I'm living in cloud cuckoo land... Who: Counterfeit OT Elixir What: Bryan's weekly torture checkup When: Wednesday Where: Haven infirmary Warnings: TBD. It's Bryan, so probably crassness and language.
Bryan hated these little trips down to the infirmary with a passion. He always took the most roundabout route to try to avoid the most people possible on his way downstairs. He was still bitter and angry at himself for being too chickenshit to report for duty the other day when Wisdom called all available Excalibur members for an emergency op. He'd later heard that Storm, former leader of the X-men, had been recovered. He could have been a part of that, but the very thought of leaving the Haven and getting on the Blackbird had resulted in yet another panic attack. He was really getting sick of those too. He was pretty much sick of everything, like being a recluse, and having poor Reed play nursemaid when there was nothing physically wrong with him. He especially hated having to come down to the infirmary every damn week for a checkup because, again, there was nothing physically wrong with him.
Yes, he had been well and truly fucked up when he got back after his brother Reed and Wolverine rescued him. He'd had every other freaking bone in his body broken at least twice, and a whole bunch of other medical bladehblah he couldn't remember right now. In short, Reed and Logan brought back home a pile of Bryan-shaped hamburger. But that's what they had all these kickass healers for, right? They'd fixed his body, good as new.
Too bad they didn't have mind healers, so that they could get rid of all the fucked-upness that was festering in his noggin. He was wearing a hoodie low past his ears, and his hair in his face. It was getting really long, especially his bangs. They were out of control. But they helped him hide, so he wasn't ready to get them cut just yet. His hands were buried in his jean pockets, and if he looked a little rumpled, it was through no fault of Reed's, who made sure he had clean clothes to wear and tried to at least make him presentable. Bryan drew the line at Reed walking him down here. He wasn't a goddamn baby. (Even if he acted like one more often than was healthy, but that wasn't here nor there.)
He kept his face down, and looked up through his lashes at people and things, keeping eye contact at a minimum so that he could pretend not to see anyone he didn't feel like talking to. This was nothing like his usual cocky self, who went around talking to everybody that crossed his path. The new Bryan was an emo bastard, he thought to himself as he made his way to Josh's station. He plopped down on a stool with a long-suffering sigh. "Hey, dude," he said plainly in way of hello, not even really looking up at the golden guy.