The seats were still big and comfortable, more so this time than the last, because he wasn't nearly as beaten up. His tongue had some sore spots, but almost everything else had healed while he'd been strapped down to the bed on floor eight, and even more so in the week that followed. It felt nice to just sit for a change, to let things go and relax. Chewing on his upper lip a little, Brian wondered if that meant his ability to enjoy things might come back someday, maybe it had already started to even? He accepting a bottle of filtered water from the attendant - this time a man that smiled with his lips, but had eyes that looked dead and far away - who wore tan fatigues so highly starched they shone in places. Brian thanked the fellow, trying not to sound listless and uncaring. The guy helped him out by getting him water, he could at least try to not be a jerk in return. The bottle felt damp under his hand, a thin film of condensation forming over the blue and white label, colors probably meant to fool his subconscious mind into thinking the water was extra pure or something.
