Day 55: Intercom, Evening

[damned-intercom.livejournal.com]

Snow doubled in number as the day transitioned into the evening hours. Unfortunately, none of the patients were allowed the time to enjoy the weather changes. They were instead greeted by the telltale jingle of the intercom, signaling their cue to return indoors.

Once again, they heard the voice of a familiar female. She sounded unchanged from her previous announcements, her intonation as clear and as flat as ever.

"Attention all subjects and personnel. All subjects are to return to their assigned rooms for their evening meal. Lights Out will commence shortly after."

The woman paused, seemingly for effect.

"All personnel: you are to report to your stations. Thank you."

The intercom clicked off.

[ All room threads go in response to this post; please post your character's room number as the subject line of the initial post. ANY NEWLY ACCEPTED CHARACTERS MAY POST TO THIS SHIFT (but are not obligated to if you would like to wait for Nightshift or Dayshift); please refer to the new room assignments before posting. Thank you! ]

Comments

M7

[lighthearted]

Even with the strangeness of the soldiers taking over, Sora had to say that this day had gone rather well for him. He hadn't spoken to anyone he didn't like, he'd made some advancements with recruiting for the Arts and Crafts club, and he'd even gotten to talk to Roxas and plan things for the night.

The bad part of it all was that Kratos and Neku had both gotten themselves injured last night, Neku through brainwashing. Even if his wounds had healed, chances were that he was still having a hard time, and so Sora was more than happy to give him the night off. It did leave Soma with no one to spend her night with, but he hoped that the girl would find someone to stick with nonetheless. He really didn't like doing that, but in this case he hadn't had a choice.

The announcement that came at the end of the final shift was as drab and boring as the rest had been. At least Landel had put some excitement into his tone, even if it may have all been fake. Sora didn't know why he was thinking about it in the first place; probably just because the change was jarring.

When he returned to his room, however, he saw that it was still empty, though there was a plate of real food waiting for him. He'd barely eaten at lunch because he'd been in Rapunzel's company, so he wanted to get some of the food down before his roommate showed up. If he showed up. Whoever it was, Sora hadn't been introduced to him yet, but it looked like he'd been served the bad food.

Since Sora wanted to at least eat a bit of his meal before the other showed up (since he would feel guilty eating better food in front of him), he quickly sat down and started in on the salmon. If there was one thing he loved, it was fish, after all.

M7

[foolishmessiah.livejournal.com]

When he had been told he had been assigned to another room, Minato hadn't quite thought it would be this different. A new room, a new hall, a new block. But he remained silent as he followed after the soldier ahead of him, taking note of the similarities and trying to get a feel for the new area.

All the while, he thought back on the day. Punishment in the forms of no breakfast and clean-up duty. Soldiers instead of orderlies watching in the showers. The ranking system that kept the majority of them from partaking in the regular cafeteria menu. So many changes in such a short period of time. All while still maintaining their fake identities. How many times had he been called 'Aarons' today?

As he was left to enter his room, Minato caught the unmistakable smell of the cafeteria food again -- both of the good and bad menu varieties. Minato shook his head to himself as he took in his new shared space, glancing at his new roommate.

He raised his free hand silently in greeting, the other still buried in his pants pocket.

M24

[human-sponge.livejournal.com]

It always seemed that when you were in too much pain it was impossible to fall asleep, and yet that was always proved wrong eventually. Peter hadn't been forced to take a shower while in a wheelchair, which he'd been thankful for, but that also meant he'd been left in the Sun Room with nothing to do. That wasn't much fun either, unfortunately, but he had finally been able to drift off into sleep while his body tried to heal itself.

The intercom coming on was what woke him up, and he was still in a groggy haze as one of the soldiers started to push him back to his room. Peter could hardly stand being so weak, so unable to do anything, and so he was grateful that Claire had agreed to come lend him her power this evening.

He was concerned, though. What if he wasn't able to absorb it as well as he should be? His training with Claude had never been concluded, and while the healing power seemed to kick in automatically as a survival reflex, he was still worried that he wouldn't be able to control it. It was that lack of control that had caused him to almost blow up all of New York City, after all. That wouldn't be a problem now, of course, but it was the principle of the thing.

Though it suddenly occurred to him: was this the sort of pain Nathan had been in after he'd saved him? The burns on his brother's body had been so bad; it must have been ten times worse than this. He really had nothing to complain about.

After being left in an empty room, Peter took a moment to wake himself up and then took in the plate of salmon that was being served for dinner. Nodding to himself, he carefully lifted up his arms and started to cut the fish up, making sure his movements were as subtle as possible so he didn't pull at his back.

[boyking]

Despite all of the insane crap going on with the military and everything, today actually hadn't been half-bad. Sam wasn't sure what it was, though a part of him had a feeling it was at least part to do with Ruby. No, scratch that. He knew it was to do with Ruby. He was finally getting somewhere and that...felt good. He knew, too, that he could've gotten to this point days ago, even, if he'd wanted. Maybe Ruby was right. Was he holding himself back?

He shook it off. It didn't matter anymore.

His mind was still occupied as he stepped inside his room, but all thoughts ground to a halt when he saw Peter. Jesus. He stopped in doorway, startled. The solider nearly collided into him from behind. Sam shot the man an apologetic look and hastily went inside before any necessary trouble sprung up.

"Oh my God." His brow furrowed in concern as he walked to his desk. "Peter, what the hell happened? Are you okay?"

Considering the circumstances, he shouldn't have been surprised, but somehow, he was. He guessed Peter had always seemed to make it out each night pretty well for awhile now that on some instinctual level, he just hadn't been expecting his roommate to end up in a goddamn wheelchair one day.

Hell, Sam had gotten into some pretty heavy fights here and he hadn't come away too screwed up. He felt a little guilty, though he was aware he couldn't have done anything about what'd happened to Peter. Still. Maybe part of this had to do with the fact that he'd gotten to know Peter the best out of all the patients here. That and—well. From the little he'd learned about Peter, it sounded like his roommate had a normal enough life, powers aside. Family, steady job, a home...wasn't considered legally dead. It felt especially unfair to be torn away from all that. At least for Sam, this had already been his life.

M10

[winged_moon]

It had been a long day, long and confusing and full of odd developments that weighed heavily on Yue as he returned to the room for the evening. The nurses that had previously dominated the Institute were, for the most part, still missing— not that he deigned to acknowledge the one acompanying him at all, as usual. He could have been walking by himself for all the attention he seemed to pay anyone else.

Once back at the room, however, he remembered the unnatural neatness of it that morning. Was Xemnas gone, then? The lack of his disturbing interest would be welcome, but it meant there would likely be another there instead. Another who might be even worse than the last roommate he'd been forced to share company with, and even Yukito's silent reminder that they'd once had a roommate like Ken didn't improve his mood at all.

This time, however, not only his dinner was waiting for him: there was also a box on the desk which, he was surprised to discover, contained all the items he'd previously kept hidden in his closet— with the addition of his normal clothing. The clothing he hadn't seen since that night in the Coliseum. Was this supposed to be some kind of jest? A reminder? A warning?

Yue frowned at the box, resisting the temptation to throw it across the room. What it came down to was that it was another manifestation of the maze he was forced to run by whoever ran the Institute: whether Landel was in charge or another, he still found himself wing-clipped and crippled, running through corridors that seemed of his own choice but which always led to places he didn't wish to go. What would they do tonight? More of the same futile struggles to escape? What was the point?

Yue drew back again to allow Yukito to eat the dinner they'd been provided, puzzling over the contents of the box as much as its existence. All he could do was repeat the same routine as always: find Touya, find Sakura, be certain they remained physically unhurt.

