Night 55: M11 - M20 Hallway

[spandexorgtfo.livejournal.com]

And there was the evening announcement, timely as always, although he could have done without the noise at the beginning. It was still slightly jarring to not hear those mocking tones that he had grown so accustomed to, but he did prefer the more direct announcements that had been rolling in ever since last evening. No pathetic attempts at creating a dialogue, just threats and orders laid bare for them to analyze and comprehend.

With a sigh, Kratos pushed back his chair and stood up, peeling off the beret and throwing it carelessly onto his desk. Now would be the time where he would change as swiftly as possible and then head out or wait for his teammates for the night to arrive at his door. Tonight, though, would be much different. As he walked over to move his possessions to his desk, his hand passed over the hilt of his sword, and suddenly, he had the urge to drive it into the nearest wall out of frustration. But of course, he couldn't have that; he would run the risk of worsening his injuries...

Perhaps Kenshin wouldn't ask why his roommate was suddenly diverging from his normal routine; perhaps he already understood that sometimes, a night would need to be sacrificed for the sake of recovery. To be honest, it would be a little awkward to start talking now: contrary to yesterday, they hadn't spoken at all over dinner.

Kratos set the metal box gently down on his desk next to his completely clean plate and beret before sitting down cross-legged on his bed, slightly hunched forward, with his fingers laced in front of him. He needed to sleep, but he couldn't - not now. Exhaling, he closed his eyes and let his head fall forward until the bridge of his nose was resting against his hands. If he couldn't sleep, he could at least just sit and enjoy the silence.

[M20; (unknowingly) waiting for Soma and Rapunzel]

Comments

M12

[rocksthecourt]

Klavier winced almost like he was in pain and glared daggers at the intercom as it sorted through that ugly mess of static. The look didn't shift an inch even after the new man in charge finally decided to speak. So this was their new opponent, hm? He never did manage to catch the man's name. Not that it mattered at the moment.

Your actions tonight will determine ours in the coming days. Actions tonight? ...Did that mean they were being monitored? Well, if that didn't spike one's paranoia, likely nothing would. What were they monitoring them for? They knew everyone wandered around at night. They wanted them to. Why? What was it these people wanted them to do? What was it they were looking for? And more curiously, what progress what this man talking about? If Nigredo's testimony was correct, he had been calling them all pathetic and worthless only the night prior. Now he was speaking of "satisfactory results." ...What was going on here?

It was almost enough to make one not want to go out at all. He didn't like thinking that they were not only watching him, but possibly anticipating his actions. Or anyone else's. It almost made and activity at night seem entirely... pointless. After all, if they were watching them that closely, wouldn't it mean they were keeping anything of importance out of reach? ...Or perhaps it was out there anyway and they wanted to observe them getting there. It was kind of sick, really.

Regardless, he couldn't very well sit idly by in his room and do nothing. Prosecutor Gavin was sick of wasting time and accomplishing nothing. In all likelihood, they'd been watching them all this time anyway, so this announcement was nothing more than an attempt to shake them up more. Hah. Well, Herr Kommandant, if it's a show you want... who was Klavier to disappoint? Let him watch. Watch as they unravel the mysteries of this place and bring about his eventual downfall.

Klavier smirked to himself at the stupid bout of optimism as he gathered up his usual supplies for the night: a flashlight and a metal pipe for weaponry. The flashlight he was actually able to hold in his bad hand now, the wound having recovered enough to at least handle that much. The older copy of his maps had been carefully folded and placed in his pocket in case it was needed. ...One last thing. He stripped his pillow of its casing, winding it around the pipe tightly for the sake of carrying both at once easily. He was meeting Claire to investigate tonight. Should they actually find something of value, it would be good to have something to carry materials in.

He threw Damon one last look before heading out the door completely.

[to here]

M17

[its-the-mileage.livejournal.com]

Good thing he'd made that map. Indy dressed and wedged the journal and pen back in his jacket pocket. He culled his usual gear from the box by rote, but that still left the problem of what to do with the miniature shield. He was hesitant to leave it behind in case some other mythical gatekeeper needed to see it, but it was awkward carrying it under his arm. In the end, he did some rapid surgery on his pillowcase with a scalpel. Cutting out two rectangles of different sizes produced one long strap that could be passed through a shorter one to close the satchel and then slung over his shoulder. It'd still be unwieldy in a fight, but at least it left his arms with a full range of motion.

