damned_institute | Day 57: Sun Room

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Day 57: Sun Room

It figured that night would end before Rita and Taura could progress any further. Rita wasn't particularly disappointed to wake up abruptly, as they had reached a dead end. Really, the institute was doing them a favor by bringing them back to the starting point, where they could regroup.

What she didn't appreciate was the loss of valuable time, and the fact that her equipment had been confiscated once again. Rita didn't have time to mess around... which was precisely why the cheery voice broadcast over the intercom only served to grate on her nerves more than usual. In fact... how was the Head Doctor even giving that announcement? She doubted he'd managed to take the institute back in such a short amount of time, though the broadcast itself was suspicious for a number of reasons. Even though she could clearly hear the man's voice, it didn't necessarily mean that he was there. She had to look at things critically.

Still, it seemed almost as if everything had returned to normal... with a few exceptions. The different staff was one, and her lack of possessions was another. It didn't seem like the staff was expecting to fool the patients into thinking this was the same old institute, so why...?

Even as she went about preparing for the day and walking to her first destination, Rita kept her most pressing questions in mind, coming up with multiple hypotheses to explain what was happening. Since she didn't expect that the Chapel would hold anything of interest to her, Rita opted for the Sun Room instead. She was interested in seeing the bulletin board, for one.

When she entered the Sun Room, Rita brought a pen and her journal with her. If no one approached her, she would at least have a chance to document her discoveries from the previous night. First, however, she checked the bulletin board, only to find it completely empty. That confirmed a few suspicions of hers. Content to see evidence supporting her ideas about the strange occurrences, Rita sat down on a couch, opened her journal, and began to write.

[Free!]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

They weren't even trying, were they?

Well. Weren't even trying to convince the patients, that was. An outsider might not have seen anything wrong with that little introduction, but a brief check of his database revealed that it had been spoken word-for-word by Landel precisely a week before: they'd simply replayed it and cut the outdated references to the weather.

Side-by-side with his escort, Lunge walked to the Sun Room. Even with his new-old nurse's uniform, it was easy to recognise the tall, broad-shouldered soldier hidden behind them, faintly ill at ease out of uniform so far as the trained eye could measure. Just as they had been in the town, the military were undercover.

It had made sense, there, trading the military uniforms for clean white medical gear; overt military presence was likely to alarm the townspeople and raise suspicion. Perhaps the same was true of today, and the aim was not to surprise any of the usual Sunday visitors. But that didn't make sense. Surely the visitors were brainwashed to some extent anyway, or simply empty ciphers made to look like friends and relatives? In that case, why was the military making such a careful effort to conceal their activity from them? Surely their opinion was either a moot point or nonexistent? In fact, if Doyleton was the illusion Landel claimed it was, why had they bothered at all yesterday, too? Was there some sort of double bluff going on here simply to throw the patients off, or had he overlooked something critical?

The lack of a conclusion frustrated him. Lunge surveyed the Sun Room briefly for anyone he could air the thought to, but it was still too early for there to be many people around or new bulletins put up. The young woman sitting by herself and writing looked promising enough, at least; it implied a certain level of organisation, and that she actually had something interesting to write about. Very few patients here seemed to actually use their journals at all.

How tenuous- but then, he hardly had a fistful of options.

His approach was casual, and he settled into an armchair opposite with a thoughtful sigh. "Hardly convincing, is it?" he commented, eyes swivelling briefly to the intercom before he gave a faint smile. "Would you mind if I sat here?"

...Okay. Perhaps what was more unnerving than anything else had to be how he seemed to be blacking out. Ending up back in his room. With different clothes each time. (Although as much as he had disliked the baggy Doyleton outfits or the stiff uniforms, this was much worse.)

Good enough for pajamas, but not anything else. But maybe that was just him being picky because he wanted his own clothes back. Even if they had been dirty and worn from the number of times he had tripped or skid on crystals and dirt. He wanted his gloves back, and his scarf. It felt weird to go without them, and even the outfit yesterday had covered his neck, even if they had skimped on the gloves in the snow.

