[center][h1][color=orange]Brian Campbell[/color][/h1][h3]Cartesian[/h3][hr][/center]

Brian paused outside the infirmary and with a wry smile, glanced down at his bare feet and somewhat bloodied hands and pants. Damn the floor was cold. With a slightly slumped posture and some of his exhaustion showing on his face, he headed back to the training room. He retrieved some cleaning supplies and cleaned up the mess in the training room. 

Once that was done, he headed to the restroom and washed the blood off his hands. After that he headed straight to his room and made his way straight to his nightstand. He yanked open the top drawer and retrieved his lighter and a pack of cigarettes. From his dresser he retrieved a pair of socks and another pair of pants and pulled them on. His cigarettes and lighter went into the pants pocket. On his way out, he snagged his coat and shoved his feet into a pair of slip-on sneakers. His slightly bloodied pants were set to soak in a sink in the bathroom before he laboriously made his way up to the store above and out the apartment exit in the back. 

The chill weather outside made him shiver a little, and he pulled his coat tighter around him. He looked around before making his way to his customary spot on a bench, a good 40 feet from any buildings. He sighed and rubbed at his face before fishing out a cigarette and his lighter. A deep inhale of tobacco and brisk air, a long exhale. After a few contemplative drags of his cigarette, he leaned back and stared up at the gray skies above. He sat there with his head lolling against the back of the bench before raising his cigarette to his lips again.

Even in the chilly weather, he could feel himself calming. He smoked his way down to the brown, discarding the ash into a portable ash tray, before discarding the butt in his ash tray. Immediately he fished out a second. This was a two cigarette sort of situation for sure. He sat there smoking as the chill seeped into his bones. His slightly damp clothes only made it worse. Only when he'd smoked his second cigarette to the brown did he haul himself to his feet and prepare to go inside. 

As he lumbered over to the door, he reached into his pocket and paused mid-step. An almost inaudible sigh slipped through his lips and he ran his other hand through his hair. He furrowed his brows then flinched. Another wry smile crossed his face. He really was tired today. 

After a moment he drew his keys out of his pocket and let himself back in.

Down a flight of hidden stairs he went into the Knight Quarters below. He made another stop by his room to hang up his coat, grab a towel and a change of clothes, and slip into some sandals before he headed off to the showers. Inside, he hung up his stuff and gave his bloodied pants in the sink a good scrubbing. When it was close enough he drained the water, wrung his pants out, and hung them up in an empty shower stall next to his to dry a little. 

The nice hot shower washed away the grime and the last remnants of blood and his stress. He toweled his hair until he declared it good enough, and then returned to his room, dirty clothes in one hand. On his way there, he passed by the bathroom mirrors, and his lips twitched as his eyes fell upon the faint remnants of sharpie on his face. He tossed the dirty clothes into the hamper near his dresser then flopped into bed.

He let out a muffled groan before he eyed his clock. Relief shone in his eyes when he realized it wasn't yet ten in the morning. If he slept now, he could still get another three hours of sleep. 

With a little more life in his movements, he popped in his earplugs, yanked back the covers and burrowed right back in.