It also ate up time. As soon as the bag was cut and the shield dropped inside, Indy grabbed flashlight (working again, for now), machete and dog leash and set off to meet the others.

[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/1063418.html?thread=76868602#t76868602)]

M14

[unmocked-lawr.livejournal.com]

If Badd wanted to be infuriatingly (albeit understandably) obtuse about his status as the only sane man in Landel's, there was little point in convincing him otherwise. His sort was the same as Javert's sort; only solid evidence would be enough to change his mind. The former inspector could only hope for his roommate's sake that the day would come sooner rather than later. At the very least, it would make him less irritating to talk to.

He wondered if Reynolds was laughing at him now, somewhere beyond those walls. So this was how it felt.

But that was none of his concern. Guybrush should be on his way now. Javert retrieved his clothing from the box and dressed quickly. The rest of his usual gear disappeared into his greatcoat pockets and sat heavy on his makeshift belt; only the hat remained in the box, and the kindling ax beside it. Then, steadfastly ignoring Badd, he settled down to wait for the pirate.

Re: M14

[tasteoftruth.livejournal.com]

At least Aguilar wasn't gloating this time. That in itself made Badd a bit more nervous. The gloating criminals were the ones more likely to let things slip, Aguilar wasn't going to be that sloppy. Another curse on whoever started that damned food fight, they'd gotten the easy boss fired and now the mean boss was ruling them with an iron fist.

He gathered his things quickly, but had to stop to watch Javert get dressed in an outfit that looked like it came out of the 1800s. Maybe if he'd stuck around last night he'd have seen Javert do the same thing and realized that the inspector was really not as sane as Badd had thought him to be. Hopefully he wouldn't get ideas and think of taking that ax to Badd while he slept...nah. If he was a crazy, he was a benign one so far. Everyone had their odd quirks, just look at his former department.

Badd almost commented on Javert's costume, but finally just shook his head and left for the hallway instead. There were bigger fish to interrogate.

[To here. (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/1063533.html)]

Re: M14

[threepwood]

[From here.]

While it was a nice change to show up at Javert's door without wheezing as though he'd participated in Booty Island's Annual "Jog for Grog" marathon, Guybrush knew he probably looked a little worse for wear. Or maybe a lot worse for wear. Either way, he felt he needed to make himself presentable for the Search & Rescue- it was about time, given that he'd only gone on one venture with them, skipping all others so he could keep an eye on his wife, collect toilet handles, snoop around for a nurse to tie down and interrogate, and pursue other activities befitting of a Mighty Pirate™ trapped in a spooky asylum with no foreseeable way to escape.

Straightening his underwear sash and his posture (the crack from his spine was not appreciated), Guybrush gave the door a solid knock with his hook. "Guybrush Threepwood, reporting for duty!"

Re: M14

[unmocked-lawr.livejournal.com]

At the very least, the uniforms had improved in quality somewhat. Javert had located a pair of sturdy boots in his closet and swapped his own for them. He rocked from side to side experimentally before nodding in grudging approval and going to answer the door.

Guybrush had seemed precisely the sort of fellow to ignore his injuries and press on regardless, but he might well be overdoing it this time. Perhaps the multiple bandages around his head and face made things look worse than they actually were--it wasn't as if the ever-present hook improved matters--but Javert stood there for a while in disbelieving silence before he said, dryly, "Reporting, perhaps, but you don't look fit for it."

Re: M14

[threepwood]

[No worries! It's been tough for anyone to post these last few days.]

"I'm more durable than I look, my good inspector," Guybrush said with a sly smile. "Nothing keeps me down for long, whether it's being stabbed, shrunk, imprisoned, or intoxicated."

He pulled Elaine's sword from his makeshift sash. "And I'm armed this time. Ready for anything that comes our way! Nurses? No problem! Monsters? Mangled by my blade! Guards? En garde!" He punctuated his words with a few swings in the hallway, gritting his teeth from pain only once. Maybe twice. Demonstration finished, he turned back to Javert. "Plus, I already walked all the way here. I'm not going back."

