Day 55: Cafeteria

[tightsofmight]

A night spent inside his room had done nothing to ease his jitters. Peter couldn't stop worrying. Over Brainy, what he thought of him now that he knew about what he'd done to Grell, and where he was going for the night. If he'd be safe. If Indy and the others would be safe, trucking on down to the basement. (Not frigging likely, considering 'basement' was synonymous for 'giant ass doom pit'.) If that ominous intercom announcement had meant anything. Peter had spent hours staring into the dark after that, his stomach churning his supper into butter over the horrific possibilities. Whatever punishment that arose for the food fight was a mystery. It didn't seem to infect him, unless it was a particularly trying case of insomnia. No matter how badly Peter tried, he couldn't find the will to sleep. Much of the night had been spent making notations and doodles in his journal by flashlight, peppered with long stretches of staring at the dark.

Honestly, he'd rather be taking another crack at the Hall of Hallucinations instead of rolling around in his bed. Paranoia was his only company the whole night.

Morning felt like a blessing by the time it came. He wasn't sure when sleep had finally overtaken him, but as he blinked his way into life he couldn't help feeling a bit...off.

It was really quiet. Peter's face scrunched under the light, and he stretched underneath the covers. There was a zip of cotton on cotton, and his shirt half dragged itself out from under the belt.

His eyes shot open. Belt? The covers flipped back, and Peter gaped down at his form on the bed. ...Belt?!

What the frigging hell was this? Peter jolted to his feet, patting himself down. He looked like some kind of air cadet. There were freaking epaulettes on his shoulders (was that even what they were called?), boots on his feet and a beret on the dresser. A single pin was nestled into the front, looking freshly polished as it glinted in the light. Peter snatched the hat up and stared. Two letters were inscribed on the pin. Nothing more, nothing less.

"SC..."

Special Counseling? Peter's expression took a turn for the frantic. What else could it stand for? He tried to run through a few candidates, but nothing stuck. Nothing applied so neatly without being ridiculous, because it clearly didn't stand for Super Cuckoo or Spider Cadet. Was he supposed to wear this like some stupid badge of honour? God, just brand it across his forehead, why don't you? My name is Peter Parker and I totally snapped a guy's arm for Mother Landel's. Hail the Smiley!

Peter pressed the beret against his face and groaned into the fabric. This was it. They weren't playing games anymore. They were finally turning this into death match boot camp and sending them off to war. Shit. Shit he was going to be in the frigging army in some messed up alternate universe, and he didn't even know what the frick they were fighting against or why they were fighting. If they were pulling magical whatsits out of every book and TV show known to man, then who knew what wacky threat they were up against. Aliens? If it was aliens, he was quitting. He was going to curl up on the ground hugging a grenade and pull the pin. Just no. No. This was not happening. This could not be frigging happening.

Except that it was. The person who whipped open the door that morning wasn't the affably sour Nurse Rachel, but a hulking, thickly built man who looked like he consumed a toddler a meal solely to fuel his pecs. Peter couldn't even find the breath to argue as he was told to tuck in his shirt and put on his boots and come to the cafeteria. He left just as another soldier brushed past them to collect Brainy, and Peter abruptly realized that in his confusion he'd forgotten to check if the boy was okay.

Too late for that now. Peter tried to match pace with the burly man, fumbling to put his snazzy new beret on and watching with wary eyes as other patients were dragged by. Things seemed even bleaker as they hit the cafeteria. The buffet was empty. The scent of food was lacking. Soldiers packed along the borders of the room so neatly you would think they were part of a particularly tacky wall paper. And worst of all? Buckets. Mops and rags and brooms, all piled in the center of the room.

The lady officer's speech was entirely unnecessary at that point. Peter withered where he stood as she told them their duty. It was like a scolding from Aunt May, if someone gave her a gun and a license to use it. Except the joke only made things worse - now he just wanted his Aunt. The force of his loneliness bowled him over like a wrecking ball. He might never see Aunt May again. Peter's gaze fell to the floor and he clenched his fists.

Was this it? Was his life really over? Escape never seemed so far away.

There was no protest from him as they were sent to work. Ashen and queasy, Peter stumbled towards the cleaning supplies and selected a bucket and a rag. He couldn't even bemoan his lack of breakfast. His nerves were making it impossible to even think about food.

They needed to get out tonight. Everyone. Somehow...

[Lion!]

Comments

[degozaruyo.livejournal.com]

WESTON AOYAGI
S CLASS
31011868

Kenshin stared dumbly at the stamped piece of metal around his neck as he was led (perhaps, due to his rank, with slightly more respect than some of his fellow patients, though he had no way of knowing it at the time) into the cafeteria for "breakfast." He thought he had learned to expect the worst in this place; he had hoped that the violent repression of yesterday's riot had been the worst of it.

Obviously, he'd been mistaken.