Re: M10

[flou-canadian.livejournal.com]

Even though he was cold and wet from the shower, Matthew had immediately gone outside to play in the snow again, enjoying the familiar numbing feeling of the air and the crisping of his hair as the wet strands froze. Even though there wasn't nearly as much snow as what would be found in Canada, standing in the field really did feel like home. For a few moments he could even think that he was Canada again. He was standing in a field after work, he needed to go out and buy some more fish for Kumajirou....and that he could sense the life of his country in every portion of a second. But then the illusion would disappear half a second later, and the empty reality would return.

He only hoped that the weather would stay like that for the next few days.

Even though Canada was reluctant to go inside when the announcements came, the warmth of the institute was still welcome. He followed sleepily behind the guard, a content smile on his face as his body shivered lightly underneath his uniform. So...he couldn't handle the cold as much he could before, eh? That made sense. Hopefully he wouldn't get sick from that little trip outside. It was weird to worry about developing a disease from something other than an epidemic or struggling economy, but...he was human now, and germs were how humans developed sicknesses.

Matthew's eyes brightened as they closed in on his door, breaking the silence between him and the guard for the first time. "Is...Is Kanda there?" He knew that his guard wasn't exactly fond of him; both the looks that he sent the Canadian and his tone of voice when speaking confirmed it, but...hopefully he'd be somewhat useful this time around.

"I don't know. See for yourself." The soldier said, opening the door for the Canadian. Matthew's face deadpanned, sending an annoyed expression towards the soldier even as he muttered "thanks" for the opened door.

He rushed through the opening, partly to escape the suffocating environment with the soldier and mostly out of anxious curiosity. 'Please be there, please be there, please be the-' "Kan-" Matthew's voice died off as soon as he caught a glimpse of the white hair. A stunned silence hovered over him, interrupted only by the shutting of the door behind him.

"...Hello..." He muttered politely, a barely hidden shocked expression on his face as the heaviness in his chest became more and more apparent. 'Oh god...what have they done to Kanda...?' His grip on the side of his uniform suddenly increased exponentially. 'Are they brainwashing him at this very moment...? Removing and messing with his memories in the same way that they did it with America?' He cast his gaze down at the ground, scanning over the boxes both on his bed and his new roommates bed.

This confirmed it. Kanda was gone. He saw Kanda everyday. Kanda should have been one of the easiest prisoners to protect, but...but...instead he had to stay asleep while they dragged him out of the institute. Since he didn't wake up to any fight, Kanda had probably gone willingly, unaware of what the institute did to the removed prisoners. 'If only...if only I had told him...!' If he had told him then Kanda definitely would have fought with the kidnappers, waking Matthew up and allowing the Canadian to defend the injured soldier. Matthew would have fought with teeth and nails against their guns if necessary, even try to find a way to escape if it meant that they wouldn’t be doing god-knows-what to any more prisoners.

But instead…he had to stay asleep. He had to stay fucking asleep. ’So much for helping anyone. I’m so useless….’ His shoulders dropped, an expression of utter defeat quickly crossing his features before replacing it with a numb look, bringing his gaze back up to his new roommate.

…There was no point in dragging him down with this. Aside, first impressions were important, right? Pacing towards his own bed, Matthew forced a cheerful mask on his face. “So you’re my new roommate then? Nice weather today, eh?”

M50

[dualistic]

It was truly amazing that Harvey had actually been left alone during that final shift, and that fact on its own was enough to bolster his mood. Being ordered around by people who thought they were somehow better because they carried machine guns and reported to a man who was a general was a thorn in his side, but forgetting that, the day hadn't been so terrible.

What really was keeping him going, however, was the fact that they might have a chance of conquering the other half of the basement tonight. It had been a long time coming after all this effort. He was concerned that there might be too many of them this time around, but he could always suggest that they split up. The ring was bound to give them a good chance, at the least. He was sure that Jones would be likely to back him up on that idea as well.

But right, he did need to eat at some point, didn't he? That was the first thing he had to acknowledge as he entered M50 and saw the plate of gruel waiting for him. Lunge wasn't getting served anything better by the looks of it, so that was one small consolation.

It had been some time since he'd tried to eat with actual utensils, though not having to get his food through a straw would at least make him feel a bit more human. If he could manage it, anyway. That was the main concern.

Harvey sat down at his desk and let out a sigh, taking a spoonful of the food and holding it before his mouth. He stared it down, wondering if it would taste better or worse than the shakes he'd been living off of. Maybe it would be about the same.

Finally, he deposited the stuff into his mouth and waited for it to hit his tongue.

Re: M50

[herr-inspektor.livejournal.com]

As he was returned to his room, Lunge tried not to let it bother him that his initial assessment of Lana had been so suddenly derailed by a single bad joke. It wasn't as though a sense of humour was incompatible with the profile he'd built, or as though he'd overlooked a major source of motivation, or something vital- but it still introduced that uncomfortable little sense of uncertainty he'd done so well to avoid for all of this time.

Doubt. The last thing he needed here, and yet the first thing he'd found himself grappling with. At the best of times Lunge had disliked to examine himself and his methods- it had seemed needless then, a distraction from the real threat that was whatever case he was working on. Why should he question himself, he'd reasoned, when he had yet to question a suspect? And there was no interim. With the end of one case came the beginning of another, sometimes overlapping, and how could he possibly prioritise idle philosophising when he hadn't slept at all that week?

Yet here he was, walking through the Institute's corridors with a soldier at his side, grappling with that nasty little virus of a word as it wormed its way into his mind. It would not be prudent to entertain it, to second guess himself, that he knew- but each time he told himself that he simply had to remind himself of a single word to know that wasn't good enough. Tenma. Perhaps if he hadn't made that mistake then-

No. That wasn't helpful.

There could be no room for error this time. Lunge pushed open the door and took a seat, ignoring the pink gruel sitting at his desk in favour of arranging his thoughts. He would be seeing L tonight, for whatever reason- he was sure that he'd have told him in advance if they were going somewhere, but preparation never hurt. He still, however, spared a moment to nod to Dent. "Good evening. It's good to see you in one piece." He wasn't, he realised, lying.

M63

[nobleman]

Speaking with Edgar had definitely been a nice way to end the day, even if they had been forced to discuss Natalia's likely disappearance. While it was good that Anise and Tear weren't willing to give up on her so easily, Guy still knew that it wasn't looking good for the princess. All he could see it as at this point was one more person they would need to save before they left, seeing how they would already be going after Luke, Ion, Jade, and the emperor. Perhaps even Asch.

It was a cold way to think of it, but he did intend to save them all. However, if he continued to dwell on what each of them was doing and what they thought of who they were, he'd never get anywhere. He'd be too buried in worry and guilt at that point.

So long as Anise's memories stayed right where they were, he'd be fine. It was good that they had Tear with them as well, though the fact that she'd already gone missing once made Guy wonder if that would last. He hoped so, of course, but this place had a penchant for being cruel and he doubted that would change now that soldiers were running it.

When he headed back into his room, Guy removed his beret and ran a hand through his hair. It was only once he was sitting down in front of the delicious smelling fish (and Okita had been served the same!) that he noticed something on the hat. It was a gold pin in the shape of a sword and shield. What was the meaning of that?

He pondered over it as he started to eat, savoring the taste of the food that he knew he was now lucky to have. Had he gotten the pin because he'd somehow proved himself to be an impressive fighter? He wasn't sure if there was one particular event that would have made that clear, though...

Re: M63

[notachick.livejournal.com]

So this was the way the Institute would be run now, was it? Okita walked alongside the guard assigned to him, hands behind him as they went. They were divided by rank in all things - treatment, food, service - and Okita had a feeling it would extend to a lot more in the future. He wasn't unaccustomed to the military lifestyle or playing the political game, but he disliked what it meant for the children like Goku.

"You don't have to keep asking for the other meals, you know," the soldier said as they stopped by his door. "You're given the previous menu for a reason."

Okita just smiled and bowed to him. "It was nice speaking with you."

The soldier sighed and ushered Okita into his room, shutting the door behind him. With the door shut, the swordsman took off the odd foreign hat and took a few steps forward, seeing Guy at his desk, already eating. The sight of his roommate brightened his spirits and Okita smiled at him, tilting his head to the side. "Hello, Guy-san."