Re: M14

[unmocked-lawr.livejournal.com]

"Then if the hallway upstairs is guarded, we are in good hands indeed." There was little point in hiding his skepticism; he was sure his voice was heavy with it already. Still, the last few trips upstairs had been relatively quiet, at least as far as the experimental treatment hallways was concerned. With luck, they would have an uneventful night.

Of course, that was probably too much to hope for.

"Let's be off, then." Javert collected his flashlight and brushed past Threepwood into the hallway. He didn't like to waste time.

Re: M14

[unmocked-lawr.livejournal.com]

Re: M14

[tasteoftruth.livejournal.com]

[From here. (http://damned.livejournal.com/1063533.html?thread=77205613#t77216621)]

Javert was gone by the time Badd brought Faraday inside, strange costume and all. He'd mentally mocked his roommate when he'd first seen him dress up, but with something as bizarre as time travel in the mix...well, he'd never bothered to ask Javert when he was from, or how he was sure time travel was possible. Maybe that was his version of a detective's trenchcoat, circa 1800. Badd would have some apologies to make in the morning.

He shut the door behind them, and propped a chair under the knob for good measure. The flashlight was left lit, but he set it on one of their desks so it could attempt to illuminate more than one piece of the room at a time.

"At least it'll save them the trouble of carrying me back to bed tomorrow," he noted, taking a seat on one of the beds.

M14

[corvus-veritas.livejournal.com]

So Badd hadn't trusted him enough to let him walk on his own and he was even blocking the door with a chair. The paranoia wasn't surprising - wasn't paranoia practically Badd's middle name? - but sheesh. Did a forty year old man really need to be dragged around like he was some bratty little kid that would run off any second?

But that was okay. Byrne wouldn't make a fuss about it, not when there were more important things to talk about right now. Like everything Badd had mentioned about the future and Calisto, especially that comment about Byrne dying almost instantly. Assuming everything he'd been told was true (god knows how), his last memory before coming here didn't matter, did it? Logically, everything would just go black if one died so quickly... But hadn't Badd mentioned something about the accusation happening twenty minutes before he died, and something about a lobby? Plus, how could he just be murdered in front of a whole courtroom? It didn't make sense.

Byrne would ask about that in a moment, though. First there was a quick question he needed an answer to, a question about the one thing that had bugged him ever since the night before. Now that the thing was sitting right there in front of him, it was impossible not to ask. "Badd?" He pointed at the flashlight on the desk and made a childish pout. "Where the hell has everyone been getting those from?"

Re: M14

[tasteoftruth.livejournal.com]

"They're in all the desk drawers, I think. Same for the notebooks and the pens." Oh, that reminded him. Badd retrieved the notebook and pen from his drawer, intent upon recording the new developments soon as possible. His eyes scrolled down the page until he came to the relevant subsection and frowned hard at it. In the dim light his sharp features were even harsher, and his pale eyes seemed sunken into the shadowy pits of his eye sockets. Very deliberately he set pen to paper, drew a hard, dark line across the 'The phantom' and wrote 'Byrne Faraday' next to it, each letter so firm it dented the paper. Writing it down brought a sense of finality to the truth, as if putting Byrne's ressurection in text was the last thing he needed to make it true.

September 10, 2011. Half hour before death, the moment of Rell's accusation. No wound or scar.

But why Faraday? Hell, why anyone? Something that had puzzled Badd since he'd gotten here was the vast range of prisoners the institute had taken. There were a few older men, though Badd was pretty sure he was amoung the top five oldest, and the kids seemed to run as young as ten. There was a high quantity of cops and lawyers, or people related to them, but there was also that kid who'd claimed to be a servant. No pattern.

...but then again, that might have been the entire point. Aguilar seemed to want something out of them, and not just obedience. Landel had called them patients. They locked the prisoners up during the day but gave them free range at night, even returning their weapons and letting them have flashlights so they weren't wandering blind. Somehow it served their purposes. If it was some kind of massive experiment on the institute's behalf, why wouldn't it make sense to have as broad a sample as possible to see how different people would react to the utter madness of the place?

