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Rowell was feeling alright.
I mean, all he had was the most grueling pain he ever felt in his joints and another migraine, what was the worst that could happen?
Well, everything. Considering about the existing mental pain being doubled by the people around him.
He groans silently, shifting his limbs to accustom to the uncomfortable chairs of the school laboratory, it was his last period, and he is DEAD SET on making it through.
But he might need a little help, as the second the bell rang and class was dismissed, he nearly tripped twice on his way out.
"Lucky Vix isn't here, nor Inka." Rowell leans on the edge of his locker, barely shoving his books in the place he intended them to be, and grabbing up the assignments due tomorrow stuck at the back. Slamming the locker door a little too hard and earning a few dirty looks, he stumbles out of the West Wing, and silently hobbles to the exit.
Rowell couldn't feel the floor below him without even more pain tearing at his nerves. He grumbles as he is forced to lean onto a railing to keep himself from looking like a drunkard.
Eventually, he finds birdwatching pigeons were too dull. With a fumble he gets hold of his usual set of headphones (the cat ears down this time), and shoves them on before another wave of excruciating pain slams him in the kneecaps.
"God damned spring humidity…" He heaves himself back on his feet before painfully swinging himself along the railings towards the gates of the school.
Until everything dimmed.
The crowds that surrounded him earlier vanished without a trace, the lights either off or struggling to even give off its usual bright white radiance anymore, and the winds were howling, singing along with the trees that bent to the relentless assault.
Something was off, the smell of the sea and salt assaulted his senses, and Rowell knew exactly who it was.
"If it's you, fucking siren, it isn't a great time to start yourself a spirit field."
"I'm deeply wounded, Spyrosz, my name is NOT "fucking siren"! " A rather small dim figure slides out of the corner of his eye, slinking on top of the railing he was curled against. "So much for me to come back from my short vacay to River Rhine and come back to check on you!" She huffs. "And to separate from my fragments once more."
"Lorelei, I swear to the fiery pits of Lucifer's asscrack that you die a painful second death." Rowell tried to reach into his hoodie pocket, but was stopped by another wave of pain, sending him tumbling to the floor.
A faint gasp came from Lorelei, still perched on the railing but noticeably leaning forward now. "Gosh, Spyrosz, I didn't know you drank a 6-pack in class."
"Shut up." Rowell grunts, trying to stand up again, but is futile, legs crumpling under his weight again. "I swear, even Lysander and Lilith are better at helping than you."
"You are just making fun of my mercy to you now." Lorelei jumps down and lands to the floor next to where he was a heap on the stone brick floor. "If it helps or something thoust can lure you back…to your house?"
"Only if you tell me what's with Lysander and Inka."
Lorelei grins. "Even on your deathbed thou art thinking about knowledge… you would be a great scholar, with the tree kissing and everything."
Rowell was on the verge of just standing up and sending the siren to hell. "If you ain't going to deal, I am leaving."
He turns on his heel, before crashing to the floor.
"Fucking fine." Lorelei growls, before clearing her throat. A sweet melody cascades down on the teen previously crumpled on the floor, now somehow lifting himself with little to no effort back onto his feet. “I’ll tell you what I know…tommorrow.”
“Why not now?” Rowell was walking with a dangerous stagger in his step down the pavement, but not like he gave a fuck.
“I just don’t feel like it.”
“Lorelei I will twist your body into the shape of a fucking candy wrapper.”
With all due respect, Lorelei was a pretty great spirit compared to the ones that usually haunted his house, but today left it vacant.
Rowell lets out a long-held sigh as his legs finally crumple and he slams face first into the couch, not like he cared if he started nose bleeding all over it from how much the bones in his nose hurt from the impact.
He crawls on all fours like a degenerate, dragging his bag along with him into his room, before nudging the door closed. Making sure that everything in his room was intact and not ransacked, Rowell dragged himself into bed, sighing in bliss as his feet hit the soft mattress.
Instant relief for his aching feet, not for the joints, though. He winced as one part of his knee started pulsing with pain as he reached for the painkillers that sat on his PC keyboard left on his comfy chair.
Dry swallowing something had never been so easy in his life.
He stares at the silver blade that hid under his desk, only the slightest ray of the sunset sunlight reflecting off of the blunt edges left from previous use.
Rowell buries himself into his comforter. He'll sleep it off.