Another thing he was more than ready to complain about to someone, anyone, was just how crappy he felt in general. Tired with an itchy throat and far too warm even in this cold weather (it was still cold outside, right? This strange place hadn't magically changed seasons through the night, right?). Maybe they had cranked up the heater, and he really wished they would cut that out. And he just seemed to hurt in general. Not as bad as two days ago when he had marched all day and into the night with little breaks, but irritating none the less as it grated on his nerves and made him feel extremely lethargic.

Still, his protests fell silent as he met the glare of the nurse this morning, and he shrunk back subconsciously and tried to ignore all his physical aches as he was herded to... somewhere he had never been before.

[Open?]

Well, that had certainly been an interesting way to end the night. That girl had burst into the room, covered in undead secretions and with a bottle of vodka in hand. It was the sort of thing that you couldn't really argue with, and it had made the night a little more worthwhile. Harvey still couldn't decide whether or not going to that "party" had been a good idea, though the fact that he was ambivalent about it probably meant that it hadn't been a total loss.

He'd be seeing more of Jones, Sangamon, and Scott in the coming night, and under much more stressful circumstances. And until then? Well, they had a day to worry about it. Harvey didn't see much point in dwelling on things like that, but it was hard to push it to the back of his mind when the moment of truth was so near.

But with the morning came the voice of Martin Landel himself, something that made Harvey scowl even while half-asleep. It took him a second to realize that it wasn't right and another two to realize that it wasn't the real deal. He really hoped that Aguilar and his men didn't think that that would honestly trick anyone, although it might actually serve its purpose with some of the newer patients.

Not that that was Harvey's problem. Instead he forced himself out of bed, taking stock of his wounds. He wasn't as sore as he'd been the day before, but his burns and cut still needed to be bandaged. Depending on how the coming night went, he might wake up tomorrow seriously resembling a mummy.

Once again, Harvey rejected the offer from the fake nurse (the cover-up was obvious now) to go to the chapel. The Sun Room might not be as interesting visually, but he didn't need to be surrounded by all of those religious feelings. No, this room would do him just fine. It was going to be much quieter, too, with more than half of the patients upstairs.

[For Lana.]

For the third time in a row, the night ended without warning. At first, it seemed the only difference between this morning and other mornings was that Byrne had a mild headache upon waking up. Oh, back here again, was he? Same old story. Welp, time to see what's in store today. He sat up on the edge of his bed, rubbing his temples in the hope that his headache would go away--

Woah wait. Wait a second. Waaaait a second. Why was he wearing the smiley face t-shirt again? Where was his army uniform? Wh--huh? Over the intercom--was that--was that Landel's voice? He was in charge again?! What the hell was going on?! Again! He was saying that every day now! Was every damn day in this place an attempt to make him go mad from all the unexpected changes? Oh sure Landel, Aguilar, whoever the hell you are, I'll make it easy for you, just let me apply my head to the wall several hundred thousand times until it splits open like a goddamn watermelon! I'm sure that's what you want, isn't it?! You sons of--

...Before he could finish his inner tirade, however, Byrne was taken from his room like usual. Unlike usual, his escort was a nurse. Well, he was dressed like a nurse, anyway. But from the way he spoke and acted, he seemed more like a soldier than an actual nurse. Soldiers pretending to be nurses? So were Landel and Aguilar cooperating now or something? Ugh, this was so confusing.

In any case, Byrne opted for the Sun Room when given the choice between that and the Chapel. He wasn't a religious man for one thing, and for another he was sure the Chapel didn't have nice couches. The Sun Room did, and lying on one was precisely what he did once he got in there. He needed it right now. This was all making his headache worse.

[Would Renamon happen to have any Tylenol for this poor bloke's headache?]

[Assuming some details from a backthread]

This sucked. A lot.

