Daydreamer

Realizing his thoughts have gone off on a tangent, he gives a quick nod, hoping that it’s the right thing to do in this situation. After all, he has no idea what Jude said after ‘It isn’t that far’.]

Thanks, Jude. Yeah, I guess it is a fire hazard, huh?

[Suddenly, that strikes him as funny. The fact that he hasn’t had much sleep is what causes the delayed reaction, but the irony is what’s humorous. Fire hazard? He’s a pyromaniac, and he’s a fire hazard. It’s all too true, in more ways than one.

It takes him another moment to realize that Jude probably doesn’t know why he’s laughing. He just looks like a weirdo again. That isn’t good. His only choices are to explain the joke - which is a lame joke, anyways - or to skip over it and look even dumber, so he chooses to just apologize instead. Apparently, there was a third choice.]

He doubts it.

It's more likely that the boy is just a weirdo. He probably has voices in his head and they're all saying jokes only Dylan can hear. Is it dangerous to be around schizophrenics? Jude would think he'd pick up on disorders and all that shit from being at Stonebridge for so long, but he hasn't really learned a thing since he'd stepped foot inside the manor.

This could be because he spends all of his time stuffing desserts into his pockets and daydreaming off by himself rather than talking to the other patients. Or it could be because he doesn't listen to any of the doctors or nurses when they're trying to explain things to him. In any case, he's curious as to why Dylan, the possible schizophrenic, is laughing.]

What--ah--what're you laughing at? What popped into your head?

[His hands quickly brush against his face, checking for any stray boogers. Nope. Nothing.]

A sudden bout of self-hatred seized her and she turned her head away, stretching again to make sure nothing showed in her face. It took a few moments to push that hatred away, long enough that the pause was noticeable. “That’s too bad. I’m one hell of a friend to have.” That wasn’t necessarily a lie. She knew how to be a friend, even if it was less than genuine. “Don’t put words in my mouth, sweetheart. You’d best get to know me before you try to deduce my motives and thoughts.”

"I think here is a place where … a friend might be useful … don’t you? Hypothetically speaking, of course. Clearly that isn’t an option for you, and that’s fine. I’m not implying that I want to be your … what was the outdated, lame terminology you used?" She grinned, keeping her tone light instead of insulting. She was teasing, she didn’t want to offend him. Not in the slightest.

His father was a firm believer that women were trouble anyway. He just fucked them and left them afterwards. It was easier that way--less mess, he said. Jude wondered why his father had decided to marry his mother if he believed in that kind of philosophy, but he wasn't so sure he wanted to hear the answer. 

"Yeah? And what do you think making friends with a loony is good for in here? Most of the people here are drooling idiots or crazed psychopaths. You trust someone and you can get yourself killed." This was true. He'd met his fair share of freaks around here and he wasn't willing to trust anyone anytime soon. He didn't even think he could trust the brunette before him. She hadn't been willing to divulge her reasons for being here, so they must be bad. She could be dangerous.

The name rung a faint bell, but Rose shook her head. She would have to think about it later and in the meantime she’d prefer him to believe she was in the dark entirely. Cynical and clever, she was hardly ever at a disadvantage when it came to information and relationships. Actually, she had a habit of having people wrapped around her finger in very little time at all. They thought her wit was endearing, her smirk mysterious and strangely tempting. Little did they know how cold and broken she had become. Mostly they were idiots, not bothering to find out what they were getting into.

Rose constantly felt as though she’d been stripped of something; that there was this key element to her identity that had been stolen from her. It was painful to think about. She preferred manipulating others and when that failed, manipulating the facts, to achieve her ends. She was always safe, always protected. She had already learned that no one else would save her if she needed it.

So, he decided to say the next best thing. It was going to make him sound like an asshole, sure, but he was certain he was going to say something to fuck it all up sooner or later. 

"You don't make friends in a place like this. What's the purpose? I'm not lookin' to spend time with any of these weirdos in here. Are you?" he asked. "I don't know if you're looking for a new 'BFF' or whatever, but it's not me. I'm only talkin' to you now because I don't mind shooting the shit for a few minutes. I don't want to be your friend, though, just like you don't want to be mine."

She analysed his posture carefully, wondering what she could tell just from little details here and there. He seemed almost exasperated to her, as though he had some tedious task on his mind. The manor required neat dress and hair, so she couldn’t very well come to any conclusions based on that much. Rose sighed very slightly, again tracing over the many outlines of the many essays and speeches she could write about how inhumane and questionable these sorts of places were.

