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

[vstheworld]

They were all marched to the cafeteria, but no food smell greeted them there. Scott didn't think his stomach could sink any lower, but it did when he saw cleaning supplies in the middle of the room. No doubt punishment for yesterday, and the lady barking instructions seemed to be confirming that.

Just as he was resigning himself to his scrubbity fate, however, the officer added, "Those who have participated in yesterday's insubordination, however, do not get to help."

Scott's head snapped up. "Wait, what?"

The first thought that came to Scott's head was from his slacker brain: Score! I don't have to do woooork! I don't have to do woooork!

It wasn't long, however, before the more decent part of him took back the reins of control and forced him to be properly horrified at the implications of that. Everyone was going to be looking at him now. Everyone. They were going to be scrubbing their asses off and shooting him death glares and knowing exactly who to lynch come this nightshift. Why is my suffering never enough for you people?! Scott thought with a quiet groan, feeling like he wanted to pull his beret down over his face and hide inside it until he died from lack of oxygen.

Scott started shuffling along the sides of the cleaning area as the other patients (privates?) started their work. Where was the best place to stand and not be seen? Where could he avoid gazes from people like Peter, or Indy, or Sora? To his dismay, there didn't seem to be anyplace he could go. The best he could do was to get as far away from people he knew as was possible. Eventually, he ended up near a tanned boy scrubbing at a grape juice stain, a complete stranger to him. Well, almost a stranger. He could swear the guy looked familiar for some reason, but he couldn't place it at the moment. In any case, he was sure he didn't know the guy's name, and if he was going to be hated, he wanted to be hated by someone he didn't know, at least.

The guy, Hattery something, was apparently one for talking to himself. Scott couldn't help but respond. "I'd take your place if I could, man, I swear to god," he muttered back, putting a hand over his eyes and rubbing his temples between his thumb and middle finger.

[osakapwnzu.livejournal.com]

Heiji had been vaguely aware of someone moving into his area, but he didn't really pay it any notice until they started talking to him. Apparently someone had a thing for listening to the tortured cries of those damned to scrubbing floors.

"Look," Heiji said sharply--he wasn't in the best of moods, for obvious reasons. He tossed the brush back into the bucket. "You guys wanna start a riot when I'm asleep, fine. If Frau McBotox wants t'make th'people who tried t'stay outta it clean and try t'divide us, whatever. But don' stand there n' tell me you'd switch places with me n' sound all regretful, 'cause there's somethin' bigger goin' on than jus' scrubbin' this place spotless while y'guys watch."

Heiji stood up with the bucket, looking at the other young man. He looked familiar, but Heiji was more drawn to his hat. There was a pin on it--was there one on his own? He really hadn't checked.

"If anythin'," he said, carting the bucket over to exchange it for a clean one. His had turned sort of brown-purple. "I'm livid that one day, they've taken my two best friends--same day!--" He slammed the bucket down, water shooting up and onto his shoes. "--'n th'next day, 'm cleanin' their floors. That's what's wrong here, not you, Hat Bling."

[vstheworld]

Maybe Scott didn't know the guy, but it still stung more than expected to get snapped back at. At least he wasn't mad so much at what Scott and the others had done yesterday? Could he take some solace in that?

"Geez, you try to be a little sympathetic...!" Scott grumbled a bit to himself, lifting his hands at his sides in frustrated defeat. He was about to complain about the stupid nickname when what the guy was actually saying hit him. More disappearances. Now that the military was in, was that going to mean more or fewer of those? Scott hadn't really thought about that. More, I guess. These guys aren't fooling around. They're gonna be more strict about who goes and who stays, he thought, a small lump forming in his throat. He shot a quick glance across the crowd to where Peter was scrubbing with some blonde chick. He and a few other people he recognized were still around, it looked like. Was there anyone missing, though?

"Can I at least be sympathetic about that? I've lost people too, man," he answered, chewing on the inside of his lower lip as he turned back to the guy on the ground beside him. Hattery here still looked ever-so-faintly familiar, and that was really starting to bother him now that he had mentioned absent friends. Had he seen the guy hanging around with anyone maybe?