He woke up on his stomach, one arm dangling over the edge of the bed, sore all over and feeling like he'd just died three times over. Wanting death, huh? That was what that general guy had said right before the typical fade-to-black, right? Yeah, right now, Niikura could really do with some death in his life. Groaning, the teenager rolled onto his back, arm coming up to flop over his eyes as he tried to tune in to what the intercom was saying. Something about visitors and a theater--not important. Maybe he could stay in bed all day. That would be really nice for once...nope, no go. Soldier Boy was here again, except in a nurse's uniform.

"What gives?" The teen asked groggily as he eyed the other man. "What's up with the unif--"

"Get up," the soldier-turned-nurse said coldly, and the tone in his voice said that if he didn't, he'd be standing up all day. And as much as Niikura liked to toe the line, right now wasn't a good time. So he complied and dragged himself out of his warm, comfortable bed, barely noticing that the smiley face was back on his person as he ran a hand through his hair and yawned before stumbling out the door after the sold--nurse.

Five agonizing minutes later, Niikura was slumped over on a sofa in the Sun Room, not too far away from legitimately passing out. Really, what he needed was some food...

[Edgeworth, enjoy your grumpy teenager.]

Edited 2011-06-22 22:59 (UTC)

Speak of grievances and he would offer many. Offer dramatics and he would speak not a word. Nigredo was not his brothers. His coping methods were an entirely different species, less ingrained in flares and tempers. An emphasis made a point previously in his life, and though he was beginning to understand the reasons for sharing his thoughts and feelings with those trusted, trust was a dying commodity in the institute. He couldn't walk up to just anyone and start listing his complaints without reservation. Everyone had their sensibilities, and everyone had their biases. It wasn't worth the effort. It was better to bury corpses and call it good.

Sadly, his current state of affairs made privacy a bit difficult. The boy could not get out of bed alone. His injured leg ended any voluntary movements the moment it began, and eventually, his steely giant of a military-now-pseudo-medical escort had to lift him from his bed and onto a wheelchair. It was primitive. It was embarrassing. It called for attention the moment they exited his room, and nothing in Nigredo required a reminder. He couldn't pretend to set the memory aside if he knew exactly what had put him in that chair.

At least he endeared neither of his "teammates" in the process.

Apart from complaints, Nigredo held no opinion of the new developments. The announcement was obviously a recording from a week ago while the uniform was half-expected. They were technically still a mental institution to this world's eyes; it would be wise to pose as one when visitors came into play. Which happened to be another bad element of the day so ultimately, the boy dismissed them with a proverbial shrug.

His "orderly" wheeled Nigredo into the Sun Room and left him at the corner where the shadows fell overhead. He frowned at the patches of sunlight nearby but stayed in place. There were ways to move in this chair, but his arms refused to follow through. Less pain seemed more important at the moment than a bit of pleasure. At any rate, he could use this moment to press a hand to his eye and attempt to drain all rage from him.

[Albedo and Ritsuka.]

Rita's pen stopped for a moment when she heard a man speaking to her. Normally she'd completely tune out any voices around her while doing research, but with the room relatively empty that morning, it wasn't so easy to ignore her surroundings. She glanced up at the person who'd addressed her, and gave a small snort. "Hmph. You mean how they're pretending to pretend to be a normal institute now? It's pretty stupid if you ask me."

To his question, Rita gave a slight shrug of the shoulders, indicating that she didn't care too much either way. She was almost done recording what she learned from the object Taura brought to her last night, and the man wasn't so disruptive that she couldn't finish writing while he was there.

Since there were plenty of other seats around, Rita supposed the stranger might be interested in conversation. While she wasn't much of a conversationalist herself, Rita knew by now that the other patients were the best source of information there was in the institute - books and staff members were pretty much useless.

Without looking up from her journal, she asked after a pause, "That announcement this morning... It's the same one we heard a week ago, isn't it?" That was assuming this man was around back then, but this was one way to find out whether he was new or not.

[orz definitely some assumptions being made here.]

