The Asylum-Bridgeport mental facility (OPEN!!!!!!!) Please join

Heather tried to stay calm, even if the other girl was getting aggressive. "The girl you were fighting with before ? I don't know. I don't know her."

"How do I know you aren't lying?!" Ellen noticed her hands were shaking and took a deep breath. "How do I know you aren't lying?" She repeated, trying for a calmer tone.

"Because I arrived here at the same time you did and I slept for most of the day." Heather shrugged her shoulders again. "But I guess you don't have any reason to believe me… So don't." She looked into the other girl's eyes and try to understand what she was thinking about. She seemed scared. But she wasn't necessarily scared of Heather ; she seemed scared of herself. Heather had already noticed she was paranoid, but it appeared it was deeper than that.
She lowered her voice to look calmer and innocent. "What's your name ?", she asked.

Ellen lowered the books. She frowned a bit as Heather stared her right in the eyes. "Fair enough reason." She growled. She pondered whether or not to give her name. Hell, why not. "Ellen."

Heather was satisfied ; she almost smiled. "Care to sit, Ellen ?", she asked while pointing at the ground in front of her. "I've got cigarettes."

Ellen slid down to a cross-legged position in front of the door. "I don't smoke." She glanced down the hall, wary of any possible appearance the nurses might make.

Heather nodded. "Do you wanna try ?", she still asked. "My brother says that smoking is a way of bonding with someone else. You smoke, you talk."
Heather suddenly realised her voice was weak. She always felt like depression was attacking every parts of her. Before she got sick, her voice was soft and melodious. But, now, she was weary. It made her sad for a seconde.

"No. I don't. It screw up your lungs." Ellen muttered, remembering her mom's words.

"It does…", Heather muttered to herself, a smile on her lips.

(gtg for today ! :/ I'll be back tomorrow ^^)

(Okay. See ya!)

(Are you on Typhoon?)

Yes

(Huzzah!)
Ellen got up and walked back into their room. James was still on his bed. "You okay?" She asked.

James was humming, his hands were clamped over his ears and we was rocking back and forth restlessly, “You Are Okay,”

"Yeah I know I am, are y- oh never mind." She huffed, sitting down on her bed.

(I'm online but have no idea what to do with my little French lady of evil.)

James dropped his hands from his ears, “Yes I am okay,” the words sputtered out.

"Okay, good." Ellen leaned back against the wall, keeping an eye on the door. "That girl was a straight up murderous psycho." She muttered to herself. How many others were like her? Ellen glanced at James. "Is this your first time here?"

(Well, half French half Demon.)

James nodded, “First time. I do not like it.”

Ellen nodded. "Me neither." She leaned forward. She didn't know James, but he definitely wasn't a goony for Psycho or Viper. Or extremely loony. "We should try and escape." She whispered. Her usual tactic if things took a turn for the worse in a home.

“We cannot leave. It is against the rules,” James stood up.

"Yeah, I know." She stood up too, cracking her knuckles. "But I'm not going to just go along with having a psycho as a fellow inmate."

James thought, “How do we escape?” He never broke the rules but he agreed with her. He couldn’t stay here.

(How could I toss my character back in?)

Ellen ran a hand through her hair. "Hmm." Her eyes trailed up to the ventilation. "I'd say ventilation shafts, but I'm not as small as I used to be, and I doubt you'd fit." She glanced at the door, and then the corners of the room. "Do you think they have this place bugged?" She whispered.

“They can not have it bugged,” James smiled, “Last year they had cameras in the bathroom and the police caught them so there’s a privacy treaty and weekly inspections,”

Ellen nodded. "Okay, so this place might not be as bugged as some of the houses I've been in. What about the fence? Is it electric? And what about guard rotations?" She started pacing.
(And that's her paranoia mostly speaking right there.)

“The guards change hourly and they take a 30 minute lunch at 11:30 every day.” Being autistic he noticed these things just like how he noticed there were 32 steps on the staircase and it only took 47 to get from the stairs to his door.