Jude leaned back in his seat, legs outstretched before him. He liked to take up space. His father taught him that it demanded respect and attention. It garnered Jude quite a few dirty looks on cramped subway cars, but he knew that those around him were just jealous. They always were.

"That's fine. I don't need to know what you're in here for. It's not like I'm going to spend much time with you anyway," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm Jude Pannebaker. You've probably heard of me and my father. We're always in the news." And the tabloids, but he wasn't about to tell her that. She might have read about him anyway. His face was always plastered under horrible headlines.

Jude Pannebaker Banned from Club No Vacancy

Jude Pannebaker Arrested for Possession

Jude Pannebaker Nearly Runs over Paparazzi

"Didn’t you know? It’s all the rage for people to be off in corners, whispering to themselves in a psychiatric ward. It gives the place that standard … home-y, you-could-die-at-any-moment feel. I’m just trying to keep up with the ever-changing times." She smiled cheekily for effect, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. It was still interesting, though. The way he’d spoken to her, the way he’d chosen to start the conversation; the choice to speak at all, for that matter. Rose made a mental note of it.

On any other day, Jude would have left this girl to be alone with her cheeky smile and sharp sense of humor, but he was tired from walking all morning and he didn't want to return to his room just yet. So, he plopped down in the seat opposite her, ready to work his mind, so he wouldn't look like an imbecile in comparison.

He snorted when his new roommate informed him that he didn’t have any good old guy jokes, turning back to the pile of books he was carefully stacking.  ”Right, I highly doubt that, but I appreciate you sparing my fragile, geriatric feelings.  Nah, I thought I’d just move my shit in here to fuck with you.  Nothing better to do.”

As the kid crossed the room and hefted himself onto his bed, Marcus shot him a weary side glance.  ”Interesting?  Not really. I’m a prick, and oh, I like to chug near fatal cough syrup and acetaminophen cocktails every now and then.”  He rolled his eyes.  ”Don’t worry, I’m not going to spear your eyeballs with crayons, or sleep in women’s underwear.”  He could at least understand the innate fear that went with having to live with someone in an institution.

Marcus pushed his suitcase out of the way and slumped at the wall that his own bed was butted up against.  ”Oh yeah?  Well, if we’re talking about the same girl, she told me her grandpa was Paul McCartney, but I’m pretty sure she just said that to me because she thought I’d find it cool.”  He began kicking off his sneakers.  ”This place is if full of liars, not all that different from the rest of the world.  And what’s your problem?  Uncle Bob touch in your naughty place?  Set fire to a church?  Have a rolodex worth of imaginary friends?”  He’d heard it all. 

"You wear too much cologne." 

"I don't like your face."

"I hate how you keep sneaking desserts into the room. You're getting crumbs everywhere."

At least he wouldn't have to worry about the man lying to him, though. That sounded nice. He'd been lied to and deceived ever since he'd arrived at the manor. Even his doctor seemed to be a liar, hiding her disgust for Jude under a practiced smile and some thinly-veiled threats. It'd be nice to have someone be honest to him for once. It'd be annoying, sure, but this might be a nice change of pace.

"Right on. Drugs, huh? Cough syrup tastes gross, but I guess I can understand the appeal," he said. Jude, himself, used to dabble in drugs. Nothing too bad. Just a little weed and a few lines of coke here and there, but nothing too crazy. He was offered a slew of other things at clubs, but he was always too wary to let himself fall into that scene completely.

Jude supposed he could tell the man about his "maladaptive daydreaming" or whatever the hell the doctors called it--especially since the man was so open with him--but he didn't want to. There was a vulnerability in admitting this issue and he'd much rather not do that with a stranger. He was sure the man would learn in time anyway; Jude fell into his reveries often enough where it would be impossible not to catch him at one point or another.

"I got into a fight with some paparazzi. I beat them bloody for saying things they shouldn't have. My dad put me in here because I have 'anger issues.' Can you fucking believe that? Look at me. I'm cool as a cucumber," he said, rolling his eyes. "What's your name anyway? No, wait. Let me guess. You look like a Hugh. Or a Gregory. "

Rose lifted her arms over her head, closing her eyes and letting out a little hum as she stretched. She missed music terribly. Here she was expected to socialize, to be sane. In summary: too many requirements. Putting in headphones and being angry at the world suited her far better. She hardly cared for stereotypes, angst was the only one she catered to. Besides, why was she to be deprived of music? The issue merited her angst. There must be some famous quote from some famous philosopher she could call to mind to accent its necessity. Perhaps then one of the sane ones could be persuaded to help her.

