[ He’s slept in places far less comfortable, on forest floors or in smothering heat. It isn’t the straw mattress that keeps him from doing so this time. It isn’t the sound of mice skittering across the stone floor either. Nearly two days awake, Leon lays on his bunk with his back to the bars of the cell. Long, vertical shadows cast across a crowded space. The torchlight from the hallway slips through them, flickering orange and faintly illuminating the company that shares his enclosure. Tired of squinting and guessing, he’s finished wondering whatever the different emblems on their tunics might mean.
He thinks instead of the home he doesn’t have and of Sara, no longer able to miss him or pray for his return. Despite how his weighted eyelids beg him to, Leon can’t sleep when he remembers that nothing waits for him anymore.
A loud and sudden clatter pulls him from his thoughts. His cellmate? A visitor? He’s too groggy to distinguish one sound from another. He jolts to sit up on reflex anyway, shackled ankles pulling chains across the ground as he does. He has to affirm that the lot of them aren't in any danger. ]
Who—?
II. An Offering đź—ˇ
[ Maybe they’d seemed unwell, or they’d had all of their meals until now stolen by a cellmate. Whatever the context, Leon has noticed. He passes an arm through the gaps of his own door, just outside the neighboring prisoner’s reach. Lodging his shoulder into the space as far as it’ll go, his sleeve rides up the length of his bicep and crumples close to him against a cold iron bar. In his hand is a roll of bread. Food. ]
You can have mine.
[ Should the prisoner extend their arm, they may be close enough to accept. Should an honored guest pass through without paying enough attention, however, they may cause Leon to retract his arm back into his pen or otherwise trip over his offering. ]
III. Fresh Idea đź—ˇ
( Feel free to plot with me if you have something in mind for Leon! You can reach out via PM or on Plurk at joousama. )
Leon Belmont | Castlevania: Lament of Innocence | The Wheel of Fortune
[ He’s slept in places far less comfortable, on forest floors or in smothering heat. It isn’t the straw mattress that keeps him from doing so this time. It isn’t the sound of mice skittering across the stone floor either. Nearly two days awake, Leon lays on his bunk with his back to the bars of the cell. Long, vertical shadows cast across a crowded space. The torchlight from the hallway slips through them, flickering orange and faintly illuminating the company that shares his enclosure. Tired of squinting and guessing, he’s finished wondering whatever the different emblems on their tunics might mean.
He thinks instead of the home he doesn’t have and of Sara, no longer able to miss him or pray for his return. Despite how his weighted eyelids beg him to, Leon can’t sleep when he remembers that nothing waits for him anymore.
A loud and sudden clatter pulls him from his thoughts. His cellmate? A visitor? He’s too groggy to distinguish one sound from another. He jolts to sit up on reflex anyway, shackled ankles pulling chains across the ground as he does. He has to affirm that the lot of them aren't in any danger. ]
Who—?
II. An Offering đź—ˇ
[ Maybe they’d seemed unwell, or they’d had all of their meals until now stolen by a cellmate. Whatever the context, Leon has noticed. He passes an arm through the gaps of his own door, just outside the neighboring prisoner’s reach. Lodging his shoulder into the space as far as it’ll go, his sleeve rides up the length of his bicep and crumples close to him against a cold iron bar. In his hand is a roll of bread. Food. ]
You can have mine.
[ Should the prisoner extend their arm, they may be close enough to accept. Should an honored guest pass through without paying enough attention, however, they may cause Leon to retract his arm back into his pen or otherwise trip over his offering. ]
III. Fresh Idea đź—ˇ
( Feel free to plot with me if you have something in mind for Leon! You can reach out via PM or on Plurk at