[Now that he wants to sleep, of course, he can't. Not voluntarily, anyway. Not with the constant shittyflute serenade. (Or, at least, that's what he's telling himself. The thought that maybe he's just broken now and he's going to die out here in space of Not Sleeping, and someone else will hang for it... that's not one he wants to consider, even as it keeps cheerfully popping into his mind.)
Everything's got a trail after it, like a floating gauze veil in the breeze this place doesn't have. That started yesterday, he thinks. Must have been. Sometime after Angela... after that mess he made of things. The text message seems to flicker on the watch screen when he looks at it. His depth perception is shot, so he keeps a hand on the wall as he enters, staring down at his feet and wondering why it doesn't feel like what it looks like, to be walking over steel that curves around his steps. This is such a huge room! How aren't there echoes from his walking through it?
He's wearing the suit he woke up in because as horribly clinging as it is, somehow it feels warmer than his own clothes. Given that they're wet - hopefully drying, spread out over his bunk, he did his best to wash them, he did, they needed it - they'd just make him feel even colder than he does. Somehow this makes sense, to think this, it doesn't feel redundant at all.
There's a flash of blue at the edge of his vision, every so often. The edge of a long coat, maybe, or a hatbrim, but Wind can't be here, much as he wishes he was. Neither can Vita, not that it's her blue anyway.
He's aware that he's a mess right now, but he looks even more of one than he knows. He's very carefully finding someplace to sit out of the way, which is an exercise in tedious futility when you're in a cavernous hangar and can't quite judge distances anymore. He finally just sits down, draws his knees up to his chest, and tries not to shiver too obviously with his arms wrapped around them.
If anyone waves, or acknowledges him, he'll return the greeting of course, but at this point his hands are shaking terribly and his voice is just... shot.]
CW: sleep-deprivation-induced hallucinations + cognitive distortion
Everything's got a trail after it, like a floating gauze veil in the breeze this place doesn't have. That started yesterday, he thinks. Must have been. Sometime after Angela... after that mess he made of things. The text message seems to flicker on the watch screen when he looks at it. His depth perception is shot, so he keeps a hand on the wall as he enters, staring down at his feet and wondering why it doesn't feel like what it looks like, to be walking over steel that curves around his steps. This is such a huge room! How aren't there echoes from his walking through it?
He's wearing the suit he woke up in because as horribly clinging as it is, somehow it feels warmer than his own clothes. Given that they're wet - hopefully drying, spread out over his bunk, he did his best to wash them, he did, they needed it - they'd just make him feel even colder than he does. Somehow this makes sense, to think this, it doesn't feel redundant at all.
There's a flash of blue at the edge of his vision, every so often. The edge of a long coat, maybe, or a hatbrim, but Wind can't be here, much as he wishes he was. Neither can Vita, not that it's her blue anyway.
He's aware that he's a mess right now, but he looks even more of one than he knows. He's very carefully finding someplace to sit out of the way, which is an exercise in tedious futility when you're in a cavernous hangar and can't quite judge distances anymore. He finally just sits down, draws his knees up to his chest, and tries not to shiver too obviously with his arms wrapped around them.
If anyone waves, or acknowledges him, he'll return the greeting of course, but at this point his hands are shaking terribly and his voice is just... shot.]