[ He's not! He can do it, he can rough it in his shitty apartment!! It's no worse then the dwellings he's been making due with on Pandora at least...ok they're more or less even.
Rhys gets horrible "torture dungeon" vibes as he enters the cage, and wonders if Jack has something like that in this place. Well, doesn't even wonder really, it's better to assume.
Thankfully the cage goes up, not down, and he's soon distracted from any medieval torture device thoughts as he takes in the suite, heading right for the bed with a goodnight wave over his shoulder to Jack. He doesn't want him to see how excited he is to sleep in a bed with sheets of a high thread count.
He could get used to this. He could. But he won't.
That's the equivelent thought process of a man saying "what are you gonna do? stab me?" when faced with a knife.
He lasts a month of low contact. Only speaking to Jack in passing, occasionally on the network, but keeps his interest low. And he is! He is disinterested. And he does a good job convincing himself of that right up to the evening the hunger begins to return.
He can recognize the feelings this time, catch them before he becomes a sweaty, incoherent mess. He tries to think of ways he can manage this without getting his hands directly dirty...but after a couple of days of being entirely too squeamish to just... just kill people straight on the hungers gotten worse and Rhys is left with few options.
So that's how he finds himself back at the castles entrance, once again waiting to be ushered in by Jack's staff. He's at least more composed this time; he still has his glasses on but the sun has set enough that he doesn't have to shield himself from it and he isn't completely disheveled, just twitchy. ]
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2021-10-19 03:40 am (UTC)Rhys gets horrible "torture dungeon" vibes as he enters the cage, and wonders if Jack has something like that in this place. Well, doesn't even wonder really, it's better to assume.
Thankfully the cage goes up, not down, and he's soon distracted from any medieval torture device thoughts as he takes in the suite, heading right for the bed with a goodnight wave over his shoulder to Jack. He doesn't want him to see how excited he is to sleep in a bed with sheets of a high thread count.
He could get used to this. He could. But he won't.
That's the equivelent thought process of a man saying "what are you gonna do? stab me?" when faced with a knife.
He lasts a month of low contact. Only speaking to Jack in passing, occasionally on the network, but keeps his interest low. And he is! He is disinterested. And he does a good job convincing himself of that right up to the evening the hunger begins to return.
He can recognize the feelings this time, catch them before he becomes a sweaty, incoherent mess. He tries to think of ways he can manage this without getting his hands directly dirty...but after a couple of days of being entirely too squeamish to just... just kill people straight on the hungers gotten worse and Rhys is left with few options.
So that's how he finds himself back at the castles entrance, once again waiting to be ushered in by Jack's staff. He's at least more composed this time; he still has his glasses on but the sun has set enough that he doesn't have to shield himself from it and he isn't completely disheveled, just twitchy. ]
C'mon...c'mon....