The door closed behind the Scarecrow with a solid clunk, leaving the former strawman alone in his room. Though not much had happened throughout the day— or at least there didn't seem to be many changes from the way Wizard Landel handled the day trips, though that might have been the military trying to keep the townsfolk from knowing any changes had occurred at all at the Institute— he was glad he'd gotten to enjoy the snow for a while, even if he hadn't accomplished a great deal.
Well, that part about not accomplishing much wasn't entirely true. He had managed to catch up with Sangamon, learning about the basement and the dangers hidden there, and his conversation with Mele, while he never did find out if they'd truly met the same person in the Entry Room, gave him hope that the Burning Man may have been a wayward patient, one who was still around if the nurses patched him back together. If he could be found and his safety assured, the Scarecrow was positive it'd be a relief to Sergeant Carter— and himself, as well. To have thought he watched someone actually die was very distressing.
That brought him to Depth Charge, who he'd not seen since dinner the night before. The nurse had changed the Scarecrow's bandage again before allowing him into the building; the stiffness of the fabric and his own wounded skin was uncomfortable enough, but the accompanying pain was enough to have him shaking. He could ponder why his body reacted to pain the way it did later— his primary concern for the moment was Depth Charge, and how he might be concerned. And what good did worrying about it do? He would get that fretful look on his face, but it wasn't as though the arm could be unburnt. It couldn't be helped now; in the future, the Entry Room was just going to have to be avoided, and that was that. No need for him to be upset.
Of course, this was all coming from a former strawman who, having deposited the tray on his desk (he wasn't hungry anyway, having had a good meal at lunch), was pacing around the room, waiting for his roommate to arrive so he could see just what kind of condition he was in after his journey through the basement. Sangamon's basis for 'just fine' had been more than a little discouraging.
M42
Well, that part about not accomplishing much wasn't entirely true. He had managed to catch up with Sangamon, learning about the basement and the dangers hidden there, and his conversation with Mele, while he never did find out if they'd truly met the same person in the Entry Room, gave him hope that the Burning Man may have been a wayward patient, one who was still around if the nurses patched him back together. If he could be found and his safety assured, the Scarecrow was positive it'd be a relief to Sergeant Carter— and himself, as well. To have thought he watched someone actually die was very distressing.
That brought him to Depth Charge, who he'd not seen since dinner the night before. The nurse had changed the Scarecrow's bandage again before allowing him into the building; the stiffness of the fabric and his own wounded skin was uncomfortable enough, but the accompanying pain was enough to have him shaking. He could ponder why his body reacted to pain the way it did later— his primary concern for the moment was Depth Charge, and how he might be concerned. And what good did worrying about it do? He would get that fretful look on his face, but it wasn't as though the arm could be unburnt. It couldn't be helped now; in the future, the Entry Room was just going to have to be avoided, and that was that. No need for him to be upset.
Of course, this was all coming from a former strawman who, having deposited the tray on his desk (he wasn't hungry anyway, having had a good meal at lunch), was pacing around the room, waiting for his roommate to arrive so he could see just what kind of condition he was in after his journey through the basement. Sangamon's basis for 'just fine' had been more than a little discouraging.