0stinato
In Bhaal's name.
Still unfeeling, and now unthinking, Rüdiger seemed to drift towards the train. Not minding not caring where he got seated, or that his cheek and his side were still shooting dull cramps through him, he waited until he could easily step on. It was all very dreamy. Not a good dream though. But then again, neither was it a bad dream. It was just... a dream. Or sort of a dream. His mind was still too fuddled to manage coherent thought.
He managed to secure a seat, and lazily glanced around the carriage. All the hair colours made him uneasy; nothing was as clean and pristine as it first appeared. The train was a highly enjoyable sleek white, but the people within were not. Red hair, varying warmths of brown, black... and by red, Rüdiger noticed it was properly red. It caught his attention. Not auburn like his own. Actually red. It belonged to a bored-looking girl who had slipped into conversation with a brown-haired man.
Rüdiger wanted to care. He just couldn't. Not yet. He sat back, letting his hands slump into his coat pockets. Feeling the unsettling scattering of green pills in the bottom of one of the pockets made him shudder, so he didn't keep his hands there for long. Typical - he couldn't even get comfortable here. He leaned forward instead, ignoring the tablet positioned on the table, and resting his elbow on its edge. He tucked his fingers behind his neck and, with his fingernails, pressed down hard on the back of his neck. He would do this until he felt the pain become actual pain, not the dream-pain it was now.
He muttered to himself, "At least it doesn't look like... I've got tardive dyskinesia." He found this mirthful, but no expression of joy left his lips.
He managed to secure a seat, and lazily glanced around the carriage. All the hair colours made him uneasy; nothing was as clean and pristine as it first appeared. The train was a highly enjoyable sleek white, but the people within were not. Red hair, varying warmths of brown, black... and by red, Rüdiger noticed it was properly red. It caught his attention. Not auburn like his own. Actually red. It belonged to a bored-looking girl who had slipped into conversation with a brown-haired man.
Rüdiger wanted to care. He just couldn't. Not yet. He sat back, letting his hands slump into his coat pockets. Feeling the unsettling scattering of green pills in the bottom of one of the pockets made him shudder, so he didn't keep his hands there for long. Typical - he couldn't even get comfortable here. He leaned forward instead, ignoring the tablet positioned on the table, and resting his elbow on its edge. He tucked his fingers behind his neck and, with his fingernails, pressed down hard on the back of his neck. He would do this until he felt the pain become actual pain, not the dream-pain it was now.
He muttered to himself, "At least it doesn't look like... I've got tardive dyskinesia." He found this mirthful, but no expression of joy left his lips.