➢➢contriveroffraud
Stuck in a prison cell for more than a few days had not been his goal—in the end, the contacts Wo Fat had chosen to rely on had fallen through on their commitments and left him to fend off the wolves himself. So there he was, now, in a ten by twenty, white box with nothing of interest except the other cells nearby. The absence of anything beyond himself wasn’t such an issue; he was sore, banged up, bruised, but he could meditate, practice, something to keep his mind occupied.
No; he had settled off in the middle of the floor, legs folded to do exactly that, but at some point his mind just... drifted to the information he learned, to the realization that he’d been abandoned and very well nearly died, thinking—
Footsteps and dark movement snap him back out of the train wreck his mind had turned into and he packs himself back in, folds the emotion up and out of the way because god forbid someone realize there was something under the mask he presented. Then he looks up, dark, hazel eyes searching—surprise settles on his features, then, when he sees Loki standing there. He hesitated, like for a moment he didn’t know what to do, before climbing to his feet, and approached the field that kept him inside that damnable box.
“Loki,” he greeted, glancing off down the hall in the way he’d came—he didn’t expect the other man to come with anyone, but his paranoia had been turned up to eleven after everything. He looks back up at him. “I wasn’t expecting you to come down here.”
(( but he supposes a great many things weren’t what he expected them to be these days. ))
