Night 56: M31-M40 Hallway

[freewill]

Once again, dinner had passed by quietly, though Castiel could not complain about some solitude, even if it was spent in the company of one troubled teenager. He had gotten by with only a few bites of the food, the "Tasty Meal" from earlier having done an adequate job of sating his hunger.

And food would be the last thing to consider now that the lights had gone out and the doors had unlocked. Everything was silent tonight, and yet Castiel had to admit he preferred it that way. His roommate, the intercom system -- while a speech from the General might have granted them some more scraps of information, in this quiet he could truly focus.

Which was why he was able to collect his flashlight and radio within seconds, reminding himself once more of how he needed to arm himself better. That was something he should have asked Dean about, although it would be a hit to his pride to admit that he was the only who needed advice in this situation.

There was no place for pride, however. The next time they spoke, he would ask.

But it was another human entirely who he was meeting tonight. While he still knew very little about Orihara while the young man knew entirely too much, it was one of the few connections he'd made here and he needed to exploit it.

Castiel gave a small nod in Stefan's direction and then left the room and stalked down the hall.

[To here.]

Comments

[forgot-it-all.livejournal.com]

That sweater was old. Like, so old his hypothetical grandparents might look at it and go "wow, that's old" and put it back in the bin where they found it. Oddly enough, however, it seemed to match the weird color and fashion scheme his roommate had going with the crazy pants and the philosophy of following clowns, which, in its own way, was a type of fashion consciousness. If all clowns dressed like that, it was no wonder some people had a pathological fear of them. Or maybe it wasn't pathological. Who knew what clowns were really thinking behind those plastered on smiles.

"Yeah...." Ritsuka tried his best to sound somewhat sincere since this was Gamzee's idea of 'wicked' or whatever, but he couldn't say more than that. "Looks warm."

That part was true at least.

Going back to the box, Ritsuka pulled the backpack out and checked the mended strap. It would hold and tonight might be a good time to get some extra bandages in preparation for tomorrow. Picking up his flashlight and the radio, he stuffed them both into the rucksack along with a few supplies in case something happened. "If you've been upstairs, you might have--"

It was then that the radio jumped to life, stealing Ritsuka's attention. He listened carefully as the rebel and... No. That guy was with the one who was supposed to be helping them? Ritsuka's expression hardened the longer he listened to the radio transmit the voice of a man just about everyone in the Institute hated. Martin Landel was working with the ones who were supposedly helping the patients. Ritsuka had no illusions that the guy would ever - ever - be of any help, nor did he think Landel wouldn't go back and destroy the rebel and anyone else once he got back into power. "Adults. They're so stupid," he hissed under his breath, shoving the radio further down into the backpack. "Let's go. I can't stand to listen to them go on."

[to here (http://damned.livejournal.com/1103963.html?thread=78124379#t78124379)]