sacrifice what you are for what you can become
In the grand scheme of things, Henry's been laying pretty low since the end of LongNight, since he'd come back to ashes and dust. Of course he's done things, whatever he could, when he could muster the strength within himself to. Otherwise, this is where most people would find him... if any of them had the want or need to come looking. He hasn't gotten very many visitors. At any rate, it's fine.
He prefers to slump into his makeshift cot and toil with his misery, with very little appetite for much.. much else at all, really. Only a lamplight can be seen from underneath the door to show that he's there, but otherwise no voices or movements can be heard. Not until he's struggling to sit up, rather drearily waking from a nap which has made him lose his sense of time or place.
For a moment, he has to register that he's here, beneath the stairwell, in a... spare room, which in and of itself is pretty generous to call it. He groans rather loudly and reluctantly at the knock on his door as it registers, too.
With nothing but sweats on, he rises and pulls open the door as wide as it'll go, to reveal his rather humble living situation very fully to Azrael. "No, I'm not here," he grumbles as he wipes his face, blinking his eyes to let them adjust to the light. If they decide to look, they will find that there is little to no organization inside. If something was set down, that place is where it's stayed. A lot of these things are papers, actually, with messily jotted down words. Or maybe it just looks like trash.
Henry's eyes are tired as they lift up to examine who is in need of him at this hour. Well, he's still not sure what hour it is, actually. He's also not sure who this is. In his sleepy, depressed state, he can't even begin to put pieces together as well as he normally can. His brows furrow, deciding that the basket being presented couldn't be for him. Oh for Gods sakes...
"Do I... know you?"
He prefers to slump into his makeshift cot and toil with his misery, with very little appetite for much.. much else at all, really. Only a lamplight can be seen from underneath the door to show that he's there, but otherwise no voices or movements can be heard. Not until he's struggling to sit up, rather drearily waking from a nap which has made him lose his sense of time or place.
For a moment, he has to register that he's here, beneath the stairwell, in a... spare room, which in and of itself is pretty generous to call it. He groans rather loudly and reluctantly at the knock on his door as it registers, too.
With nothing but sweats on, he rises and pulls open the door as wide as it'll go, to reveal his rather humble living situation very fully to Azrael. "No, I'm not here," he grumbles as he wipes his face, blinking his eyes to let them adjust to the light. If they decide to look, they will find that there is little to no organization inside. If something was set down, that place is where it's stayed. A lot of these things are papers, actually, with messily jotted down words. Or maybe it just looks like trash.
Henry's eyes are tired as they lift up to examine who is in need of him at this hour. Well, he's still not sure what hour it is, actually. He's also not sure who this is. In his sleepy, depressed state, he can't even begin to put pieces together as well as he normally can. His brows furrow, deciding that the basket being presented couldn't be for him. Oh for Gods sakes...
"Do I... know you?"
HENRY
