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Buddingtonite was sore. Very, very sore. And he only had himself to blame.

No, he didn't HAVE to agree to help Osumilite with his task, and just because he agreed to help him, he didn't HAVE to take the option that he did. He could have easily have taken a recording device and sent it in, or even have sat down with a one-on-one interview and have avoided the whole fight all together. If one could call it a fight- a single blow to the cheek from a microphone stand had sent Buddingtonite packing, but still, it was pretty damn strong hit to the cheek from a Captain. He had every right to flee!

Nevertheless, it was mostly Buddingtonite's fault, and now, as fun as it was to be useful to the Negaverse, he was suffering for it now. Now, he sat in the park in the dead of night, leaning against a tree and "mock" sleeping, though the snores that came out of his nose every now and then weren't faked. Thankfully, his sore body, as well as his senses on the look out for aura, kept him from drifting to sleep for too long.

For once, Buddingtonite wasn't asleep in the park because of alcohol but just sheer exhaustion, and he was certain that no one would believe him if they approached him about it. The lieutenant wasn't too worried about anyone from the White Moon attacking him whilst he slept- they were too chickenwuss to openly attack him without announcing themselves first (to his limited knowledge). He was more worried about a higher ranking officer finding him, but he'd deal with that later.

For now, he just wished this tree was a little more comfortable!