[Jim, meanwhile, is sitting on the floor against the bars with his head tipped back. He's used his phonecall, so now all he's got is time. He's not going to be winning any awards for patience, this boy, but honestly? Despite being annoyed that his bar is trashed, and his natural disinclination to trust authority, the fight probably did him some good. He's calm, relaxed. Every once in a while he lifts a hand to check the swelling that arcs from the edge of his cheekbone up to his eye socket, but really? He's not that chuffed.
As Prussia walks by, Jim glances up at him and then snorts, looks away. He's got one leg drawn up and his arm draped over it, bouncing his hand in an off-beat rhythm.]
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As Prussia walks by, Jim glances up at him and then snorts, looks away. He's got one leg drawn up and his arm draped over it, bouncing his hand in an off-beat rhythm.]
You call that excitement?