hell has broken free tonight (oversexed) wrote in zenithrp, @ 2016-01-08 22:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | #day 016, damon |
Who: Damon [narrative]
Where: his room
When: mid-morning
Damon's last cogent memory had been walking across a drizzly parking lot to get to his shit-kicking station wagon. It was impossible to miss, plastered with decals and bumper stickers as it was-- all of them had been present when Damon had bought it, and he'd left them be-- and he'd fixed his eyes on it as he plodded along. It had been nearly three in the morning, and he'd just been serviced by a male hooker in a back room at the XXX Meat Market on the outskirts of the city. He'd had a little to drink but he hadn't considered it sufficient to impair him; Damon had a reasonably high tolerance for alcohol. The sky had been dark, no moon or stars visible, and except for the faint backbeat of music from inside the club, the lot had been quiet. He'd had a split second to recognize that someone was coming up fast behind him, and then nothing.
As he awakened, he became alert to the fact that something wasn't as usual. His apartment wasn't far from a meat-packing plant, and it tended to smell particularly malodorous first thing in the morning and last thing at night, for some reason. There was no scent that he could identify in the air, and it was much brighter than his apartment tended to be; Damon could see the light through his closed eyelids. Something had happened, he realized as he remembered the night before. Being suspicious by nature, that had him forcing his eyes open sooner than he might have otherwise.
Nothing was as he might have expected. Damon tended to keep a neat environment, no matter how cheap the building in which he was living might be or how small the apartment. He'd grown up in squalor and clutter and he was done with it. The room in which he found himself was immaculate. His bleary eyes focused on a glass chandelier, and as he slowly turned his head from side to side he saw a long mirror on a wall, art prints on two others, an extremely comfortable bed on which he was lying, lamps and couches, all in elegant rich colors. It was the living quarters Damon had always felt he deserved... but how had he gotten here? He tipped his head downward again and saw that there was an IV in his arm. Unceremoniously, without hesitating at all, he ripped it out, heedless of the fine spray of blood that dotted his hospital gown and a bit of the sheet. He didn't so much as flinch or make a sound at the sudden flare of pain.
Showing no real outward reaction at all to where he'd found himself, Damon got out of the bed and began walking slowly around the room, examining each thing he came to. There was a door at the far side of the couch, and he discovered it was locked with no apparent way to unlock it from within. He paused in front of it for long moments, then nodded once and continued to the next door, which contained a large bathroom that was somehow spare and lavish all at the same time. He felt slow and sluggish and that wouldn't do at all, so he decided now would be an appropriate time to shower. Interestingly enough, the bath and shaving products he found were the ones he used at home, exact same brands down to every last razor and shampoo bottle.
Damon left the hospital gown where it lay once he was done, not overly concerned with clothing. He wrapped a towel around his waist, raked long fingers through his damp hair and called it good, ambling back out into the main room to figure out what was next. After a few moments gazing out the windows and contemplating, he turned to the computer desk and sat down, switching the power button on. Maybe that would lend him a clue as to exactly what was going on here.