#rhys post

when happy:

when sad:

seeing something they want:

seeing someone they dislike:

when their berserk button is pressed:

"There is nothing accurate about the werewolf costumes! They really think we all wear plaid!?"

.....that's what he has issue with?

Rhys isn’t sure how long he’s been sitting, well currently laying, on the floor of this cell. Time is irrelevant with no sun to track, though he thinks he’s counted five moons maybe. The odd sense he has with the moon makes him think he knows when it’s in the sky. He could be wrong. 

Regardless, he’s pissed off. Never had he encountered metal bars he couldn’t bend with enough force, were they fucking magicked? Had to be because he couldn’t shift either. Dammit! He really should have stayed far away from witches, regardless of how good the money was. And all this for what? Trespassing? Apparently he’d “been where he shouldn’t be?” Yeah, yeah whatever.

The blond has his arms folded underneath his head as he stares up at the stone ceiling, floor cool beneath his back. He’d given up growling and yelling because these guards seemed to do nothing about it anyway, wouldn’t give him a peep about how long they’d keep him. Couldn’t be forever right? At least they fed him. Wasn’t the greatest food and it sure as hell wasn’t enough but he wasn’t dying yet. He refused to die like this.