He let the silence sit for a few moments longer before he worked up the stones to ask: "...Who'd they take? Maybe I knew 'em?"

[osakapwnzu.livejournal.com]

Not people like I lost!

Heiji's fingers tightened around the scrub brush until they went into the bristles, but he didn't shout what he wanted to. It wasn't this guy's fault, it wasn't any prisoner's fault. And screaming, as much as he'd love to indulge in it, wouldn't bring either of them back or make him feel any better later on. So as much as Heiji wanted to play the 'My Pain Is Worse Than Yours Game', he held it in.

"Yeah, maybe y'did," he said quietly after taking a deep breath and letting it out. "Kuroba Kaito and Kudou Shinichi. Went by Kyle Crowe and Jimmy Doyle here."

[vstheworld]

And then the lack of teenage soccer-detective prodigies in the room suddenly hit Scott like a 16-ton weight.

"Whoa, wait, Shin's gone?" Scott said with alarm, forgetting for the moment that Shinichi would have reminded him not to call him that had he been around. Now he knew why this Hattery or Hat-torrent or whatever his name was looked familiar: he was sure he had seen the guy sitting with Shinichi at least once or twice in passing. He had never gotten the guy's name before, but yeah, there was the connection.

He realized after a moment that this was probably going to sound confusing unless he clarified himself. "Sorry, yeah, I do know him. Not the other guy, but I do know Shinichi. My name's Scott Pilgrim. I don't know if he mentioned me?" he explained hastily, trying to fight the sinking of his own chest as he tried not to think about all the things that might possibly have happened to his new friend. "You just found out today? Did you see him at all yesterday or anything?" Scott hadn't. Now that he thought about it, the last time he had talked to the guy had been a few days ago now. Ouch. Way to be observant, Scott.

[osakapwnzu.livejournal.com]

Scott Pilgrim? Scott Pilgrim...

"The guy’s name is Scott Pilgrim. I… you wouldn’t believe this, Hattori, but I literally ran into him." (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/927825.html?thread=70172241#t70172241)

That was where he'd heard it before. This guy was one of three people who knew Shinichi's secret.

“He seemed like an okay guy, but he’s not the person I’m all right with knowing about Conan. He was as freaked out about it as I was, and I seriously doubt he’s part of the Black Organization, but I’m not sure I can trust him completely.”

"Yeah, Shin's gone," Heiji said, standing up and tossing the brush back in the bucket. If Scott thought Heiji had looked mad before, he could probably see the flames coming off the Osakan right now. "Hattori Heiji, firs' person t'put th'pieces t'gether'n figure out he 'n Conan were th'same person. He told me you were th'third."

In a few slow steps, he was inches away from Scott. "Question is, I know th'firs' didn' let it slip, 'n th'second's had plenty'a time to. And isn' that funny--four days after you find out, he's gone." He narrowed his eyes, bucket forgotten for the moment in favor of possibly beating in the face of the guy responsible for Shinichi's disappearance. "Got anythin' t'say 'bout that, Pilgrim?"

[vstheworld]

Scott flinched back in surprise when the other boy stood up, and he was a perfect picture of tension and terror by the time the accusations finished flying. Even with a soldier glaring sharply in their direction, daring the tanned boy to not get back to work, Scott was suddenly feeling like he was going to need to hide behind something fireproof pretty soon.

"What?! Whoa, hey, no! Hey! Listen!" he squeaked, backing up into a table with his hands in the air. "I'm freaking out about this too, okay?! I didn't know he was gone, and I didn't do or say anything that might have made him disappear!"

He paused. Then a stinging chill scurried up his back. 

".............Nothing that would have gotten traced back to him, anyway?"

Oh god. He had told someone about Shinichi's little secret. Shinichi's name had never been mentioned, but Scott had blabbed to Not-A-Trademark-Of-LucasArts Sam about seeing someone turn into a seven-year-old. That hadn't come back to bite the detective in the ass later, had it? Even with his name removed? No, no what was he thinking? People disappeared from Landel's all the time for seemingly no reason. There couldn't have been a connection. Couldn't've been, I tells ya!