She laid her head on the table, the hum devolving into an irritable grumble. Her head was pounding painfully. Each moment that was spent inside this manor was a torturous one. She’d chosen to nestle down in the sitting room only because the white walls were bright enough to remind her of the open air. Darkness had a strange connection to confinement. At least, they did with Rose. It seemed a bit subjective. 

It was rather early in the morning, so the room was quiet, empty, still. Light filtered in through the large windows and left long, streaking patterns on the dark hardwood floor. Rose focused idly on that light, nose wrinkling. It was nice, granted. Very nice. Clearly, they’d spared no expense in shutting her away. She suspected that was more due to preemptive guilt than love.

Her gaze flickered to the piano. Lovely thing, that piano. A part of her wondered how old it was, how well-maintained it was. She’d be able to tell straight away if she could bring herself to play a single note, a scale, a song. That sort of mood eluded her. She was glad it had, because it wasn’t a minute later that the doors opened and someone walked into the room. 

He shuffled around the empty halls, going from floor to floor, soaking in the sweetness of the silence. He allowed his mind to wander to beautiful places, spinning stories that he wouldn't remember when he came to. Still, Jude allowed himself to dream, allowed himself the comforts of being with his mother--even if it was all in his mind.

After an hour or two of walking along the third and second floors, Jude worked his way to the first floor sitting room, where he was shaken from his reverie by a muttering brunette. Was she talking to him? Or was she talking to herself? He supposed it would most likely be the latter; patients seemed to talk to themselves often here. They always complained about the "voices in their head."

Lunatics.

Cobain was gone, shipped off, moved out, miraculously cured in record time, whatever.  Marcus didn’t know what had happened with Todd, but he had woken up to find he was being reassigned to a new room, and a new roommate along with it.  Great.  And right when he had actually been warming up to Toddie, he was going to have to deal with doing it all over again.  Who knew what brand of crazy he was in store for this time, at least Todd had been fairly normal.  But the more you rolled the dice in a place like this, the more likely you were going to hit the wacko jackpot. Once again, Marcus attempted to argue his case for his own room to Stonebridge’s administration, and once again, he was denied..or more accurately, ignored.

In a sullen, grumbling state of discontentment he packed up his things and moved to his newly assigned room, a few jail cells down the hall. When he arrived, nobody was in there, but he could clearly see the evidence of another human being living in there; belongings, half the closet space taken, unfamiliarity all over the place.  Annoyances. Marcus unpacked in an exact reversal of what he’d just done minutes beforehand.  Hopefully this would just be temporary; he had sworn he was going to get better now, and then he was going to get out of here. For the first time in a long time, the possibility of a real life awaited him. No more relapses.  No more strange roommates.

He was stacking various books on the nightstand when he heard footsteps behind him.  He didn’t fully turn around to face his new roommate, but merely muttered over his shoulder, “This would be your cue to unload your best old guy jokes.  I’ll wait it out.”

They hadn't told him anything about the new guy, so imagine Jude's surprise when he saw that the man standing before him was about twenty years old than he'd expected him to be. The man told him he should get out all his old guy jokes now and Jude had plenty. One of them was pretty good, too. It had to do with the man's prostate problems. He'd heard his dad joke about it before to his colleagues. It had them all in stitches.

As much as Jude wanted to crack these jokes, though, he didn't know how kindly this man would take to jokes about his penis. For all Jude knew, this guy was violent. Because he was going to live with him for a while, he didn't want to start off on the wrong foot. Sleeping with one eye open didn't sound like his idea of a good time.

So, Jude silently walked past the man and hopped onto his own bed, not bothering to deal with the necessary handshakes in his introduction.

U-Um, yeah. Yes. Sure.

[He’s repeating the same thing over and over, he knows, but he wants to make sure he’s getting his point across. The blond’s nervous, after all, and if he misspeaks, he might get into trouble. A lot of trouble. A simple misunderstanding might lead to a physical confrontation, which he’s really not up for right now. Hell, he threw up all over that redhead, although it’s something he hates to think about it. Right now, he’ll probably just slip into unconsciousness if something happens.]

I won’t t-tell.

Jude gestures for the boy to follow him. They don't have to walk very far to get to the kitchen, but they'd have to be fast if they wanted to catch the pastry chef in time. Jude walks at his own, quick pace. He doesn't slow his step to let the boy catch up with him, but he does glance backwards every once in a while to see if he's still following.

It's the third time he glances back that he notices the boy scratching at himself, fingers digging into a small patch of skin. Yuck. Does this kid have a skin disease or something? Or is he just picking at a scab? In any case, it's gross and it's making Jude lose his appetite.]

Don't pick at that, man. It's gonna get infected. My mom always said to leave that shit alone or it won't heal. 

