[h3][color=#90adb1]Marcus Bradley[/color][/h3] [sup]Location: Bedroom // Vending Machine[/sup][hr]

With a heavy sigh, Marcus settled down at the table he'd sat at the night before. He pressed his face into his palm then closed his eyes briefly. They stung and burned, a sure sign that they had been open for too long. While he still knew he was tired, at this point in insomnia, his body had fooled his brain into thinking he was awake enough to function. Marcus looked up at the wall across the room and arched a thoughtful brow. It hadn't occurred to him until now but there didn't seem to be any windows. Idly he began opening his bag of potato chips when someone crossed his line of sight-- wait, who was that?

Squinting at the woman in the white pajamas, he shook his head, then stared into his bag of chips. From his vantage point last night, he swore he could have seen-- [color=chocolate]"Hey!"[/color] Shouted the newcomer, [color=chocolate]"Does anyone know what's going on?!"[/color] And at that point Marcus stopped listening. Rolling his eyes again, sighed heavily, then dug into his potato chips more aggressively. Just as aggressively, he tore open his Twizzlers, then shoved a piece into his mouth, combining the flavors. Marcus didn't care to answer the dude's question, he didn't care to ask that [i]other[/i] new person where they came from, and he certainly didn't care for all this waiting around. Why was the hour taking forever to come? 

Marcus only wanted to call his family at this point. He was worried about how they were getting on without him-- his absence had to have been a burden upon them. Hopefully they hadn't had a mind to hire help-- god no, he hoped they didn't. The last helper out in that part of town had burned down someone's barn out of spite. What if that happened to his family? What if they couldn't haul the harvest well enough to make bank? What if they were evicted while he was here? What if he had to stay here for years? What if-- [i]What if[/i]-- The thoughts ping-ponged around his mind, causing him to somehow become more stressed then he already was. He needed sleep. Man, did he need sleep. More and more complaints mounted within Marcus' mind, causing him to stare across the cafeteria with a look of outright distress-- wait, was he also running a fever? Putting a hand to his head, Marcus immediately felt sweat, then let out a heavy breath. This wasn't good. Nothing was good. He just... he wanted to go home. That was all.