Their new military regime had dropped all pretenses during the day, hadn't it? Gone were the smiling nurses and the fragrant--if heavy and unfamiliar--food. Even the slightly disturbing gray and yellow uniforms were gone, replaced by something stiff and uncomfortable and extremely reminiscent of Saitou's police uniform. Kenshin tried to spot Tomoe as he was pushed into the cafeteria, but he barely had time to look before he was handed a bucket and a cloth. He would have to find her later...if they let him. The unsmiling men and women lining the walls did not look like they would be granting favors any time soon.

Kenshin found it strange--or maybe it was better to say that it was more manageably strange than everything else that had occurred in the last twenty-four hours--that those who had not taken part in yesterday's little adventure were being made to clean and those who had were forced to watch. Surely, they all already knew who had been involved? The patients of Landel's Institute were a relatively well-connected group. Patients talked. They had little to do here but talk. They must all--

Kenshin's empty stomach twisted uncomfortably. He'd gotten used to regular meals lately, and his body was protesting at the lack of breakfast. Maybe he understood the logic better than he first thought.

The arrival of a young boy inches away from where he was scrubbing (they were all awfully hemmed in, all on their hands and knees like this) brought Kenshin's mind away from his stomach and back to reality. He'd seen this child around since he arrived. That was a very long time to be in this place, especially for one so young. The rurouni smiled and moved over, giving the boy some room.

"This is certainly an interesting morning, isn't it?"

[forgot-it-all.livejournal.com]

Scrubbing along the floors, Ritsuka hadn't been paying much attention to where he went. In school, he'd helped clean the classrooms so this wasn't so much different. Except for the part where a lot of people were injured, some people weren't helping (although that happened at school, too), they weren't all the same age, and he still couldn't hear. So it was pretty different to be honest. At least he didn't have bandages on anymore.

Someone with red hair moved over for him and Ritsuka glanced up in time to catch the guy talking to him. With him so close it was hard to miss what he said, but it was still difficult to hear. After a momentary pause to put all the pieces together, Ritsuka sighed and pushed his scrub broom across the floor a little harder than necessary. "If that's what you want to call it. I think it's pretty stupid."

The only saving factor of the morning was that this guy wasn't new. It was hard to miss hair like his and so Ritsuka remembered seeing him around. He stopped cleaning for a moment and leaned on the handle of the broom, looking at the older man. He didn't seem to be more than in his 20s. "Aren't you a little upset that we have to clean up an already clean room?"

[degozaruyo.livejournal.com]

"Perhaps," Kenshin admitted lightly, eying a spot in the linoleum next to his elbow, "but being upset is a waste of energy that can be much better spent in other pursuits. Disobeying them right now--or even questioning the orders--could be deeply unwise. Better to do as they say, for the moment. It gives us time to plan." After a few moments, he decided that the spot was a defect of the floor's manufacturing and did not reflect negatively on his cleaning ability. He looked up at the boy--young, probably Yahiko's age or maybe a little older--and gave him a smile. "Plus, this one finds cleaning rather relaxing."

There were several things that he would rather be doing right now than scrubbing floors for their frightening new military regime, but it wasn't at the bottom of the list, either. No one was being beaten and as long as they kept going through the motions of cleaning, it looked like they would be allowed to talk. Perhaps this was merely a ruse, perhaps they would be made to pay for it later...still, Kenshin couldn't let on that he was thinking such things. He had to be cheerful for the child's sake. Dark thoughts could come later.

Hopefully much later.

"Himura Kenshin," he added by way of introduction. "And you?"

[forgot-it-all.livejournal.com]

He hated it when adults made sense. The redhead was right, in a way. Disobeying the soldiers would do little but cause everyone more problems, such as the cleaning punishment they were dealing with now. Those responsible were lined up along the walls to broadcast their identities to everyone. Someone here was likely to be stupid enough to try for revenge later and that would just bring more problems. The worst was that the soldiers had their guns and the patients had little more than water and toothbrushes. It would be a slaughter if they were to try anything.

"At least you have that," Ritsuka said, going back to scrubbing the floors with the broom. He dunked the head of it into the water and dropped it back to the floor, pushing the stiff bristles along the linoleum as he thought. The guy spoke strangely, like he was from some historical TV drama. No one said things like "this one" anymore unless they were acting or seriously weird.

"Aoyagi Ritsuka," he replied when given the stranger's name. Not one he recognized right away. "You've been here awhile too, right?"

[degozaruyo.livejournal.com]

The nail that sticks up will be hammered down was how the saying went, wasn't it? Something along those lines. Keep your head down and you'll keep it. It was even truer here, right now. Those who had acted out yesterday were being made an example of, and they would not be the only ones.

As much as it pained Kenshin to admit it, they probably had to settle in for the long haul. Landel was gone--expelled or executed; it really didn't make much difference--and with Aguilar in charge, their collective survival hinged on picking their battles wisely.