Without waiting for the answer, Okita moved to his seat, noting the metal box on his bed. He'd have to check that out later. Now that he was sitting, he split his attention between his roommate and the meal. The fish was far more appetizing than the gruel earlier, even if Okita was somewhat used to that as well. "Did you have a nice day today?"

M39

[freewill]

Both Sam and Dean had come into the shower. That Castiel had been certain of. However, Sam had finished his shower at record-breaking speed, while Dean had been joined by the Doctor before Castiel even had the chance to consider moving over. He wouldn't have hesitated to leave Kratos behind to speak with Dean at last, but he hadn't gotten that opportunity.

It was almost as if the Winchesters' ribs had already been seared with a seal that made them untouchable. Castiel knew that wasn't the case, but it was certainly how it felt.

If, and only if, his flight came back to him tonight, he would be able to settle things once and for all. He'd take off immediately, before Dean even had the chance to leave his room, and he would talk this through. But if he didn't have that ability, then he really was going to have to let this simmer for another night, which definitely didn't sit well with him.

Castiel's mood was difficult to describe by the time he got back to his room. It wasn't that the people he'd spoken to today had been unsavory by any means; it was that he'd needed to speak with Dean and that hadn't happened. Now he was going to have to contend with his ill roommate, unless whatever had been afflicting Stefan had been cleared up.

And finally, there was the issue of food. He hadn't touched it during lunch, but his hunger was becoming more difficult to ignore now. He would have to attempt to eat the slop. The stiff posture of Castiel's shoulders fell slightly as he took a seat and started to spoon up some of the gruel.

M57

[zack-fair.livejournal.com]

After Snow had gotten over the awkwardness of the whole communal shower thing (and they had gotten the water's temperature to the best spot), he'd actually been a lot of fun to talk to. Zack was glad that he'd turned out to be a such a cool guy, since chances were that he helped Lightning loosen up when the two spent time together. It seemed like they would be a good match in that way. Not like that, necessarily, but...

Meeting the man had been interesting either way, and Zack left the shower with his hair still wet and yet feeling pretty refreshed. What wasn't so good was that his plans for the night were tenuous at best. He wanted to find Cloud, but that was a shot in the dark and he knew it. He'd still try, but he'd have to use a back-up plan if it didn't work out. Maybe he'd just take the advice he'd gotten on the bulletin about searching for weapons and go from there.

Granted, the bulletin had taught him a number of other things, such as the fact that he wasn't the only person back from the dead here. There were even clubs for it. At the same time, there were other people who refused to believe it was possible. It had bugged him that someone would question that sort of thing when he knew for a fact that he'd died that day, but there wasn't much point in getting wound up over it.

When he made it back to his room, Zack was relieved to have the chance to rest for a bit, and it seemed that Terra was still making use of that luxury himself. It didn't really bode well for the kid, though, and so Zack hoped that the boy would open his eyes soon.

But finally, he got the chance to sit. He eased into the chair at his desk and let out a relieved sigh. His feet were definitely thanking him now! Nodding, Zack then looked at the plate of food that was sitting there, which resembled what he'd seen at lunch. Badd had struggled to eat it, but he hadn't chucked it up, so it was probably safe if nothing else.

Zack ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to psyche himself up. "I can do this..." And so he grabbed a spoon of the gruel and shoved it into his mouth, figuring he'd better get it over with.

M14

[tasteoftruth.livejournal.com]

Kay would have had the sense to find somewhere to hide from the snow, Badd told himself. He'd instructed her to change clothes as soon as possible and what with her chosen hobby he was sure she knew how to pick a store's lock. They hadn't found her and that was what mattered.

Badd prodded his 'dinner', finding it even more distasteful now that he knew what it actually tasted like. At some point he'd have to get over himself and just eat it, if only to keep up his strength, but right now it could wait.

Tonight he was meeting the phantom. The thing had solidity and temperature, it wasn't a hologram, but that didn't make it human. If it was a hallucination he'd find some way to test it, there would have to be a break in reality somewhere that would prove the lie. If it really was a person dressed up with Byrne's face, who for some demented reason had trained himself to impersonate Badd's best friend, then alone at night in an isolated area would be the best place to interrogate him. The area wasn't ideal, but it was the best place he knew of for testing his hypotheses and quite far from the courtyard where it had first appeared.

Of course, if the man behind Byrne's face chose to reveal himself and explain his full master plan in a cartoonish fashion, that would just make things simple. Badd gave the goo one last prod, then shoved it away and sat back sulkily in his chair.

But nothing here was simple.

Re: M14

[unmocked-lawr.livejournal.com]

"Evening, Hunt. See you in the morning."

"Evening," returned Javert dutifully. There was no point in dropping his previously established reputation for complicance, despite the fact that his role in the grand scheme of things appeared to have changed.

Nevertheless, the day had been more successful than most, he decided as the door shut behind him. His usual dinner of salmon was waiting for him, but beside it was something unusual--a large metal box bearing the same number as on his dog tags. Opening it revealed his neatly folded clothing. A glint of metal beside it caught his eye: his saber and his axe, leaning against the desk and tagged with the same number. A mirthless smile appeared on his face. So Aguilar was doing this the proper way, was he?

He shut the box and pushed it aside. No point in refusing the food tonight; he would need it, and starving himself was pointless. He would have to write himself a note in case the amnesia resurfaced.

Across the room, Badd was staring disgustedly at his own meal. The now-standard meal, apparently, though Javert had yet to hear what made a patient S Rank as opposed to any other. "You might as well eat that," he observed drily. "Slop it may be, but it's nourishment you'll probably need tonight."

M5

[moarnomsplz]

Ax had gone outside to see the snow, and had learned that it tasted like water, which was only to be expected. It had been enjoyable, at first, trying to catch the flakes on his human tongue. He was fairly certain no one had been watching when he had lost his balance and fallen after tipping his head too far back. The slight, lingering dampness of his artificial skins served only to remind him of the indignity, and when the armed human took him back to the room he had awakened in, it did not help his mood to see that dinner was the same pink substance lunch had been.

Mindful of what Taura had said about the dangers this place presented at night, he reluctantly concluded he had no choice but to consume the alleged foods, and he sat down at the desk to do so.

Though he knew it was unlikely, he could not help but hope that when the ominous-sounding 'lights out' arrived, he would get his own body back. However hazardous the night might prove, he was sure it would not be too much for him if he only had the proper number of legs and eyes, and most of all, his tail blade.

Ax realized he must be afflicted by human nervousness. Thinking of the possibility that he might not be himself again later made him even less inclined to eat the dinner. He turned his thoughts instead to the other half of the room, and what its occupant might be like. If he were fortunate, it would be someone who understood the importance of taste and the injustice of being fed pink soup. Complaining was not really behavior an aristh should indulge in, but Ax felt, strangely enough, that it would cheer him up if he did.

Re: M5

[adiostoreadurr.livejournal.com]

Tavros had spent the fourth shift dazed and alarmed.

His conversation with Kairi had confirmed the fact that humans were a diurnal species, and that it was daytime now, but the implications of this didn't quite hit him until he was wheeled out to the courtyard.

The light first surprised him. Then it made his eyes hurt, and frightened him, and the troll had tried futilely to roll back into the building that, really, he should've been glad to escape, if even for a little while. The adult human had only been irritated when Tavros' four wheel device had backed over his foot, and he had snapped at him to cut it out before parking him and returning inside. The troll had decided that he'd rather not incite the anger of the alien again, and instead shrunk into his chair with his hands over his eyes.

It was so bright outside. Perhaps not as bright as Alternian daylight, but far too bright all the same. And to be outside at this time of day! Tavros kept expecting to see some horrific beast charge the courtyard and viciously slaughter everyone on it. Well, not see, per se, but he was sure it would be very noisy.

