An animal, was he? Less than sentient? Aidou woke to the indignation he’d felt at those words still smouldering in his chest, which flared back to full strength once he realized morning had come. Who the hell was tha--
His thoughts were interrupted at the sight of what he was wearing in place of the typical grey sweat suit. What the hell was this? But he hadn’t… He drew away the touch of metal from his skin, exposing dog tags, of all things. It read "Aidan Fairbairn, S Rank," and what looked liked an I.D. number. So what, the dress code had changed to suit the new military presence?
It took Aidou only a second more to process the possible implications of such a noticeable change.
He lunged for his closet and was still taking in its near empty expanse when the cell’s lock turned unexpectedly, emitting the soldiers. Gone! Everything that wasn’t standard issue was gone. All that he had amassed, even the box under his bed he’d refused to touch. Damn it! And he couldn’t even demand to know what happened to it all unless he wanted to make an idiot of himself. He already knew the answer--acting predictably wouldn’t help. Still, ask questions he did, once he had ascertained the situation from his lead escort. To add further insult, the man actually seemed interested in being companionable, and it made Aidou more angry than learning he was (naturally) expected to maintain his new uniform and that there would be new routines taking the place of old ones. Like the ranking system, of which Aidou was apparently part of the highest rank. What a joke.
So was the sight of the cafeteria when he was finally led inside, mood growing more dark by the second. Instead of breakfasting, those who’d started the debacle yesterday were expected to stand around while the rest--including himself--were to clean? After everything, these guys, the farcical charades, the new uniforms, they expected their prisoners to do menial labour for the sake of the Institute?
His soldier, with the same subdued amiability, pointed out the supplies in the middle of the room. "The quicker you start, the quicker it’ll get done."
The noble grit his teeth harder before snapping out a single word. "No." It was the first time since waking up that he’d earnestly acted against orders, which was essentially all the Institute was. Orders. Expectations. And he assented in order to better his chances. But this? Absolutely not. It wasn’t that as an aristocrat Aidou was unused to chores or that he found the act itself completely unbearable. No, what was unbearable was the idea of lowering himself further in front of his enemies while they watched, like a show pony, like an "animal." He wouldn’t do it. Not that day. Not ever, for that matter.
There was a pregnant pause while the man took in Aidou’s obstinate stance before warning him of what would happen if he disobeyed.
"No," was his simply reply. "Do it yourself."
And no amount of warnings changed his answer. He stood rigidly, arms crossed and jaw clenched, refusing to look at any of the uniformed people about the room. His first undeniable insubordination, and if this was how things were to continue, probably not his last. He didn’t care. He’d bear the childlike punishments during the day and whatever worse punishments came later.
no subject
An animal, was he? Less than sentient? Aidou woke to the indignation he’d felt at those words still smouldering in his chest, which flared back to full strength once he realized morning had come. Who the hell was tha--
His thoughts were interrupted at the sight of what he was wearing in place of the typical grey sweat suit. What the hell was this? But he hadn’t… He drew away the touch of metal from his skin, exposing dog tags, of all things. It read "Aidan Fairbairn, S Rank," and what looked liked an I.D. number. So what, the dress code had changed to suit the new military presence?
It took Aidou only a second more to process the possible implications of such a noticeable change.
He lunged for his closet and was still taking in its near empty expanse when the cell’s lock turned unexpectedly, emitting the soldiers. Gone! Everything that wasn’t standard issue was gone. All that he had amassed, even the box under his bed he’d refused to touch. Damn it! And he couldn’t even demand to know what happened to it all unless he wanted to make an idiot of himself. He already knew the answer--acting predictably wouldn’t help. Still, ask questions he did, once he had ascertained the situation from his lead escort. To add further insult, the man actually seemed interested in being companionable, and it made Aidou more angry than learning he was (naturally) expected to maintain his new uniform and that there would be new routines taking the place of old ones. Like the ranking system, of which Aidou was apparently part of the highest rank. What a joke.
So was the sight of the cafeteria when he was finally led inside, mood growing more dark by the second. Instead of breakfasting, those who’d started the debacle yesterday were expected to stand around while the rest--including himself--were to clean? After everything, these guys, the farcical charades, the new uniforms, they expected their prisoners to do menial labour for the sake of the Institute?
His soldier, with the same subdued amiability, pointed out the supplies in the middle of the room. "The quicker you start, the quicker it’ll get done."
The noble grit his teeth harder before snapping out a single word. "No." It was the first time since waking up that he’d earnestly acted against orders, which was essentially all the Institute was. Orders. Expectations. And he assented in order to better his chances. But this? Absolutely not. It wasn’t that as an aristocrat Aidou was unused to chores or that he found the act itself completely unbearable. No, what was unbearable was the idea of lowering himself further in front of his enemies while they watched, like a show pony, like an "animal." He wouldn’t do it. Not that day. Not ever, for that matter.
There was a pregnant pause while the man took in Aidou’s obstinate stance before warning him of what would happen if he disobeyed.
"No," was his simply reply. "Do it yourself."
And no amount of warnings changed his answer. He stood rigidly, arms crossed and jaw clenched, refusing to look at any of the uniformed people about the room. His first undeniable insubordination, and if this was how things were to continue, probably not his last. He didn’t care. He’d bear the childlike punishments during the day and whatever worse punishments came later.