Perhaps it wasn't the cops he needed to investigate in depth. Perhaps it was what made everyone else so special.

Badd let his pen rest against the notebook. "If this whole time travel thing is real, that's going to make a lot of crazy person testimony valid again. We've got no idea what else the Institute is capable of. You talk to any of the veterans?"

Re: M14

[corvus-veritas.livejournal.com]

"In the desk drawers...?" Byrne repeated under his breath, getting this funny look on his face as he said it. That couldn't be right. He'd checked his desk both nights, and the notebook had been the only thing in there besides a crapload of pens. You'd think you would notice something as large and obvious as a flashlight....damn. He'd have to look again when he got back to his room.

To Badd's question, he put on a more serious expression and crossed his arms. "Yeah. I've been talking with a young woman who's been here for three weeks or so. Her name's Renamon, and..." Byrne paused, briefly wincing as he remembered her. Oh god, he was going to have to apologize to her yet again for not listening to her advice. She'd probably give him a 'see, I told you so' lecture...but truthfully, he deserved that because she did tell him so. Well, whether she would lecture him or not, he still needed to apologize. Again. Awww, man. "...She, uh. She told me about the time travel stuff, and about the monsters at night, and...different dimensions and things, too. I thought she was crazy." Until now.

[deathandgin]

Alaric's shower shift with Damon (... did he seriously just think that?) had helped put things in perspective, a fact he was none too happy about. The teacher had been very good at avoiding the whole vampires-stuck-in-a-institution thing for the most part, except that time where he had thought about it. This was not good for his blood pressure.

It wasn't so much concern for Damon as it was concern for absolutely everyone else in the institute, including himself. Sure, he'd recently made worrying about Damon's diet a new Olympic sport, especially back when he was used to killing a lot more and caring a lot less. (Okay, caring was relative, he could admit that. It was doubtful he gave a damn to this day. Most of the blame for any cautiousness on Damon's part was put on the Council.) Either way, the guy was going to have to eat and there wasn't any convenient hospitals to rob.

Stefan was the same. Stefan was also a lot more dangerous in some ways because at least Damon had self-control. If he had to watch Stefan go down the human blood road again -

Christ. Alaric rubbed a hand over his face as he moved into the dark hallway. There was a miracle moment where, after reaching under his pillow again, he found a flashlight that - surprise! - worked. And he didn't drop it. Miracles did happen, even to him. Maybe if he focused on just getting some sort of weapon that he didn't kill himself on, he could pretend no other problem was waiting at the back of his mind to spring on him.

Yes, self-induced ignorance. This would totally work.

Best to get this show on the road, then. Even if... he didn't know which room was Damon's and he wasn't quite comfortable enough with knocking on every door in this hallway. So he would wait. And check his invisible watch, like it would pass the time faster.

[Waiting for Damon...]

[saviored]

Lights out: tick. Cryptic message designed to be ominous, but was, in actuality, just annoying: also tick. Seriously. These guys were more formulaic than the fifteen spinoffs of CSI put together.

Damon watched Klavier leave, waiting for his roommate to get out of there before he did anything. He couldn't help blinking in the unnatural dimness, as if that would make it go away and return his vision to normal. At least he could see why Stefan hadn't seen or heard a squirrel the size of an SUV barreling through the forest.

The door had barely closed behind Klavier before he pulled open a drawer and rifled through it. Nothing specific, really. Just on the off chance there was something new tossed in there. Who knew? Maybe the military room service left them a mint.

"New" wasn't the right word for what he found. Unexpected, though. Was that his flashlight? A flashlight, he supposed. Guess they were just that nice about replacing equipment. How thoughtful.

He shut the drawer. Time to go.

They hadn't designated a meeting spot, but Damon had a fairly good sense of where Rick had been put. From there, it was just a matter of waiting him out or throwing open a door or two until he found him.

Or neither, it seemed. Will you look at that: Rick was actually upright instead of on his ass. A promising start to the night. Now, as long as that magical psychic transference shit didn't start up again, they'd be set to go.

