Speak of grievances and he would offer many. Offer dramatics and he would speak not a word. Nigredo was not his brothers. His coping methods were an entirely different species, less ingrained in flares and tempers. An emphasis made a point previously in his life, and though he was beginning to understand the reasons for sharing his thoughts and feelings with those trusted, trust was a dying commodity in the institute. He couldn't walk up to just anyone and start listing his complaints without reservation. Everyone had their sensibilities, and everyone had their biases. It wasn't worth the effort. It was better to bury corpses and call it good.
Sadly, his current state of affairs made privacy a bit difficult. The boy could not get out of bed alone. His injured leg ended any voluntary movements the moment it began, and eventually, his steely giant of a military-now-pseudo-medical escort had to lift him from his bed and onto a wheelchair. It was primitive. It was embarrassing. It called for attention the moment they exited his room, and nothing in Nigredo required a reminder. He couldn't pretend to set the memory aside if he knew exactly what had put him in that chair.
At least he endeared neither of his "teammates" in the process.
Apart from complaints, Nigredo held no opinion of the new developments. The announcement was obviously a recording from a week ago while the uniform was half-expected. They were technically still a mental institution to this world's eyes; it would be wise to pose as one when visitors came into play. Which happened to be another bad element of the day so ultimately, the boy dismissed them with a proverbial shrug.
His "orderly" wheeled Nigredo into the Sun Room and left him at the corner where the shadows fell overhead. He frowned at the patches of sunlight nearby but stayed in place. There were ways to move in this chair, but his arms refused to follow through. Less pain seemed more important at the moment than a bit of pleasure. At any rate, he could use this moment to press a hand to his eye and attempt to drain all rage from him.
no subject
Sadly, his current state of affairs made privacy a bit difficult. The boy could not get out of bed alone. His injured leg ended any voluntary movements the moment it began, and eventually, his steely giant of a military-now-pseudo-medical escort had to lift him from his bed and onto a wheelchair. It was primitive. It was embarrassing. It called for attention the moment they exited his room, and nothing in Nigredo required a reminder. He couldn't pretend to set the memory aside if he knew exactly what had put him in that chair.
At least he endeared neither of his "teammates" in the process.
Apart from complaints, Nigredo held no opinion of the new developments. The announcement was obviously a recording from a week ago while the uniform was half-expected. They were technically still a mental institution to this world's eyes; it would be wise to pose as one when visitors came into play. Which happened to be another bad element of the day so ultimately, the boy dismissed them with a proverbial shrug.
His "orderly" wheeled Nigredo into the Sun Room and left him at the corner where the shadows fell overhead. He frowned at the patches of sunlight nearby but stayed in place. There were ways to move in this chair, but his arms refused to follow through. Less pain seemed more important at the moment than a bit of pleasure. At any rate, he could use this moment to press a hand to his eye and attempt to drain all rage from him.
[Albedo and Ritsuka.]