[The last few things Trish recalls float to the surface of her memory like wreckage as she slowly, slowly awakens.
There was Mukuro, and the river, and a night out where her breath was visible in the cold and she was...happy.
There's flashes of Bruno, Giorno, Fugo, Abbacchio, Yuzu. Nai'a Nights.
The thrum of a bass guitar in her hands.
That's right. She knows she went to work for a brief evening, and felt so tired as she played that her fingers stumbled and stumbled. It was the same kind of tired she feels every morning after changing back. Changing itself usually pumps her body full of adrenaline with how drastic it is, usually, but she barely makes the walk home with how heavy her eyes and body feel.
She thinks she might have nudged her muzzle under her blanket before slipping into a deep sleep, half on her bed and half on the floor considering her large frame.
The scene now is pretty similar, although her blanket has been draped over her broad back, and there's a glass of stale water on her bedside table, which she smells rather than sees, wrinkling her speckled nose. Part of her wants to stop thinking and go back to the comfortable quiet of sleep, but her nose catches another familiar scent, one that is far too puzzling to ignore, and her chest swells as she breathes in deep and finally recognizes it.
Her eyes are still too heavy, and she's also puzzled over why in the world she's so goddamn tired, but she finds it in her to croak out a question as she drags her chin on the satin sheets to "face" Bruno, as much as a sleepy bear can.]
Bucciarati...? What time is it?
[And what's he doing in her room, anyway? She'd be offended if she didn't have the impression she slept through him knocking on her door. The boys have always been good about that, so he gets the benefit of the doubt. This time.]
[wibbly wobbly hands] the very beginning of february??? idk
There was Mukuro, and the river, and a night out where her breath was visible in the cold and she was...happy.
There's flashes of Bruno, Giorno, Fugo, Abbacchio, Yuzu. Nai'a Nights.
The thrum of a bass guitar in her hands.
That's right. She knows she went to work for a brief evening, and felt so tired as she played that her fingers stumbled and stumbled. It was the same kind of tired she feels every morning after changing back. Changing itself usually pumps her body full of adrenaline with how drastic it is, usually, but she barely makes the walk home with how heavy her eyes and body feel.
She thinks she might have nudged her muzzle under her blanket before slipping into a deep sleep, half on her bed and half on the floor considering her large frame.
The scene now is pretty similar, although her blanket has been draped over her broad back, and there's a glass of stale water on her bedside table, which she smells rather than sees, wrinkling her speckled nose. Part of her wants to stop thinking and go back to the comfortable quiet of sleep, but her nose catches another familiar scent, one that is far too puzzling to ignore, and her chest swells as she breathes in deep and finally recognizes it.
Her eyes are still too heavy, and she's also puzzled over why in the world she's so goddamn tired, but she finds it in her to croak out a question as she drags her chin on the satin sheets to "face" Bruno, as much as a sleepy bear can.]
Bucciarati...? What time is it?
[And what's he doing in her room, anyway? She'd be offended if she didn't have the impression she slept through him knocking on her door. The boys have always been good about that, so he gets the benefit of the doubt. This time.]