Henry Westphal (hwestphal) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2014-04-03 03:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2009-10-05, august, henry |
Welcome to the jungle
Who: August Summers, Henry Westphal
Where: U of M Hospital
When: Late morning, October 5
Status: In Progress
Freshly showered and shaved and in clean sweats and a Doctor Who tee shirt, Henry sat in his chair with his feet propped up on the bed, contemplating his feet. His sister Norah had gone to his apartment, fed Ood and petted him, fed the fish, and had returned with clothes. Never mind that she'd deliberately mixed up his socks and his left foot currently had an orange one and his right foot a green one; he could forgive the small prank just to be dressed, and besides, it was sort of festive. She'd brought him his laptop, told him that his favorites folder was vile and that much porn was unhealthy for anyone. It didn't surprise him that she'd snooped; her nature was as curious as his own and she was fiendishly clever with computers. To make up for it, she'd promised to bring him tacos later, and food was an acceptable conciliatory gesture.
His parents had been waiting for him on his return to the hospital, greeting him with an embarrassing amount of hugging and kissing. It was all right, though. Henry knew how lucky he was; not every family could accept their relative turning furry and monster-y; he'd heard stories of families splitting because of it. He didn't tell them about the horrifyingly huge claw marks his otherself had made in the floor of his cage, but did tell them how kind and professional the Ballard House staff had been. Being locked securely into a monster-proof cage had been a relief beyond words. Next month, when he was out and living on his own again, he'd drive himself there. Anything, to keep from hurting someone.
Alice had brought him a crossword puzzle book and bored--in honesty, more not wishing to think about things--he opened it up, picked up his pen, and began working on a puzzle. As he clicked the pen against his teeth, thinking, he heard a knock at the door and looked up. A man about his age stood there, his face vaguely familiar. Not too tall, handsome, brown hair, muscular, still sporting a tan, the bastard--his own had already faded, courtesy of a pale-skinned Irish heritage. The man had a pleasant-enough expression, but there was something about him that made Henry think few wanted to cross him.
"Hey," he said in greeting, wondering if the guy had the wrong room.