So he was very relieved when they were rounded up and brought back into the institution. His eyes ached from where the heels of his palms pressed into them, and he saw spots every time he blinked. But he was alive, and that was something, right?

But it seemed that the aliens in charge were determined to keep throwing him off. Tavros expected to be guided to the cafeteria once more, not into a small room occupied by another patient (or prisoner, or whatever they were). The room was identical to the one he had woken up in, but, of course, he'd been alone then.

Unwilling to complain and unable to flee, Tavros simply sat awkwardly near the door as it was closed behind him. He couldn't fathom why he was placed in this room with this human stranger, and that made him anxious.

"Uhh. H-Hello," He greeted, in a high voice that did very little to mask just how vulnerable he felt right now. It was then that his eyes, having been flicking back and forth all over the room, landed on the pink goop that constituted as food in this world.

Oh, right. Evening meal. The voice had said something about that, right?

Pushed down in his chair and focusing very hard on looking inoffensive and non-threatening, Tavros wheeled himself over to the colourful mush. He hoped the human wouldn't attack him or anything awful like that.

F8

[fangirlfatale.livejournal.com]

They led her to a different room this time, which at first set off big alarm bells--it would not be good if the soldiers had taken her sword and clothes. Weirdly enough, though, when she arrived at her new home sweet home (ugghhff!), there was already a box on the bed with all her stuff in it. Morgan whirled to shoot a suspicious glare back at the guy who'd marched her in here, but he was already gone.

The other thing left in the room for her was a bowl of the pinkish stew she'd seen most of the prisoners eating at lunch. Morgan trusted that even less than she had the box of possessions, but on the other hand she was starving. Even if she was consuming way fewer calories than usual while she was trapped here, she still needed a decent amount of food, and she'd barely had any in two days. She flung herself into the chair and popped a spoonful of the stuff into her mouth before she could talk herself out of it--and immediately spat it out back into the bowl. "Uggh! What is that?!" she demanded furiously. She'd been used to consoling herself over the indignities of being trapped here with the thought that at least the food was halfway decent. Apparently that plan, like so many others, was overboard now.

After a minute or two of angry brooding, Morgan heaved a sigh. She couldn't afford not to eat this junk. As disgusting as it was, it looked like it was going to be the only food she was getting for a while, and she needed to keep her strength up. With an expression of pained determination, she steeled herself for combat and got started attacking every bite.

[ninelivesonce]

Taura jogged along the corridor, just fast enough that her escort was having trouble keeping up with her. He didn't want to admit it, though, and so she jogged on. Dinner was waiting at the end of it, and she had a mission to get ready for.

It was going to be cold out there; it was just as well the new uniforms had been issued now, as a thin coat and sweats wasn't exactly her idea of bundling up, especially when she'd be running on less than half her usual food supply. Maybe, if they'd forgotten they'd moved out the most recent napping roommate, there might be a second dish.

She bounded into the room not the slightest bit out of breath. There were labeled boxes on both beds, and a woman she'd never met was eating her dinner like it had done her a personal insult. Given that dinner was more of the same, and in the same small portions it usually came in, she could understand the rage. "Wait," she called out to the soldier; they'd allowed her a little extra at lunch, but he had already shut the door. Damn.

"Er, howdy? I'm Taura. Is everything...all right?" She walked lightly, not sure what the answer might be. She made it over to her bed, and opened the box. Ah. She'd taken it for granted that her things were still in her closet this morning; evidently that had been an error.

F16

[fourstonewalls]

The afternoon had given Lana plenty to think over; that, and a growing reminder that she had eaten nothing all day. Dinner was more of the same pink gruel, but this time she decided it was worth trying. There was only so long any of them could go without food; avoiding it only delayed the inevitable. If it was drugged, it was drugged, and at least they knew to look out for the signs.

Hmm. It wasn't quite as awful as it looked, although comparing it to instant oatmeal would give the oatmeal the winning edge.

There had to be something more productive to do with her nights besides get both herself and Ema into more trouble. Somewhere they could investigate, provided they were both in their right minds. Maybe what we both need is a chaperone. Detective Gumshoe might be willing to help; he had been surprisingly well-informed so far, and had been here far longer than they had.

[avengingfists.livejournal.com]

Ilia was brought in a little later than usual, having taken her time in the showers up until the last minute. She had no qualms about communal showers, and the heat from the water had felt good on her strained muscles. By the time she was toweled and dressed again she felt completely at ease.

She wasn't so happy to see that gruel was still their main course but she knew better than to complain. She nodded to Lana, a smile coming to her face as she sat at her own desk. Ignoring the bowl, she though pleasantries would serve as better sustenance. "Evening, Lana. Did you have a good day?"

It felt nice to sit and relax, but she was actually feeling a little energized from the shower. Last night's rest had been nice, but some exercise would definitely be in order tonight.

M71

[emotionl4arobot.livejournal.com]

Brainiac 5's mood had been steadily dropping since lunch and his encounter with Claire had hardly improved matters any there. It hardly seemed to be soon enough that the intercom sounded again and he was escorted back towards the room he shared with Peter.

That, at last, was one encounter he could look forward to. While he didn't imagine Peter would be entirely pleased when he learned of the tests Brainiac 5 and the Doctor had conducted the night before, he couldn't argue that Brainiac 5 had stuck to his agreement not to do anything on his own. And he hoped that the results would be more of a distraction to Peter.

...especially if Brainiac 5 was careful not to mention the parts that could be potentially... discouraging.

In some ways the silence of the soldiers was more preferable to the Coluan, as it allowed him to consider what topics he should reveal and avoid before they reached the door to his room and he was directed inside.

Dinner was the same substance that lunch had been, and he frowned at it in distaste. He was starting to miss how little energy his Coluan body had needed, or at least how he had the ability to neutralise his taste sensors at will. But since he'd only picked at the meal - if it could be called that - over lunch, he should at least attempt to eat more now.

Unfortunately, he felt that the key word there would be 'attempt'.

Re: M71

[tightsofmight]

Yeesh. Today. Today could just get out.

Nothing particularly bad had happened. Not with the people he'd met, and nothing to him personally, but just the whole military thing and hearing about more bad stuff and having to burst people's bubbles all day long. It was exhausting. And depressing. Let us not forget about depressing, since it is a word that has grown to the size and fortitude of the Hulk's butt.

Hulk butt. Peter's lips curled on instinct and he gave a shudder. Just the beautiful thought he needed to put the cap on the best day ever.

Still, he got to go back to his room and whine at Brainy for a bit, didn't he? They hadn't had anything cheerful to talk about in a while, but he was sort of a haven for Peter in this monumental dump of all dumps. Even when they talked about all the bad crap buffeting them in the face every day, it was comforting. Sort of like how him and MJ could always sound off about the crap back home when they were safe in his basement or his room.

Peter left the soldier's company without a word, finding himself suddenly missing the motherly eye-rolling of Nurse Rachel. At least she was vaguely entertaining. And she'd held his hair back when he was throwing up in the toilet that one time. She wasn't all bad.

"Heyo," he greeted Brainy, flopping into his desk. His nose wrinkled at the tray full of Army Soup Surprise in front of him. "Oh man, this again? God. Why are they so gung ho about this stuff? It looks like nutritional diarrhea."

M79

[scarletspeedstr.livejournal.com]

Wally was feeling a lot cleaner and, oddly, more upbeat after both lunch and the showers. Maybe it had been connecting with Edward or helping Damon and Mike, but he felt like maybe tonight things would be different. That he could make a difference.

No, he would make a difference. It wasn't just about making himself feel better, after all, but the fact that with all this new stuff going on? It was even more important that he find a way to help as many people here as he could.

