Though he awoke with a start, as though forcing himself from the grips of a nightmare, it took Edgar a moment to muster the energy to rise from the bed. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out all he was feeling long enough to listen to the morning announcements- he wasn't very successful. His body ached all over; his shirt was damp with sweat, leaving him longing for another shower. Any rest he might have found in the time between the end of night and dawn had already been exhausted. He couldn't remember hearing the intercom during the night- he shook his head, reasoning he'd passed out. There weren't words for the mixture of frustration and humiliation he'd faced.
... And would continue to face, apparently. It was time for the weekly field trip to Doyleton, which meant he was expected to don whatever shabby garments they'd found for him to wear and behave. He disliked being given orders, and doubly so after the previous night; however, he was in no condition to argue. He had to admit he was looking forward to some time alone, especially given the circumstances. If he looked as ill as he felt, it was a good day to keep to himself. It had been some time since anyone had seen him that undeniably sick, and he preferred to keep it that way.
Adding insult to injury was a new adornment to his hat. As Edgar made out of bed, he caught sight of the beret on the night stand: on the front, as though it had always been there, was one of the pins he'd spotted others bearing the day before. M-U. He thought he would vomit for a second, his stomach churning with an instant of fury as he eyed the piece. Whether he was truly moved to sickness from personal disgust or it was a reaction to night before was something he couldn't discern.
He wasn't given time to think about it, nor was he allowed to check on Gren- the morning escort arrived, knocking on the door impatiently. Edgar pulled on the clothes left for him as quickly as his body would allow: his movement was sluggish, his limbs working against him as he pulled on the jeans, his fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. Though he wanted to leave the thick sweater behind, the guard insisted he wear it to keep out the chill in the cold weather. It seemed the perspiration lining his brow wasn't a clear enough indication that he was plenty warm.
Edgar took his provisions and slipped onto the bus without protest, thankful to find an empty seat near a window- it didn't open, but the view would serve as a decent distraction. The changes already in place were subtle: the morning announcements had said the additional orderlies would be traveling with them, implying they were little more than soldiers in disguise. Then the residents of Doyleton weren't to be made aware of the changes? That was... interesting.
He brushed the damp hair from his face, cursing himself for being unable to focus as well as he liked. Though it appeared they'd been given proper food for the trip, the nausea that coursed through him made him wonder if he'd ever eat again.
... And would continue to face, apparently. It was time for the weekly field trip to Doyleton, which meant he was expected to don whatever shabby garments they'd found for him to wear and behave. He disliked being given orders, and doubly so after the previous night; however, he was in no condition to argue. He had to admit he was looking forward to some time alone, especially given the circumstances. If he looked as ill as he felt, it was a good day to keep to himself. It had been some time since anyone had seen him that undeniably sick, and he preferred to keep it that way.
Adding insult to injury was a new adornment to his hat. As Edgar made out of bed, he caught sight of the beret on the night stand: on the front, as though it had always been there, was one of the pins he'd spotted others bearing the day before. M-U. He thought he would vomit for a second, his stomach churning with an instant of fury as he eyed the piece. Whether he was truly moved to sickness from personal disgust or it was a reaction to night before was something he couldn't discern.
He wasn't given time to think about it, nor was he allowed to check on Gren- the morning escort arrived, knocking on the door impatiently. Edgar pulled on the clothes left for him as quickly as his body would allow: his movement was sluggish, his limbs working against him as he pulled on the jeans, his fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. Though he wanted to leave the thick sweater behind, the guard insisted he wear it to keep out the chill in the cold weather. It seemed the perspiration lining his brow wasn't a clear enough indication that he was plenty warm.
Edgar took his provisions and slipped onto the bus without protest, thankful to find an empty seat near a window- it didn't open, but the view would serve as a decent distraction. The changes already in place were subtle: the morning announcements had said the additional orderlies would be traveling with them, implying they were little more than soldiers in disguise. Then the residents of Doyleton weren't to be made aware of the changes? That was... interesting.
He brushed the damp hair from his face, cursing himself for being unable to focus as well as he liked. Though it appeared they'd been given proper food for the trip, the nausea that coursed through him made him wonder if he'd ever eat again.
[Late, but free if anyone wants him]
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