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Post by Ludwig Beilschmidt on Apr 22, 2012 18:13:06 GMT -5
Visiting times nearly always left Ludwig at the end of his tether. Seeing his father was distressing enough, but the non-conversation was what frustrated him the most. It was always an abrupt update on his schedule and process before they descended into an uncomfortable silence where they we both unsure of what to say to one another. At least some things never change.
As per his therapist's advice, he was taking some time for himself-- winding down with a book whilst sitting comfortably on his neatly made bed. Three chapters in and he was beginning to feel a lot better.
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Post by Feliciano Vargas on Apr 22, 2012 18:17:19 GMT -5
Feliciano has always been easy to upset. Admittedly, the reasons he's been upset the older he gets are a lot more serious, but simple things can still reduce the man to tears. Anything from dropping a cup to falling over in front of people.
This time it's a little bit more serious though. They've confiscated his pencils; his perfect, amazing-quality pencils that he's been using in the sketchbook stashed between the matress and frame of his bed since he got here.
They'd been a present too. A present he doesn't know when he's going to get back.
He throws himself on to the bed and buries his face into the pillow, sobbing and wailing loud enough to probably be heard in the corridor.
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Post by Ludwig Beilschmidt on Apr 22, 2012 18:23:42 GMT -5
Well, the peace had been nice while it lasted.
Feliciano bursts into the room-- an unwavering force of disruption, as always. Ludwig barely has time to react before he hears the bed adjacent to his own creaking as the other man throws himself on to it. He finds himself looking up from his book, squinting at the far wall ahead of him. He considers briefly carrying on with his book, but he's never going to get very far with this racket.
"What is it?" He asks in a not-so-comforting manner, snapping his paperback shut.
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Post by Feliciano Vargas on Apr 22, 2012 18:30:40 GMT -5
His roomate's harsh tone just makes him cry even harder. Feliciano remembers this isn't his room at home, his space that's cluttered with his seventeen years of existence. This is just a horrible, sterile room they've put him in because of two silly things he's done.
Although he still doesn't regret them.
He pulls the pillow up over his ears, ready for more angry yelling.
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Post by Ludwig Beilschmidt on Apr 22, 2012 18:33:55 GMT -5
Ludwig looks at him for a moment longer, mouth set in a grim line. Unfortunately he's aware of how harsh he can come across, even if he doesn't mean it. His accent didn't seem to help matters either.
"I asked you a question," he says in what he hopes is a not as threatening tone.
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Post by Feliciano Vargas on Apr 22, 2012 18:45:10 GMT -5
Feliciano just sobs into his pillow more. He doesn't understand why his roomate is questioning him so harshly like this; he'd hoped Ludwig would just ignore him and continue on as usual. He wasn't usually willing to talk to anybody in this place, and Feliciano found him a little bit scary.
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Post by Ludwig Beilschmidt on Apr 22, 2012 19:11:35 GMT -5
Ludwig watches him for a moment more, then stubbornly pushes his glasses back to the bridge of his nose, turns so his back is facing his roommate, and flicks through the pages to attempt to find his place.
"Fine." He says, very nearly asking him if he would mind keeping the noise down, but he bites back that comment for now.
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Post by Feliciano Vargas on Apr 23, 2012 12:07:47 GMT -5
Feliciano's throat feels dry and sore, but he can't stop sobbing. He would just like to be out of this place, this horrible, sterile place that will never feel like a home.
He can't even be comforted by anyone right now.
At that point, he starts hiccuping and coughing. He's all cried out.
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Post by Ludwig Beilschmidt on Apr 23, 2012 15:20:42 GMT -5
He just stares at the same page as Feliciano begins to splutter. The noise and emotion is too much of a distraction for him to read just now, but he feels there's nothing much he can do about it but give Feliciano his space just now.
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Post by Feliciano Vargas on Apr 23, 2012 17:18:43 GMT -5
Feliciano pulls himself up on his bed, breathing heavily while hiccuping and coughing still. It's not a good feeling; the tightness in his chest mixed with the upset and scary thoughts crowding in his mind just make him want to cry harder.
Instead, he starts breathing heavily and irregularly, trying to block everything out. He doesn't pay attention to his roomate- he can barely even remember he has one right now.
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Post by Ludwig Beilschmidt on Apr 24, 2012 14:01:39 GMT -5
Ludwig hunches his shoulders-- pointless, really, he's far to bulky to make himself less noticeable in the small, sterile room --and continues to stare down at his book until either Feliciano quietens down or he leaves.
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Post by Feliciano Vargas on Apr 24, 2012 15:23:30 GMT -5
The coughing and hiccuping keeps going, and Feliciano honestly can't stop it. It's then a disgusting, unwelcome feeling hits in his throat and he realises he's going to be sick.
Instead of actually moving, he sits up, holds his stomach and makes a less-than-pleasant noise.
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Post by Ludwig Beilschmidt on Apr 24, 2012 15:29:28 GMT -5
The retching noise sends of a barrage of alarm bells in his head. He slams his hands over his ears, dropping his book in the process. He squeezes his eyes tight shut and doesn't dare turn around for the potentially disgusting sight.
He tries not to think about it-- he can't or he'll have a bad turn. Instead, he starts counting in sevens to distract himself-- screaming numbers in his head.
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Post by Feliciano Vargas on Apr 27, 2012 7:08:32 GMT -5
Felicano is startled by the sound of the book snapping shut, and his room mate moving around. He doesn't acknowledge Feliciano's existence very often, so to manage to get this bad a reaction out of him, something must be wrong.
Turning around, trying to suppress the sick feeling in his stomach and not gagging, he looks across the room.
"I'm really, really sorry!" he wails.
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