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argent rolled his eyes, moving to sit on the bed. This was all just- fucking incredible. First that awful creature, then this Saw-ass room. Now chatting it up with Saint. What a fucking delight.

“Sure, why the hell not.” He acquiesced, crossing his leg over the other as he thought. It was obvious what the shadow-creature wanted. Meaningful connection, or something. Well, two could play at that game.

Maybe he’d finally get the answers he’d wanted.

“How many people have you slept with?”

argent ignored him, and thus the obvious answer was no, Saint, I literally never think about anything I say. It just happens to me, like weather patterns, or fate. It’s entirely out of my control.

He watched the tv blandly, unimpressed. What the fuck was this, even? Was that supposed to be him? What were the colored dots?

But, that aside, Angel was right. They had to work something out, before- fuck, he didn’t know, the little guy drowned in m&m’s.

argent grit his teeth, and looked at Angel. “Yeah? And how the fuck are we supposed to pretend to get along? It’s not like we fucking talk in real life, either.”

Finn rolled his eyes, leaning into the chair as the artist approached. I'll start off slow. He wasn't a fucking baby. "Sure, whatever." He groused. There was the sound of the gun, the press of gloves against his back- and then the first bite of pain. Finn flinched, stilling himself.

And now... the smalltalk. Delightful. But, the vibrating of the gun was making it a bit harder to focus on tinder, so...

"Stuck holed up in Podunk." Finn barked out a laugh. "Bitch ass roommate wanted to come to some event, was whining about how he didn't have the money. Figured now he'd owe me a big one." His countenance darkened. Fat lot of good that did.

"Wouldn't kill him to fucking act like it." Bitch ass asshole. Shit. Maybe he would leave him here, if he loved it so much. Figure it all out on his own. He's sooo fucking smart, after all.

An anger fuzzily made its way into his battered head at the sharp "No," but by the time it processed, and Finn's brows furrowed, Angel had already moved, Finn wavering dizzily and spinny on his side. Angel's hand was still on his shoulder, tight and stable. It kind of hurt. Finn coughed, spitting up blood, but surprisingly didn't puke. He felt like shit.

He mumbled something, with an(?) amount of vitriol, which was probably supposed to be "I'm going to report that man to the authorities once I've physically recovered, because that would be the correct course of action here." Unfortunately, it also rhymed somewhat with "kill him."

Finn moved his arm- one of the few things that didn't fucking hurt, raising to grab the arm Angel had on him. "B' car'ful," He slurred, hissing through the blood in his mouth. "Fuckin' crazy. Dres'd up like'motto, but- hitm'n, or somethin'. Fucked up." Did he still hate Angel? Yes, even if he didn't know exactly why at this point.

But there was something wrong with the fucking freak, and even Angel needed to steer well clear.

Blackness.

A sharp ringing, coalescing into layers of voices.

Something cool, cupping each side of his face.

“-ing. Are you awake?“

Was he awake? Finn had no idea. He didn’t know much of anything, really. Where was he? Why was it dark? Why was the voice echoing? Who was talking to him?

Finn dragged his eyes open- but there was something heavy, and his eyes weren’t opening all the way, leaving a black fuzziness in the corner of his vision. There were lights, bright and florescent, and-

“Angel,” Finn mumbled, only mostly succeeding. His voice sounded strange, muffled and wet, and his mouth tasted like blood and salt. Pain was starting to flow into him, with every raspy, whistling breath- The back of his skull throbbed, abdomen twisting and cramping, nausea clawing up his throat. “Need up.”

Finn huffed a bit, rolling his eyes. He didn’t much like the guy’s tone- but he wasn’t here to listen to the guy talk. His art was better than the shit coming out of his mouth, at least.

He moved over to the chair, slouching on it. “On my back? Y’know, where fucking wings go?” Was the guy stupid? He shrugged off his shirt, pulling his hair over his shoulder.

Finn closed his eyes a bit, waiting. He could see, in his mind’s eye, himself with this badass tattoo. His life would be better for it- that was a fact.