stop_the_rain: (need a plan)
Murphy Pendleton ([personal profile] stop_the_rain) wrote in [community profile] damned_institute2012-05-06 01:11 pm

Night 63: West Wing South Hall A

[from here]

Footsteps echoing in the dingy corridors, Murphy kept his ears alert for the slightest crackle of static or rumble of thunder. But he heard neither. Something here. More off.

"You know you've got problems when you're worried about levels of fucked-upness," he muttered to himself, peering around the corner into a wider hallway. It looked like it led out of the patient room wing. No monsters in here, and no Cunningham either.

Not to mention a lack of jarring paperwork scattered about. But of course there wasn't, what was left?

"Don't try to understand. You're not going to, not like this. Just...get out."

That core objective remained the same. Get out. Get...somewhere. Anywhere. Make like the couple in the song, go down south to Mexico and live on the beach. Lay in the sun and drink fruity drinks all day, try and be happy.

But first, another damned hallway....
skeletonenigma: (fightfire)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-05-18 02:37 pm (UTC)(link)
[From here.]

Skulduggery pushed open a few doors on his way into what looked like the main hall, and every room they revealed had looked exactly like the one he woke up in. It was like the dormitory of a boarding school, but the rooms were all exactly alike - plain white, basic furniture, and empty of anything useful. With so many of them, Skulduggery had to wonder if he actually was in a hospital of some sort. He didn't really know what hospitals were like in other realities, after all. Maybe they didn't need medical equipment.

A stray thought was scratching at the back of his mind as he walked, stubbornly trying to grab his attention, telling him that something was... off. Skulduggery slowed to a stop, searching around for anything that he might have missed. He released his held breath, keeping one hand up in front of him and scanning for any disturbances in the air ahead.

Wait. That was it. He'd been holding his breath. Skulduggery hadn't just stopped breathing when he needed the silence, like he normally did. The skeleton was breathing, and he'd had to hold his breath to stop. Like a human, like somebody living.

Slightly more intrigued than suspicious, Skulduggery pinched the skin on his right arm and cringed at the quick shot of pain. It wasn't much pain, but it was still very distinctly there. Did that mean anything? He had no idea if a glamour could replicate pain or the need to breathe, but he did know what a glamour would never be able to simulate. Skulduggery put his free hand over his chest as he edged slowly forward, and even though he knew what he was likely to find, he stopped dead in his tracks.

There was a beating heart, beating out a familiar yet alien rhythm inside his normally bare ribcage. He couldn't move his hand away from his chest, couldn't stop feeling the impossible beneath the already implausible layer of skin.

It took Skulduggery a few seconds to be able to form coherent thoughts again, and the most forceful of those thoughts was don't think about it. Focus on moving, and finding out where you are, and don't think about it, or you'll drive yourself insane. Of course, it wasn't something Skulduggery could avoid thinking about as he crept slowly up to the next hallway. He could almost hear the rhythm of his heartbeat - his heartbeat - ringing in his ears.
skeletonenigma: (fightfire)

[personal profile] skeletonenigma 2012-05-18 03:10 pm (UTC)(link)
[To here.]