It seemed dramatic to feel so... dramatic after only being in this place for about three minutes, but Wichita was seriously starting to get why everyone hated it. It wasn't just the monsters or just the asshole soldiers, it was the whole mentality of it. It seemed like nobody wanted to be here, and even those she noticed having friendly conversations and trying to make the best of it seemed tired, if not sporting bandages from who knows what sort of injuries. Just being a part of the mass of patients was enough to bring her mood down. Which sucked
( ... )
It took Scott a moment to realize that someone was talking to him. His focus was split between the letter and the vague impressions he was getting from the movie in front of him. He blinked, realizing that he had heard talking, but not actually heard what the person was saying.
"Wait, what?" Scott turned to see Wichita sitting next to him, looking irritated enough to warrant a good dousing with calamine lotion. "Did you just get a visitor?" His eyes went back to the letter from "Chris" for a moment, then back to Wichita. "I'm. Not really the person to ask on that? This-" Scott held the letter up "-is literally the only experience I have with the whole fake people from our fake lives thing. And I just got it, like, two minutes ago."
"But-" Toronto was supposed to know everything. She frowned, um, more, and slumped down in her seat, legs stretched out in front of her, not caring if they now served as a tripping hazard for others. Watching a movie would have been a great distraction if she actually knew which movie this was, and wasn't a tiny bit worried that if she looked at the screen for too long she'd start getting implanted with subliminal messages added into the movie to really mess with patients. Instead she just looked down at her feet, contemplated her tacky shoes
( ... )
Scott had heard smatterings of bits and pieces about visitors and how sucky they were. This was probably the most complete account he had heard so far, actually. He wasn't sure who "Columbus" was, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that he was some kind of friend of hers, and that he came from Columbus... Whatever State Columbus Was In Again. (Hey shut up, American geography was not constantly drilled into students' heads in Canadian Social Studies.) It also didn't take a genius to figure out how utterly bizarre it would be to actually come face-to-face with someone who looked like a friend and sounded like a complete stranger. It was bizarre enough seeing this letter from "Chris" written in Wallace's handwriting
( ... )
It seemed dramatic to feel so... dramatic after only being in this place for about three minutes, but Wichita was seriously starting to get why everyone hated it. It wasn't just the monsters or just the asshole soldiers, it was the whole mentality of it. It seemed like nobody wanted to be here, and even those she noticed having friendly conversations and trying to make the best of it seemed tired, if not sporting bandages from who knows what sort of injuries. Just being a part of the mass of patients was enough to bring her mood down. Which sucked ( ... )
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"Wait, what?" Scott turned to see Wichita sitting next to him, looking irritated enough to warrant a good dousing with calamine lotion. "Did you just get a visitor?" His eyes went back to the letter from "Chris" for a moment, then back to Wichita. "I'm. Not really the person to ask on that? This-" Scott held the letter up "-is literally the only experience I have with the whole fake people from our fake lives thing. And I just got it, like, two minutes ago."
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