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@sage-ward
...
Arthur merely shrugs at the woman’s voice. “I’ll cross that bridge when needed to.” He says as he stares at the girl before smiling.Â
"That has to be the most idiotic idiom I've ever heard," she muses aloud, having reverted her gaze to the void area before her. "It employs this idea that suppressing rather than anticipating forthcoming events is the most efficient alternative because it inexplicably prevents excessive stress from conflicting your psychological well-being. In actuality, the suppression creates a sense of subconscious helplessness that hinders you from working to your full potential. It's an example of the history of both ignorance and laziness."
...
Hazel shrugged. “I could give you mine. Don’t really need it.” Hazel threw the girl a quick smile before her face dissolved into her previous neutral expression. “Having fun angsting all by your little self?” She put a little pout into the statement, mocking the girl.
She observes the evidently malicious entity's endeavors to mimic the her, Sage's expression maintaining its stoicism. Then, after she's concluded her statement, she blinks profusely with indifference. "As much fun as it must be to have to consistently search for reactions in order to please yourself. Adorable, really, but you're not too terribly important to me, so I'm going to walk away now. Please, try not to follow me."
...
"Looking for something?
"Yeah. My sense of self control. Have you seen it?" She retorts dryly, though maintaining a visage void of any emotion.
...
He blinked and nodded as if her response, instead of her name, was exactly what he had wanted to hear. “Please do then, no one’s stopping you. I can practice my catching skills as long as you don’t land on me wrong.” The words rambled from his mouth, displaying his immaturity. His eyes only now took in the sight of the basket full of clothes, making him smile. “Now that you mention it, I think I have a pair of dirty underwear in my bag. You can take it on your way, thank you for being so kind.” He wasn’t being serious, but that wasn’t difficult to tell. Clyde hoisted his bag onto his shoulder. “You’re a patient, aren’t you? Why are you on cleaning duty?”
"Then essentially you would be stopping me. Nice contradiction." She refutes, rolling her cobalt orbs in the opposite direction. "As much as I'd love to sit here and mindlessly squabble with you, I've got bigger and better things to do, if it weren't obvious." She rests the basket of delicacies onto the tiling of the establishment, unabashedly tucking any spillovers into their allotted boundaries. Then, partially casting an irritated gaze in his direction, she tucks a curl of her dusky hair behind her ear, hoisting the basket into her arms. "I'm building character. Any other questions before I wrap the interrogation up for good?"
Arthur smiled at the woman, “I don’t mind…I just needed a little breather, that’s all.” He said softly as he walked towards the young girl, seating next to her. Her attitude had drawn the man closer towards her, wondering if she had temperament issues.
She turns to dignify the added presence with a deadpanned expression. "Don't you think you'll need an even bigger breather after squandering two hours of your precious time on the monotonous tone of an oblivious therapist's voice?" She croaks with unwavering confidence, an alarming accomplishment for someone who never knew what to say no more than six months ago. Perhaps this establishment, as wretched as it could be, has done more for her than she gives credit. "Seems a little futile."
[Upon waking up this morning, Connor easily notices the lack of clothes on his floor. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and looks again at the unusually empty space. His room almost seems brighter because of it. The blue eyed boy sits up, grateful that he decided to wear a pair of black basketball shorts to bed last night instead of sleeping in his underwear as usual. He knows why he wasn’t woken up and forced to put his laundry in a basket like everyone else. It was because the staff still had their squinty little eyes on him and if his clothes were gone by the time he decided to get up, it would be that much harder for him to try and escape. He runs a hand over his still sore knuckles and exits his room in search of a shirt to wear. He finds himself wandering into the laundry room, glowering at the smell of dirty and clean laundry battling to be the stronger scent. It’s unpleasant and Connor only hopes he never has to come down here again. His eyes move in search of the basket with his room number on it, though they happen to fall on something—or someone worth more interest. Sage Ward. Connor sighs, rubbing his right eye again as he prepares himself for an inner battle. He can tell by the lack of eye contact and minimal expression coating her features that she hasn’t seen him yet and perhaps he can use this to his advantage. He can grab a shirt and exit quietly without disturbing the miracle of peace that befalls the two at present. This is when he spots his laundry basket. It leans up against one of the lower dryers that spins a collective cycle of dark clothes. He sighs knowing that he has to wait and begins his short journey to the dryer which happens to take him on a path right by Sage. He licks his lips as he approaches her, slipping between her back and the wall to move to the back of the room. Connor clears his throat and crosses his arms, keeping his back to her] Laundry duty. Nice. [The boy scoffs with a disapproving shake of his head and locks his eyes on the digital duration on the dryer].
