The chap was astute, collected, and surprisingly businesslike. It was a relief to Matt, really, to have come across someone who seemed to have their shit pretty much completely together, even after just waking up in a mental hospital. It was unnerving, he knew from experience, and more power to the kid for managing to make it seem like he was taking it all at a good pace.
Was that a real name, though? Seemed Japanese, to be honest, and Matt had to sigh. He'd had enough of Japanese people of any sort and type for quite some time. His eyes narrowed, looking away, when he remembered that he'd accidentally let his preferred alias slip to two of the other patients the day before, while he was under the influence. A momentary internal cringing was all he allowed himself before his thoughts moved on; there was work to be done, information to be exchanged. He couldn't sit there forever, basking in his own idiocy.
"Mason," he replied nonchalantly, quietly, glancing around. There was a slight nod of his head, one that might have seemed respectful, if you didn't know Matt very well; he was trying to be discreet.
"As you can probably already tell, this is a madhouse." Way to state the obvious, Matty. Mello's voice had somehow managed to worm its way into his thoughts, goading him on. It was a surprisingly effective tactic, he'd found, but one he couldn't bring himself to utilize very often. "It looks like a real madhouse, sounds like a real madhouse - hell, it even smells like a real madhouse." Not that Matt had much experience there, thankfully, but he had a good feeling that Landel was one for even the tiniest of details to be found correct. "But the fact of the matter remains that this is not a madhouse."
And this was the part where he knew he'd start to sound like a total loon. Matt's fingers twitched against the tray; he needed a cigarette, but he'd have to hold himself together until night fell, and he could light up again. The cartons, he was confident, were back in his room, somewhere.
no subject
Was that a real name, though? Seemed Japanese, to be honest, and Matt had to sigh. He'd had enough of Japanese people of any sort and type for quite some time. His eyes narrowed, looking away, when he remembered that he'd accidentally let his preferred alias slip to two of the other patients the day before, while he was under the influence. A momentary internal cringing was all he allowed himself before his thoughts moved on; there was work to be done, information to be exchanged. He couldn't sit there forever, basking in his own idiocy.
"Mason," he replied nonchalantly, quietly, glancing around. There was a slight nod of his head, one that might have seemed respectful, if you didn't know Matt very well; he was trying to be discreet.
"As you can probably already tell, this is a madhouse." Way to state the obvious, Matty. Mello's voice had somehow managed to worm its way into his thoughts, goading him on. It was a surprisingly effective tactic, he'd found, but one he couldn't bring himself to utilize very often. "It looks like a real madhouse, sounds like a real madhouse - hell, it even smells like a real madhouse." Not that Matt had much experience there, thankfully, but he had a good feeling that Landel was one for even the tiniest of details to be found correct. "But the fact of the matter remains that this is not a madhouse."
And this was the part where he knew he'd start to sound like a total loon. Matt's fingers twitched against the tray; he needed a cigarette, but he'd have to hold himself together until night fell, and he could light up again. The cartons, he was confident, were back in his room, somewhere.