(OOC: I didn't really know what to do with Sinbad not having a cellmate, so I just wrote this up as a "Yo, Sinbad's here!" type announcement
)
Sinbad blurrily opened his eyes and blinked up at the celling in confusion, wondering why the
fuck he had gotten drugged. Again.
Sitting up was a struggle that left him feeling dizzy, light-headed and weak, but he looked around the room, noticing first that Anya wasn’t sitting in her bed, then noticing that the bed was, in fact, a
bed. Not a bunk.
“Fucking cell swaps.” He hisses, pushing himself up off the floor to take a proper look, his annoyance clearing his head of the fuzziness that the drug had left behind. On either sides of the room are two single and in the center of the room is a table and two chairs, and off to the side is a door leading to an unknown room, which, all things considered, Sinbad does
not want to know what’s behind it.
He decides to sit at the table, eating his two pieces of bread while he waits for either a) his new cellmate to jump out of the room and try to stab him with a knife they crafted from the bones of one of their previous cellmates, b) the guards to drag in his new cellmate that will
surely be addicted to drugs because all the guards seem to do around here is knock them out with fucking drugs, and c) he hasn’t got a cellmate at all.
C sounds good. C sounds
really good.
C sounds
boring.
After almost an hour waiting, Sinbad sighed and stood up, almost knocking over his chair as he did, and turned to the closed door between the beds, eyes narrowing.
Fuck it, he thinks, and moves towards the door, opening it sharply.
He moaned in happiness and relaxed when he took a look in the room, finding, instead of a psychotic cellmate, but a
bath. A God damned
bath. He, literally, hasn’t had a shower in weeks (unless you counted the stupid rain shower in the gym, which, ya know, he
didn’t) and even if he didn’t feel like sitting around in his own filth, he could have
two baths.
Almost giddy with excitement, Sinbad waited patiently, humming and tapping his foot against the concrete floor while he did so.
The water was hot, almost
too hot, and the cuts and bruises all over his body protested the heat, but his aching muscles rejoiced as he relaxed into the bath, groaning softly.
He only allowed himself five minutes to relax before sitting forward, looking around for a towel and letting out an annoyed sigh when he didn’t find any, and instead grabbed the white wife beater he wore under the orange uniform, using that to first scrub at the infested cuts on the back of his hands and arms, before reaching over his shoulder to scrub at his back.
Anya was
fun, but he could really do without the shit tonne of scars he will evidently be left with.
Once he was done, he stood up and drained the tub before filling it again, this time choosing to relax in the steaming hot water, lasting for about half an hour before he got bored, and chose to instead be bored while lounging on his bed, naked, waiting to dry off.
)
)