Well, this... wasn't good. Roland had felt sluggish all day long, and neither had he really felt like communicating. His stomach ached from gorging himself the night before, and even worse, he could feel the rumbling of discontent from the demon within. This upcoming night was going to be hell on earth, of that he was certain; which further meant that he was very much not looking forward to what was going to be going on. At all.

For now, he remained sprawled on the same sofa he had been for the entire day, not wanting to move or think or do much of anything. If he didn't move, neither would the rotting flesh inside of him. And if that didn't move, he wouldn't have much of a problem. ...reminded him that he needed to brush his teeth thoroughly in the next shift. The last thing he wanted was horrifically bad breath, but there wasn't much he could do about it now. Except bury his face in the cushions and hope no one bothered him, of course.

((Closed to Peter))