He devoted as much of his attention as he could to the task. Though his hands were stiff and awkward, his skill was still significant. With deliberate patience and precision, he worked the dilapicated, dented, nicked, and tarnished weapons back to gleaming perfection one at a time.<br/><br/>The work was slow, and he was dimly aware that the girls came and went. He relished in the ability to work, to devote his mind to something that would accomplish something. Even when sleep began to cloud his thoughts, calling to him with a lulling appeal, he worked on. He wasn't sure how long he'd been at it, or how many weapons he'd worked. He only knew that he didn't want to stop.<br/><br/>His hands ached, and still he worked on, never once stopping to think of his own comfort. This was his task, and it was all that mattered. Finally, when the discomfort of his need to use the chamber pot grew to be too much, he put the tools aside and looked around. Finding himself alone in the room, however briefly it might be, he slid his legs to the side of the bed and gently, carefully rose to his feet. The pain was intense, but it served to clear his mind of the fog of sleep.<br/><br/>He moved gingerly, carefully toward the door that led into the ajoining washroom he'd seen them going in and out of before. His eyes were heavy, but he accomplished his first task inside without a problem. Thrilled with his independence, he sat to accomplish the second task. When he finished, feeling much relieved, he braced his hands on the basin and pushed to his feet. The world suddenly spun as he rose and his vision went black. When the world finally returned to him several moments later, he found himself sitting on the basin, wobbling slightly.<br/><br/>It was hillarious to him and he chuckled softly. Pushing himself upright again, he exited the tiny room and staggered his way to the bed. Several times, the ground pitched underfoot and he staggered off in the wrong direction for a few steps before righting his course. This got worse and worse. Several times his knees buckled. How far was it to the bed? Would he ever reach.... where was he going again? Right, the door. He was... yes. The door was where he wanted to go. Of course it was. Where else would he be going. Surely, he... he wasn't... well it didn't really matter anyway. It was certainly too much to think about. He didn't need to worry about it.<br/><br/>Plodding on, he made his way there. It was a very heavy door, but he managed to pull it open and poked his head outside. A cold blast of air hit him with the force of a wrecking ball. He staggered drunkenly forward, hunching against the cold. His bare feet burned strangely and he looked down to find them burrowed in a couple inches of white powder.<br/><br/>What was this strange substance? He bent forward to investigate. The world suddenly bucked and he fell forward. His head collided with the stone wall of the patio and everything went black.