[Action] Who: Francis York Morgan and OPEN What: Smoke break and possible socialization When: Post therapy, possibly around dusk Where: In one of the designated outside smoking areas, near the gardens
[York stood under the rain. His pose and demeanor appeared to be that of a sleepwalker - his head was hung, his shoulders slumped, and the arm not holding a lit cigarette hung limp at his side. The hand that was holding the smoke was the only part of him currently under protection from the downpour and that was only because he had allowed it to fall on a bit of railing under a brief overhang of the roof. If he could have seen himself, caught his reflection in a bit of rain-streaked window, he might have been amused (or perhaps horrified) to see that he quite resembled the shadows against which he had once fought - pale, hollow-eyed, slack. Still, his mind seemed caught up in other things, at the moment.]
[He lifted his unburdened hand so that he could press two fingers against the skin just behind his ear and he spoke to himself in a low murmur] That therapy session sure was something -- wasn't it, Zach? I'm still not sure what to make of it. I suppose we'll have to wait and see what comes of it. Still, I don't know that I want to make it a regular appointment.
[York lifted the already half-gone cigarette to his lips and he drew a long drag. Holding the smoke in his lungs, he reached for the clarity of mind which usually came with the rush of soothing nicotine - but there was no relief to be found. Sighing out the smoke, he closed his eyes briefly.] Too much noise. Still, too much noise. Something about this place makes it hard to think straight - and I wouldn't be surprised if it were those pills they hand out in the morning. Do you think there's someway we can get around that, Zach?