Who: Misha and Billy
What: Visiting Hours
Where: The Quiet HomeWhen: A two-hour block of time @ nowish
Warnings/Rating: Who knows!
The Quiet Home was real quiet. It didn't matter that it was visiting time, because most folks hidden away in Repose's forest, they didn't have much folk keen to visit. So, despite it being afternoon and visiting time, there wasn't a whole lot of
life in the big old visiting room. Patients were sitting 'round in various states of messy, drooling on chess pieces and rocking in chairs that had seen more years than some family bibles. But it was a quiet sort of afternoon.
Misha was sitting near the door, legs crossed and on a faded red seat. He was quiet too, but not like the folks 'round him. He'd cheeked his pills that morning, which he did most every morning, and he was on good behavior just so no one got wise. He didn't get to go working for hours yet, and he was hoping Billy would show, because he could do with some entertaining.
He was dressed in drawstring pants, with the drawstring pulled clear off, and his shirt was white and thin. His black eye was turning to yellow, and he looked like every other patient in the room. Even his damn sneakers, discarded a few feet away, were lacking laces. Now, Misha wasn't a suicide risk, and he was allowed real clothes, but not at group visiting times. Wouldn't do for someone to get a hold of his shoelaces and string themselves up in the middle of visiting. It meant the tall, willowy boy didn't look real pretty, but at least his nails were a fine shade of
Knackered. Feet and hands, seeing as he wasn't wearing shoes. The soles of his feet were filthy from the old floors, but he reckoned noticing that might make someone wise to how lucid he was. Now, it would be true to say he wasn't having the most lucid of days, but he wasn't bad-off like he got sometimes. And it wouldn't do to have folks think he was anything but a model nutjob.