[ Waking up after being knocked unconscious is always the worst part; he's left with a fantastic headache as he winces back into reality, gripping his head as a few details register in quick successful. For one, the brand on his arm is very real, and it's still very much there, swollen and angry. His clothes are different too, whatever he might've used as a weapon stripped away. And the room he's in has a terrible draft from half-crumbled walls, dead vines crawling up between the grooves and cracks of stone, dark and terrible with the sound of agony.
His last experience with "jail" was downright plush compared to this. When he sits up, it's with the clatter of a chain. He narrows his eyes at it before he notices it's locked up someone else, too. That man in the woods with the red eyes. ]
...You. [ His tone's not harsh; more puzzled than anything. ] What are you doing here?
[ He hadn't seemed recklessly bloodthirsty or anything last time they'd met. ]
vincent ; jail
His last experience with "jail" was downright plush compared to this. When he sits up, it's with the clatter of a chain. He narrows his eyes at it before he notices it's locked up someone else, too. That man in the woods with the red eyes. ]
...You. [ His tone's not harsh; more puzzled than anything. ] What are you doing here?
[ He hadn't seemed recklessly bloodthirsty or anything last time they'd met. ]