Randy Summers (![]() ![]() @ 2015-01-09 11:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | cial, randy |
And the Holy Spirit -- Amen [Cial]
An almost opaque wooziness had overcome his senses. He seemed to have misplaced a great deal of time and distance, though how much he was considerably uncertain. His initial responses to this realization were: First; his back hurt (like somebody had done a Fred and Ginger routine on his spine,) Second; he had a nauseous sensation (similar to when he once fed off a homeless bloke on the Piccadilly Line), Third; he desperately wanted a cigarette (gahhhh, his mouth was so dry); Fourth; he also desperately crazed the taste of virgin blood (delicious); and Finally; he had this deep burning sensation like something was searing through his chest.
The last, of course, was easily explained by the fact that he had a crucifix around his neck which was, in fact, burning a nice Christian scar into his flesh.
"For bloody sake!" He yelped, tearing at the beads that made up the string of the crucifix until it fell from his neck and crumpled to the stone floor. "Who th-- What th-- THIS IS NOT BLEEDIN' FUNNY, MATE!"
His voice, uncharacteristically high pitched and annoyed, echoed throughout the room and then traveled down a nearby hall, disappearing in the darkness. Randy took a moment to pause and assess the situation. He was in a strange stone room. Alone. The smell of his semi-undead flesh was enough to make him vomit. (He, of course, did his level best to refrain from emptying his digestive tract.) That, combined with the dank cemetery-like dampness of his surroundings, made his skin crawl. It was difficult to put his finger on, but there was just an overall eerie creepiness about the place. And--
He quirked a brow.
Someone had a queer, medieval sense of decor.
The room was equipped with a small altar, surrounding by dimly lit candles. On the wall was some sort of Latin scripture, which Randy might have been able to interpret if he hadn't been so bored during those lectures Giles had insisted upon him when he was younger, and what appeared to be a gold-leaf relief of Christ on the cross. What was even more disturbing (aside from suddenly waking up in a catacomb from an Anne Rice novel) was that someone had taken a sincerely disturbing jest to his attire. Long, brown, and monk-like. There was even a cowl.
"Oh, this is a nightmare."