His stomach growled, reminding Wally that he had other limitations to think about as well, but even the way his stomach was trying to emulate a bottomless chasm didn't put much of a dent in his determination. Batman didn't have any powers at all and had been trapped in places where his resources were limited, but he still found a way out all the same. Could Wally really think of himself as a hero if he didn't try just as hard with what resources he had?

he was still turning the idea over in his head when they stopped in front of his room and his escort (looking lovely in her uniform, not that he was quite willing to risk saying as much just yet) got the door for him and handed him his dinner. Wally thanked her, since he still wasn't entirely sure if their deal was like the nurses and she didn't really know too much about this place, and headed inside.

There was a metal box on the end of his bed that he took a look at after he set the tray down on his desk, ignoring the almost plaintive noise from his stomach as he did so. To his relief, the box contained the few things that he really thought of as 'his' here, the most important of them being his ring and the costume hidden away inside it. He slipped the distinctive ring onto his finger, feeling immediately better, and crossed back to his desk, his thoughts resolved.

He was going to tell Woody about being the Flash, he realised. Maybe it was his conversation with Edward, but being so ridiculously worried about it here was, well, starting to feel dumb. Not that he was about to hang a sign around his neck or anything, since that would be equally dumb, but Woody was his roommate and, he liked to think anyway, his friend. If he couldn't trust him with this, then how could he expect Woody to trust him in return? Besides, there was no way he was going to wear this dumb uniform when he had a perfectly good Flash costume right there, one that was actually designed with his speed in mind as well.

Feeling better about his decision, Wally finally allowed himself to sit down to his dinner, though the carefully stopped himself from just devouring it at the speed he really wanted to. He'd like to have something to offer Woody, if it came to that. It might help stop the guy from freaking out too much as well.

Re: M79

[pullstrung.livejournal.com]

Woody was glad to see this horrible, no-good, rotten day come to an end. That whole...showering thing was not something he wanted to repeat anytime soon, even if he did appreciate not smelling like nasty sweat anymore. He'd just have to avoid getting punished with 200 jumping jacks (and Rita's smug smile) so he wouldn't have to spend too long getting cleaned up in the future. That sounded easy enough. Just do as he was told during the day, and look for a way out at night.

His body was starting to feel a bit wobbly in a way that he wasn't used to, though. It was hard to figure out why, exactly, but he had a feeling it had to do with the lack of food, rigorous exercise, and that shower. A toy wasn't built for those things, and Woody didn't want any part of it. But here he was, getting escorted to his room by the soldier who'd given him a hard time during lunch.

The sooner he got back to Andy, the better, he told himself with a disturbed frown. Not that the soldiers cared what he thought, of course. With a gruff, "Get in there and eat your dinner," from the man, Woody found himself in the same room as before. But instead of a plate of regular food, he got stuck with the pink slop he'd seen in front of Rita earlier.

"Wait a minute," he said, bewildered at what he was looking at. "Wait, wait, wait, what is this?!"

"Eat it or don't, I don't care," the soldier told him with a stern stare. "But I don't wanna hear anymore of that attitude or it'll be more jumping jacks for you, got it?"

Woody gulped and straightened his posture. "Okay, then." A pause. "Sir."

The soldier looked like he was on the verge of rolling his eyes, but only turned on his heels and left. When the door shut behind him, Woody breathed a sigh and seemed to visibly deflate now that he didn't have anyone staring him down. "Finally!" Running a hand through his hair, he looked over at his roommate. "I almost thought they were gonna just, just..." He threw up his arms, exasperated. "...stand guard during dinner, too."

M17

[its-the-mileage.livejournal.com]

Back to the pink substance. Indy sighed in grudging acceptance--and then noticed the large metal box on his bed. Inside he found his entire inventory: hat clothes, both makeshift whips, brush axe, miniature shield, scalpels, flashlight, journal and pens, burnt chair leg, water pitcher, all of it. He glanced inside the closet. Yep, they'd stripped it all sometime during the day and redelivered it. Nice of them.

Well, getting cold wouldn't make dinner any more appetizing. He put the lid back on the box and sat down to eat his meal.

M40

[bloodtrophy.livejournal.com]

One day and already Dexter was considering the myriad of ways he could kill the young man in uniform escorting him down the hallways. The soldier wasn't expecting much resistance from an unarmed man, it would probably be possible to get a split second advantage that could win him the battle. But then he'd be up against all the other armed men and women here, which even assuming he started a revolt among the rest of the prisoners here, wouldn't go easily for him. And wouldn't give him the man in charge who had brought him here. It also wouldn't give Dexter the information he needed, how much they knew about him and how to get rid of it to preserve his carefully constructed life.

So he contented himself instead with imaging it, the struggle, the split second advantage that gave him the upper hand just long enough to wrap an arm around the man's throat, the instinctive, animalistic fight to survive, the dawning horror that he wouldn't be able to see himself, but could imagine. The look in someone's eyes when they realised they were up against a monster and that their life was going to come to an end.

It would be wrong, of course. Harry wouldn't want Dexter to kill this man no matter how frustrated he was feeling. It would be better to wait and try to find out what he could. Control the urge and control the monster until he could afford to free it again.

Last night hadn't helped much; it hadn't been a part of his ritual and the thing they'd killed hadn't even been human. He would need something more, a target to go after, soon enough.

But for now, Dexter allowed himself to be led to his room, smiling pleasantly at the young man in uniform despite the dismissive response, and went inside. Apparently he would have a roommate as well, which he wasn't looking forward to. He didn't do well with people he didn't know sharing his space, even if at least for the moment he didn't have anything to hide just yet.

Tonight he would have to see about shopping for supplies. A few good knives, duct tape, garbage bags... They should have a janitor's closet or something similar here. Maybe a kitchen or a medical area where he could find other things. Grell's scalpels had to have come from somewhere.

"Are you sure that's safe, Dexter?"

Harry again. He was seated on the end of the bed opposite and Dexter frowned at him. "People are going to have weapons, if what I ran into last night is standard," he pointed out.

"Weapons are one thing, but that other stuff says something different about you, Dex. You can't afford to stand out, especially not here and especially when we both know that you're going to need to kill again, eventually. And when you do, it's important that you keep to the code. It's never been more important than now, when they're watching your every move."

"I know, and I'll be careful," Dexter answered, a note of frustration edging his voice. "I've had a lifetime of practice."

He stopped, looking up as the door handle moved and, when he glanced back over to where Harry had been, the bed was empty again.

S-sorry I'm so late ;;

[gargantuanlaugh.livejournal.com]

Crossing the threshold into the room, Gant noted the presence of a man vastly different from his last roommate and that gave him pause. Had he even seen Mihai last night? Now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure. This place had undergone so many changes in the past few days he wasn't even sure what he had been doing with his time lately. And it wasn't making his headache any easier to ignore; that same irritation headache that always seemed plague him after talks with Niikura Shou. Damn, he hated that kid.

The guards left them without so much as a goodnight or even an introduction, apparently expecting them to sort it out themselves. Gant was fine with that. He could only hope this new fellow wasn't some psychopath vigilante intent on murdering him in his sleep like someone else he knew.

For a moment, as always, he just leveled his gaze on the other man, blinking on occasion. After he felt a decent amount of silence had passed, he clasped his hands in front of him (and ah! to hear the muted sound of gloves slapping against one another rather than bare hands) and grinned broadly. "Hey there! Been swimming lately?"

Oh yes. That was definitely the best ice-breaker in the books.

M30

[toxicspiderman]

Class B evidently rated a few polysyllabic words from the military-institutional complex, and S.T. indulged them in pleasantries. Getting on the good side of the grunts could work wonders. These guys were the greenhorns, so he'd make them fell welcome. Faking a little depression-induced listlessness wasn't difficult, and gave a decent explanation.

As soon as the door shut, he rolled his eyes, like winding an old watch back up. Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick, time rolling back energy into his motions.

The vegan artificial-cherry surprise was no more appetizing now than five hours ago. Good thing he was going to be in a pantry full of food. Maybe along with the basement gig he'd start a soup kitchen. They got enough pre-digested crap on the intercom. Eating something that bland when he hadn't spent the last week puking his guts up at regular intervals didn't appeal. Nor was that a request for a repeat of having his lower intestine filled with toxin-producing bacteria, he added silently. A little paranoia didn't hurt, and telepathy went with the usual creep-show panorama.

