one;

[ So, for once in what seems like an eternity, nothing is trying to kill him. This is excellent. It -- it's still freezing, but that's something he's... not getting used to, no, but able to handle without complaining.

Well. Without complaining nonstop. ]

So. Tired.

But. Can't sleep.

[ He rubs his face with his flesh hand, having learned long ago that touching skin with the metallic one in these temperatures is an awful idea. ]

Does anyone have -- I dunno, some kind of advice?

[ Another rub. At the same time, something seems to stir behind him. Hardly noticeable, but there. ]

Don't tell me to count sheep, that's -- that's just cliche. And not helpful.

three;

[ When the doors lock, Rhys' first instict is to throw himself against them. They barely budge.

This is, of course, Jack's cue to 1) appear and 2) throw his head back and laugh. "Did -- did you really think that was gonna do it? And what were you gonna do when you got back out -- build yourself an igloo? I mean, don't get me wrong, that would be quality entertainment, but Rhysie. Rhys. C'mon, enlighten me."

During the taunt, Rhys has picked himself up and is leaning back against the doors, eyes trained on the ceiling. A headache is building in one temple. ]

Not helping.

[ Rhys shrugs his backpack up and stalks off, shoulders hunched. He's off to find somewhere to camp out and, by the looks of it, he has a lot of rooms to choose from. He just wishes it wasn't a creepy hospital. That is just begging for trouble. ]