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[indent][indent][indent][color=gray][sub][right][color=dc143c][b]Location:[/b][/color] ????[/right][/sub][/color]
[hr] Graves' exhaustion didn't register until he opened the door to his room in the inn. All those hours of fighting to keep the group alive in the worst environment he could imagine hit at once. It battered him like a hurricane. His legs gave out before he could make it onto the bed. Best he could do was drag the blanket off the side and wrap it around his muck-slicked torso, his eyes fluttering shut despite his protests. Somehow, the dreams still found him here in the depths of unconsciousness. 

He was standing in the middle of a warehouse packed with people spinning in time to the pounding music. Everything was slower than it should've been, like time was trapped in molasses. Andrew struggled forward. He pushed through the crowd of pressing bodies, desperation rising in his throat. Had to move. Had to hurry. He strained with every step, like he was trying to walk in waist-deep water. This wasn't the first time he'd been back here. Dread settled in his gut.

No matter how many times his mind brought him back to this moment the ending never changed. There was no changing the past. He kept marching onward irregardless.

[color=dc143c][i]'I'm coming, Will. Just hang in there a little longer.'[/i][/color]

Something scurried between his legs. Andrew looked down, eyes going wide at the sight of furry bodies passing between over his feet. Hundreds of rats, fur stained with blood and sewage, were running in the same direction he was. Panic caused him to stumble. He reached out to catch himself, only to feel the crunch of tiny bones under his palm. Someone slammed their hip into his head and he went careening into the deluge of vermin. They raced over top of him, their tiny feet scratching at his skin, his face. Their chittering thundered in his ears. Opening his mouth to scream, he felt a discharge rise up and out of his throat.

Graves shot up from the floor, vomit and rat fur flying out of his mouth. He was sweating from every pore in his body. His hands were shaking. [color=dc143c]"What the hell?"[/color] His breathing was ragged as he dragged himself to his feet, still reeling from the nightmare. 

He needed to wash off. Some hot water might do him some good. He took a steep toward the door and felt a sharp pain in his foot. Graves looked down. There was a needle embedded in his foot. Below that lay a syringe, discarded and dripping with a sickly orange fluid.

[color=gray][sub][right][color=dc143c][b]Location:[/b][/color] The Innhouse -- The City-State of Thorinn, Aetheria[/right][/sub][/color]
[hr]His eyes shot open for the second time. Every inch of his body ached. It screamed its protests at him for yesterday's excursion. Graves couldn't exactly blame it. Everything hurt, he smelled like shit, and his head was pounding. It was after he'd finally plied himself off the floorboards that he noticed the dried puke on his shirt. That part had happened, at least. He'd have to pay the innkeeper to grab him some new clothes while he went to wash up. As much as he'd like to wallow on the ground all morning, a hot bath sounded like heaven.

He let himself soak for a little over an hour. It was nice, and it gave him time to think.

For all the mistakes he'd made in his life, sticking with this pack of losers wasn't one of them. They weren't perfect- far from it. But they'd stuck by him through the worst couple weeks of his life; that had to count for something. It wasn't often Graves felt strongly about something one way or another, but...in that sewer, wading through the filth, he wanted all of them to get out of there alive. Wanted it more than anything he could imagine.

Nothing back in Westwood had stirred him like that. Not in years. All Graves had worried about since the Glitch was surviving to get back home. But as he sat, contemplating, he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. There was nothing for him there. Not anymore. Andrew's life had ended long ago, even if his body hadn't realized it.

[color=dc143c]'I got a second chance,'[/color] he realized, staring up at the ceiling. [color=dc143c]'Best not fuck it up.'[/color]
 
He dried off and dressed himself in the simple clothes of a denizen before heading off to the Laughing Worg. Convenience had made it their watering hole of choice. It was only a hop, skip and a jump from the innhouse, yet Graves was somehow the fourth to arrive.

[color=dc143c]"Morning, rat-fuckers."[/color] He waved as he approached, sliding into the seat beside Rael. [color=dc143c]"Ya'll look like how I feel."[/color] He raised an eyebrow as he looked at Seele, curiosity and worry in his expression in equal measure.
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