Castiel doesn't like to think he's the sort to wallow quietly in his own misery, but he finds himself prone to it, sometimes. Finding a reason to climb out of the furs is all but impossible, and as the morning waxes on he only finds himself curling deeper and deeper into them, hiding his face from the light and trying to find solace in sleep that will not come.
The roaring and crashing, however, is enough to garner his attention, but Castiel only burrows himself deeper, squeezing his eyes closed and trying to block out the reminder of where he is, and why he is here. But there is no drowning out the sounds of the beast's howls and raging roars, the crack and slash of old wood.
But the sounds wane soon enough, with the boom of the castle's doors slamming shut, and Castiel descends into silence again.
Soon enough, however, even he cannot deny the rumbling in his stomach, or his own burning need to climb out of himself, to look into what he can expect, to do something aside from swimming in his own misfortune. He should move. Make himself get up, explore, understand more about what he's doing here.
So Castiel begins to explore. He rises from the furs and dresses in yesterday's clothes, then begins to move about the place, finds himself greeted only by silence. In the daylight, the castle is no less intimidating than it had been at night, still dark and dank, dust and cobwebs clinging to everything, a sense of age and neglect hanging over everything like a fine mist, as if this place is suspended in time, trapped and unmoving. There are signs of violence everywhere as well, deep grooves in the walls from angry scratches, furniture knocked aside and finery smashed, evidence of his captor's volatile temper written everywhere.
It doesn't take him long to find the kitchens, and they're hardly any better than the rest of the residence, but he is able at least to find some water and stale bread, which is enough to quiet his stomach.
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Date: 14 Jun 2016 14:04 (UTC)The roaring and crashing, however, is enough to garner his attention, but Castiel only burrows himself deeper, squeezing his eyes closed and trying to block out the reminder of where he is, and why he is here. But there is no drowning out the sounds of the beast's howls and raging roars, the crack and slash of old wood.
But the sounds wane soon enough, with the boom of the castle's doors slamming shut, and Castiel descends into silence again.
Soon enough, however, even he cannot deny the rumbling in his stomach, or his own burning need to climb out of himself, to look into what he can expect, to do something aside from swimming in his own misfortune. He should move. Make himself get up, explore, understand more about what he's doing here.
So Castiel begins to explore. He rises from the furs and dresses in yesterday's clothes, then begins to move about the place, finds himself greeted only by silence. In the daylight, the castle is no less intimidating than it had been at night, still dark and dank, dust and cobwebs clinging to everything, a sense of age and neglect hanging over everything like a fine mist, as if this place is suspended in time, trapped and unmoving. There are signs of violence everywhere as well, deep grooves in the walls from angry scratches, furniture knocked aside and finery smashed, evidence of his captor's volatile temper written everywhere.
It doesn't take him long to find the kitchens, and they're hardly any better than the rest of the residence, but he is able at least to find some water and stale bread, which is enough to quiet his stomach.