There was only one room on the upper floors that could be properly adapted to suit Victor's special lights and the renovation made it even 'nicer', by his own standards, but even with a blackout curtain over his window, and safe, insulated and hidden access for the power cables, the orderlies seemed a little worried putting him in there. He'd
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He'd been at the viewing window when the move had occurred, leaning flat against the door and peering subtly, so the guards wouldn't fuss at him for watching. The angle wasn't ideal, so he hadn't seen much, but what he did catch was certainly unconventional. Those strange light fixtures. What for? If only he had been able to glimpse the patient himself-the wheels in his head would really be turning, then.
The humming wriggles its way into his ear and stays there, familiar, writhing, until his throat is thick with the compulsion to join in. He works his jaw from side to side, in silence. Stares at the vent, up there near the ceiling. Licks his teeth, pops his lips quietly.
Right, then.
He makes short work of it, yes, but still the legs of the lousy asylum bed grate against the floor as he shoves it from one side of the room to the other. If he gets in trouble for it, oh well.
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Straining his hearing for sound, he tries to decide on a suitable course of action. Should he call out and end the waiting quickly? Or would it be better to politely introduce himself. He's still not comfortable in this new room and doesn't know how he'll react to his neighbour.
Not being a man of action, Victor decides that the best idea is to simply stand near his vent and wait to see what his new neighbour does.
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"Check, one, two."
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