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Nolan Santora was anxious by nature and over the last few months, this had only gotten [i]worse[/i]. 

It had started with the appearance of the [i]rune[/i], that black pronged marking that ran up the inside of his wrist. He had obsessed over it at first, tried to scrub it away with soap and water until his skin had been flushed and raw. It had started with the appearance of [i]The Blessed[/i] and their [i]ultimatum[/i], it had started when he realized that there really was no saying [i]no[/i] in this situation. 

Everything had changed in the span of a few months and he felt more trapped than he ever had. Though they weren't holding anyone [i]captive[/i] per say, it was easy to start feeling like a caged bird. This feeling of being caged had made him withdrawal quite a bit, being stuck in a place with so many unfamiliar faces was nerve-racking. 
Even now, after having been here for a while, he was still very [i]nervous[/i].

Entering the lounge, he saw Blessed officers and two girls heckling a Blessed officer who looked about exhausted. By the smell of alcohol on him, it wasn't a question of [i]why[/i] but rather a question of [i]who[/i] allowed him to get plastered on the job. It didn't seem like a good practice to have one of the supposed “world defenders” stumbling around like a common alcoholic. He didn't work here though, so he guessed it was none of his business. 

He heard the man growl in response to seemingly both the girls at once, “[color=a0410d]Don't get cheeky with your superiors.[/color]”

This about assured him that he wanted none of what that conversation might offer. So, quietly, he found himself a place to stand, trying to put some distance between him and [i]everyone else[/i]. He could listen and watch what was going on without the stress of engaging. He didn't feel as if this was his element and he wasn't sure as if he ever would.
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