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View character profile for: Dillon Forst
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Posted: Oct 5, 2020, 1:42pm
"- you could've asked!" Was all T heard as he came back into the living room, now sporting camo shorts and a plain black shirt. He looked at Dillon, who was curled up on the couch, and Grey, who was just standing there in the kitchen with what looked like pie and a stupid expression on his face. T stood there, dumbfounded.
What the fuck happened? T mouthed at Grey, before looking at Dillon. He could see Dillon's body sort of twitching, in a way that he quickly recognized. He was crying.
Jesus, was this me?
He gave Grey a weary expression, before slowly walking over to where Dillon was. He wasn't sure if he could see him or knew he was there, but he hadn't moved yet. T breathed in and out softly and slowly, lowering down to the floor and sitting against the couch so that his head was at about the same level as Dillon's as he lied on the couch. He rested his chin on the cushion, and at first, just looked at him. He knew he was there now. T wasn't sure what exactly to say but just spoke what came to his mind.
"You okay, Dill? You-uh..wanna have that talk now? We can go in a different room if you want..."
He sat against the bed, having not actually got in it once since he had been locked in this room. He simply lied there, sitting against his bed with his blankets wrapped around him. He had been asleep at one point, but now he was staring absently at the wall opposite him. The room was plain and consisted of three off-white walls, one had a small window, and the forth wall was made of a clear material that allowed the cell to be seen into but didn't allow the same space as bars. There where an assortment of holes here and there that allowed sound and fresh air to travel really in and out of the room, and there was a door made entirely of the same see-through substance as the wall. The room had the basic essentials, a bed, a sink, and a toilet. None of this consoled him, though, in fact, his imprisonment in of itself was infuriating. And, though it seemed like it couldn't be done, he had finally worn himself out.
"Hey, four-eyes." He said, not bothering to turn towards him. Pauling, the man he was referring to, was sitting in a chair, book in his hands to pass the time, and was positioned just outside of Hoodie T's cell. The man refused to look at Pauling but continued talking.
"Where is he?"
"You know who I'm talking about. My fucking...better half, or whatever."
Despite the aggression that seemed to be permanently attached to him, he wasn't raising his voice nearly as much and wasn't using nearly as many expletives. In fact, he seemed almost more depressed than angry. Letting out a sigh, he finally raised his gaze and looked at the Doctor.
"Just...tell him to come up here. I gotta talk to him."