Interesting Conversations (Open - anyone)

[Sid "Jimmy" Snider]

Sid felt the twinge of irritation set into his head, the pain in his knuckles thudding every moment as he paced through the Hospital Wing, knowing – and mentally counting – every broken bone in his hand from that punch he gave to the poor asshole that insulted him. He could feel the vibration of the blood making his hand puff up, bruises forming slightly – he was to go and see them, escorted by at least three different guards who were standing at the end of the hallway in a line, making sure he couldn’t get out. They were watching him with hawk eyes as he paced, his free hand pressing down on his sore hand, making him wince in pain, but hey, it kept Jimmy under control at least for that minute. He felt him stirring in his head, the feelings of wanting to come out and take the guards – he could care less about them, he really could. He wanted a smoke, or a drink, or hell, his damn keychain with the charms his sister gave to him all those years ago.

That had constantly kept him on edge.

But the doctors said that if he was good for a week he’d be able to have it for a day. It wasn’t particularly “dangerous” – it didn’t have anything sharp, and he knew he couldn’t – wouldn’t – dare use it as a weapon; even Jimmy knew how dear it was, and he knew better. That’d be crossing a line that even he knew he shouldn’t cross. It was a goal for him; be good and you get rewarded, be bad and you have to start over from the beginning. So far, it had only happened once, and that was his third week here, and he has yet to have it back. He wondered if he could take a charm off of it and keep it hidden in his shoe or pocket… would they even know? He mulled about it, finding his irritated mood slowly diminishing when he thought of that clever little plan, oh how clever he thought he was.

Now, if only he could figure out a clever little way to get away from the hospital wing. His blue eyes looked back over to the guards, watching him still. He grunted, wondering about this situation.

[nya]

YOU KNOW YOU'RE JUST LIKE ME ; A MYSTERY WITH NOTHING MORE TO SEE.

The complexities of the human body were amazing. Alois pondered, looking at the scab on his elbow and examined the extent to which the human healing process constantly amazed him. He had been hurt several times, but then an ugly scab comes along and covers it up until the flesh has healed. Then there's nothing but a scar. Alois wondered if life was also a regenerative process. He wondered if right now he was just a scab of a person, tough-shelled and ugly until fully healed. But he would never be fully healed. He would always just be a scar to society. Alois hardly knew what he was even supposed to look and think like.

Though there were some injuries, apparently, that time could not heal. Infections were one of them, which required Alois to get daily injections and antibiotics. Alois could not protest. He had been feeling rather unhappily ill to the stomach for as long as he could remember. So he went with his guard to the hospital wing at the appointed time, placid and docile as a dog. Anemic and perpetually chilly, Alois was allowed to wear an oversized knit sweater along with the usual scrubs. His long, platinum hair was loosely braided to the side and rested on his shoulder. When his guard opened the door to the hospital wing and was greeted by three other such guards standing in the way, Alois gave them an unsure look.

He stepped skeptically inside, wary of the tensely pacing fellow with black hair at the end of the hall. Alois didn't like people who were stressed out. He also didn't like people who could be presumably dangerous, as the influx of guards suggested. Alois took a seat quietly on one of the uncomfortable waiting benches, gray eyes giving the other guy a long look up and down. His hands ground together, giving him a slight amount of pain. An unlucky hand, bruised and yellowed. Alois rose an eyebrow, although not exactly surprised. In the few short days he had been at the facility he had come into contact with a great number of individuals with varying degrees of sanity.

"That's a nasty job you've done to your hand," Alois observed coolly, and with added bravery thanks to the number of guards hanging out. "I've seen a wound like that before. Whose face did you smash in?" Alois' smooth voice questioned calmly, deeper and more masculine than one would expect from such a feminine appearance. He looked keenly at the boy's hand, knowingly seeing such the same thing after Wallace had knocked him flat out a couple times. Or had a bout with the wall. Hands were such delicate things. So many bones and so many nerves... Alois only had two of his fingers broken before he knew what pain really was.

[Sid "Jimmy" Snider]

Jimmy was stirring; Sid could feel him deep in the back of his head, the feelings of irritating that were setting in quickly, the ones that were creeping up against his will, almost consuming him like the darkness consumes the light. Or maybe that was backwards and the light consumes the darkness. Whatever; Sid wasn’t smart enough to figure out the specifics of metaphors, but that was that. He could feel the pounding of the hatred building aimlessly in the back of his mind… he growled, pacing through the hallways again, ready to blow at any moment. And then, suddenly, he just found himself calm. It was strange, how different his moods were most of the time – sometimes he had intense power outs of rage, and then suddenly just drop to a good mood. It was strange. He looked at his hand, bruised and probably slightly broken, but he didn’t exactly really care – Jimmy’s doing, and whatever. He huffed, not realizing there was someone else in the hallway besides the guards designated to keep him “safe”… he rolled his eyes.

He heard the other male – was it a male? He wasn’t too sure – talk, pretty much about his hand and he rolled his eyes, followed by asking who’s face he bashed in, “None of your damn business,” he said, biting the words. He was feeling that explosive mood coming back – sometimes he hated how easily he switched moods but… whatever. He took a deep breath, mentally telling himself to calm down and to stifle Jimmy out, but he didn’t really succeed in it. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, pressing his thumb and middle finger into the respective eyes next to them, fighting the headache that seemed to conflict against his medicines. God damn medicines – nothing ever fucking worked… he glanced over at the other man, quirking an eyebrow, “But if you must know, it was an annoying little pipsqueak who got on my nerves. I quite like feeling the pain, though – I’m not a masochist but it does make me feel alive,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

[/justify]