The night before had been more than a little emotionally and physically taxing than Edgeworth had hoped for, but all things considered, he had to admit that an altercation with a human was by far an easier thing to cope with rather than some supernatural creature...but stranger yet was the realization that, as he turned over to look up at the sterile lighting of the room, he couldn't remember actually going to sleep. That same sense of airy confusion and displacement overcame him - same as his first day, though this time dampened by his slight knowledge of what was going on - and the prosecutor did the best he could to stifle it. It was another day - he had to be prepared for anything, and he didn't have time to obsess over the small details just yet.

The clothes were a separate shock altogether.

Once Edgeworth was coherent enough to make sense of his outfit, his brow furrowed in displeasure as he smoothed his hand over the material of his shirt. Well...this was both better and worse than the military uniform, and despite how much he hated the shirt he had been given the day prior, at least it didn't make him feel like...like a patient.

Shaking his head and moving his legs over the side of the bed, Edgeworth stretched as a nurse entered his room, and at first he said nothing as he scrutinized her, his mind wandering to the soldiers he had dealt with the day before.

Is she...? the thought trailed off as the nurse cleared her throat, tersely offering to take him to the chapel, and if not, the sun room for the duration for the morning before breakfast. Edgeworth had never been a terribly religious man, and his upbringing hadn't swayed him one way or the other when it came to which religion suited him...and after being put in a situation like this, Edgeworth didn't exactly feel up to praising any sort of deity. It didn't take long for him to answer, and it took even less time for the nurse to nod and lead him out of the room, the pair of them wordlessly moving to the Sun Room before she went about her business.

There were several patients milling about in the room already, but the prosecutor wasn't feeling especially talkative. His throat ached from all the lengthy discussions he'd had the day before (perhaps coupled with a few exclamations he had made during the latter part of the night) and he instead decided to make himself comfortable on a large, comfortable looking sofa in the corner of the room...only to find that, once he approached it, that it was occupied by a certain ghost from his previous nighttime adventures.

Him, Edgeworth thought with a small amount of trepidation. As much as Edgeworth hadn't reached a verdict on what he thought of Niikura, he didn't think there would be any harm in addressing him now - after all, he had several questions he wanted to ask, and he was mostly curious as to how Phoenix had even gotten himself tangled up with a kid like him.

"Would I be interrupting your rest if I addressed you?" he asked pointedly as he rounded the couch, passing by a round, long table before taking a seat on the sofa facing opposite of Niikura. Not looking regretful in the least - Edgeworth tended to approach situations with individuals like Niikura with a certain amount of sincere insincerity - he continued on, adding an brief addendum to his question. "If so, do forgive me."

It was odd - at first Elena's heart jumped at hearing the word 'visitors' during the morning announcement, because the idea of seeing Aunt Jenna and Jeremy, or maybe Bonnie and Caroline again sounded too good to be true. But of course, that usually meant it was too good to be true. This place had kept her trapped in some virtually unknown location for almost a week now, yet they were going to let loved ones in to see them? How was that even possible? And if they were letting a number of people in, how could they possibly keep track of who was getting out as well? There had to be a catch. A catch that made her think that maybe she was better off not getting any visitors, since they were... probably just going to be screwed up, scary, shadow-versions of the people she knew back home. Something like that. At least, that was what she was telling herself to keep from getting her hopes up.

Though it looked like she didn't have to wear that stupid baret all day. To think, she almost missed the baggy t-shirts she wore the first few days she was at the institute. They felt more natural than the uniforms they were forced to wear, anyway. The fact that she was excited to put her hair in a ponytail made her question her priorities for a second, but her nurse (nurses again? interesting) didn't give her much time to dwell on it, deciding that being pushy about getting Elena to the Sun Room was a better idea than giving her a few minutes to wake up and think about stuff.

The Sun Room seemed like the best place to start her day, if not just because she wanted to leave a message on the bulletin for Stefan. She still needed to give him the present she bought in Doyleton! She left it in her desk drawer for the time being, not wanting to risk having it get taken away for some ridiculous reason.

Once she stood in front of the board, it was easy to catch the note addressed to her, and the replies directly under it. Hm. Damon, definitely. Which, for some reason, quickly reminded her of her late-night encounter with Rose. Out of the three of them, Alaric was probably her best bet in getting a better insight on the woman, but... Maybe Damon found out some stuff after meeting her the day before. Though as far as she could tell from last night and the memories that came along with it, Rose could be considered a friend, maybe trusted too. Hopefully.

