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03. [Spam for the gym]
Apr. 3rd, 2012 12:33 am[Po has been more than a bit frustrated that none of his own brothers visited the barge. He would have liked a simple note, even if that would have meant having to fight with his communicator again to make it read the note out to him. Spending all of this time among strangers in a constantly changing atmosphere has begun to make him feel very lonely indeed. He knows he shouldn't feel lonely, for there are those who have been aboard the vessel far long than he has; that just makes him feel worse.
And now there's the fact that he finally has an inmate of his own. Flemming. It is a relief, on the one hand, to have already met the man that he is to work with. But now... now he has been given Flemming's file. Now he knows what happened to the man, and why he has done what he has done. It seems unfair that he should know so very much about a man that he has only just met.
But he can't talk to anyone about it. He can't talk to anyone right now, not willingly, for it makes his head hurt. The area behind his eyes aches as if it has been dashed against a wall, and his head swims. He needs a break. He needs some peace.
Which is what has driven him down the hall, toward the gym. He hasn't set foot in there since arriving; he's been too frightened to test his limits and find himself handicapped. But he knows now that fighting, moving, being on his feet clears his mind, makes him live in the moment. Gives him the stability he so craves. So here he is, stepping foot into the great chamber, unsure and nervous, but unable to leave.]
And now there's the fact that he finally has an inmate of his own. Flemming. It is a relief, on the one hand, to have already met the man that he is to work with. But now... now he has been given Flemming's file. Now he knows what happened to the man, and why he has done what he has done. It seems unfair that he should know so very much about a man that he has only just met.
But he can't talk to anyone about it. He can't talk to anyone right now, not willingly, for it makes his head hurt. The area behind his eyes aches as if it has been dashed against a wall, and his head swims. He needs a break. He needs some peace.
Which is what has driven him down the hall, toward the gym. He hasn't set foot in there since arriving; he's been too frightened to test his limits and find himself handicapped. But he knows now that fighting, moving, being on his feet clears his mind, makes him live in the moment. Gives him the stability he so craves. So here he is, stepping foot into the great chamber, unsure and nervous, but unable to leave.]
