The set of freshly-cleaned and polished armor sat atop the rack specifically designed to hold it, taking up space in a corner and gleaming with all the potential in the world. Opposite it in stark contrast was a man who looked like he had climbed out of a gutter, and perhaps on a level other than the physical one that was true.
Warren had never kept anything for comfort in his room. He'd put it on retainer following her decision to leave him in the first place when he realized he couldn't sleep any longer in the one they'd shared. Too many memories and too many voices that clawed in the dark and quiet. The money was no inconvenience for him; Warren had squared away a princely sum from his job before officially donning the white and his tastes were inexpensive. This was reflected in the well-made but uncomfortable furniture in his room; A single wooden chair that sat at a wooden table, the larger sibling of the smaller one by the door, and a bed that was perhaps a size too small for someone of his stature. He found it proper that there was not room enough for him, and it discouraged him from reaching out in the night and his thoughts panicking before he remembered that there wasn't anyone beside him, nor would there be.
Warren was hunched over the table with his head in his hands, his eyes peering out across the room to the bed. His tools had since been packed away and shoved into the box beneath it, but it was the place of rest itself that so vexed him. Behind him and away from his gaze was the plate of breakfast that had gone untouched despite his stomach threatening mutiny. He had been keeping his gnawing hunger in check with the grim reminder that his friends had likely died starving and freezing.
It had been the longest three days in Warren's life, eclipsing what he thought was the depths of misery following her decision. He'd occupied his time then with his duty, taking to running for sport in the early dawn and keeping watch for hours longer than he would have been allowed were he part of an official commanding force. He exhausted himself until sleep overwhelmed him and forced him to recover, his body taking what energy it could in his brief downtime before his heart forced him to wake and everything fell fresh on his memory. Every day waking for the first moon was agony, though in time that lessened.
He felt worst for Howl. All the man had ever wanted to do was be there for him. He'd been a drinking buddy and then more, his feelings being evident before terribly long. Warren still whipped himself over how brashly he had referred to the others; They didn't know him, couldn't know him, yet they lined up to take their chances, imagined feelings where there could be not. It didn't surprise him when it turned out Menphina was still making jokes with him as the punchline but he felt the poor boy deserved better.
Warren had said before he thought they were both in Hell together, neither ever going to get what they wanted while they tortured themselves by dangling it front of their own noses. He said it in an angry drunken fit and regretted it, because it was those words that gave Howl his mantra of digging them out of it. Despite Warren trying to clarify and point out that he wasn't speaking sense, Howl persisted.
I'll get you out of Hell. I'll do whatever I have to to make you happy.
The words were meant to be encouraging, he knew, but all they did now was sear him. He'd consigned the boy to his death by being unable to move on, being too weak to grasp that he wasn't the solution to someone else's problems. Her downward spiral had been a tragedy that he blamed himself for setting her on, but in Warren's mind Howl's involvement was tantamount to murder. He'd driven the boy to warding over her because that's what he thought Warren wanted. His words caused Howl to follow her to keep her safe despite her having given up. He'd sent them both into the snow from which they wouldn't ever return.
The bed sat across from him, unmoving as it ever was. Exhaustion tugged at his eyes despite Warren forcing them open by imagining what might have been their last moments alive, clutching together and freezing. He didn't deserve rest. He didn't deserve warmth. He didn't deserve food. He let his gaze slip down for a moment, eyeing Ace. He'd covered the poor mutt in a white cloth, delicately sewn with what appeared to be flowers and hearts.
Warren thought he knew what Hell felt like back then. He had so much yet to learn.
Warren had never kept anything for comfort in his room. He'd put it on retainer following her decision to leave him in the first place when he realized he couldn't sleep any longer in the one they'd shared. Too many memories and too many voices that clawed in the dark and quiet. The money was no inconvenience for him; Warren had squared away a princely sum from his job before officially donning the white and his tastes were inexpensive. This was reflected in the well-made but uncomfortable furniture in his room; A single wooden chair that sat at a wooden table, the larger sibling of the smaller one by the door, and a bed that was perhaps a size too small for someone of his stature. He found it proper that there was not room enough for him, and it discouraged him from reaching out in the night and his thoughts panicking before he remembered that there wasn't anyone beside him, nor would there be.
Warren was hunched over the table with his head in his hands, his eyes peering out across the room to the bed. His tools had since been packed away and shoved into the box beneath it, but it was the place of rest itself that so vexed him. Behind him and away from his gaze was the plate of breakfast that had gone untouched despite his stomach threatening mutiny. He had been keeping his gnawing hunger in check with the grim reminder that his friends had likely died starving and freezing.
It had been the longest three days in Warren's life, eclipsing what he thought was the depths of misery following her decision. He'd occupied his time then with his duty, taking to running for sport in the early dawn and keeping watch for hours longer than he would have been allowed were he part of an official commanding force. He exhausted himself until sleep overwhelmed him and forced him to recover, his body taking what energy it could in his brief downtime before his heart forced him to wake and everything fell fresh on his memory. Every day waking for the first moon was agony, though in time that lessened.
He felt worst for Howl. All the man had ever wanted to do was be there for him. He'd been a drinking buddy and then more, his feelings being evident before terribly long. Warren still whipped himself over how brashly he had referred to the others; They didn't know him, couldn't know him, yet they lined up to take their chances, imagined feelings where there could be not. It didn't surprise him when it turned out Menphina was still making jokes with him as the punchline but he felt the poor boy deserved better.
Warren had said before he thought they were both in Hell together, neither ever going to get what they wanted while they tortured themselves by dangling it front of their own noses. He said it in an angry drunken fit and regretted it, because it was those words that gave Howl his mantra of digging them out of it. Despite Warren trying to clarify and point out that he wasn't speaking sense, Howl persisted.
I'll get you out of Hell. I'll do whatever I have to to make you happy.
The words were meant to be encouraging, he knew, but all they did now was sear him. He'd consigned the boy to his death by being unable to move on, being too weak to grasp that he wasn't the solution to someone else's problems. Her downward spiral had been a tragedy that he blamed himself for setting her on, but in Warren's mind Howl's involvement was tantamount to murder. He'd driven the boy to warding over her because that's what he thought Warren wanted. His words caused Howl to follow her to keep her safe despite her having given up. He'd sent them both into the snow from which they wouldn't ever return.
The bed sat across from him, unmoving as it ever was. Exhaustion tugged at his eyes despite Warren forcing them open by imagining what might have been their last moments alive, clutching together and freezing. He didn't deserve rest. He didn't deserve warmth. He didn't deserve food. He let his gaze slip down for a moment, eyeing Ace. He'd covered the poor mutt in a white cloth, delicately sewn with what appeared to be flowers and hearts.
Warren thought he knew what Hell felt like back then. He had so much yet to learn.
![[Image: yEROfKO.png]](http://i.imgur.com/yEROfKO.png)