The rurouni arched his stiff back. "Mmm, this one isn't used to this anymore. And yes, at least as long as you have, unless this one is very much mistaken." Kenshin had seen the boy around enough that it felt like a safe assumption.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ritsuka, though the circumstances leave quite a bit to be desired."

[forgot-it-all.livejournal.com]

[Sorry for the wait. Hard to concentrate over here a bit.]

Kenshin arched his back and Ritsuka realized for the first time that maybe he wasn't as young as he'd assumed. He certainly looked young, maybe in his early twenties at the most, but that action was something he'd seen older people do. When Kenshin confirmed that he wasn't used to cleaning like this anymore, Ritsuka tapped him on the shoulder and held out his push broom. "Switch with me."

Ritsuka didn't mind cleaning the floors on his hands and knees, but if it was hurting Kenshin's back to do it then maybe the guy had unseen injuries or was simply older than he thought. At any rate, it would be easier for Ritsuka to be on the floor and for Kenshin to be standing upright so that was what he figured they should do. "And yeah, I think we've been here about the same amount of time. I would say it's too long, but it's better than the alternative, right?"

[degozaruyo.livejournal.com]

"No, no," Kenshin said blithely, waving Ritsuka off, "it's all right. Keep your broom." He wasn't that stiff and he also wasn't entirely sure their new captors would take very kindly to a sudden switch in the assigned roles. He didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention to himself (or the boy).

The rurouni stopped, frowning. He had to think about that for a moment. "Yes, this on supposes so. It is better than the alternative." They still didn't know what happened to those patients that had been 'released,' did they? Not for certain. Kenshin still clung to the (admittedly naive) hope that the visitors were merely tricks and that the patients who had been released were back home. He needed the people he cared about to be safe.

At any rate, it was time to switch subjects. "Aoyagi Ritsuka is an auspicious name. Were you born in summer?"

[forgot-it-all.livejournal.com]

Ritsuka frowned when Kenshin refused the broom and he held it out to the guy again. Why would someone refuse something that would make their job easier? Was he just trying to be nice because Ritsuka was a kid? Or did it have to do with the soldiers everywhere? Regardless, Ritsuka took a step forward and continued to hold the brush out. "It's not that big of a deal. Switch with me."

And to emphasize his point, Ritsuka used his foot to slide his bucket across the floor and closer to Kenshin. He wasn't about to keep standing if the other guy was having a hard time. For all Ritsuka knew, he could be injured, making the entire endeavor painful.

His motions stopped, however, when Kenshin asked about his name. "...No. I was born in the winter. My parents are just weird, I guess." Just a little while longer and he'd have a birthday here. What a crappy place to turn 13, he thought with a sigh. "What about you? Himura isn't a name I hear very often. Where are you from?"

[degozaruyo.livejournal.com]

Well, this was unexpected. "Oro?" Kenshin blinked up at the boy. He was really insisting, wasn't he? "If you insist..." With a careful glance at the soldiers--they didn't seem to care--the rurouni bowed slightly and accepted the broom, handing Ritsuka his wash cloth.

Named after a day in early summer but born in the winter? That was strange. Still, he'd heard stranger. Maybe Ritsuka's parents had been hoping for spring when their baby boy had been born.

"This one travels," he said, "and is most recently from Tokyo. This one was born in a village up in the mountains--that's where the name came from, this one supposes; the 'red village'--but hasn't been back in...almost twenty years or thereabouts. It may not even be there anymore. It was a very small village." The cholera epidemic that had taken his parents had killed many others as well, and a village so poor could not survive the famine brought by civil war.

"And you, Ritsuka? If this one may intrude, where are you from?"

[forgot-it-all.livejournal.com]

With the cloth and the broom exchanged, Ritsuka got down on his knees and started scrubbing. The longer he was around the quiet of the cafeteria (and it was a bit quiet this morning, thankfully) the easier it was becoming to hear again. It was still difficult to pick out what Kenshin was saying sometimes, especially when he turned away, but Ritsuka was getting better at it. Eventually, he knew his hearing would come back, but until then he'd have to get used to having half-conversations.

While Kenshin explained his origins, Ritsuka kept his attention on him, leaving the cloth on the ground. A mix of watching his lips and listening to what he could hear helped him piece together what Kenshin said. A village in the mountains (not many of those left), twenty years ago (so the guy was a lot older than he thought), and he traveled around. He knew Tokyo at least, so that was good. It definitely made things easier, at least.

"Tokyo," he said in response. He usually said the city name instead of his actual town. So few people would recognize it even if he said it, that he'd given up. That and if anyone knew the news of his town, the moment they put two and two together with his last name, things got awkward. "A small town outside of it, anyway. You been anywhere interesting?"