[@SrslyAnArtist][@Perse]
[b]Location - Cafeteria [/b]

[center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/310568770764537869/919101615892471808/text-1639122236971.png[/img][/center]

He hated to admit, going to the cafeteria made him nervous. No one at the facility would care what happened to him if any of the others decided him a tasty snack or simply prey. The days didn’t matter to him any more. He stopped counting how long he had been in Thornwood or if he were going to escape. Some might perceive this as nihilism, or maybe even apathy though the truth was more or less about being patient. Unfortunately he had learned throughout his life to bide his time and wait for an opportunity to arise. Which meant getting familiar with the facility. The way it felt. The way it sounded. Everyone else around here seemed loud and impatient. 

All he knew about the facility was that he was cold, that the ground beneath his feet felt smooth. It was hard to see, metaphorically speaking. There was little static to his skin, the cell made it even more difficult to feel things. And he was usually plunged into darkness, having to feel around or guide himself from the sparse few colors of the guards that popped up from time to time like warm bright, hot, red lights. That flashed in the darkness briefly. He tried his best not to look frail and blind, to the others. 

When he did walk into the cafeteria it was with full confidence, even if he didn’t feel fully confident in the moment. Stepping from the gloomy static, he was painfully stricken by the colors of others. Bright. Warm. Hot. Lights in the gloom. He had heard others talk about being blinded by light and this must have been the way that felt. 

The gloom was staticky. Fuzzy. Something that hissed. And for brief moments, greens, and blues, yellows, and reds would pop up. Here the colors were stable. They remained stagnant and still enough for him to start and guess where everything was. The bright green flicker was likely someone he had heard about in passing, rumors like ghostly whispers. Someone who controlled atomic radiation or so he heard, it made sense to him then why she would appear green to him. There were others as well. Some were multiple colors, as if their souls were entwined with something else. 

He tried to remain unnoticed. It was always a good thing not to be noticed by other people. The guards who had escorted him, or really they were there simply as insurance to make sure he didn’t “act up”. All though in all of the time he had been here, he was not known to act up. Maybe in their delusional delight. Maybe in their phantom like rumors, perhaps. But Hemlock preferred to stay to himself, preferred to bide his time. 

The others though, not so much. Chaotic conversation surrounded him, and he had been spending a lot of time simply gaining back his awareness of his environment. Whenever he is in that cell, all he sees is the voice, and the little strings of floating static. Whenever he gains back his sight, it’s always a bit disorientating to adapt to. He preferred to listen instead. To the impatience of others. But he wasn’t going to be the one to try and rally a group of individuals together, who could otherwise eat him, break his bones, electrocute him, and or any number of unpleasant experiences. He preferred to stay to himself. It was always so cold in this facility, he should have brought a blanket with him.

With that said there had always been something that had fascinated him. A strange energy. One that pulsated in the room. A signature he had witnessed a few times, but hadn’t interacted with at all. The color was warm, but the color was vast like a void. Ordinarily he had words for the colors he experienced, pink, green or blue. And that was after he had to ask to have those colors described to him. Looking toward the color that was like a vacuum, red, but then would sink into itself like a blackhole. Churning like molten lava.

He was going to attempt to be adventurous today. Seeking that warm nebula. It’s a bit tricky to navigate here. Everything is so smooth, and he had once accidentally walked into a table. He was trying not to do so in this case. 

There was another color similar to the nebula he sought. It was hot to the sight, it boiled like the way water sounds. He had no word for that color either, it wasn’t red either, something more alive than that. Sentient colors. 

[color=00a99d]“Rowdy bunch, aren’t they,” [/color]he attempts to smile, though there is a slight frown at the sound of his own voice. He doesn’t speak too often to people, and he often doesn’t remember the sound of his own voice. Quiet, hoarse. A bit scratchy to his own ears, [color=00a99d]“I have seen the both of you around.”[/color] he frowns further, because now this is becoming awkward. It’s clear to him and anyone else around he doesn’t see anything, it’s just a matter of speech people use, [color=00a99d]“I am attempting to greet you.”[/color] He is specifically speaking to the nebula, but didn’t mind them both answering. He realized now how evident it has become how little he talks to other people, [color=00a99d]“Lock, it’s a pleasure.”[/color] now he’s just frowning, realizing how strange he comes off.