the rec room [SID]

[jake]

with your halo slipping down
to choke you now

"...and that's why I don't belong here," Jeremiah explained for like, the gazillionth time to one of the nurses, hoping.. wishing with every fiber of his being that maybe this time he'd be listened to, believed. "I should be out in the world where I'm needed, not locked up in some looney-bin where I can barely lift a finger to help anyone." He looked up at the woman from his seated position on the couch almost pleadingly. "You understand.. don't you?" She patted him on the shoulder, shaking her head with a half-hearted smile before letting him know that she'd be back later to bring him his meds. Jeremiah sighed heavily and watched as she disappeared down the hall. Useless. Every attempt at getting these people to understand was useless despite how honest and heartfelt every word that came out of his mouth was, not to mention desperate. It was finally starting to sink in that that he was labeled now, pegged for life as just another delusional schizophrenic mental patient. No matter what he said or did their opinions weren't going to change. If God didn't intervene soon he could see himself becoming forever lost in this sea of lunatics, and he didn't want that. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings. The rec room was practically vacant today save for himself and a couple security guards who watched him from the other end of the room. Ocasionally a few patients would wander in and hover around for a bit but that was about it. He glanced out the window and peered through its immaculately clear glass. He watched the people as they carried on with their lives and it made him feel like time was standing still for him, like this place was some kind of agonizing limbo and he was trapped in it until his fate was decided by the doctors. Would they release him and allow him to return to life as he knew it or would they keep him here until the end of his days as a lifer? The idea of that made a sudden feeling of coldness, dread, hit him at the very core. He didn't think he was insane right now but he feared that a lifetime of institutionalizaion might make him that way, but no.. He tore his gaze away from the window. No, there was no way in hell he would ever let that happen. Sooner or later he would get out. The Lord wouldn't just abandon him in this purgatorial prison, Jeremiah was too precious and important to Him. At least, that's what he'd keep on telling himself.

[Sid "Jimmy" Snider]

Sid Snider sauntered through the hallway, escorted as usual by the goon who seemed to never leave his side. It was a little annoying, being highly tailed by a stupid security guard by hey – what choice did he have? He gave a sly little smile over his shoulder – all in good intent, trying his hardest to act like Jimmy would – which made the guard suddenly tense and look at him with dark eyes. It made Sid snicker, “Oh yes, you think I’m Jimmy. Sorry, he’s not here. Just lil old Sid,” he teased, watching the guard relax. His moods were too explosive sometimes, that it just went and blew up on him, but he’s been moderately good lately, which is always a good thing, if you asked him. He clicked his tongue as his feet found the floor, step by step in a steady movement, moving him towards the recreational room, where he knew he had to spend a few hours … “socializing”. He wasn’t too thrilled about being social with others, but if push comes to shove… he sighed, rolling his eyes. He didn’t like being with others – mostly because others really just irritated him and he wasn’t good with his buttons always being pushed.

He stepped into the room, noticing only a few people were around, a few people and a handful of guards for the few high profiles that were lurking. He made his way to the bookshelf and picked up a magazine about cars – something that he absolutely loved – and took it over to a free chair and settled himself in it, flipping through it mindlessly, focused. The last thing he wanted to do was cause trouble and get more days added on – he did have a goal, and he was planning on it. He wanted to be down to a medium profile, and get just a little more freedom than he had now, and he was determined to keep that goal. He had managed to keep most of his Jimmy moments in control or simply keep himself in a good mood, and when Jimmy was out, threats were said, but nothing ever went through. It made him just an inkle bit proud, that’s for sure.

[/justify][/color]

[jake]

with your halo slipping down
to choke you now

Jeremiah's eyes followed the newcomer as he made his way into the room with a guard in company. His head had a mess of unruly black hair, probably dyed seeing how it looked like it was begining to fade into a brown color. He watched the other patient plop down in a chair with a magazine, feeling a little curious. He had to do something, anything that would take his mind off the forlorn and very real possibility of being trapped within these condemning white walls for the rest of his life. Maybe a conversation would help. Yeah, socializing. That sounded like a good idea. Casually, he arose from his seat on the couch and walked over to where Sid was sitting. The other high-profiler looked so immersed in what he was reading and it made Jeremiah think twice about approaching him, like.. what if he'd be disturbing the guy? He didn't want to be rude. He managed to catch a glimpse of the cover as Sid turned a page. Cars. Maybe it was just him but he thought that subject was kind of depressing in a place like this, considering how the patients couldn't exactly go anywhere and cars were symbolic to freedom. He tried to remember the last time he drove, hit the open road without all the reins and restrictions he was growing all too familiar with at Lucid Manor. Back then it hadn't seemed like a big deal. He couldn't care less about his car, it was only a means of transportation from one place to another but now.. now he'd give just about anything to get behind the wheel and take off. Leave this God-forsaken institution in the dust, start over again with his angelic plight in a place where the people didn't think he was crazy. If only things were that simple.