He strolled forward, dodging the beam of light by an inch to avoid being hit in the face and destroying what little of his natural night vision remained. He didn't pause when he reached Rick, instead waving the teacher to follow as he continued right on past.

"Busy night, Rick. No time to waste."

[deathandgin]

Well that... worked better than he thought it would. Couldn't complain there.

Actually, several things he couldn't complain about, one being that they actually had a solid plan (though his brain thought define solid) and it was a place Alaric actually knew how to get to which, considering how the dark made everything kind of look all the same, was an improvement.

Another thing was that Damon hadn't made some snide comment about the fact that he was standing on two feet. That was already an improvement.

Oh. No snide comment at all. That just spelled either emergency or desperation. Both of which: not good. So the teacher followed without complaint.

[To here.]

M13

[affictitious]

Admittedly, being creeped on by a thirteen year old blue-haired girl and then subsequently passing out for a few hours was definitely not something that had ever happened to Gabriel, so he had to give Landel - Aguilar - a little something for giving an archangel a brand-spankin' new experience. It was something Gabriel could appreciate, being someone who was very glad to indulge others in fascinating and exciting new experiences... like testing if the string theory was real in the midst of a black hole.

He'd never let that one go. One of his favorites.

After a dinner which he totally ignored in favor of said passing out, he realized he was hungry. Hungry. That didn't happen unless he happened to be near Famine, which hadn't happened in a long, long time for good reasons. Mainly because horsemen were dicks. You heard it here first, folks. Who could imagine the four precursors to the apocalypse were not My Little Ponies?

He was just gonna ignore his empty stomach, though. He wasn't supposed to be able to feel anything about the body, and the body certainly wasn't supposed to need anything when an angel was occupying (read: trapped) in it. Now he was left with a few hours of darkness and the promise of adventure slash getting eaten. Choices, choices.

Gabriel wasn't about to trust Giant again, especially after last night. He didn't need some kind of forged sense of paranoia to realize the kid was A-Class idiot. He made the idea of a Megazord made out of the Three Stooges look like Brainiac in comparison.

Maybe it was time to pay the kitchen a visit. Surely they had a jar of nutella or something.

[To here.]

Re: M13

[doctor-voodoo.livejournal.com]

Keeping to what his dark alias intoned, Facilier kept to himself within the shadowy corners of rooms and hallways throughout the day, staying out of trouble with the authorities and observing all that went on like a hungry crow watching out for a tasty opportunity to arise.

Yet such patient effort only earned Facilier scant information; somehow he was in a newly militarized hell that was about to freeze over somewhere in New Jersey (like that made any sense!). The institute seemed to be a major crossroad for those arriving from a variety of places, only to be trapped indefinitely. It was all but a mishmash of bizarre people and entities that made up the most unexpected afterlife anyone could have the misfortune of ending up in! All this frustration boiled inside the doctor by the time he was taken back to his room for the evening, and to further add to his troubles, his "friends" still had not shown up! Facilier's disgruntlement did not leave him in a talkative mood, ignoring his rude roommate as he pondered over his unpleasant dinner.

Perhaps an array of Veves drawn upon the floor along with a nice gift would get the Loa's attention... But he had nothing to create the voodoo beacons with, and he had no worthwhile sacrifice that would get even the lowliest spirit's attention; a simple glass of water and indistinguishable gruel would make quite an insulting gift! Not to mention, did Facilier really want his "friends" crashing in and possibly making things even worse for him? No, if his "friends" still weren't showing up and he had no ways of pleasing them, any attempts to summon them would have to wait...

What was more important then was for the Shadow Man to acquire everything he could learn and use in this place. With his horrible excuse for a dinner mostly eaten and his roommate having made his exit, Facilier went straight to investigating the room. He had been much too... distracted to fully take in his surroundings the night before, so by then he felt leveled enough to spend some time looking into his closet and desk drawer.

Clothing... coats... underwear... a flashlight... Nothing too out of the ordinary. However, the discovery of a radio, along with pens made out from a curious, light material gave the doctor just a tiny jolt of excitement. The pens were quite peculiar, not requiring a constant refill of ink as Facilier was quick to test one out upon the first page of his blank journal. The radio wasn't fully recognizable as one from back home, being incredibly small and light, but it was one that Facilier could function with. Perhaps he could gain more insight into this place from it?