She decided to write back anyway, not sure if Damon or Alaric were even still in the room. With that in mind, she stepped out of the way of the board, turning to lean back against the wall so she could try and pick either of them out of the people that were slowly filing in.

[For Damon!]

Night ended with no accusing shadows, no unearthed ghosts. Maybe the feedback was just that -- or maybe it had only affected the basement.

The intercom was a surprise, for half a sentence; then a wave of static cut rain into snow and made the deception obvious. My, my, was Aguilar already having trouble? What had he said, at the end of night?

Spanish. He'd been speaking Spanish, with an accent most Los Angelenos heard every day. It was the first time she'd heard a foreign language in the Institute since the night Agatha had been brainwashed, though language had taken a back seat to fencing foils from both sides. She hadn't seen the girl lately; pity, since Ema could use more friends her own age.

Not that she'd be easy to pry from one Prosecutor Edgeworth, who was managing to look dignified in what amounted to pajamas the same color as his hair.

Harvey, on the other hand, was sporting more bandages than usual, and, from what she could see of his expression, irritated. Odd how he was easier to read without the bandages, once you got used to his face. "You look like you've seen better days, Dent. Everything all right?"

Well, if it wasn't Lana. Harvey hadn't seen the woman in three days, since the incident when they'd both witnessed Landel getting sacked. It was odd to think that that much time had passed since then, and he wondered if the man was going to be stuck hiding out in the woods somewhere for the rest of their time here. However long that would be.

It also seemed odd to Harvey that there were now a few people who he knew here who could walk up to him and start talking and it wasn't awkward or distant. Lana was one of them; most of the people who he'd seen last night were also on the list.

He wouldn't call them friends, but he was familiar with them and used to speaking with them. That meant something, although he knew that it was pointless to forge attachments here. It was just as good that he wasn't certain he knew how to anymore.

"Fine," he responded with a shrug, rotating his neck as if to crack it. "Well, not terrible. I got these injuries for a reason, at least, so that's something." He wasn't going to leave her hanging, even if he easily could have. "Been making my way through the basement these past few nights."

They were on I-95, going the stupid way down the East Coast, in the back of a fifteen passenger GEE van, when the radio cut out, and the announcer started in. Forest fires on the median. Interstate closed for non-emergency personnel. The air was filled with smog, so thick the windshield wipers weren't keeping up with it.

They opened the Hefty bag and all stuck their head in. Then S.T. pulled enough scientific equipment out of the spare tire compartment to start a research lab, and a faded old National Park Service hat. It would have to be enough.

They pulled up to the toll gates for the George Washington bridge, making record time. All their plans went to shit. The guy pulled out a pump-action rifle and started shooting up the van. It only had windows in the front, but there were people up there, too. S.T. opened the sliding door. "What the fuck?" The guy had pissed his pants. He could smell it, sharp and acrid over the gunpowder. It didn't take a pro to lip-read zombie off the guy. Problem was, they didn't have any zombies. Right?

They piled back into the old fishing boat, the guy raised the drawbridge, and he hollered to Debbie to floor it. She didn't say anything. Fuck. Had she been hit after all? He poked his head up front. Debbie looked back. Or, rather, one eye looked back; half of her face had been torn off, and her skin was starting to decay. What was left of her mouth was covered in -- shit -- what had been her roommate, who'd hitched a ride down as far as Philly to see her girlfriend. There wasn't much of her left. Some hair, a pair of earrings.

The waves were getting higher, and the rest of the team had split off to go do the big splashy show, leaving him at the wheel of the Zode, Debbie puking over the side. It was out of gas, but he had some leftover vodka, so he poured it in, and then a little on Debbie to try to sterilize her.

The radio came on again. It was the same broadcast as before, about the suggestion box and the theater and the Sun Room.

