Night 70: F1-F10 Hallway

[repelling]

[ from here ]

On starting down this hallway, Uryuu turned back off his flashlight. It was unnecessary now, with the rooms passing in the expected order. 10, 9, 8... still he felt nothing, and he jeered at himself for trying. What sort of fool attempted the same thing again and again, expecting different results? Some defined that as insanity. How appropriate, given the setting.

A brief mental image seized him, once in which he kicked open every door on his way to F2. Would he look better or worse if he shouted Inoue-san! while doing so? As thin as he looked, his kick had become pretty strong (here, again, his head ached, and he swallowed against bile; the memories that were and weren't his). Perhaps not strong enough to kick down a door in a mental hospital, even if open, and subsequently, the image shifted to the disagreeable reality of him stumbling back, clutching his leg, trying not to curse. Then, still bent over, hobbling forward to meekly twist the door knob.

Yeah, maybe not.

There, F2. Uryuu looked at the number on the door, through the dark, and pretended as though tension did not build in his shoulders and back, as though he wasn't bracing himself for the inevitable. He knocked, then opened the door.

[ briefly for flora! ]

Comments

[repelling]

[ eventually, skipping back to here... this comment will be moved or w/e once flora thread gets going! ]

[madeinthehrl]

Soma assembled her gear automatically as night descended, tucking her gun into its holster and checking her flashlight. She hesitated for a moment, hand wavering over the little plastic radio, before that, too, was tucked into a pocket.

Her clothes were in her closet and perfectly dry, which shouldn't have surprised her, but it was still a moment before she could put them on again.

Then she was out the door and down the hall.

[to here]

F2

[showmeyourwreath]

Flora had awoken suddenly, to darkness. What time was it? Where was she? In moments, the dim layout of the room and the lack of comfort from her plants provided some of the answers she sought, and her face fell when she remembered.

The institute.

Right. She was still here, wasn't she. There was a twisted, wretched sort of relief in that, that she was here and hadn't been spirited away some place else, only for regret and indignation to come quickly on its heels. She supposed that it was true, things could have been worse, but Flora hadn't the heart to really take comfort in that. As if everything else hadn't been enough, she was losing more time.

Flora stared at her hands, felt a pang of hurt when they could not tell her what she wanted to know, either, more for the person that could divine it than the lack of answers themselves. She pulled back her blankets and got up out of bed, carefully, feeling a little lightheaded. This night wasn't getting off to a great start inasmuch as nights could be said to be "great" (loosely termed), but she didn't need to make it more difficult by thinking about her friend like that.

Flora got the lights, and after many moments of blinking, squinting and shutting her eyes to the light, saw her dinner, and the second bed. That's right, Orihime roomed here, as well. Had she already gone out, then? Her lips pressed into a thin, worried line knowing that she couldn't really be sure. Wherever her room mate was, she hoped she was alright.

Flora headed for the closet to grab her shoes, eyes shooting wide open when she found much more. Her Believix outfit?! But how was that even possible? It wasn't something she picked out at a boutique, she transformed into it. Flora reached out to finger the fabric. That was it, alright. She supposed that if the Institute could do everything that it'd done so far, that this probably wasn't that big of a deal comparatively, but it was still a little surreal to be seeing something that was never off her body, like reaching to touch your actual reflection instead of just meeting the glass. It still hadn't the question of why they would, though. Who got something out of giving her this little breath of fresh air?

There was something else, peeking from behind her outfit, and she reached out to take the slender neck, adjusted the whole thing in her hands. She didn't think, she barely breathed, only moved according to instinct, the thought coming after: her guitar. Her guitar was here. Flora held it to her chest like it was spun glass, like it was a missed friend. It was true enough for her. Moving it so she could look at it properly, she sized it up like a proud parent does a child who feels they've accomplished something, and plucked a string. Hearing it, she couldn't deny that she was a little tempted in that moment to just stay and play...it would be a comforting, wonderful thing, too, but there were things she needed to do. It was with great care that she put her guitar away. She was loath to look away from it, though, and didn't like the idea of leaving it behind when she would eventually head on out. This place was cruel and capricious, and the possibility that it might not be here when she got back was a frighteningly likely one.

Sighing, Flora started to undress out of her drab clothes, just a shade grateful for having something nice and familiar to wear. All too quickly, this was becoming a night of mixed and uncertain blessings. She was in the middle of getting changed when there was a knock on the door before she could hear it open, and started to shout.

"Don't com--"