[ (Through all of these prompts there's a medium sized fluffy white dog walking next to him. It is... not friendly. Though whether or not it will be outright hostile depends on who approaches.)
It's Monday, and Angelo wakes up freezing. He's expecting it this time - he's back as he was at the beginning, freshly ripped from the arms of his Captain. The cold that lingers in every part of his body is an unwelcome reminder of what he's lost, but he's not going to show that weakness in front of his roommates. He'll get dressed, fix his hair, put on perfume and continue onward. His hands are shaking, still, but he's getting the hang on making it less obvious.
Angelo perseveres. He just doesn't know what for.
Sometimes in the late morning hours, Angelo can be found in the chapel. He's standing silently for a good bit, but he could never be mistaken for a pious worshiper praying. There's too much hatred in his eyes, the crease between his brows is too deep. And then from one moment to another, he snaps. In an astounding high kick, his boot send the crucifix flying from the altar and crashing onto the floor.
During the day, Angelo can be found in the respawned library, lazily flipping through one of the historical tomes that have appeared. French kings and warlords, one looking less appealing than the last... ]
It's really always been like this... Rotten all the way down.
[ He's talking mostly to himself.
At another point, he's in the gardens - predictably by the rose-bushes. For once, he's not moping though, but talking to (about?) the white dog that insists on following him every second of the day. ]
This is just insulting. Am I really going to have to put up with this all week?
[ In the evening hours, Angelo can be found in the laundry, where he's taking down his dried bedsheets that he'd washed in the morning. Anyone who frequents the laundry room as well might have noticed by now that Angelo washes his sheets quite frequently, so this is not an unusual view.
What may be unusual is the way he suddenly pauses and wraps the sheet all the way around himself, like he's suddenly decided to become a cocoon right here and now. ]
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It's Monday, and Angelo wakes up freezing. He's expecting it this time - he's back as he was at the beginning, freshly ripped from the arms of his Captain. The cold that lingers in every part of his body is an unwelcome reminder of what he's lost, but he's not going to show that weakness in front of his roommates. He'll get dressed, fix his hair, put on perfume and continue onward. His hands are shaking, still, but he's getting the hang on making it less obvious.
Angelo perseveres. He just doesn't know what for.
Sometimes in the late morning hours, Angelo can be found in the chapel. He's standing silently for a good bit, but he could never be mistaken for a pious worshiper praying. There's too much hatred in his eyes, the crease between his brows is too deep. And then from one moment to another, he snaps. In an astounding high kick, his boot send the crucifix flying from the altar and crashing onto the floor.
During the day, Angelo can be found in the respawned library, lazily flipping through one of the historical tomes that have appeared. French kings and warlords, one looking less appealing than the last... ]
It's really always been like this... Rotten all the way down.
[ He's talking mostly to himself.
At another point, he's in the gardens - predictably by the rose-bushes. For once, he's not moping though, but talking to (about?) the white dog that insists on following him every second of the day. ]
This is just insulting. Am I really going to have to put up with this all week?
[ In the evening hours, Angelo can be found in the laundry, where he's taking down his dried bedsheets that he'd washed in the morning. Anyone who frequents the laundry room as well might have noticed by now that Angelo washes his sheets quite frequently, so this is not an unusual view.
What may be unusual is the way he suddenly pauses and wraps the sheet all the way around himself, like he's suddenly decided to become a cocoon right here and now. ]