He ignored the plate and sat down cross-legged on the bed and opened the box. Given that the dolly was propped over it and his toolkit next to it, he had a pretty good idea what was inside. Yeah, there was all his stuff, including the ring. Shitty Ringmaster he'd make without that.

[hat_einen_vogel]

End of the day, and he still hadn't seen any sign of West. His brother hadn't left a response to that note on the bulletin, and he hadn't managed to spot him outside, or at lunch, or in the showers, or anywhere. He was pretty sure of what response Japan was going to come back with if he got anything out of the soldiers:

West was gone, and he was alone.

...Shit, come to think of it, he hadn't heard a thing out of Austria on the bulletin, either. Surely the prissy aristocrat would have left some kind of remark... right? Maybe he had deemed the whole exchange beneath comment, but he couldn't quite remember seeing Specs around when he'd been looking for West. He'd have to make sure tomorrow.

By the time he and his escort reached his latest room, Prussia was in a dour mood. He would rather have a fight than have a chat with Taylor, but even that thought flew away after one glance around the room. Taylor was sitting on his bed with a box—interesting, but not important—but on Prussia's side of the room, his sword was sitting out, propped up against the wall.

Taylor and West and Austria all forgotten, he headed straight for the sword. What was it doing outside of his closet, and... Was it tagged? 65337489M: the same number as was on his dog tags... His sword had followed him when he'd changed rooms to begin with, and since there had been a lot less pretense today now that the military was in charge, the tag had to mean it had been catalogued. The military knew what he had—what everyone had, probably—and they weren't confiscating it.

"I wonder what's going to happen tonight," he wondered out loud, barely aware that he'd spoken.

M66

[wantsyourzex.livejournal.com]

Today had just been all kinds of strange. He still didn't have a very clear idea of what was going on, or what had precipitated such a sudden change in management and organization. A military coup? Several pieces fit for that, but who and why? It was a shame he didn't know more about human culture worked... all he could think of were explanations that fit into how he understood the world to work, and a human world and a VUX world were quite different.

Well, perhaps his roommate would indulge him, if he was still here. Kirk had lasted longer than his previous roommates, which was heartening, although he couldn't let himself get too used to the idea of him being there. People came and went constantly without warning here... he couldn't trust someone to always be there.

But hopefully he'd be there tonight. ZEX sat down and picked at his food, going over the events of the day in his mind. Very strange...

[doneinthree]

[AHHH sorry about the unannounced hiatus! ;3; I'm up for backthreading if you are.]

No grandstanding, no vague threats about what they were in for? Yeah, it was refreshing in a way, but Kirk could've used the distraction from his brief exchange on the bulletin. The medical wing. Observation. What the hell was that supposed to mean? On the way to dinner, the soldiers rebuffed any attempt to grill them about it, which left Kirk with a powerless fury he immediately expressed by tearing the beret off his head and chucking it into the room. It hit his chair soundlessly and crumpled into a formless black shape on the floor, not even having the decency to break or scatter something to make him feel better.

Goddammit. He had to calm down. Think clearly. The exploration party could cope with having one less person with them tonight — that part didn't worry him. And out of the entire crew present here right now, Spock was probably the one who could handle himself the best, so whatever it was they planned with him...

Kirk dragged one hand through his hair and looked over at ZEX, who was prodding absently at his food as usual... if you could call it food. Even from here by the door, he could tell pink gruel was on the menu for dinner too. Awesome. One more reason to feel good about tonight. "Sorry," he muttered, and walked over to his desk.

He should eat to keep his strength up, but his hands ignored the bowl and spoon, and immediately started rifling through the desk drawers to find his captain's logs — before remembering that he'd handed that off to Uhura. Kirk shut his eyes for a second. Get a grip, Jim. When he opened them again, he noticed the metal box sitting on his bed. That hadn't been there this morning. Huh.

"Not exactly appetizing, is it?" Kirk said to ZEX, forcing some levity into his voice. He figured the chances of being put into a good mood by whatever was in that box were about the same as being cheered up by gruel, but that was no reason for him to throw tantrums. He touched the smooth metal lid of the box to find the same serial as his dog tags. 36221701M. "I still haven't figured out what the gruel's made of. Usually on Earth, we use some kind of grain, but I don't know any which would give it that colour."

M16

[girlsandgadgets]

More disappearances: the list was getting longer with every passing day. For Edgar, the most frustrating part was neither that he'd possibly lost another ally nor the worrisome thoughts that those missing were either no longer themselves or no longer alive; it was that there was seemingly nothing he could do about it. He certainly wasn't getting far from within the confines of the institute. And could it really be called that anymore? It was already clear that Aguilar didn't consider them to be disturbed or there for medical attention... and even if he did, he preferred to treat them as subjects rather than patients.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Edgar left the gruel on his desk, his eyes set on the box sitting on his bed. Inside were all of the possessions he'd acquired since his arrival: the remains of his original radio, the relic, his nearly completed project- all of it was there. That certainly sealed it in his mind: Aguilar knew what was going on at night and was surely watching them, monitoring their progress. The institute was no longer even a shallow remnant of the original facade- it was a part of his project, something into which the General poured his resources, something from which he expected results. But what results was he looking for?

And if that was the case, would there be any more brainwashings? Weeding out the patients he found unsuitable for his work wasn't too much of a stretch, but would they still work to deliberately break the patients' wills? More importantly was rather or not the nightly torture sessions would resume. Edgar retrieved the relic from the box, looking over it idly: if his inkling from the previous night had been accurate, they still released the patients undergoing the "special counseling." They could be used to test the rest of the prisoners; however, the sleep studies sounded as though they were aimed more at torture. If they were halted until Landel's return (if he returned...), it could be an unexpected blessing.

Re: M16

[stellarregions]

By the time dinner rolled around, Gren had settled into a numb state of acceptance. There just wasn't anything he could do about what was going on except wait for tomorrow and hope that this was all just a bad dream. His escorts, at least, seemed happy with his complacency.

Edgar was already there when Gren made it to the room, sorting through the contents of a footlocker, from the looks of it. He set his tray down on his desk and walked over to the identical box on his half of the room. Opening it revealed everything he'd had stashed in his desk drawer. The shovel was there, too, leaning against the wall as if there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about its presence.

Well, that confirmed his worst fears, didn't it? If they were openly acknowledging these items, that meant that everyone in charge was completely aware of what was going on here. And they were all just rats being run through a maze. Muttering a curse, he pulled off his hat and flung it at the box before sinking down on his bed and resting his head in his hand. Just how much of this was he supposed to take? Hadn't once been enough? Had he been dragged back from death just for this?

F36

[bodhiandspirit.livejournal.com]

By the time Rita returned to her room, she was so hungry she was getting dizzy. She needed to eat something... but when she arrived, all that awaited her was another bowl of that disgusting slop. Did she really have no choice but to eat it...?

But before she sat down, something else caught her eye. A box left on top of her bed. Upon opening it, Rita discovered her belongings inside. Her research! Eagerly, the mage snatched the two notebooks from the box and brought them back to her desk. Pushing the gruel aside for now (research always came before food), she opened Leon's notes to the symbol she had been studying yesterday, and her own notes to a blank page. Immediately, she began sketching the symbol.

She made a small error in her execution yesterday. That wasn't going to happen next time. Heraldry... a system of magic known only to another world was just beneath Rita's fingertips, and she was incredibly close to being able to use it properly. The excitement over her work caused Rita to completely forget her hunger for the moment.

[kingdomless.livejournal.com]

By the time Kairi returned to her room, she was famished. However, she was concerned over whether Rita had real food or not. She could share, since there would be no one to watch them ... right?