Next, he removed the beret, arm band and belt before he loosened a few buttons, allowing himself to relax a little inside his loosened outfit (and his paunch to stick out slightly beneath his shirt as it always did before). He gave out a small sigh of relief. The military garb was far better than the first uniform Facilier found himself in, but its strict form was just too tight for a man with smooth moves such as himself! He really missed his old coat and top hat...

With that out of the way, there was one last concern Facilier had to deal with before heading out into the hallway: his own Shadow.

Re: M13

[doctor-voodoo.livejournal.com]

Once the time for night arrived and they were alone in the room, Facilier's Shadow melted back to life, stretching out its lucid form and flexing its spider-like fingers. The Shadow had only assisted its Master half-way, having failed to grasp that crazed boy's sword the night before. Facilier felt the need to test out this glitch with his power; he couldn't afford to have it fail on him again when he needed it!

"Back again, are we now?" Facilier greeted the Shadow, his face soured by disappointment and apprehension. "It's good to have y'all around and all, but I need more than just your company, y'know..."

Eying an empty glass on his desk, Facilier gestured to grab it, his purple eyes flickering towards the wall where his living Shade stooped down to grasp the same object by its shadow. Perhaps he had just been rusty or too panicked to get his Shadow to work the night before? Facilier could only hope that was the case as he watched his Shadow reach for the glass. Yet to his dismay, the dark fingers moved uselessly through its target.

"CONFOUND IT!" he snarled, knocking the offending glass off the desk with the back of his hand, "Just what is WRONG with my powers here?!" he snarled as his Shadow cringed away from Facilier's frustration. "I can't make heads or tails of this place!" he raved on, "What have my dear 'friends' done to me?!"

It took a few good deep breaths and a couple rounds of pacing before Facilier calmed down. His Shadow could only stand by nervously. The frustrated doctor pondered to himself, and then with a gruff sigh he retrieved the fallen glass and set it upon the desk once more. "Alright... Let's try this again..." he said, "But with more feeling this time!"

The Shadow obeyed, and this time Facilier focused his attention on its outstretched limb, reaching out his own arm as he willed his powers to work again once more. The shadowy fingers found their way around its target and--

-- the glass rose up into the air! The Shadow had managed to manipulate the object by the darkness it cast! As the empty glass seemed to hover in midair, Facilier gave out a whoop of victory-- before nearly losing his balance from a sudden bout of lightheadedness.

A few seconds later of seeing stars burst in his vision; Facilier found himself leaned over on his desk for support, his head throbbing slightly from sudden mental fatigue. The glass had fallen back upon the desk and rolled off the edge down to the floor. Meanwhile, Facilier's Shadow watched him; a worried frown stretched its mouth into a downward curl.

"Goodness...!" Facilier muttered, holding his head as he shut his eyes against the pain in his skull, "That took more feeling than I thought..."

Once he recovered from that brief spell, it was then that Facilier realized that his powers were greatly limited. Yet why and how, he could not tell. Was it due to the absence of his "friends"? Or did the powers behind this delusional institute have to do with it? That question joined his growing list of uncertainties as he gathered his things and took a determined step through the door, hell-bent on finding the answers needed to escape (or just skip the whole crazed charade and get out of this silly place right away and be done with it!).

Re: M13

[doctor-voodoo.livejournal.com]

M20

[hairraising]

[From here]

Luckily for Rapunzel, M20 was the first room up in the hallway; there would be no need to search the whole hall for the right room. She felt butterflies flitting around in her stomach as they approached. She really hoped she could do something for Kratos, whoever he was. She wasn't really sure what she would do with herself if the only thing the institute had left her with was her hair length alone.

Speaking of which, she let her hair down to the ground behind her then. Even with the load lighter than it (apparently) ought to have been, holding an armful of hair still got tiring after a while.

She looked over to Soma, then took a breath in - and out. Then she knocked gingerly on the door. "Um, Kratos? It's Kratos, right? Are you in there? My name is Rapunzel. I'm here with Soma for Arts & Crafts. Can we come in?"

