❰ there's nothing quite like a little bit of bleeding out and dying to give you the biggest crick in your neck. it's the first thing zelos notices when he wakes up, the stiff neck and the mounting headache somewhere in the back of his skull. it has a sluggish hand lifting to massage at his neck even before he opens his eyes, along with a plaintive whine-groan in the back of his throat. this is bullshit. it's- cheap. they killed him. he wasn't supposed to wake up from it.

he lifts up onto his elbow now, an eye cracking to get an eyeful of wherever it is he's at. not where he was last, that's for sure. beyond that, zelos finds he actually doesn't much care. not beyond the abrupt notion that he actually has no idea what happened with lloyd and colette and them. it wasn't something he actually put a ton of thought into beyond pointing them in the right direction. i mean, he was gonna be dead, right? so it's not like it mattered too much one way or the other.

except now it does. don'tcha just hate that?

right about now, the corpse smell trickles into his nostrils, and zelos's nose curls in disgust as he zeroes in on the source. yep, that sure is a dead guy. not too gross yet, but he's definitely never met any living guy who smells that much like cold balloon rubber and evacuated bowels. ❱

Looks rough, ❰ he offers the corpse, as if it's any consolation. but - hang on, there's a piece of paper? a note. zelos rolls over onto his knees to crawl a little closer, reaching out to flatten the note a little with his fingertips so he can look it over. ❱

So much for a last will and testament, ❰ he mutters, then finally lifts his eyes to the third figure in the room. did he just notice they were there, or has he known all along? it's hard to tell, since he seems pretty unfazed one way or the other. ❱ 'Place a heart on the pedestal to leave' huh? Not so sure I'm packing one these days, so it looks like it's gonna have to be his or yours.

❰ well.

well.

either this is some kind of complicated and compeletely unfair trick, or beyond this window sits a pastry feast fit for the king. zelos would know. he's seen the king's feasts - in fact, he ate at most of them - and since finding the door locked, he's spent more than long enough staring at these delicious pastries to positively identify them.

in fact, depending on how soon you happen upon him, you very well may find zelos with his face and palms pressed firmly against the glass. listen closely and you might hear him murmuring: ❱

Alright my delicate little sugarpies, come to papa, that's right -

❰ not that they're... actually 'coming to papa' or anything. just sitting there and looking more delicious by the second.

ugh, this is the worst.

he backs up off of the glass now, hands coming to rest on his hips as he looks over the fine craftsmanship for any noticeable vulnerabilities. no such luck, as it turns out. too bad it won't be so perfect for long.

come upon the scene now, and you'll find the redhead tugging his gloves on tighter and taking another step back, his hand falling on the hilt of the dagger at his thigh.

if you've got any kind of attachment to that immaculate glasswork, you might want to speak up now. ❱