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damned_institute2011-04-29 11:07 am
tightsofmight) wrote in damned_institute2011-04-29 11:07 am
Day 56: Bus 1
Previously, on Peter Parker's Sucky Life:
Pain, pain, fourth wall bulldozing, fire and pain, and teeny useless swords.
Yeah, so Peter wasn't feeling so hot today. It was a marked improvement on waking up after getting shanked by Grell, but this was in no way a good morning. They had all made it through the basement trials and got their dinky rewards, but man did they pay a hefty price for it. All of them. (Scott and the others had to fight robot raptors? What the hell...) Peter rose from his bed oh so delicately and with much wincing, thanking whoever it was that carried them back to bed every night for putting him belly down on his mattress.
His back, oh god. Peter seethed and hissed and grunted in pain. It felt like it was scabbing over, and the bandages yanked at the tender skin with every minute muscle spasm, every move he made. Cripes. Better his back than his arms or legs, but still. It was going to make things so difficult if they got stuck in Doyleton all over again.
Brainy was so thoroughly wrapped in his blankets on the other side of the room that Peter couldn't make heads or tails of his current state. But he'd stayed in the whole night, right? He should be fine.
Sometimes he just needed extra convincing of that. Considering the guy's track record and all.
From the sounds of it, this Aguilar guy wasn't changing too much of the routine. Being field trip day, Peter had wondered how the new man in charge would handle it (or how General Lieutenant Burger would, apparently). If he planned on letting them out at all. The announcement squashed that theory, and so did the orderly tromping in with a second-hand change of clothes. The burly man passed him the goods without so much as a word, stomping right back outside to wait behind the door. Guess they weren't going in military gear.
...Orderly? Peter pushed the door open again after performing the hastiest change of clothes he could manage in his state, peering at the man. That guy was in an army uniform yesterday. He remembered him. His buzz cut was uneven and he had a pointy old mole on the back of his neck.
"Uh. Are you going incognito?"
He was suddenly on the end of such a pointed look Peter could swear he was talking to Nick Fury. If Nick Fury was white and still had both eyes. "...Right. Okay. Lead the way, hombre."
So undercover it was. The people of Doyleton didn't know this was a military operation. Briefly, he wondered what the advantages of revealing that to the townsfolk could be, but then he remembered how they'd all up and morphed into the living dead at sundown. Put to rest any usefulness they might have had. They were just puppets, the same as the rest of the creepy crawlies in this hellhole.
Though that did beg the question as to why you would have to hide your secrets from puppets in the first place.
He was bequeathed with the usual paper bag lunch and packet of coupons, though he was still surprised to find himself a $15 gift card in the mix. Intercom Dude wasn't kidding about that?
He had money?
...What would he even do with money in Doyleton? What was fifteen dollars and worth buying that wasn't a gourmet burger? Peter boggled at the card as he clambered onto the bus. He'd never gone through the town with any inclination to window shop, so he couldn't even say what was available. He might actually have to look around. Even something simple might be a big help.
The orderly-formerly-known-as-Private-Dwight followed him on tucked a pillow into his seat for him. "Sit down. And don't do anything stupid. You'll heal a lot faster if you don't agitate it."
Peter fidgeted, but quietly settled into the pillow. This was kind of awkward. "Um. Thank you. I deeply appreciate your concern." The man nodded, and was gone.
Peter was the only one on the bus so far. The emptiness was kind of creeping him out.
[Reserved for Harvey Dent. WHY AM I TOP POSTING EVERYTHING YOU JERKS.]
Pain, pain, fourth wall bulldozing, fire and pain, and teeny useless swords.
Yeah, so Peter wasn't feeling so hot today. It was a marked improvement on waking up after getting shanked by Grell, but this was in no way a good morning. They had all made it through the basement trials and got their dinky rewards, but man did they pay a hefty price for it. All of them. (Scott and the others had to fight robot raptors? What the hell...) Peter rose from his bed oh so delicately and with much wincing, thanking whoever it was that carried them back to bed every night for putting him belly down on his mattress.
His back, oh god. Peter seethed and hissed and grunted in pain. It felt like it was scabbing over, and the bandages yanked at the tender skin with every minute muscle spasm, every move he made. Cripes. Better his back than his arms or legs, but still. It was going to make things so difficult if they got stuck in Doyleton all over again.