Sun Room? S.T. opened his eyes, and tried to focus. Ceiling tiles. Not on fire. There were cookie crumbs in his ear, and the back of his mouth tasted like shit. He didn't remember them having enough booze for a real hang-over, but he'd eaten four times the U.S. RDA of salt at Twin Pine alone, and washed it down with coffee.

He stumbled out of the room, went back for his notebook, and down to the Sun Room. He went to tack up the maps, but unless there'd been more rearranging than that broadcast had implied, the entire east wing of the second floor was not composed solely of a can-ring smelling not-so-faintly of stale beer.

He found a chair and a table, and started finishing it.

[Utena!]

Last night was a disaster. Tonight was going to have to go a lot smoother, or else Erika was going to have to find herself new companions. Today also was going to turn out to be a disaster, Erika thought to herself, when she woke up to familiar clothing, still no sign of her belongings, and Landel-san speaking through the intercom instead of the other fellow. The detective rose a brow, but it only took a few seconds of listening to understand the sudden change: Visitors today. Of course.

The Doyleton trip had already provided the extremely large hint that to the public, Landel's Institute was still a hospital and not a military-run deathcamp, so it didn't surprise her that their fake visitors would be treated the same way as the townspeople. But that really intrigued Erika; were the visitors really people from the outside world? Fake patients deserved fake visitors, but it made sense when she considered that there were actually insane people in this place mixed in with people like her.

Regardless, hiding in plain sight was probably better than trying to completely hide anything. Landel-san had the right idea, yet in the end, he was kicked out anyway... Gone, but not forgotten. For a minute, Erika even hoped that the Good Doctor managed to come back after one night's shenanigans, but she knew he wasn't that good. It was a shame.

Since she already had seen the chapel and had no interest in it, Erika settled for the Sun Room, hoping to see Sync among the room's occupants. It'd be troublesome if he ended up going elsewhere, but Sync didn't strike her as the kind of person who would go to a chapel. It was just her detective's intuition and the fact that no one so full of hatred and self-loathing like him would turn to God for anything. Chuckling to herself, the detective chose a chair near the entrance and started to watch it, ready to jump on either of the boys she traveled with last night.

[ /BREATHES HI SYNC..... ]

[ If he has painkillers for her. ]

Different clothes. The same clothes. Surprisingly, this was what she focused on her, blearily looking down at the fabric she had pulled away from her chest. She felt wretched, body drained of all energy. Slowly the Digimon sat up, the announcement echoing like cotton through her head. Landel? No... That sounded more like a mash of words. A pressed together transmission. And of course; today was when 'visitors' came, was it not? And Renamon would not... Even think of that.

She had only swung her feet to the ground when her door opened. The man was severe, though nodded in understanding at her movements. The near compassion from one of these people almost made her sick, and she struggled to stand under her own power. That, in itself, was a task; the instant she straightened, the heavy bandages coating her shoulder blades crinkled, skin shifting. She winced, gritting her teeth. Behind that, and the heavy wrapping and bandages across her torso, the Digimon walked--or shuffled, depending on perception--with a slouch. The man offered her a wheelchair, and she shook her head vehemently. Only once had she been in one. He nodded at her, and moved to escort her out.

Moving upstairs was too much effort at this point, and to that, she had no wanting of seeing the chapel after her failed efforts the night before. A hand across her stomach, she moved into the room, caring little about the people within it. Despite this, she saw a face she knew, and for that, moved towards him, dropping into a soft chair set at an angle to the couch he was on. Her eyes snapped closed at the effort, pain passing over her face, and then she opened them, focusing on the man with effort. "Did you hear the radio last night?"

[from here]

And... No. Being deposited in a large room with numerous others was nothing close to gaining answers. Mikado stood there for a moment, dumbstruck, as the man who had escorted him just left. The attempt to follow him out the door was stopped by another man, who shooed the boy towards the center of the room. Uh. He. Had no idea what was going on now. A holding area? If it was a holding area, what was it for? And why were everyone dressed the same? It was as if--

He looked down belatedly. "Ahh!" He pulled the shirt out from his chest, staring at it. Okay, he was dressed the same. Obviously, this meant something that he couldn't discern. The men who escorted him and stopped him were dressed differently, and weren't... All that willing to answer questions. He'd do better focusing on someone dressed like himself, maybe?

