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Dr. Spencer Reid (awkwardgenius) wrote in vas_captio_rpg,

Spencer nodded as Sarah Jane paced back and forth, luckily unempathic enough that her pacing didn't seem to set him on edge... well, anymore than he already was, anyway. His hands writhed a little in front of his stomach, fingers twisting and locking, rubbing in between each other in turn in nervous, fidgetting habit. He couldn't imagine how horrible it would be to find yourself here, recognize names and faces and sights, but not remember why it filled you with such dread. Or maybe he was just searching for a reason to not feel completely guilty about what he was doing here, telling her about the horrors he had learned about Vas Captio both first- and second-hand.

"A journalist?" he asked, voice peaking a lot higher than it should've done in anxious enthusiasm. He was most likely just distracting himself, and her, his nervous disposition getting the better of him. "That- that's really cool, I've, uh, I've worked with a lot of journalists, both crooked and honest... not to say that you're, you know, the former of the two, I'm sure you, well, you seem to be very... honest."

He stopped himself and cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head again. "I, um, I have an eidetic memory, I can... pretty much remember everything I see. It's not always a gift." He looked up at her again, avoiding her eyes for the most part. "I worked with the, uh, the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI, we would profile serial killers and use our findings to catch them... but uh, we did a lot of crime scene investigation, and it was always..."

Babbling again. Reid relinked his fingers together, looking down at the floor rather than at Sarah Jane.

"I, uh... I was here just a few days. Maybe a week... tops? Not, not much longer. I was here for... about a day... before I woke up in a, um, it was some sort of bunker. There were screens lining one wall, and they came on one by one. There were, ah, other people locked in the bunker with me, and uh, you... were one of them."