[spandexorgtfo.livejournal.com]

[timeskipping to after Kenshin leaves]

Kratos let the knock go unanswered for a few seconds as he debated whether or not to answer the door. He didn't know why Soma especially would show up at his room at this time; didn't she have a mission to attend to? Something about helping a new member find a weapon...he hadn't paid particular attention to Sora's post or to the rest of the board in general once he'd confirmed that Sora had noted him as injured. What he was sure of, though, was that his room was not an ideal location by any stretch of the imagination for finding a weapon for permanent use.

But on the other hand, suppose someone really did need to borrow his sword for the night. Kratos was willing to allow that: he'd borrowed a blade off of Tamaki long ago, after all; it would be improper to not do the same for another. With a small groan, he pushed himself up off the bed just as he realized that it could be a monster outside instead...

Even if his fears were misplaced, it still never hurt to be careful. Kratos retrieved his sword from its place next to his desk before walking over and opening the room door halfway, just enough so that he could get a clear view of the hallway.

At first, all he did was silently stare down at the two girls standing outside, careful to keep his sword hidden behind the door. If they were mimics, they were especially stupid ones for not attacking him the instant he'd shown his face. His eyes lingered on the enormous amount of hair (That truly was hair, was it not?) piled up on the ground behind the unfamiliar blond - "Rapunzel", she'd said. That seemed...inefficient.

Finally: "Don't you have a mission to be taking care of? What are you doing here?"

[madeinthehrl]

Soma tried not to stare as Rapunzel let her hair pool in the hallway behind her. That would have been rude. But wouldn't it get dirty, or trapped in something, or--although she supposed Rapunzel didn't really have a choice in the matter. Anyway, they'd cross that bridge when they came to it. Perhaps she could be persuaded to trim it. Ankle length sounded reasonable enough to take care of a larger injury, and she could keep it tied back in the meantime.

There was a noticeable pause before the door swung open, and Soma resisted the urge to fidget. Kratos was silent for a moment before he finally spoke, and Soma straightened instinctively to respond.

"You're injured," she said matter-of-factly. "Rapunzel has healing abilities and wanted to help. We were just passing by anyway."

Hopefully, he'd be sensible and wouldn't argue about it--but that was unlikely. Soldiers always did.

[hairraising]

Rapunzel couldn't help but jump just slightly when the door finally opened. Kratos was a good deal taller than her and Soma, about the same height as Eugene. He had a much more imposing stare than Eugene did, though, which caused Rapunzel to make a quiet "ulp" involuntarily.

She soon forced herself not to get too caught up in the first impression, however. This was someone Soma and Sora both trusted; he wasn't going to bite her head off. With a short cough, she chimed in: "Right! It won't be too much trouble. I need to see how well this magic works, anyway. Best case scenario, you're totally fine! Worst case, we're, uh, kind of annoying and then we leave you be?"

She flashed Kratos a smile that was only slightly awkward. "So. Uhhh... Can we come in?" she asked, not-so-subtly grabbing the back of her hair and roping it around the back of the pile so that it could be more easily tugged into the room with her.

[spandexorgtfo.livejournal.com]

There it was: that blasted, soaring feeling of hope, that maybe his forced confinement would truly be much shorter than he'd foreseen, that perhaps he could return to active duty by tomorrow night - or tonight, even. (Tonight was pushing it, actually.) Kratos had already resigned himself to a night of non-productivity; the stubborn part of him insisted that Soma and Rapunzel surely had better things to do than heal someone who had his own healing magic, thank you very much, when they might need it later if they ran into trouble taking care of what they were supposed to be doing.

If that was the case, perhaps, if Rapunzel's magic proved effective enough, he could back them up--Kratos squashed that train of thought before it could go much further. "That doesn't change the fact that you two have a mission," he replied stiffly, expression completely unreflective of his current feelings.

He paused and added, "In any case, if we're to have this argument, it would be better to do so in a safer location," before opening the door more fully and stepping away to set his sword down by his desk again without another word. He hadn't outright allowed them in, but this would be as close to an invitation as they would get; Kratos had to save face somehow. "Please make sure you close the door securely behind you."