Repose

Who: Dylan Michaels & Hannah Smith
What: Chillin' out, maxin', relaxin' all cool - nope? Nope.
When: Recent, let us go with recent.

Dylan ate most days at the Facility. Ate most meals at the Facility, which was another step in between Before and After, which loomed like that in Dylan's head. Capitals. Before, making whatever was in the little library's cookbook section in the trailer's crapped out little kitchen, when he came in with tupperware and thought a lot all day about getting over to G's room and sitting with her a little, eating beef stew and ratatouille while watching nature programs on TV, oh and yeah, going a little crazy once a month. Waking up with a tattoo or in some bed with a mouth that tasted like the dumpsters behind the high school had smelled on hot days. After, was the place in Vegas he didn't remember. Cool sheets, a taped intravenous line and a whole series of nothing but guard duty and watching kids try to rattle the outer fences for dares on the cameras.

Dylan expected another bad day imminent. He figured there were guys in here like him. Twitchy when the intercom crackled, tense under the skin until the day was done and the clock punched and they were back in bunks. The guys were partly why Dylan stayed: because if the doc called his number, he figured the guys would work it out until he wasn't making choices he didn't remember thinking about, public. G wasn't the issue. G was doing better, she told him so on the phone from the fancy rehab place teaching her how to walk normal. Nah, Dylan worried about people who had watched him grow up or grown up with him. He worried about Capital bars and he worried about M. Thought about it, until he felt like he'd gone around and around the bare walls inside his head and then he went to the gym and hit stuff until he didn't think about it anymore.

So he was eating. Here in the After. Collected a tray, lined up, and loaded up with everything going, burger, fries, a side of lasagne, chips, and an apple. Mostly, he was starving. Metabolism, he had measured weekly. They pricked him for blood, and measured everything, told him some days, didn't others. Dylan didn't want to know about his physiology: couldn't do nothing about it, didn't know if it was important. Metabolism meant he burned warm even cold outside, and he ate like he was starving. The apple, that was all Leda. Leda who thought fruit kept off expensive doctor bills.

He rolled the apple around on the table, empty. No one else was sat there, the shifts handed off late and the cafeteria here was vast, big enough to hold a bunch of egg-head scientists and dumb guys like Dylan at the same time without them having to talk.

[Locked to Dietre A]
How you faring since the book party, honey?

[Locked to Oliver K]
Did you go reading?

[Locked to Beau W]
How goes the dancing, twinkle toes?

[Johnny sang, as he always did. It was Saturday night and there wasn't a whole lot to do in Repose. The Cat was busy, loud with the sounds of people playing pool, talking, and otherwise enjoying themselves and a beer or two. Steve was behind the bar—and glad to be back—pouring bourbon shots for a gentleman and his buddy. He was dressed in denim, head to foot, and his boots were old and comfortable. He was getting a lot of 'welcome backs' and 'good to have you back' from the regulars, and his mood was alright, as far as everything went. He smiled and nodded and earned his tips.

When the newest person showed up at the bar, Steve turned to them.] What can I get you?

Who: Patrick G and Adrian M
What: Punching at the gym, as promised
Where: The gym
When: Early morning
Warnings/Rating: Punching?

( Patrick would be there, however, and Patrick still wanted Adrian to punch him in the face. )

[Fuzz it up.]

[Leena B]
You were going to come over for sushi, yes? Are you still going back?

[Rory B]
What is the difference between a hippo and a zippo?

[Steve M]
Hey. How are you doing?

[Atticus M]
[...] I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.

[Call: Daniel W]
[After some time. Ring ring.]