Upon entering the room, the princess turned to her roommate, who was looking at a large box on her bed. Kairi tilted her head to the side, curiosity coming over her. She was about to ask what it was, when she realized that there was also a box on her bed. What could it have been? (And, to be noted, from the corner of her eye, she could see her real food resting on her desk. Rita appeared to have that horrible looking mush ...)

"Hello," Kairi greeted the other redhead as she suddenly scurried back to her desk, and she moved to her own bed to look inside her own box. Inside was her katana, and she instantly snatched it up, her eyes wide with surprise. "How ... do you think these got here?"

The soldiers? Hers had been relatively kind to her, but .... for others, it clearly wasn't so.

M42

[scarefaux]

Aside from the glares because he kept removing his hat, the Scarecrow didn't find his soldier escort to be all that different from his usual nurse: the guard addressed him by the wrong name, wouldn't let him go outside after his shower (he'd muttered something about a wet head and cold weather being a bad combination, but it had gone in one ear and out the other at the thought of there being even more snow outside than before), and left him with a lot of unanswered questions. There was only a little bit of information on the bulletin board. It seemed that with less nurses around, what was posted wasn't as monitored as it had been, and therefore not hidden in cryptic clues out of necessity. He'd have to remember to mention to Mele about the ranking system being based on time spent at the institute the next time he saw her- if that really was the case, he expected he wouldn't be getting any better food anytime soon.

With the door closed behind him, the Scarecrow let out a sigh, looking sadly at the slop waiting for him. The staff may have been mostly the same, but the change in food was downright terrible. While he wasn't sure he preferred having no taste at all to having to taste the gruel with every bite, he was certainly getting there.

Also waiting for the Scarecrow was a box on his bed. Now what could that be? He peered inside carefully, as though the container might bite him, and was surprised to see his possessions. Had the staff come in during the day and taken them? Someone had to have put them in the box in the first place... but if the patients weren't supposed to have such goods, why give them back at all? He wasn't about to complain about having his things returned, but it did seem awfully suspicious of General Aguilar to just hand them over as the night shift neared.

Re: M42

[scalyfishman.livejournal.com]

So tonight he was gonna get his hands dirty courtesy of S.T., huh? Sounded like a regular night on the town, considering the kind of things that went down around here. He'd taken his sweet time in the showers, loosing his muscles with the heat and steam and looking over last night's war wounds once he'd shed his bandages: the one on his arm had a line of stitches and they all stung with the pressure. He had noticed a few more scars and lines on his skin while he was in there, too, scratches on a human paint job that you couldn't just spray over. Like it or not, this place was leaving its mark on him. He just had to make sure they stayed physical.

When Depth Charge emerged at last, having been pried out from under the shower head under threat of punishment, he found that his injuries weren't quite so bad as he'd thought they might have been. They hurt, yeah, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. And if they were going where he thought they were going? Yeah, he was going to have to suck it up.

Which meant, like it or not, eating his fill tonight. Funny how he had to brace himself for that better than for the rest of this place, huh? He'd felt a twinge of regret, of reluctance even, at the thought of the basement, a reminder of Hime, but he couldn't keep holding onto those memories. Too much weight was just gonna slow him down.

"Scarecrow," he greeted with a brief nod, heading into the room and slipping into his seat with the grim determination of a man planning to take a long stroll over a street of broken glass. "Good to see you." Then he was off, spooning pink slag into his mouth and swallowing it like there was no tomorrow- which there wouldn't be, if he didn't get this stuff down. Urgh. Stupid human gag reflex.

M85

[threepwood]

The day had been a long one for the Mighty Pirate™. Even without the soldiers forcing the patients to do hard labor and cross dangerous bathrooms teeming with porcelain, he'd found it hard to focus on anything for any stretch of time. At least he'd had one major accomplishment of the day (besides living, which was major considering how rearranged his innards felt): he'd managed to make a game plan with Morgan. Find out more about Aguilar and Landel by using his skills in the art of conversation. He could do that much without the fear of having a couch ramming him into a wall.

Guybrush stood in the doorway a moment before the soldier closed the door behind him. He then decided he'd skip dinner in favor of shambling across the room and crashing on the bed, turning his head to the side to avoid hitting his very bruised nose. It was only after he'd landed that he noticed the box sitting on his desk, his shovel and sword lying next to it. He raised an eyebrow. "I can be indiscreet, but I know I didn't leave those out this morning," Guybrush said to no one in particular, his voice muffled by the mattress. From his vantage point, he could see a tag hanging from the handle of Elaine's blade. "Looks like they took our stuff, labeled it, and brought it back. That's... charitable."

The investigative-protagonist in him, a pirate always curious as to what actions could be done with any object in his vicinity at any given point, wanted to have a closer look to make sure his guess was right; however, the man who felt his spleen might have been relocated to his ribcage decided it could wait for another minute. The mattress really wasn't that uncomfortable.

[vstheworld]

And then. It was time. (To think. In dramatic sentence fragments.)

Scott had been dreading dinner since the second he had seen the wreck that was Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pancake™. He couldn't avoid it, though. He had to go, if only because if he knew that if he skipped yet another meal, a hole would rip in the fabric of space-time inside his stomach, causing the end of all existence as the multiverse knew it.

(Also because he was betting the soldiers wouldn't take kindly to a request to cower in another room until nightfall.)

And so, Scott stepped into M85 with his head drooped in a picture-perfect relief of a dog that knew it had done something wrong. He looked over to the bed where he knew Guybrush would be. The pirate was sunken into the mattress like so much piled up rubble. Pretty much exactly as Scott had imagined he might look.

Scott gave a sigh to announce his presence, not moving further into the room just yet. 

"So."

The awkward was so thick you could carve it up for Christmas dinner. 

"Sorry. Doesn't really cover it, does it?"

M25

[ryuuzaki]

That morning, L had noticed that his latest roommate was gone, but there had been so many other changes that it hadn't been particularly noteworthy: his roommates vanished at a regular rate, if not a predictable one. Abe was the only one he had missed, so far. He would be lucky to find someone with Abe's abilities again; he doubted that it would happen. It was a shame, a serious disappointment, to have such a valuable insurance policy cancelled, but apart from that, Abe had been about as trustworthy as anyone was. That couldn't have been said about the three others.

A metal box was on the floor near his closet; the bat and the brush axe leaned against it. Each was tagged with 33153952M, the number that had been assigned to him, its familiarity still exerting a psychological pull that he couldn't place. It hadn't been mentioned in the file he'd stolen on the second night. He knew from experience that it would continue to trouble him until he understood why it seemed so significant.

Even if he hadn't been predicting the arrival of a new roommate, the fact that a matching box (91310221M) waited on the other side of the room would have been a clear message that he should expect one.

A sudden realization distracted him from considering what either number might mean. If the weapons are here— He frowned, then made a quick move to hide the long blade and the bat in the closet. Next, ignoring his dinner, he lifted the lid of the box.

Everything he had collected during his entire stay at Landel's was inside: the backpack (folded), the pistol and its clip with five bullets, his patient file, all the notes Javert had given him, scalpels and a kitchen knife, a small arsenal of first aid supplies, even the ring. His frown deepened. He turned and unlocked the drawer of his desk, where he usually kept most of what was in the box. Nothing was there apart from his journal, the bundle of pens, the batteries, the radio, and the flashlight—the items he'd started with.

How could I have missed this?, he wondered. The frustration he'd been feeling all day intensified, bringing with it the ghost of his headache. Was everything here this morning? He was aware of the official pretense of ignorance about his acquisitions—everyone's acquisitions. Sometimes he woke up to find his supplies strewn all over the bed and the desk, while on other days, they were neatly stowed away, but the nurses had been consistent in never mentioning them. The idea that everything had been removed at some point that day, then boxed and restored, seemed like an expansion on that concept. It's like everything else... Aguilar barely bothers with the lie. It isn't because he has too much respect for us, any of us, either... respect doesn't enter into it. It's that he's not taking any chances.

—Does that mean he's more vulnerable during the day?