[Of course Sage has seen him. She had grown so accustomed to the monotonous whirl of the washer and dryers that even the most familiar of foreign sounds -- such as the rustling of laundry -- could tip her off to an added presence.. this presence just so happens to be both her hopes and fears manifested into a soul much too exasperated to be conceived in one sitting -- the Lassiter boy. She maintains a deadpanned, almost unknowing overtone to her visage, albeit she can feel the acrimony in her muffled heartbeat fight for a display section of its own. Yet she is much too high-strung -- no, no.. 'indifferent' to dignify his person with a cordiality, never mind a well-worded remark. So she has pretended she had not seen him, and instead tends to her business in emptying the dirty contents of laundry baskets and replacing its void with a columns of meticulously pressed clothing. Perhaps he has finally begun to see the realistic aspect of things -- that Sage has concluded the chapter in which Connor had once been written in, and is facing away rather than toward the lifestyle that hadn't ostracized him from her own exclusive circle. When he draws himself closer, it is almost instinctive that she gravitates or falls into place beside him, but she does not. Instead, she quivers in spite of the drafty hastes he pursues and continues on as if he were merely inconspicuous to Sage's eyes and Sage's eyes only. Then he speaks -- a rasp of a voice that indicates he has just awoken from a long-awaited slumber in a bed rather than dilapidated cabin miles and miles from this place and time. It is such a harmonious collision, the lulling hum of the laundry utilities and the bittersweet connotation of Connor's voice. So dulcet, in fact, that her lips quirk to a something of a small smile, though she ensures that her back is blockading his vision. She parts her lips to speak, but the words she endeavors to emit tangle with the unspoken truth of their past, and duel temporarily, promising the winner the deserved amount of allotted spotlight. Yet in this moment, witticism evades her, and she is left with an insurmountable pit of words, and cobalt eyes that are now bleary with the recollection of their history.] They aren't finished yet. I'll have a nurse send them up to you when they've completed their cycle. [She elucidates sheepishly, eager to suppress the alterations in her melancholy tone, and ultimately succeeding. She clamps triumphant teeth into her tongue, and reabsorbs the tears that will do her no justice -- sympathy is a poison that is sure to compel her six feet under if she were to accept it so blindly. She turns to address him, red rings now distinguishing cobalt orbs from porcelain skin, and the dusky bags that have taken to embellishing the bottom half of her eye sockets suggest that she is ill, or that her physical condition is pending. Yet the way in which she pillars her downtrodden frame against a persistent sense of pride insinuate that she is merely exhausted, possibly due to the futile household tasks they have her maintaining.]
His orbs fell upon the girl. He stood there for a moment, observing her defensive state. No offense was taken when her words were sharp to his ears. This young woman had to have a reason to be so ready for a comeback. It looked like she was ready to fight if need be. “Indeed it was.” His smile curved his lips then. “I’m Clyde. You are…?”
"Very exhausted, and considering throwing myself off of the highest ledge of this very establishment." The candid string of words had twisted themselves into a husked croak as she deadpanned. The dusky bags under her cobalt orbs seem to accentuate the flexes of sullen azure, giving her an overall downtrodden appearance. "Do you have any laundry or should I come back at a more convenient time, Clyde?" She inquires in a sardonically pleading tone as she hoists the laundry basket into his line of vision.
You and I, we’re gonna leave all this behind We’re gonna wave goodbye to this old town We’re gonna escape this life.
[Since Sage's return, she has been more than compliant with the facility directors and their subtle means of punishment such as laundry duty, cleaning, so on and so forth. Sage hasn't so much has caught a glimpse of one Connor Lassiter, nor does she care to for the sake of new approach to her asylum life. She can only hope that this is the way things will remain.
Now, she has been assigned the job of allocating the laundry from this morning's pile, compelled to make awkward small talk with everyone she encounters. She only hopes Connor's clothing isn't in this load.]
“So, what do you think they’ll do to him?” I ask.  Prim sounds about a thousand years old when she speaks.
Clyde walked around the corner in search of his room. He was lost, but he didn’t mind one bit. This was great, this was like a journey through his new home. He couldn’t see it any other way. He had a roof over his head and his father no where to be see, so he couldn’t complain. The secretary had given him a hard time though, making him suddenly exhausted. “Whoops, my mistake.” He offered halfheartedly then to the person he bumped into.
There is an element of exasperation as well as exhaustion in her disorientation, possibly due to having to serve an indefinite sentence as the asylum's maid. She registers the impact of another body, and she is instantly on her guard as she assesses the haste of the situation. Then, coming to the understanding that this was a misunderstanding, she  compels the tension in her muscles to cease their writhing. She maintains her distance, avoiding the sight of the unacquainted malefactor despite his sincerity.
"It was an accident. Apology accepted." She snaps curtly in retort, though she instantly regrets her tone it collides into the words that bubble from her.
[Kira stared at the nurses, they were the some ones who tried to sedate her since one of her ptsd episodes. She looked at the girl and gave a small smile] I’m Kira.
[Sage averts her gave from the surface of the table and instead casts her terrorized cobalt orbs onto the petite entity opposite of her. Words seem elusive to her in this moment, as she is lost in thought -- though the prolonged silence, she figures, must only assert her need for immediate medical attention; her name twists itself into a husky croak as it emits her lips, and while she is dissatisfied with the approach she has taken, she says nothing more] Sage.
[Kira was sitting in the cafe moving her food around in her bowl, she didn’t want to eat the cinnamon oatmeal she was given, she looked up when she saw someone sitting across from her]
[Escorted by a duo of robust nurses, they compel Sage to sit across from a complete stranger, which Sage finds perturbing -- they had read her file, and they knew damn well that she prefers solidarity. This was a subtle form of retaliation, of torture that insinuates tasks such as these are only the beginning. To prove her loyalty, she sits without protest.]
Arthur had finally managed to sneak away from his doctor and swiftly made his way into the rec room. His eyes wandered across the room wondering who he should speak with first.
Contrary to her usual internal agreement of never associating with the likes of anyone unless it is imperative to do so, she has been desensitized since her re-admittance, and finds that while she is not eager to provoke long-winded conversations, she is no longer bound by the obstinate ghost of her former self. "This is the first place they look." She elucidates vaguely, relying on the supposition that he is intelligent enough to fill in any uncertain blanks. She never once deviates her eyes from the TV opposite of her, which gives her an overall ignorant or even unfriendly appearance depending upon interpretation. "I suggest you find a new hiding spot or they'll add another hour to your session."