Day 54: Intercom, Morning
It was hard to imagine that either the regular staff or the soldiers, who had seemed so out of place that morning, had anticipated what the patient populace had decided to do during breakfast. While the grand majority of patients had eventually decided to calm down and either escape to adjacent rooms or stay hidden under the cafeteria tables, there
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Scott's head lolled against the side of the padded cell as he sang to himself. He couldn't do much else to keep himself occupied right now, no thanks to Harry & Barry McStormtrooper at breakfast. Not only had they beaten him into the ground and sedated both him and Woody, but they had then left him on the ground to suffer the full effects of tear gas despite his already being down for the count. That was just... mean was what that was. Scott's brain was too muzzy at the moment to come up with a better word, but it seemed to fit the bill, anyway.
He sniffed in deep, wishing he could wipe away some of the residual fluid and boogers from his nostrils and upper lip. Unfortunately, the freaking straitjacket made that a bit of a problem. Seriously. This was overkill. This was bullshit. Goddamn it.
At least being cooped up alone gave him some time to think. Maybe not very clearly, but it was still time that Scott didn't always grant himself in the Institute. Or maybe just being was a better way to put it than thinking. He couldn't focus on useful thoughts, but he could chill inside his own mind just fine. Might be a nice way to get away for a while, Scott thought. Like, if he leaned back far enough and forgot that his arms were crossed uncomfortably around his bruised ribs (not hard, considering they were starting to feel a little numb at this point), he could almost convince himself that he was snuggled very tightly under the covers in Ramona's bed. With the worst head cold ever. Whatever. Maybe if he had a cold, that might mean Rammy would pity him and dote on him more. Yeah, that sounded pretty good. Doting was something he kind of missed. He could just imagine her over in the kitchen while he waited in the bedroom, unable to smell the chicken soup that was on the way, but able to hear it burbling into existence. He knew he wouldn't have been able to wait long if there had been soup coming. Ramona soup was the best soup.
She would bring the soup and some tea over on a tray and plunk it down on the nightstand for him, he thought, forcing him to drag himself over to the side of the bed before he got any kind of soothing warmth. He would moan and whine for a bit until she whapped him on the arm with a rolled-up newspaper or something. Then he would sit up, say thanks, and share a smile with her as he started in on the soup. Eventually he might invite her to share a sympathy kiss with him, to which she would respond with something like, "Eugh, when your face is all covered in snot? You think I would?" Then she would wipe his face with a Kleenex and give him a quick peck anyway.
Later, in the absence of a TV or video games, she might play him music - some good, some awesome, and some terrible just for shits and giggles. He might try to sing him some of Sex Bob-omb's music, too, despite her protests that his froggy throat wasn't doing his crappy band any service.
"And I think you tried to go to bed, but instead... you went to floor..."
Stop it Scott, seriously! The scratching in your throat's gonna kill us all! Ahahaha, the eardrums of the world will burst and (teehehe) it'll all be your fault!
"You've been out drinking with the other boys again... Telling them no, we're only friends..."
The arms around him were Ramona's as she snuggled closer to him in the bed, sharing a moment, sharing warmth.
"Killing brain cells... Killing me..."
Listen to this song. This is a really good song.
"Why won't you stop pretending that this game is never-endi-"
There was a noise. Scott's head jerked up through the drug-induced haze. "Ramona?" Scott blinked. The only noise around had been the sound of military footsteps clacking past the cell door outside. There was no one else there for him. He was alone. Right.
"Oh."
Scott sat and stared into space. He blinked bleary-eyed a few more times. Then he slid himself down the wall a little further and rolled over onto his side, trying to get comfortable. Maybe he would be better off sleeping this shift through after all.
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