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

[shorttank.livejournal.com]

"We're in the same spaceship. Boat. I meant boat. No space involved." If there was one thing she felt the not-DOOP guys would be less tolerant of, it was any sign of being weird or mutant-y. Leela felt another wave of nostalgia for Betty, who had been annoyingly persistent with her "Lisa"ing and her chiding about getting better, but who had, bless her probably-brain-slug-afflicted little self, seemed to genuinely care about Leela's well-being.

"Yesterday it's one way, and today it's another, and no one knows what's going to happen. Probably not even them." She shook her sponge in the direction of the not-DOOP guys. Was an order to clean the floor really that different from an order to sit down and eat breakfast? She didn't think so. "Unless they decide to send us all home, it's just different costumes."

[idolism]

Aidou wasn’t exactly crazy about unusual behavior, either--or as the case was here, unusual comments. He had enough to concern him without needing to worry that his senses could be lying and what seemed a normal human was in actually an abnormal human. Though he didn’t look at her, his eyebrow twitched upward for a brief moment before smoothing out again.

Besides that, they most certainly were not in the same “boat,” not when one looked at the finer details, but pointing out their differences would also be an unnecessary distraction. It was enough that he knew it, and he didn’t really care if she wanted to disobey her captors with him or not.

He shifted his weight but didn’t allow himself to slouch. She was right about the disorganization and the fact that they were doing nothing more than playing charades with him. In comparison to Landel’s preferred style of uniform, Aidou didn’t mind the crisp lines and formality of this one in principle. But it was prison garb all the same, a despicable game of dress-up. “If they didn’t have an idea of what they were here to accomplish, the situation would probably be different,” he replied. He didn’t raise his voice, yet he also didn’t care if the soldiers nearest overheard him or not. There was a chance they were real, cognizant human beings, but there was also the chance they were like the typical day staff. Oblivious and probably brainwashed creatures rather than real people who could suffer and bleed.

Either way, their game had changed…

“What rank is on your tag?” he added after a pause.

[shorttank.livejournal.com]

"It says D." Leela hadn't given it much thought. There could have been four classes, or a whole alphabet of them. D didn't mean much without more context than they'd been given.

She decided a token effort was in order to keep herself out of trouble for now, and started sponging off the nearest table, which already looked pretty clean to her. Actual cleaning wasn't the goal. She understood that.

The blond boy had a point about the not-DOOP guys' behavior, which was sort of like the morning of basic training Leela had undergone, with slightly less bed-making. But they didn't want the patients to indulge in any manly, or womanly, as the case may be, bonding. They wanted them to fall in line. She had never thought she'd miss Zapp Brannigan, but a bit of comical ineptitude in the ranks of these guys would have been nice.

"So, what is it you think they're after?" she aksed. She thought he must have some idea, to have an opinion about how not to accomplish it.

[idolism]

The lack of cleanings solutions meant the sharpest scents in the room were more or less body odor and aging blood, neither of which were particularly comforting in that moment. He squinted slightly. The light snow wasn’t stopping the sun from shining, either. The vampire preferred to turn the squint into a contemplative furrow as he focused on what she had said.

A D ranking. That was the lowest grouping, or so it appeared. Aidou, meanwhile, was of the highest grouping. The question was, what were these classes based on? It certainly couldn’t be the inborn attributes they brought with them from home, which strictly left their time spent in the Institute. So what separated those who’d been allowed to use the bulletin and those who hadn’t?

Aidou let the thought process take him. Another puzzle to solve. Another detail about how the Institute worked and why. Hence, it took him a moment to realize that the female was still talking, asking him a question, and it was another while before he said anything in return.

“Something in part of what Landel wants, probably,” he said. “This proves Landel’s just one of the figures involved.”

[shorttank.livejournal.com]

"How very vague of you," Leela said, her patience starting to fray. She was hungry, her fingers were getting wrinkly, and she didn't really care who was running the place. She did wonder if her old theory about some sort of human zoo, crossed with Elaine's theory about a battle to the death, might have been closer than either of them suspected all along.

"Whatever it is, they're not giving us any more reason to go along with it than he did. Which tells me it's evil, and probably insane. Because if it wasn't, they could tell us, and some of these people would probably sign on." She took a look around at her fellow patients. "Actually, even if it's evil, they might get some volunteers."

She had to admit he was right about one thing: it sure seemed like Landel had been working toward something, especially lately, and that the main problem the not-DOOP guys had with him was that he hadn't been doing it fast enough. She wondered if this meant even more crazy things every night. It hadn't so far for her. It had just been the usual brainwashed patients and not enough time to get anywhere.

[idolism]

Vague?

“What do you want, all the unvarnished answers? If I had those, do you think this place would still be standing?” His tone was suddenly more direct than it had been, and with a bite to it. “Giving you a full report of my thoughts is also difficult to do in the time we have.”

Who did these people think they were, to get catty with him when they were the ones asking for his opinion, or his advice, or his assistance? Just because he was an authority of a sort, what, did that mean he was responsible to sooth their frustrations, too? To hell with that! He wasn’t even obligated to provide information when he had it, not when half of the prisoners were out for themselves and would sooner lose a limb than reciprocate the same courtesy. It wasn’t his fault he had a more complete history of Landel’s due to being imprisoned for so long. It wasn’t like it’d been his choice.

… Honestly, it was like speaking another language entirely. He frowned and turned his head, calm ruffled. Whatever. He wasn’t here to get into a pointless debate, which was only slightly more useless than being someone’s sounding board.

“If you’re actually condoning joining with these people,” and people was a kind term given the kinds of torment Aidou would have liked to inflict on everyone associated with the Institute, “you’re insane. How long do you have to be stuck here before realizing there’s nothing worthwhile about this farce? Of course they should be your enemy. Look at what you’re being made to do.”

[shorttank.livejournal.com]

"I wasn't saying we should cooperate with them! We should cooperate with each other, not be all mysterioso." She could understand keeping secrets, and not telling people everything right away. Leela herself had a number of things she'd hesitate to tell anyone until they were actually friends. No one really needed to know she was a mutant from the future, and no one ever needed to know about her last foray into two-eyed-ness. But if a patient knew something about this place, they should get the word out. They all owed it to each other!

"It's about patient solidarity, exactly the kind these guys are trying to intimidate out of us." She wasn't sure how this boy had managed to annoy her while she was agreeing with him. It was probably that I know more than everyone else air he was projecting. "I don't really care why they're going to do horrible things to us, but if I knew what the horrible things were, I'd tell people."

It was a more than safe assumption, she felt, that there was horribleness somewhere in their future, and she really didn't care what Landel or this general or anyone hoped to gain from it. All she really wanted was to know whose butts to kick, so she could kick them and go home.