(Untitled)

[icd10f60pt7]

When in doubt of your abilities to get what you want in the smallest way possible, Harley, beg.  Beg and get assigned to the night shift on a Sunday night.  That's when the slackers work, right?  That's when you can, somehow, figure out round about where the person you most want to talk to in life is being kept and you can wander the corridors,

Comments

[laughing_magus]

John is sitting in the center of his room 'behaving'. He's not sleeping, that's clear. Some night terrors are stronger than sedatives. The patient has made a damn awful mess of his cell again. He sits dead center of a circle drawn messily in blood with small, strange symbols around the edge. Other, larger symbols mark the floor and walls. All of the 'artwork' is equally blurred and sloppy. He had been doing these 'drawings' in blood from his fingers and wrists until they restrained him to a jacket. Now, there's a feint trickle of blood visible at the corner of his mouth.

"The walls're too thin... They'll not get in now." He rocks slightly, nearly passing out, then straightens up with eyes wide. "No. Shite.. 'Elp me stay awake, y'lot of useless dead bastards or whot good are you?"

[icd10f60pt7]

She pauses at this particular room and peers in. Concerned, sure. Certainly. "Who won't get in?" She is only rudimentarily familiar with the case, after all she did start just this past week. Right now, she's wondering if she should call an orderly or a nurse.

[laughing_magus]

The voice gets his attention and his eyes move quickly to that little window. His eyes are tired and bloodshot, but a nice shade of blue. He can't see her, but he can hear that he's dealing with a woman. This gets bigger doe eyes by reflex alone.

"...Demons, mos'ly. This place is well suited, y'see.... Full of negative energy..."
He tries to force a smile ans quiet his own rambling, knowing how crazy it sounds.
"Don' suppose you, smoke, do you, love? You've no idea 'ow grateful I'd be fer a smoke."

[icd10f60pt7]

"Sorry, I don't smoke." She does sound sorry. "I suppose that there is quite a bit of negative energy. How are you feeling at the moment? Do you need something to drink?"

[glasgow_smile]

Cell number I-44. The I is for Isolation. Logic: gotta love it.

Mr. Empty Nameplate, he was good today. He finished all his meals-he even drank the little carton of milk that tasted funny-and didn't throw so much as a pea this time. And he was very nice to the people who came to see him, too, in that he didn't try to make anyone weep or hit him.
In the afternoon it had occurred to him that he might be able to snap off those little side flaps, those 'ears', on the XO-like laptop... but then, whatever plastic those things are made of is pretty tough, so it's likely that it would just come off clean, with no sharp edges. The flaps on their own are fairly useless. Either way, they'd take away his toy and probably never give it back, so he kindly suppressed the urge to find out what would happen.

It's a good thing that he did, too, or he would have nothing to do but stare at the wall or the ceiling or the floor, or perhaps the toilet, as exciting as that sounds. But because he was such a kitten today, he was spared the heavy duty shot,

[icd10f60pt7]

This patient discover, Harleen, is what they refer to in the business of psychiatry as 'score'. Well, maybe not that particular business. Perhaps the business of obsession. At any possible rate, the notion stands. Harley has found exactly who she was looking for.

And really, it's not as if the other patients don't interest her, they do. Really, they do. And if she's ever a patient in here, she'll need to have made some...well, some friends. But this guy, right here? Oh, this guy.

He's special, and she doesn't even know why. So she'll take a moment to watch him do whatever it is that he's even doing before making her prescence known.

Why hello thar patient I-44.

[glasgow_smile]

Oh, a noise at the door. Gee. Whoever could it be. An asylum employee, perhaps? Why, yes! He's such a good guesser. And he is, at the moment, not entertained by the opportunity to interact with staff. The look he aims over his shoulder is slow and cold-he is unimpressed with your existence, whoever you are.
That is, until he actually sees her.

Well, hello to you too, young pretty face in the window. His hand leaves his mouth, leaving bare the full array of scar tissue curling from his lips. The lines of his face soften into curiosity, eyebrows raised, with a fluttery blink for emphasis. May he help you, young lady?

[icd10f60pt7]

Oh, he probably can ba bump bump. For some reason, who even knows why, she is a little taken aback by the scars. Perhap she thought they really were makeup? Perhaps she is just impresed by facial scarring on grown men. It could be anything. (It probably isn't bees)

What to say, Ms Quinzel. Oh really? Now that you are staring right into his cell, you can't think of a thing? How interesting! "Um. Hiii."

Yes, let's show him those smarts of yours.