, leaving the door ajar as he bustles down the stairs. the door opens just as he reaches it nearly taking him out in the process.
". . .found him during a patrol. bullet in his leg. probably would've frozen to death if we didn't get to him first." a flintlocker, announces as he makes his way inside. had rory known they were so close to the lodge, he wouldn't have bothered to dress for proper occasion. he'd summoned odessa at least, if nothing else. he veers his way to the kitchen instead, hoping to at least make his trip worthwhile where he hears it— he wishes that he was wrong, but it's unmistakable. it's a voice that haunts his nightmares, traumatizes his past, and yet the words are so innocent. "oh c'mon, I don't know about that boys. I'd like to think I was doing just fine." he's frozen, not wanting to turn in case he was right — please let this bad dream, he begs for it to be so. — and he was.
"holy shit!" you could see where he got his mouth from.
rory is unable to help himself, turning to face what he already know is true and it is; his father stands there, stupefied by lodge and he looks at right at him. they shared the same eyes, same demeanor; rory even brandished this man's signature smirk. the difference is that the man is older, more physically inclined. wrinkles caress his features, something that rory doesn't remember him being there before. no doubt the fucker's gotten older, but one thing still remained: the look. rory knew he knew, and expected to announce it to the lodge— but he doesn't. Instead, his eyes move towards one of the flintlockers that alleviate him, requesting they place him on one of "them nice ass sofas" before going into a story about his beloved lazyboy.
he didn't have to speak a word at all to tell rory he knew. hell, maybe he even got the reaction he was searching for. rory stands there nearly traumatized; slackjawed and glaring, knuckles whitening from his clutch on the counter. maybe he was a goddamn psychic.
hunter wedgeworth was alive and out of all places, he was here.
/ because i feel like there isn't anything really worth replying for, ya'll don't have to. however, if you feel like you can muster out something go ahead! point is that rory's father is here. ha.
![[Image: 1aec1babefc966be2cc40a312e2fd844--gavin-...-faces.jpg]](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/1a/ec/1b/1aec1babefc966be2cc40a312e2fd844--gavin-oconnor-funny-faces.jpg)