Desmond, who had woken up nicely, was wearing his usual attire, a white button-up shirt and a blue t-shirt underneath, with black jeans. He soon walked into the mess hall and found his own spot, sitting down and keeping to himself, watching the preceding in silent interest. Without even thinking, as he got bored, his fingers moved in intricate patterns, a black puff of some substance, then two, sprouting from the desk.

Soon a small black tempest of energy swirled up and he watched it. This was his favorite thing to do with his energy, it helped him focus it efficiently. If he gave the tempest too much power, it would start building up on its own and he'd lose control. But not enough and before long it'd collapse back into black dust. He kept the little tornado going, feeding and drawing from it, getting lost in the swirling darkness...