(no subject)
Who: Baby and Nero
What: Depression ahoy!
When: Just before this thread
Where: The cafeteria
Warnings: Probably a lot of cursing.
Nero was brooding. Again.
He was good at brooding--at this point he had it down to a science. It usually involved sitting somewhere and scowling, lost in the kind of depression one usually stays in because it’s easier to wallow in it than drag oneself out. He’d get there eventually--he always did, once his somewhat fractured mind started the upswing toward what was not quite mania, but the closest thing a Romulan could get. Those had been the times he’d actually paid attention to what went on around him in prison, watching for any weaknesses--a thing that had eventually paid off when they all escaped.
Currently he was occupying one of the tables in the corner of the cafeteria, wishing to all seven hells that he could have a mug of Romulan ale. Alcohol, it seemed, was reserved for the Wardens, and though Nero hadn’t exactly been much of a drinker when he was alive, sometimes he just wanted one, and the fact that he couldn’t have one just made his mood that much worse. At least he was slowly getting over his need to break the neck of anyone who disturbed him--he’d made that much progress, which for him was actually quite a bit. Hard as it might be for anyone to believe, Ian was actually having some influence over him--Ian, and that flood, which was also partly why he was brooding. He was a brooding kind of guy.
What: Depression ahoy!
When: Just before this thread
Where: The cafeteria
Warnings: Probably a lot of cursing.
Nero was brooding. Again.
He was good at brooding--at this point he had it down to a science. It usually involved sitting somewhere and scowling, lost in the kind of depression one usually stays in because it’s easier to wallow in it than drag oneself out. He’d get there eventually--he always did, once his somewhat fractured mind started the upswing toward what was not quite mania, but the closest thing a Romulan could get. Those had been the times he’d actually paid attention to what went on around him in prison, watching for any weaknesses--a thing that had eventually paid off when they all escaped.
Currently he was occupying one of the tables in the corner of the cafeteria, wishing to all seven hells that he could have a mug of Romulan ale. Alcohol, it seemed, was reserved for the Wardens, and though Nero hadn’t exactly been much of a drinker when he was alive, sometimes he just wanted one, and the fact that he couldn’t have one just made his mood that much worse. At least he was slowly getting over his need to break the neck of anyone who disturbed him--he’d made that much progress, which for him was actually quite a bit. Hard as it might be for anyone to believe, Ian was actually having some influence over him--Ian, and that flood, which was also partly why he was brooding. He was a brooding kind of guy.