What was going on?

Nearby there was a boy that looked around Mikado's age, maybe a little younger. Mikado approached hesitantly, stopping a few feet away. "Ah... Hello," he greeted, smiling nervously, the expression soon deteriorating back into pure nerves. "Do you know what's going on here?"

It'd been, what, three days? Since the good doctor had done his rambling over the intercom, so it was only a given that Damon paid attention when the grating cheerfulness suddenly made a return. His eyes slanted in brief confusion before he caught the static and the word visitors.

Right. Of course.

At least this whole charade got him out of those damn uniforms, though these weren't exactly an improvement, either. Still, even before he was out the door, he found details slipping him by. Or maybe slipping wasn't the right word. He noticed. But most of him just didn't care when he was this fucking hungry. It overpowered any desire to think or sort through what the hell was going on. The more his instincts sharpened, the less he cared to analyze.

Was that Claire girl around here somewhere? She could come in handy right about now. Or Rick...which was an idea. He hadn't considered it because he hadn't needed to, but he'd never dismissed it as an option. It was a perfect option. It also implied an edge of desperation that he hadn't wanted to put on display if he could help it—but that was yesterday, and this was today.

He managed to swing by the chapel for a look under the guise of searching for his little brother before turning back for the Sun Room. His escort wasn't happy, but Damon got what he wanted which was the important part. The fountain was there. Obviously it wasn't spouting blood, but at least half of the story was accurate. For tonight, it didn't matter. He had no intention of going out of his way anymore if his proposal didn't go over with Rick. Not that he had any serious doubts that it wouldn't go over. It might not go over well, but if the teacher could stop a new corpse from showing up, he would do it.

When Damon stepped inside the Sun Room, his eyes swept over the couches, the tables, and landed on Elena almost immediately. He made his way over, ignoring everyone else within the vicinity. Her pulse was distracting, but she was the only person here he didn't want to hurt, which...helped.

He slid into view in front of her, where she was leaning against the wall—though for once, he kept a slight distance where he never would've before. "I have to say, I miss the other look. Military chic was cute on you."

Edited 2011-06-23 06:37 (UTC)

Niikura's brain wasn't functioning on a high enough setting for him to hear exactly what had been asked of him, but it did at least register that someone was speaking to him. "Nnnnghuhwha...?" Not the most dignified way to enter into a conversation, but he had never made it a habit of always presenting his best side even if he didn't feel up to it. Too much work.

The teen sat up, scratching the back of his head, and squinted at the man seated across from him. "Who...what's--oh, you." Oh, you. The guy that Phoenix had brought along yesterday. What was his name? "'Edgeworth', right?" He'd asked him a question too - what was it again? Something about interrupting...

...whatever. "Sorry, I'm a real mess right now--not like ya could blame me, right? Heh. Anyway, what's up?" He too hadn't reached any sort of conclusion about the man he'd suddenly found himself working with last night, no thanks to circumstances, but it had seemed like Edgeworth was more level-headed than his friend - and if he wasn't, he faked it really well.

Tilting his head slightly, Edgeworth couldn't help but feel somewhat distracted by the amount of similarities Niikura shared with Phoenix - his hair, his strange eyebrows, and that odd idiosyncrasy of rubbing the back of his head - and the prosecutor felt himself wondering if Phoenix had resembled him even more as a teenager. Even so, his attitude certainly wasn't anywhere close to Phoenix in similarity - something Edgeworth found both refreshing and unnerving.

"You certainly did have a lot on your plate last night, though it seems like what you're missing is rest and not a trip to the infirmary," he commented, crossing his legs as he let his hands sit idly in his lap. "I suppose I was wondering how you were holding up after all was said and done."

_{[LION. :|]}

How had she managed to sleep through another night again… ?

