DAY 65: Breakfast

[envy_the_sinners]

Scar came to slowly, vision blurred and head throbbing. His memory of the previous night was vague and somewhat scattered. What he was most aware of was his renewed and increased hatred for the man called Lingormr. The Ishbalan didn't give a damn if he had been a special counseling patient. That bastard had enjoyed every second of tearing Scar to shreds. What he may or may not have realized was how much it had affected Scar emotionally. He had felt a renewed sense of drive at the start of the night; the disruption on the intercom and the news of the 'cure' had rekindled a fire that fueled Scar to drive forward. To have a little hope.

Lingormr had promptly crushed that.

He was in pain. So much pain. The cut on his hand was only fading scab at this point, but stitches now pulled at the deep gashes in his legs and back. Not only had the nausea not settled, but his stomach was beginning to cramp. The rash on his arm was impossible to hide without the old bandages covering it. It had nearly reached his elbow.

Scar's hazy eyes could make out the nurse, now pushing a wheelchair up to his bedside. This was humiliating. And he was too exhausted and hurting to lash out or become angry. He was just broken. He still tried to take some sort of grudging control, insisting that he didn't need to be pushed around, that he could at least turn the wheels of the damned chair himself. But he didn't make it down the hallway before the pulling and sharp pain in his back became so obvious on his face that the nurse took over.

He entered breakfast with a frustrated, tired, but overall defeated look to him. Scar felt too sick to eat. He sat at the table and brooded, wishing more than anything to simply be left alone.

[For Goku!]

Comments

[scarefaux]

The Scarecrow took the pills gratefully, positive that with the way Sangamon managed to describe his situation exactly that he knew what he was talking about. He'd also been there to help after the sleep study, after all.

"So my body will fix itself?" he asked as he touched his scalp, still able to feel the ridge from where he'd been stitched back together. Hope tinged him a moment, a small sliver amongst his growing doubts. He didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "Oh, that's such good news. I'd been really worried last night that I might..."

He lowered his voice, thinking one of the nurses was looking at him. "You know, change like the nurses did on the bus. That'd be just awful!"

[toxicspiderman]

"Normally, yeah." Nope, he still didn't have the heart to lie to the guy. "If Landel wanted to change us, he could just do it." Needles might be involved, but it'd be quick. "Beats me. If I knew what he was up to, I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you."

Standing, maybe, or leading some sort of ridiculous offensive, but not eating French toast and explaining infectious disease 101. Or cheerleading for the most upbeat person he knew.

"Drink more. If you pass out you'll be a sitting duck," he said, and then paused. One of the nurses was hovering a little too close. "If anyone else does run into any trouble, later today."

[scarefaux]

Down went the rest of his juice, along with the pills- the Scarecrow didn't feel better immediately as he'd hoped, but he assumed he would in short time. He had a lot of thinking to do, and with his head pounding like it was, he had no chance of doing it.

"That won't be any good at all if that happens," he said as he rubbed at his eyes. He saw the nurse take note of his empty glass and head back to the line to get more for him, leaving them alone. That was an opportunity he had hoped for, given the grim topic he had on his mind.

He leaned forward, bringing himself closer to Sangamon. "I need to get better as soon as possible. Depth Charge has gone missing."

[toxicspiderman]

Missing wasn't the right word. Disappeared. Not in the swimming-with-the-fishes way. More witness-protection with a side of brainwashing. Meant he wasn't ignoring the bulletin messages.

"What about his stuff?" That was the gold standard for disappearances versus long-term artificially-induced narcolepsy. That or a new roommate, but the population had been dropping. "It's not spying if it's important."

[scarefaux]

"It seems it went to me," he answered somberly, brow knitting together as he recalled the realization and all that had run through him at its birth. "I have a new roommate. And Depth Charge had these radios- like the ones everyone has? But you could use them to talk to one another. He told me to use it to call him if I ever needed anything."

His eyes hit the table, sadness and frustration uncharacteristic of him worn into his features. "I tried it last night, but the other radio was in my things."

[toxicspiderman]

"Damn." He needed to do that to a set of radios. Would have come in handy last night. Except for not being waterproof. That might have made things worse. Radio silence, and corroded contacts.

"Guess that's why he never answered on the bulletin." They'd lost half the team, in just a few days. Coincidence. People left all the time.

"Do you need someone to take it?" He wouldn't be able to do much to help from the Pentathlon of Death in the basement, but it couldn't hurt.

[scarefaux]

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt," the Scarecrow said, putting on a hopeful smile; the worry knotting itself into his brow betrayed his cheerful front. "That way, we could at least keep in touch, should you need anything from me."

Not that he could think of a situation where Sangamon would need something from a man who hadn't a useful skill to his name and who could hardly think without his diploma, but his human brain was better than nothing at all. His lack of abilities with which to help his friends was far more troubling- after all, if someone as strong as Depth Charge, intelligent as Abe, or magically inclined as Mele could be brainwashed and disappear, what could a former strawman do to help either them or himself?