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wakey wakey

Full consciousness returned slowly, and even then, if it were not for Trynt's voice growling quietly and disgruntledly in his head, he likely would have attempted to drift back off to sleep rather than wake up and face whatever he had to face. His entire body hurt, and he felt too warm, even for island living standards, and behind closed eyes he could remember what he did, how he had behaved, who he had lashed out at in the process, over and over again.

He stirred, fingers twitching, body shifting on the bed before, with a deep, hoarse intake of breath, his eye opened, to stare up at a familiar ceiling in a familiar room, with a weight pressing down nearby, one that he both hoped and feared belonged to a very familiar face.

Turning his head to the side to look seemed like a good way to find out.

"Hey." His voice was practically a croak, and he coughed, his mouth and throat too dry, parched, really. Closing his eye, he let out a long sigh through his nose, his forehead furrowing.

"Water?" He asked, in that same too raspy voice.

Wakey Wakey

Trust Ripley to be prepared. Finn didn't have long to wait before he was sucking back water that likely felt cooler to him than it actually was. It hurt a little, going down his throat, and he was forced to pace himself, especially as even just sitting up a little bit in order to swallow better made his head swim dizzily, forcing him to close his eye again. He stopped drinking only to take a few long breaths of air, before he took one more sip and laid back down with a sigh, before he cleared his throat.

"So....That was something?" He smiled, faintly, peeking his eye back open. "I'm..ah.." Another throat clearing, his head beginning to throb painfully with each cough.

"....Sorry I tried to eat you. Well, unless you're actually into that s**t." A small smirk, and he might have chuckled except that he knew that would hurt too much as well, so he refrained.

The smirk faded. "What happened to you, anyways? One second you seemed okay and then just...gone. And then...back again?" That part was hazy. That part was seen through a red eyed haze of unreasonable rage.

wakey wakey

It wasn't until Ripley was peeling the towel away that Finn realized that it was even there, or what the other man was doing, and likely had been doing this entire time. Something in Finn's chest tightened, but like always, he ignored it, his face not giving away much, not even the pain he was still in.

The cool cloth, when it was applied again, brought with it a temporary sense of relief from the heat. "Thank you." He said, and then managed to smirk again, this time a little wider than the last. "I'll try to remember that. You know, when I'm lost in the moment." Another deep breath, released slowly.

Everything hurt. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ever felt so much pain. Trynt assured him that he was working as fast as he could to fix it but that it would still take time.

Joking a little bit helped, but not much.

"Called to you..." Finn repeated, slowly, frowning. "Is that how it was the other time? On that mission?" He asked, because he never had before, because it never really felt like it was any of his business, before, but now...now he wanted know, because now he could admit, to himself, to the man sitting with him, that he worried for him.

"Red eyes....hrm." He gave his head a very small shake. "I don't really remember what happened. It was like something switched, like I was lashing out for a different reason than before, and the need became more urgent. Peyton mentioned something about red eyes to me before." It might have been related. Seemed like it probably was.

"I don't like this."

With the way his head continued to throb, Finn found himself closing his eye for longer and longer periods of time between speaking, until he was at the point where he just didn't bother opening it again, though he did grope around the bed for one of Ripley's hands, slipping fingers between his as if it were only natural that he would do so.

"Not like that I meant...did everyone look like shadow people to you then, too." He clarified, before letting out a light humming sound of thought at Ripley's question.

"The first time happened quickly, but it seemed to progress differently. The second was slower, I could feel myself losing my grip on everything, and I just felt...betrayed, paranoid, irrational. This time hit me out of nowhere. I was a bit sick and then I was just gone, like something took control and....I don't know. Then something changed, like the need to destroy everything around me somehow intensified, and I didn't need a reason, it just was." He shrugged his shoulders, lightly.

".....Don't suppose you've got any pain killers or something to put me back to sleep? I feel like s**t."

This is it

When Finn entually found out why he was in Ripley's room and not his own, much more comfortable quarters, he insisted on going up to see the damages, a roiling pit of annoyance and anxiety in his belly.

He stares through the opened door for a moment, body stil stiff and sore though the nausea and overall shitty like feeling had subsided substantially.

For several beats, he said nothing. Then, he lifted a hand to point, at open cupboards with smashed bottles littering the floor, and and the overturned dressers, also surrounded by broken glass and rather a lot of amber liquid.

"That." He dead panned, "is certainly up for debate."

This is it

"My tv didn't." He pointed out, rather stubbornly refusing to find the good in all of this for the immediate present, as he finally let out a soft sigh and crossed the threshold into his room to assess the damages further.

"Cracks in the walls, window smashed..." He made a verbal checklist, muttering under his breath.

"....Bed still looks good though. I think we should test it out to make sure."

Except that he definitely (and quite sadly) was not at all well enough for what he was implying.

This is it

"You don't have to try, you just have to look pretty and agree with everything that I say." he gave Ripley his most winning smile before moving to sit on the edge of his bed, the stiffness of his muscles overcoming any desire to actually look around more than he already had.

"I need a drink. And a smoke. And a good lay. Then and only then will I feel up to doing all of this s**t myself. How much do you think a contractor would be to hire? I'm guessing they're not ******** cheap."