At first glance, it appears as if this is another empty room. Upon closer inspection, however, one might notice that the pillow and a blanket have been poached from the bed, and that the garbage can is full of food wrappers, apple cores and a few other cast-off, crumpled-up things. At least one-half of the room has recently been occupied, even if it doesn't appear immediately obvious. This is Kyle's half of the room.
X-Men Time
Monday, May 25th
Staggering into his dorm and promptly slamming the door shut after
Kyle ricocheted off of the door frame, the boy headed in a zig-zag across the carpet floor to the bathroom to tend to his arm. The bleeding had lessened, and he'd held constant pressure on his wound since receiving it, so blood loss wasn't so much the issue, but it hurt like hell and he was angry as a nest of hornets.
Seemingly out of nowhere, and somehow just in time, Danger's voice piped up in the yellow mutant's room. "Shana Tilar has directed that Kyle Bedlington be taken immediately to the Infirmary. Please come with me. Thank you." As her voice disappeared, a strange series of events happened - the ground beneath the young man's feet seemed to slide away and in its place, a wheelchair just for him arose, letting him fall into its seat. Taken by surprise, Kyle was immediately strapped into the wheelchairs, and he disappeared into the ground once more, the panels of the hardwood floor sliding back into place.
Quite some time later, a rather pallid
Kyle slid back into the room, his movements very slow, calculated and careful. He probably should have at least been escorted to his room, if not kept in the Infirmary until it didn't look like he could be knocked over with a feather. Evidence of what had happened to his now-bandaged arm was present in the dribbled and dotted spots of red-brown that dappled his worn cut-off shorts. He tentatively touched his gauze-wrapped appendage with his free hand and picked a bit at an end of adhesive tape, although the bitten0down nub of his finger nail did very little. He might have been contemplating removing the whole thing-- all it was going to do was get itchy soon, anyway. The young man pushed a weak breath through his lips as he pitched his lanky body toward the bathroom and staggered inside. Kyle turned the spigot on, bent over the sink, and, using his hand as a cup, scooped water into his mouth. He paused, leaned heavily on the sink, then, after standing several moments as such, pushed himself up, turned the water off, then lurched back out of the bathroom and headed for his bed, upon which he collapsed, legs dangling over the side. Apparently, he was too pooped to care.
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