[He pauses for a moment and stops walking, his brow furrowed as he looks back at the boy.]

You said you were headed back to the dorms, and I didn’t remember how to get back, so . . I just kind of tagged along. Sounds kind of creepy, sorry, but I didn’t want to bother you and ask.

[That’s true enough. Honestly, Dylan isn’t even sure why he wanted to go back to the dorms in the first place. The only thing waiting for him there is Jackson, and the lawyer isn’t really someone he wants to see right then. He doubts that anyone ever really wants to see the sociopath, but he’s pretty sure that he’s one of the few people that actually has a good reason to avoid him. He’s been repeatedly used and abused by him; of course he knows he should stay away.

Realizing that he’s let the silence drag on for a bit, he gives an awkward smile, taking a step back from Jude. From having had his hand on his shoulder earlier, he had stayed too close, but now he’s at a good distance. Hopefully, Jude won’t point that out.]

Having someone to hang around with at the manor might be nice. The two don't exactly get along, but at least they can have small-talk. What the hell does this kid talk about, though? Not listening to music? Being a geek? Maybe Jude can educate him--pry him out of his Amish upbringing and bring him into the twenty-first century.]

Nah, I can show you to the dorms. It isn't that far and I don't want you sleepin' in the hallways again. It's a--y'know--a fire hazard. 

[It's unlike Jude to go out of his way for others--especially someone as weird as Dylan is--but perhaps this is good. It shows progress in him, doesn't it? Maybe he can tell Blackburn that he's turned over a new leaf. Will that help him get the hell out of here faster?]

I . . I d-don’t have her. I’ve got— I’ve got Peter. Dieterle. Doctor Dieterle.

[If he’s not careful, he really will start crying. That disgusting feeling under his skin isn’t fading at all, and he just wants to scratch through his arms until he can get it out. Then again, that’ll make things worse - even touching himself right now will lead to a total panic attack.

Realizing that the older guy’s said something supposedly helpful, he gives a small nod, having barely listened at all. It probably won’t help him, since he’s got Peter, but it might.]

Um, thanks. Yeah. Thanks.

Look, dude, you look pretty fucked up. You wanna go get a snack or somethin'? They're not supposed to serve us anything, but I know a guy that might sneak us something from the kitchen. He's kinda nervous, though, so you gotta be cool or he's not gonna give us anything.

[It's nice having money in a place like this. All of Jude's peers are loaded with cash, sure, but none of the staff members are. It's easy to slip them a fifty for a dessert cake or two. Jude only has a twenty dollar bill, but he's sure that's more than enough to give them something to nibble on.] 

He looked down to meet his bare wrist, suddenly remembering he didn’t bring a watch. Taking a second to mentally curse himself for forgetting such a thing, he looked back up at the guy and simply shrugged. “I can’t really help you there.”

His eyes went back to his book, shutting it and quickly shoving it into his bag. “If it helps at all, I just got here about twenty minutes ago and I remember the time in the car saying two-thirty.”

The accent in his words grew heavier when numbers spilled out his lips and Kai hated that. There was this weird factor about the entire ordeal that reminded him of his father, and comparing himself to that man was the last thing he wanted to do.

Quick flashbacks set in brain in a burst of color before settling with an old memory of when he was nine. His class was spending a week going over English greeting and numbers, so of course, Kai was eager to show off his skills to his parents and teach them a thing or two.

Snapping back to reality, Kai looked back up at him, surprised the other was still there after his abrupt spacing-offing. “Sorry, I was just thinking. Uh, you wouldn’t happen to know where I’m supposed to go if I’m new, right?”

Fine.

"Good, then I have plenty of time to kill 'till I have to go," he said, flopping back in his chair. Jude rolled the pencil along the floor with the tip of his shoe. Maybe he should be bending over and picking it up for the boy, but he didn't feel like it. "My doctor's a real bitch. I dunno if you have her or if you even know who your doctor is yet, but I hope for your sake you don't have mine. I got Blackburn. She didn't even know my name. She's a real idiot, but you didn't hear that from me."

He noticed how the boy had drifted off for a second, but Jude was willing to excuse him. After all, his attention span wasn't the greatest. His father had tried his hardest to beat some sense into him, but all it managed to do was leave Jude with a few scars. Perhaps Stonebridge would be able to train it out of him in time, but Jude couldn't see his habit breaking anytime soon.

Celeste wasn’t sure who’s fist was who’s at this point, fists and arms were flying and she was sure she had bitten down on her own tongue, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. She could feel her anger in every cell in her body, and nothing short of a sedative could stop her now.

