damned_institute | Day 56: Callahan's Grocer (Noon)

Entry tags:

Day 56: Callahan's Grocer (Noon)

Matt was leading the way to the grocery store; it was easy to tell what was what here, thankfully. A really simple town, so far as he could tell, and the best bet he had here from the looks of it was the grocery store.

If they didn't have his smokes, he was screwed.

Mello could follow as long as he wanted. It wasn't like Matt was going to just fall over without a moment's notice; no, he'd been zombified, but not much else seemed out of the ordinary today. No voices were constantly rambling in his head, no little angels or devils making a cozy little workspace out of his shoulders. He wasn't seeing things that weren't there, and he wasn't in dire need of swallowing a couple fresh brains.

He didn't feel like a total zombie, at least. He still had his good old nicotine craving, after all.

Which was refusing to take a backseat any longer. It had been at least a good twenty-four hours since his last cigarette, and Matt felt like he was going insane. His right hand wouldn't quit twitching, and his irritability was meeting its all-time max; he wasn't sure how much longer he could go around letting Mello hover over him without ripping someone's head off.

So inside the grocer's he went, glancing behind him at the blond he figured was planning to follow him around all day. "Coming?"

[for his co-conspirators Mello and Javert!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh yes, Mello was sticking close (not following, no, just making sure his friend remained in a state to be useful), all the more so since the revelation of what they'd done to Matt. His fault; he could admit it, and had done, and if Matt needed an apology in as many words, well. He didn't know Mello half as well as he ought.

The most blatant of the irritability probably had another cause, though, because obviously Mello's presence, in and of itself, wouldn't be annoying without extenuating circumstances.

"Right here, you tosser." This was his way of saying he didn't intend to treat Matt any differently, any more than Matt had done to him after hearing about his ordeal. "After we deal with your addiction, it's my turn."

It didn't seem as if the town had changed considerably since their last visit, and it appeared their captors were happy to keep it that way. And now they had some spare change besides, though Javert wondered how a card could constitute money of any sort and doubted they'd be permitted to purchase anything of real value. Still, he entered the grocer's with a curious eye. If nothing, perhaps the promise of money might draw information from one of the residents.

What actually ended up catching his eye as he entered were the two young men by the door. A stroke of luck, it seemed--precisely whom he wanted to speak to. Perhaps today might turn out useful after all.

For now, he settled with a quick nod of acknowledgment as he dusted snow off his overcoat and shook it from his boots. Matt certainly didn't look much different, nervousness aside.

Matt just shot Mello a short glare; hands still shoved into the pockets of the stupid jacket he was wearing for no other reason than to at least seem like he was doing something to fend off the cold he couldn't feel, he nodded in return to Javert, fully aware that a talk was inevitable. Javert, he knew, would want to know what had gone on in that room the night before, and he couldn't really blame him; someone needed to keep gathering information that could pose a potential use to newcomers and veterans of Landel's alike.

It didn't make him feel better, though. Things were even less simple than they had been before, and he didn't feel completely up to giving his statement at the moment.

"Just shut up and come on then," he mumbled, working his way slowly to the counter and looking behind the clerk at the various packs, boxes, and cartons of cigarettes. It wasn't a very big selection, but it had been two days since his last one; Matt wasn't in the mood to be picky.

Pausing to grab a cheap lighter from their place on the counter, he took the card out of his pocket and set both down quietly on the counter. "A pack of your cheapest menthol 100s." He watched closely as the clerk turned and grabbed a pack, tossing it onto the counter and taking the card; a quick swipe and it was back in Matt's hand. Taking the pack and lighter, he tucked them back into his pocket and turned back to Mello. "It'd be a long-shot to expect them to let me have a smoke in here, wouldn't it?" He gave another nod to Javert, signaling that he was finished with his personal business. He wasn't ready to speak, but he was willing.

"Javert." Mello greeted him with a nod, and a warmer tone to his voice than almost anyone else would've rated. Maybe he'd be able to get details out of Matt that Mello hadn't got, so far. It would be just like Matt to spill the info in the name of science, while trying to keep it from his supposed best friend.

Yes, because you told him everything up front. It didn't take a fight or anything to make you admit to any sort of weakness.

He jerked his chin towards the door and headed that way, turning from the other two so they wouldn't see the scowl the bugs always inspired. Fine, he admitted inwardly; he did suppose Matt had a right to his shirtiness. This wasn't something he could do anything about, even if the doctor in town weren't a total loss. Assuming Matt got in to see him at all, which was next to impossible, what would the asshole do? Tell him it was in his head and send him on his way, that was what. They were all crazy, right?

In the seconds it took to reach the door and open it, holding it for the others, he smoothed his expression out into only the irritability that was reasonable for being stuck in this town, in the cold, in horrible clothes, and he looked back at Matt and Javert. Matt could figure out the answer to his question; it was Javert Mello addressed. "Didn't have time to meet up with you again. You know how it goes."

Back into the cold again, it seemed. Javert had few objections; the institute provided so few options when it came to stretching his legs that a walk even in this weather was more than welcome.

