It's always weird, waking from anything remotely close to deep sleep.

You get the odd sensation of emerging from something not of this world, but from something else. As if you've been somewhere far, far away and only now have you decided unknowingly return to something that is familiar, tangible. The sharp intake of breath, whether it be panicked or as smooth as glass, is always the first thing you seem to notice, followed by whatever thought that decides to rapidly invade your mind.

This, however, is not what was going through Vint's head when he jolted awake on the floor. It wasn't in a panicked fashion, but rather as if shoved by life, as if to say "Hurry up, and wake up." For a few moments, the redneck would lay on his back, staring at a blank ceiling, green eyes slowly rolling over the blotted (and cracking?) surface. Then, his voice brought forth his first thought:

"Whar the heeel ahm ah?"

He wasn't home, that's for sure, or any other place he recognized. This, of course, wasn't entirely out of the ordinary. He didn't have a hangover, so he wasn't drinking last night. His bottom lip tightened as his brow furrowed. It was morning, wasn't it? The pimp looked down to casually glance at his watch, his eyes still bleary from rousing from his sleep. It was then that his brow furrowed even deeper as he realized his beat up, leather wristed watch was not on his person. "Wut the heel?" Vint would mutter darkly, searching his pockets. His phone was there, so that was good, but no wallet; no pocket knife either. Groaning upward in a fashion that can only be issued when one's morning is already not going as expected, he began to clear his head and gather the situation around him. 

The room had no furniture, no decorations, nothing - a blank canvas. It was fairly small, and not at all familiar, still. "Wut the fuck is goin' on 'roun 'ere?" Vint said, his hands groping around the outsides of his pockets. His money and his cigarettes were priority, one because it mattered most, and the other for his morning fix. Neither would be there, and anger began to froth over in his morning frustration. "Common' now! Yew got tew be kidd'n me!" The only explanation: he was mugged. And that wouldn't do.

"Who the hell takes a man's wahlet an' nawt 'is cell?" Vint yelled angrily, whipping out to see what time it was... only to discover even that wasn't his. Instead, it had three buttons, a message scrolling out instructions. "Ri-lease condishons..?" The redneck's fingers began to play with the gadget in his hand, his mind turning over the phone's demands. He wasn't handcuffed, tied, chained...

"AWH HELL NAW!" Vint's voice was booming now, a strong hand yanking away at his new found collar, "I AIN'T NAWONE'S BITCH!" At this point, he had risen to his feet, yanking away at the collar like a mad dog, and practically bouncing off the walls, pacing the room like a caged animal. 

Eventually, his exertions would settle. Leaning up against a wall, his breath pushed from his lungs heavily, eyes glaring back at the phone. "Fuck'n hate yoo. Y'HEAR?! I - FUCKIN' - HATE - YOO!" Whirling around, a fist connected with the wall behind him... Only it made a different sound than a wall. Vint, who had closed his eyes in his rage, slowly opened them and found his fist had hit a door - an exit. "Whal' now - lookie here..." A twisted chuckle issued from his throat as he made to open the door, if possible. 

If successful, whether it be a door knob or panel of some kind, Vint would peek his head out, casually looking to the left first, and then the right, as his thumb moved the tabs of he quickly discovered as a "PDA" and not a phone...

However, if the door was not cooperating, Vint's face would twist into a rageful fit, "GAWDDAWM YOO TO HEEL!" He would roar at the door, giving it a solid kick with his boot before angrily muttering into the screen before him, seeing if anything could open his first obstacle.