Now, Droog used shadow magic more than one would know. He used it for cigarettes and arson, when he wanted. Lighters were expensive nowadays. But he didn't figure that it would end up to this.
Him, leant on a wall, nails dug into the plaster as he up chucked ink all over his bedroom carpet. What a mess.
He coughed, spitting out some ink before wobbling to his feet, wiping his mouth. Shit. He looked down at the ink, knowing it wouldn't wash easy. He sighed, looking down at his hands.
They were shaking. He scowled, he was weak. He was weak and pitiful, and it was not him. It was not normal. He coughed softly, before wandering to the bathroom to see how he looked.
He looked like shit, actually. He stood against the sink, staring at his crooked frown and sunk eyes, his slightly flushed shell...
He coughed, then gagged and spilled ink into the sink, shuddering as he hacked. He then hiccupped, coughing as he then shuddered and slumped. Fuck. He hoped nobody walked in on this.
He spat, beginning to wash his mouth out when Spades opened the door. Fuck.
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