He shoved most of what was in the box into the drawer, then locked it, but the papers went into the backpack with the gun and its clip, and the backpack joined the other items on the floor of the closet. He then turned the box around so that the number on it would not be immediately visible to his new roommate. That taken care of, he glanced across the room again at the other container.

Would he have time to—?

Re: M25

[propheteer]

It had come as something of a surprise when Izaya was informed—not in so many words—that he'd been reassigned to a different room. The first clue had come, of course, when the soldier escorting him turned entirely too soon; first it was the other of the two halls that branched off from the main, and then it was the first block hallway instead of the second... assuming this hallway had the same layout as the other.

When he'd asked the soldier about it, all he'd gotten was silence. The question had just been for confirmation, but the soldier could have at least acknowledged it... Really, it was such a shame; had the soldier been at all talkative, maybe he could have gotten a few answers about the new change in regime.

The soldier stopped in front of a door—M25, it read—and opened it. He stepped aside to let Izaya in, and then closed and locked the door behind him. Izaya threw a glance at the door, but then his attention was captured by the other occupant of the room.

The man was pale, with dark, messy hair and dark circles under his eyes. Terrible posture, too... Izaya wondered briefly whether Muraki was still in his former room, or if the change in room also meant the man was no longer here. Either way, he'd barely gotten to know Muraki, so the loss of his former roommate was hardly a loss at all. All that it meant was that he now had someone else to share a small amount of space with.

He smiled politely. "It looks like we'll be roommates for now... I'm Orihara Izaya." With the introduction, he bowed his head, straightening once he'd finished giving his name.

F34

[autophoenix.livejournal.com]

Apparently, this day had it out for Claire from the start and she'd never had any hope of recovery. Finding out that Aguilar was turning the place into some freaky concentration camp redux, realizing that she'd totally fallen for a doppelganger and thought it was her uncle and never noticed the difference or been the wiser, and finally (last but not least) getting into the fight of all fights with some guy in the courtyard.

By the time she was in her room, she was actually happy to see it. The night would be welcome at this point, because seriously, how bad could it be by comparison to what the day had been like? She was already starting to think she needed another breakfast appointment with Stefan just to cool her furious nerves, and tomorrow wasn't even the right day for it.

Things were about to get a lot worse around here. She could feel it. Her feet were dragging as the soldier led her into the room -- thankfully, he was being nice enough about it, and handed over her food which was … well, totally and completely unappealing, but at least it was food. Skipping breakfast against her will and inadvertently skipping lunch had made her ready to eat her own foot (it would just grow back anyway, wouldn't it?) and this was certainly a step up from cannibalism (was that even called cannibalism still?) so …

She took the tray without too much sass, partially because she just didn't have it in her anymore, and trudged to her desk, all too grateful to slouch into the seat and start eating. On the bright side, she could at least hold out hope for a sympathetic ear from her roommate.

[vitale.livejournal.com]

Honestly, after he shower, Bella was in a good mood. It didn't help that she was ... excited for her night with Edward, so that was good. But honestly, she liked speaking to Claire. The girl was ... well, she remembered the first day she met her, and how she sobbed in her arms ... surely something was wrong with her, right? She was curious as to her backstory, but because they weren't really that close, she refused to ask ... but still. Maybe soon?

However, having two friends named Claire was somewhat confusing. She'd have to think up nicknames.

Entering her room (limping, rather) behind the soldier who was bringing in what looked like pink cat vomit on a plate, Bella gave Claire a friendly wave, plopping down in her chair in silence ... until the soldier left. Instantly, her stomach seemed to cave in on itself at the thought of food, but she shoved the food away. She didn't want to eat. Not after last night, not after what had happened ...

"Hey there," she greeted, turning to look at Claire, who was ... not very happy looking. Instantly, Bella's smile fell, and concern crossed her face. "What's wrong?"

F32

[thatdemonbitch.livejournal.com]

Given how obnoxious the concept of having to stand around was instead of getting to sit or lean or relax for two seconds -- at first it hadn't been an issue, but after a while? The principle was getting to her -- Ruby had headed back to her room after showering a little early instead of spending time in the sun room during the final shift of the day. And it was a good choice, 'cause if she wasn't gonna get dinner on top of the rest of her missed meals for punishment, she could at least get a break.

'Course, that was a double-edged sword. Every minute she meant lounging on the bed in her assigned room, Castiel was out there doing God knows what and potentially gaining ground. She hated to think that she seriously had to wage this stupid war in here same as out there, but that didn't stop her. Worse, locked up by herself and left to her own thoughts, she got to do a lot of thinking back on her time at breakfast.

Come to think of it, that was probably why she'd gotten away with it in the first place. Self-induced solitary. Just her and the haunting words of an angel reminding her that she was on borrowed time already. He will eventually put the pieces together. Castiel was right. She gave Sam enough credit to know that, but she just had to hope that by the time he did, he could either see why it'd be best for him or it'd just be too damn late for him to change his mind. Of course, she'd prefer the former, but if it had to be the latter … well, so be it.

Sam meant a lot to her, sure. But there were things to be dealt with that meant a whole lot more. She'd handle the angel and she'd handle Sam and Dean and all of them. SHe had to. She was already staring down the barrel on this one, she couldn't toe out of line and fuck it up.

She was surprised when the soldier showed up with a meal for dinner after the intercom went off, but it added up. She'd been taken off the eating list for one meal shift, not two. Looked like she was in business after all, even if there was nothing she'd call appetizing about what was set on her desk. She didn't budge very far from her seat on the bed to address it, letting the soldier drop it and bail and keep to sitting cozy in a nest of her own dark thoughts.

M2

[anemptydecapo]

As in the morning, the walk with this new company remained without a single word shared. The only noise made between Venom and the soldier at his side was the sound of hard steps against tile and the occasional jingle of their dog tags. The assassin had kept his thoughts to himself, quietly taking in the new surrounding area (strange, he remembered waking last night in a different hall than this. That room was only temporary, then?) and where each patient was filed into each door.

So Sora was staying in this hall too? Hm. Hopefully his roommate wasn't one to abuse the boy's kindness.

The room Venom was eventually deposited in was empty, his new cellmate having not shown himself, and only held two things: another bowl of pink gruel and a box. Stomach twisting as it was, he ignored the bowl; tired and listless as he felt from having skipped so many meals, he again reminded himself that he could eat later. Instead, he went to examining the other item.

The box was metal and somewhat heavy, though not enough that he couldn't pick it up (which he did). It was decidedly plain, but something was audibly rolling about on the inside. Curious, the Guild Head moved it to his bed and placed it there before he sat down himself, legs curling underneath his body. And despite his surprise at its contents, his expression remained neutral as he opened the lid. Pried away from whoever Edward had trusted them with was his belongings: his suit, the photographs of Master Zato...

And his cue, flaked with dried blood and... He instinctively scratched at something sticking from inside of the cue's joint, and he leaned in to get a better look. Was that... a clump of fur?

Why was his cue caked in blood and fur?

Venom raised his head, eyes narrowing as his face contorted in confusion and disgust. What.

Well, now he was even less hungry.

Re: M2

[kindalikedit]

So walking into M2, Dean established two things: he had a new roommate and the guy totally brought a nasty housewarming present.

Dean eyed the new guy. He hadn't gotten much of a head's up from the soldier guarding him, even if the soldier hadn't been too much of a dick about the whole "I'm gonna herd you from Point A to Point B" business -- actually, he hadn't been a dick at all, leaving Dean on the wrong footing. The soldier seemed to like him better than Hello Nurse and...yeah, he had no idea where she'd gone; he hadn't seen her since the Men in Black here took over.

Which left New Guy here. Dean tried not to stare at the dude's hair, failed, and instead focused on the gore-tipped cue in his hands.

"Nice," Dean said dryly. "So, guessin' you're my new roomie. Dean," he added. He didn't stick out his hand, not exactly jumping at the chance to get a handful of bloody fur there. No offense.