He had watched the exchange Matt had made with some curiosity; was that how their allowances worked? A simple swipe and the transaction was complete? Evidently, though how running a small card through a box constituted payment of any sort eluded him.

Inclining his head in response to Mello's question, he followed the young men out the door. "Understandable, given the circumstances. We were unable to recover anyone, though that's hardly news by now."

He didn't follow up the response with a question of his own, much as he would have liked to; it was clear enough why he was there, and he was certain Matt would talk in his own time. He looked unharmed, which was the main thing, though Javert knew as well as any that looks were deceiving.

First thing was first. The pack Matt had just purchased was opened and a cigarette slid out between two fingers and lit before either of the other men could say anything - and before he even made it all the way out the door. Holding the filter between his lips, the brunet watched his two companions closely, already tired of their presence. He didn't need this right now, but he knew they did; it was like a kind of closure for themselves, but there'd be none for Matt. He already knew it wouldn't work like that.

As he took the first drag of acrid smoke and let it sit in his lungs for a few moments before exhaling it through his nostrils, Matt closed his eyes - and suddenly he was back in that room, strapped down to that operating table. He couldn't feel the cold but he could sense it, and it was almost as though he could smell the sterilization once again.

When his lungs were clear, he opened his eyes.

Better get this over with.

Taking another drag, he held it a few more moments before letting his gaze fall on Javert, asking as he exhaled, "You have something to jot it all down with?"

Well. Maybe it would be simpler than Matt had initially thought.

Simple, but not easy.

Mello had wondered before if there were something at work to keep the prisoners from making progress at night, something more subtle than outright diverting them from their intended destinations, as the Institute had done, and could presumably do again. Possibly, that was a tactic saved as a last resort. It had to require a non-trivial outlay of effort or energy. It seemed to Mello that getting anywhere at night had been difficult from the start of Aguilar's regime, unlike the first few nights he'd spent here, when he had accomplished enough to fully believe he'd escape.

The asshole in charge wasn't all that had changed since then. Now he was positive the game was rigged, that Aguilar got his kicks mocking their efforts even as he made sure those very efforts would fail. Defeatist or realistic? Mello couldn't have said anymore; they boiled down to the same thing, and he didn't care to examine the semantics too closely. He would ask Javert if he'd experienced the same recent crackdown, but later. Now all he said was, "If they're trying to make us snap out of frustration, they're damn close to succeeding with me."

Then he fell silent, waiting for Matt to go on, not without a look at him that said he'd expected both the instant lighting up and that Matt would talk now.

As far as Izaya was concerned, the credit card he'd received that morning was all but useless. Not only was the amount barely worth anything at all—only five dollars, according to the rank on his dog tags and the morning announcement—but even if it were worth something more, he couldn't use it to purchase what he considered most valuable here. Five dollars credit didn't exactly go a long way towards gaining information. If it was a matter of bribes, cash would have been essential to loosening lips... Barter had its own value, but it was much trickier.

So instead of focusing on his priorities, he spent the morning looking around town to see if anything looked particularly promising—and keeping an ear out for stray comments all the while. Eavesdropping had a certain value of its own.

It wasn't until after he'd made few rounds across town that Izaya decided for a change of pace. He entered the next store he came across—Callahan's Grocer—and started to look for some small item he could spend what little money he had on. At the very least, maybe he could pick up a cheap utility knife or some tools somewhere...

With that thought in mind, Izaya started down an aisle, scanning the rows of canned goods disinterestedly.

[For Kenshin]

Kenshin stood in the grocery store and stared down at the little rectangle of hard material that was everywhere in this place (he'd been told what it was called, once or twice, but the name escaped him at the moment) with his picture on it. He'd been assured that this held money, that he could use it to purchase items that the standard book of coupons he'd been provided with every week didn't cover, but he wasn't entirely convinced it was true. It made about as much sense to the rurouni as the box of cereal he'd wound up in front of. It was emblazoned with a colorful and vaguely nightmarish depiction of...what was that? Some kind of...bird? Were those supposed to be feathers? It was hard to tell. Either way, it grinning cheekily at him (or grimacing) cheekily at him with a beak full of straight, white teeth.

Teeth on a bird? That was even more disturbing.

Kenshin stared at the black and white bird...thing in mixed fascination and horror, Landel's-issued debit card momentarily forgotten.

Ah, it looked like this aisle had held something good after all, though it had nothing to do with the food at all. As he continued walking, he noticed there was a short red-headed man staring at boxes of cereal with an expression that was... What? Alarm? Repulsion? Shock or dismay? It was difficult to tell for sure from this angle and distance, so Izaya drew closer.

He came to a stop once there was only a foot or so between them, leaning to the side to get a better view of the man's face.

"Are you alright?" he asked politely, partly to announce his presence and partly to prompt the man into speaking. What a nice expression he had! And Izaya could see a scar on the man's face better now, which intrigued him. How had he gotten it? Work? A fight? It was a rather peculiar shape, crossed like that; it seemed like the kind of thing that might have had a story behind it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Day 56: Callahan's Grocer (Noon)

no subject

no subject

sorry this took so long!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject