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Arthur King (chasingphantoms) wrote in inpoormerit,

King had been quietly examining the electronic notebooks all the prisoners had apparently received, tinkering as much as he could with it without actually opening it. Not that he wouldn't have tried to open it to get a look at its inner workings; he just couldn't find an easy way to make that happen without breaking it open. Clearly, this thing was designed to keep information in and let as little as possible out, just like everything else on this damned island. In truth, his examination was more of a ploy to keep him from overanalyzing his strange experiences of the night before. It gave him a completely different problem to focus on kept his mind off the odd things that had been happening to him all day - the strange rearranging of his books and other small items in his room, the presence behind him he'd sworn was there until he looked, the incessant whispers he couldn't quite make out.

As soon as he heard the noise, however, King snapped to attention and sprang immediately to his feet. The voice was female, frantic, and, as far as he could make out, unmistakably real. Upon opening his door, he was relieved that the woman thrashing at his door was, in fact, real. Good. A much more productive problem to help solve. He looked at her with a concern, reaching out one of his strong hands and resting it on her shoulder to steady her, partially in comfort but mostly to encourage her to stop flailing. It was, perhaps, a bit rude to invade her personal space so quickly, but King was so used to outranking everyone around him that it didn't really register, particularly because the gesture was the means to an end. "Shhh. It's all right. You're not alone." It seemed incongruous that such a tall, tough-looking man would speak so soothingly, but, like his original touch, it was more the means to an end than anything else. Women were prone to emotional outbursts, and these were the sorts of tones to use to calm them down.