[ hospital: "I want God to come and take me home" ]
[ His first thought is simply to get out. Get out of the bed, find his clothes, get out of this place.
His head feels like someone put a bandaid on a trainwreck and his body isn't feeling much better, but he doesn't like hospitals. Apparently. See the problem is that he can remember his name and a few choice things but the rest of it is some fog-of-war type nonsense he can't manage to make through and when he asks about it, he's told that it's just residual. "From the accident."
Okay. That means he'll be fine, apparently, so what is he waiting around for a doctor for?
He isn't, that's what. So. Out of bed. Rooting around for his clothes, which aren't...in the hospital room. What? Fine. He'll work with this, whatever this is. He will just...waltz right out. Into the fresh air. In a hospital gown.
Yep.
He'll even hold the door if someone else wants to wander on out too. ]
[ around town: "because I'm all alone in this crowd" ]
[ Finding the Sheriff's office wasn't too difficult. Neither was getting his things, but his uniform is a wreck; full of holes and tears and blood and more to the point, he can't figure out what it's a uniform for when there's clearly no base in town, no other soldiers. At least the jacket and gloves are more appropriate than his bare-assed and nearly barefoot parading around in order to get them but no one's arrested him for decency yet.
Must be a good start.
Something tells him a bad start would be worse than whatever is happening right now, weird signs in town be damned.
Instead of taking the key and figuring out just where he lives (or with whom...his best friend is Kay but he can't muster a single mental image of that person, and that's stressful isn't it? What kind of friend forgets what their best friend looks like?) Cassian wanders the streets, settles into a coffee shop, and gets a hot chocolate. Proceeds to pour the entire container of cinnamon into it.
Tastes it. Decides this is acceptable. Immediately starts scanning faces in the room trying to figure out if he knows any of these people, but there's no bells, no sudden realizations.
cassian andor | OPEN TO MANY AND ALL | prose or brackets welcome
[ His first thought is simply to get out. Get out of the bed, find his clothes, get out of this place.
His head feels like someone put a bandaid on a trainwreck and his body isn't feeling much better, but he doesn't like hospitals. Apparently. See the problem is that he can remember his name and a few choice things but the rest of it is some fog-of-war type nonsense he can't manage to make through and when he asks about it, he's told that it's just residual. "From the accident."
Okay. That means he'll be fine, apparently, so what is he waiting around for a doctor for?
He isn't, that's what. So. Out of bed. Rooting around for his clothes, which aren't...in the hospital room. What? Fine. He'll work with this, whatever this is. He will just...waltz right out. Into the fresh air. In a hospital gown.
Yep.
He'll even hold the door if someone else wants to wander on out too. ]
[ around town: "because I'm all alone in this crowd" ]
[ Finding the Sheriff's office wasn't too difficult. Neither was getting his things, but his uniform is a wreck; full of holes and tears and blood and more to the point, he can't figure out what it's a uniform for when there's clearly no base in town, no other soldiers. At least the jacket and gloves are more appropriate than his bare-assed and nearly barefoot parading around in order to get them but no one's arrested him for decency yet.
Must be a good start.
Something tells him a bad start would be worse than whatever is happening right now, weird signs in town be damned.
Instead of taking the key and figuring out just where he lives (or with whom...his best friend is Kay but he can't muster a single mental image of that person, and that's stressful isn't it? What kind of friend forgets what their best friend looks like?) Cassian wanders the streets, settles into a coffee shop, and gets a hot chocolate. Proceeds to pour the entire container of cinnamon into it.
Tastes it. Decides this is acceptable. Immediately starts scanning faces in the room trying to figure out if he knows any of these people, but there's no bells, no sudden realizations.
Well. Shit. ]