She was swinging her arm back, getting ready to land a solid punch on the kid’s chest when his fist shoved her shoulder and she felt the empty space between her foot and the floor.

It was a few seconds before Celeste’s mind caught up with her body, and she realized she was falling backward. She felt the hard stairs with every thump as she toppled head-over-hells down the staircase. No thoughts were running through her head; everything but her physical being seemed to be frozen in time. Nearing the bottom of the case, she was rolling now, her body hitting each step with more force than the last. Finally she reached the landing, her body halting and her mind coming back to life.

He hadn't meant to do it.

A shout kept ringing in the stairwell. Jude assumed it was the guard. Noisy oaf. He needed to shut up--to stop yelling. Jude pressed his hands against his ears to muffle the shrieks, but he could still feel the man's voice through his palms. Jude's eyes couldn't leave the woman's as it crumpled at the foot of the stairs. From this angle, it almost looked like his mother's when he found her dead, splayed across the bed with the top of her skull splattered across the headboard.

This was too much--too much.

Jude shut his eyes and rocked his body, willing for his thoughts to carry him somewhere beautiful--somewhere far from here. But the shrieks kept pulling him back. Every time he'd drift away to see the phantom shape of his mother, sunning herself in the library or eating breakfast on the porch, his attention was pulled away, wrenching him back to the stairwell. 

His body trembled as he held himself, wishing, praying, for peace. All had he wanted was to get away from here--to be with his mother and away from this hell. It was the woman's fault. He hadn't meant to do it. His mother would know. She'd tell them. She'd--

A body crashed against him, tackling him to the floor. Jude tried to tell the guards that it wasn't his fault, but they were too busy driving their fists into his skull to hear him. 

Honestly, he’s starting to worry her. What if he’s having a stroke, or something? Or maybe he’s in some sort of catatonia? Helena knows how to deal with these things, but she’s sure she doesn’t want to. God, what if he falls over and hits his head? There’d be lawsuits galore. She can’t deal with anything like that right now—especially not with Arnold, a boy who already dislikes her. She’d be out of a job in a flash.

Helena snaps her fingers in front of his face to get his attention. She isn’t sure if it’ll work, but she hopes so. She’d rather he say something witty and brash to her than sit there in some odd state of semi-consciousness.]

Arnold. Arnold! Pay…pay attention. We’ve only got twenty minutes left. 

Jude should tell his father the poor conditions of this place. The doctors can't even keep their patients straight in here and the patients try to sneak peeks at his dick while he's taking a piss at the urinals. His father would have a fit.

Then again, Jude might not be able to reach his father right now. It's busy season and he knows his father is trying to land a big account. Maybe he'll try later. His dad will have to be free some time.]

Twenty minutes? That blows. What the hell are we going to talk about for the rest of my time here? Your gross incompetence as a doctor?

[He's pushing it and even he knows he's going too far. But he knows he's already going to receive a punishment for his behavior, so he might as well go all out.]

[He’s having trouble forming full sentences now. If Ethan has a breakdown right here and now, he knows it’ll be well-deserved, but that doesn’t mean that he wants to have it. He’d rather escape and cry in a closet or something than do it here. The last time he’d met the other male, he’d still been on his meds - now that he’s no longer on them, he’s no longer at risk of mood swings. Any breakdown he has will be fully his own fault.

The blond takes half a step back from the stranger, fixing his eyes on the ground. He’s not as weird as this guy seems to think he is. Ethan might be gay, but he’s no pervert. He tries to respect boundaries - which is more than the guy in front of him does, it seems. After all, there hasn’t been any sort of apology for what happened just then. Running into someone was something worth apologizing for.]

Please, I just—

[He stops, not sure what he wants to say. He wants to go back to sleep, to leave this guy’s presence, to take a thousand showers. There’s a lot of things that he wants, and none of them seem to be possible right now.]

Just look at me. Does it really look like I want t-to be here right now?

[Jude sucks in his cheeks as he beholds the boy. The blond is a nervous wreck. He looks like he's about ready to fall apart at even the slightest provocation. While Jude likes to poke and prod and push people to their boundaries, he's feeling generous today. Maybe he'll cut the weirdo a little slack. He won't show the freak his goods or anything like that, but at least he won't make him cry.]

What's the matter with you? You have a bad session or somethin'? You don't have Blackburn, do you? I guess I'd be crying, too, if I were leaving her office. The woman is a certified bitch.

[It might not be smart to speak so poorly about his doctor, but Jude doesn't care. The woman had thought his name was Arnold and had called him it for the entirety of his session. He's sure calling her a "bitch" couldn't put him any lower in her eyes. He already knows how deeply she hates him.]