Nakatsukasa Tsubaki (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thecamellia) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
damned_institute2012-10-03 12:30 pm
thecamellia) wrote in damned_institute2012-10-03 12:30 pm
Night 66: F11-F20 Hallway
With Rapunzel occupied, Tsubaki had no one to share her amazing discoveries with, not that she really knew what to make of them.
The thick, yellowy liquid she’d ingested seemed to be exactly what the Head Doctor’s note implied it to be--a healing draft of some kind. Instead of making her ill as she’d feared, she’d taken a peek under her bandages and noticed straight away that the cuts on her chest were rapidly healing. Not enough to make them made completely, but enough to be noticeable to the naked eye. And she’d only taken a small sip!
As far as she could tell, there were no side effects, either. The only strange thing to happen all dinner shift was the moment she opened her storage box and found throwing knives tucked inside. A whole set, sleek and black. Professional grade, too.
Tsubaki had spent a long while looking them over, perplexed. It wouldn’t be the first time a surprise had turned up in her things; the vial itself was one of them, the container of poison another. But ninja weapons? What was the motive behind giving her those? The Institute had conditioned her to be wary of blessings, given how double-sided they often were.
Blades would be useful, though. There was no doubt of that.
As the start of nightshift neared, Tsubaki had slipped them into her clothes, a strange taste of home in the act. It felt weird to be armed with more than just scalpels again. Granted, a few knives weren’t going to solve her and her friends’ problems, or prove the Head Doctor’s words wrong, but they were something tangible to hold onto. Something she might have to use before the night was out.
When the lock on the door finally clicked, it was like the starting gate at a race being flung wide. Time to go!
[to here]
The thick, yellowy liquid she’d ingested seemed to be exactly what the Head Doctor’s note implied it to be--a healing draft of some kind. Instead of making her ill as she’d feared, she’d taken a peek under her bandages and noticed straight away that the cuts on her chest were rapidly healing. Not enough to make them made completely, but enough to be noticeable to the naked eye. And she’d only taken a small sip!
As far as she could tell, there were no side effects, either. The only strange thing to happen all dinner shift was the moment she opened her storage box and found throwing knives tucked inside. A whole set, sleek and black. Professional grade, too.
Tsubaki had spent a long while looking them over, perplexed. It wouldn’t be the first time a surprise had turned up in her things; the vial itself was one of them, the container of poison another. But ninja weapons? What was the motive behind giving her those? The Institute had conditioned her to be wary of blessings, given how double-sided they often were.
Blades would be useful, though. There was no doubt of that.
As the start of nightshift neared, Tsubaki had slipped them into her clothes, a strange taste of home in the act. It felt weird to be armed with more than just scalpels again. Granted, a few knives weren’t going to solve her and her friends’ problems, or prove the Head Doctor’s words wrong, but they were something tangible to hold onto. Something she might have to use before the night was out.
When the lock on the door finally clicked, it was like the starting gate at a race being flung wide. Time to go!
[to here]
no subject
When she went to pick out a fresh shirt -- sleeping in her clothes never felt normal, even if all they had were sweats -- she froze. There, on a hanger, was the outfit she'd worn so often it was almost as much a uniform as the one she'd had as a detective. Soft wool, freshly dry-cleaned and with every button and decoration polished. She slipped the jacket off the hanger and held it up in front of her. Nothing missing. But if they'd had it all the time, why give it to her now? She ran a hand down each of the seams. Nothing. Everything was intact. No messages sewn into the silk lining. No poison-tipped needles hiding in a sleeve. Just her clothes. Even her black heels were perched on top of her box, with a pair of pantyhose folded and tucked in the right shoe. She could spare a few minutes to put them on, and did. She felt a little more alert; her spine a little straighter. She ran her fingers through her hair, which was now the truly disreputable part of the ensemble.
The jacket didn't have a holster, but it did have wide, deep pockets. Which was more than she could say for the skirt. It was, perhaps, not the most practical outfit for a physical fight, but Lana was willing to risk it. She folded her Institute-issue coat over one arm, put the ring on her right index finger, and picked up the flashlight. She wasn't sure exactly where they were headed, but she was ready to find out.
[to here]
no subject
Stupid, she thought as she rushed through her nightly routine, hardly giving her stretches more than a few reps each. Stupid to worry. Stupid to have gotten involved in the first place. And it was stupid that she felt so guilty when it had nothing to do with her in any way.
"I'm off," she muttered as she headed out the door. She hardly spared Lana a second glance before she left. It would just be another thing to feel guilty about staying out of.
[to here]