Brainy was so thoroughly wrapped in his blankets on the other side of the room that Peter couldn't make heads or tails of his current state. But he'd stayed in the whole night, right? He should be fine.
Sometimes he just needed extra convincing of that. Considering the guy's track record and all.
From the sounds of it, this Aguilar guy wasn't changing too much of the routine. Being field trip day, Peter had wondered how the new man in charge would handle it (or how General Lieutenant Burger would, apparently). If he planned on letting them out at all. The announcement squashed that theory, and so did the orderly tromping in with a second-hand change of clothes. The burly man passed him the goods without so much as a word, stomping right back outside to wait behind the door. Guess they weren't going in military gear.
...Orderly? Peter pushed the door open again after performing the hastiest change of clothes he could manage in his state, peering at the man. That guy was in an army uniform yesterday. He remembered him. His buzz cut was uneven and he had a pointy old mole on the back of his neck.
"Uh. Are you going incognito?"
He was suddenly on the end of such a pointed look Peter could swear he was talking to Nick Fury. If Nick Fury was white and still had both eyes. "...Right. Okay. Lead the way, hombre."
So undercover it was. The people of Doyleton didn't know this was a military operation. Briefly, he wondered what the advantages of revealing that to the townsfolk could be, but then he remembered how they'd all up and morphed into the living dead at sundown. Put to rest any usefulness they might have had. They were just puppets, the same as the rest of the creepy crawlies in this hellhole.
Though that did beg the question as to why you would have to hide your secrets from puppets in the first place.
He was bequeathed with the usual paper bag lunch and packet of coupons, though he was still surprised to find himself a $15 gift card in the mix. Intercom Dude wasn't kidding about that?
He had money?
...What would he even do with money in Doyleton? What was fifteen dollars and worth buying that wasn't a gourmet burger? Peter boggled at the card as he clambered onto the bus. He'd never gone through the town with any inclination to window shop, so he couldn't even say what was available. He might actually have to look around. Even something simple might be a big help.
The orderly-formerly-known-as-Private-Dwight followed him on tucked a pillow into his seat for him. "Sit down. And don't do anything stupid. You'll heal a lot faster if you don't agitate it."
Peter fidgeted, but quietly settled into the pillow. This was kind of awkward. "Um. Thank you. I deeply appreciate your concern." The man nodded, and was gone.
Peter was the only one on the bus so far. The emptiness was kind of creeping him out.
[Reserved for Harvey Dent. WHY AM I TOP POSTING EVERYTHING YOU JERKS.]
no subject
Thankfully, the girl didn't seem to want to discuss his slip-up in detail. The variant was more than happy to oblige with the subject change. Happy, except her next words did not exactly make much sense. Meteors were a common phenomena across the Federation while the "end of the world" had occurred thousands of years in the past.
Or in the future, whichever. Nigredo could hardly tell the difference anymore.
"No, it doesn't," he answered evenly. Not in his lifetime, at least. Her next statement made no more sense than the last but for other reasons. Nigredo blinked, his mind scanning memories and ultimately finding nothing. "What do you mean by 'laptop'?" Was that some sort of obscure device?
no subject
Were some of them locals? Or could the game manifest itself to technologically challenged populations? Some sort of collaborative storytelling, perhaps?
Maybe it was just a difficulty with vocabulary.
"Laptop? You see, there are these little boxes in which electrons go whirling around and in this migratory dance we call the internet, occasionally people talk to each other. Sometimes they even call each other friends."
Not that she knew his number offhand. It was saved on her phone. And her laptop. Obviously.
no subject
Even if he was tempted...
"Oh, I see what you mean," Nigredo stated simply. "No, you won't find those here. If you did, I doubt our caretakers would let you touch them." The child crossed his arms and leaned back against the seat. "They're not fond of communication to the outside world." Whatever "outside world" happened to be.
no subject
If that was the case, she had some exploring to do.
Alternatively, this kid was lying either of his own accord or on the sufferance of their captors.
The next question would not tell her which it was, but it would serve either way.
"Do you know what they are fond of us doing? Is there a purpose to this trip, or is it more window dressing?"
no subject
"Do I know?" he repeated, apathetic. "Not really. They haven't given much away, and what they tell us are contradictions." Dramatic. His brother was seeping into his phrases. "I don't even know why we're going on this trip."
Nigredo sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "They probably want to keep up appearances by making us go to Doyleton," he finally said. "We're supposed to be mental patients in this world, after all."