"Hi," the 'exorcist' greeted, closing the gap between himself and Sid with a few more steps and offering a friendly smile. His own guards regarded him warrily when he moved in and he pretended not to notice the way their eyes seemed to zero in on him so expectantly. They were acting like he was some kind of dangerous criminal, unpredictable and in need of constant supervision. Once upon a time he used to be a medium-profile patient and he would come and go as he pleased, those days were long behind him now and seemingly unredeemable. There was another chair directly across from Sid and he gestured toward it with a hopeful look on his face. "Mind if I join you?"

[Sid "Jimmy" Snider]

Cars. Cars were one of Sid’s fascinations. He had literally always been into cars, ever since he was a tyke and living with his deadbeat father. He had remembered the hundreds upon hundreds of little toy cars, trucks and helicopters, tractor trailers and aeroplanes, all hidden away in trunks with unlocked locks hanging down, layers of dust covering the musty, browned leather casing fading away with the few remaining good memories he had of the dirt bag. He didn’t care – he wouldn’t let himself care. Jimmy wouldn’t let him care, so while he had slowly grown up, his focus went from caring about his father to his toy cars, which eventually turned into his love for real cars – the way the smooth metal felt under his fingers, the way the leather of the seats squeaked when he sat down and shifted even the slightest – the smell of the oil, the gas, the greases running over his

He couldn’t help but smile brightly. For his sixteenth birthday, he had gotten an old car in which he spent the year before he arrived here fixing it – Jimmy hated cars, but that was Jimmy. He’d rather fuck a girl than work with a car, and Sid understood that. He’d often come in for dinner covered in grease and oil, from head to toe, his clothes ruined… but of course, he couldn’t do that anymore. Not here. He wondered if his sister sold his car – the one materialistic item besides his keychain that Sid longed for – or if it was still sitting in the garage, wheeless, capless and with the engine all thrown all over the place. He wondered if the drugs in his system would remember where everything would go. It made him stop in his reading, staring blankly at the corvette on the page.

His thoughts were interrupted when someone approached him and said hi, before asking if they could sit in the chair across from him. He looked up with his blue eyes, studying the older male patient – also a high profile, Sid guessed, from the look on a guard’s face and actions keeping close to him, and Sid shrugged, “Don’t care,” he said. He wasn’t really in the mood to talk, but if this man wanted to talk then whatever. It wasn’t like Sid was going to tell him to go away when he obviously wanted to join him.

[/justify]

[jake]

with your halo slipping down
to choke you now

Jeremiah sat down without a second of hesitation the moment Sid gave him the okay. If the guy wasn't exactly in the most chatty of moods he was too oblivious to notice. "Great," he said with eagerness, smile broadening and spirit rising. Now he could forget all about the woes of being unjustly confined to this looney bin if only for a little while. The scrubs the other patient was wearing immediately told him that he must have been a high-profiler too. Yeah, that might have sent out red flags to some people or at least put them on edge, but not Jeremiah. It didn't make him the least bit uncomfortable nor did it so much as intimidate him. With delusions of grandeur that made him think he was invincible there was very little that could. He leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees and his eyes attentively focussed on Sid. "I'm Jeremiah, its nice to meet you um... what is your name?"

He didn't have a problem talking to people. Not at all. Jeremiah could have easily been one of the friendliest patients at the asylum despite the big scary high-profile label that sometimes made low-profile residents uneasy. He had the boldness and perhaps, naivety, to go up to just about anyone and say hello. Just ask the ever unstable basket case that was Alec J. Anderson, who he happened to approach without the slightest hint of reluctance. Ironically it was the doctors that made him nervous. The ones who looked down on him from their exalted position of power wielding syringes and a plethora of antipsychotic drugs. They were his biggest concern. With a single single pill they could take away his powers and put an end to his holy crusade, or rather, psychotic misadventures. He treated them with the same kindness and respect he would anybody else but regarded them warrily nevertheless.