Compliant [open]
Sweeney wasn’t happy, but he was surprisingly calm for someone who had been denied his cigarettes and booze. Instead he chewed on a piece of rolled up paper that he’d previously inscribed the words “Fuck Bran” repeatedly in purple crayon on. He fumbled through the cards in his hand, organizing, strategizing, all without looking up from his cards or giving any indication on his face as to what was in his hand.
He transferred his hand of cards to his left hand completely and brought his right hand up to fiddle with the rolled up paper between his teeth. Sweeney pulled it out as if to speak, narrowed his brow, put it back between his teeth and fiddled with the cards again.
He knew where he was without a clue how he got there. And while he wasn’t exactly pleased that he wasn’t allowed a cigarette or even a slight swig of whiskey, or that he couldn’t wear his street clothes or even leave the place; he was content with the fact that he wasn’t on the street and wasn’t living under a bridge. Small blessings. Silver linings.
But fuck all he hated being confined. He was a leprechaun. A thing of nature that thrived in nature. But he’d make do with the lot he’d drawn. Which meant taking medications as he was ordered - he'd never had a problem taking drugs before, legal and illegal; and overall not causing a ruckus.
Which also meant he was sitting at a table with other patients, playing cards and waiting for the day he could leave. At least the food was decent. Well, better then eating chestnuts in the treetops.
He smiled a sly smile, pulled the rolled up bit of paper of his mouth, looked across the table and said, “go fish.”