More than that, when Tsubaki found herself waking up, it was to the pre-military uniform, smiley face and all. But even before she could start processing why that was, she noticed the state of Sakura’s side of the room and felt her stomach drop. Empty. Her half was empty, like she had seen before when residents moved out and hadn’t yet been replaced by someone new. Was Sakura--

After a brief search, Tsubaki knew it was true. Sakura was gone. Moved to another room, maybe? She didn’t know. The unusual card Tsubaki had found in Sakura’s desk made her wonder--personal belongings didn’t usually stay in old rooms once someone had been given a new one, did they?

And Landel’s voice was on the intercom, to boot! On a morning like this one, she felt like her head was on a spinning top.

“Um, the girl that was here, is she still… here in the Institute?” she asked the nurse who eventually entered, though before the question was halfway out, she realized to her bewilderment that the ’nurse’ she was talking to could really be nothing else but one of the soldiers. It was something to think about along with the soldier’s grunted answer, which Tsubaki felt took forever to come despite it only being a few seconds’ pause.

No, Sakura wasn’t here. Yes, she would be getting a replacement roommate.

It was with a heavy heart that Tsubaki entered the Sun Room to approach the bulletin. Sakura’s absence sat at the forefront of her concerns, but she was the third roommate Tsubaki had lost already. Was it sheer randomness? Or did it have something to do with the Sakura Landel had shown her? That was a terrible thought, especially having heard Landel on the intercom. Yet it was the soldiers who were still in control by the looks of things…

Biting the inside of her lip, she got some paper to start writing notes. After the first couple of sentences, Tsubaki took a breath and rearranged her features so that her worry didn’t show. She had missed a whole night, and now there was Sakura to consider, alongside Kurogane and Fai, two people she needed particularly needed to get in touch with. Landel was back on the intercom, while the soldiers remained in disguise as staff. And it was a Sunday, which meant visitors. And yesterday’s purchase, which was going to the Arts and Crafts Club, and…

So many things.

It was her roommate, though, that Tsubaki thought about while she posted her notes and finally stepped back to take stock.

Just suppose? Pretty cold. If he were feeling more like his usual self, he might have been tempted to needle Edgeworth on that point just to see how far he could push him; Niikura settled for a rough laugh instead. "Trust me, I've had it a lot worse before. This" - he gestured broadly - "is just the usual collection of scrapes an' bruises. Nah, right now all I want is some food--did I mention I hate Sundays? Only two meals instead of three...really sucks, y'know?"

At this point, he would have been tempted to lace his hands behind his head like he usually did, but his arms were still too sore to do so. Damn those human limitations. "So, how're ya likin' it 'round here? Feelin' settled? Hate to break it to ya, but days 'round here ain't half as excitin' as yesterday's little field trip. Guess that's better, though: ease into it, be a bystander for a bit instead of gettin' dropped straight into everything like your friend..."

Yes, it was true: all one had to do to get Niikura to perk up was talk at him, because he'd talk right back and then some. There were some exceptions, but none of them applied to just shooting the breeze.

When he woke up again, Ritsuka felt the uncomfortable absence of his ears and tail like always, but also felt a strange familiarity in his costume. Sitting up, he found himself clothed in gray again - the smiley face staring dead-eyed at the world before him as if nothing had ever changed. It was the uniform he had first woken up in and, as the intercom chimed on and an equally familiar voice began to speak, for a few moments Ritsuka thought that perhaps the Head Doctor had regained control and they would be going back to their old routine.

Then there was a burst of static and Ritsuka realized it was all a recording. Another lie to support the veneer of institutionalization that seemed to be important to keep up for some reason. Ritsuka sighed and slid out of bed, wondering if the visitors would be that stupid to believe all that, or if it was simply that they didn't care enough to see. After all, who believed the crazy when they spoke of military take-overs and nightmares coming to life? It was the perfect cover.

He headed to the Sun Room with his new guard (now dressed as an orderly) and as soon as he entered, his eyes fell on one person almost instantly. Ritsuka hadn't spoken to him much, but seeing Nigredo in a wheelchair was enough to rouse his sympathies and, even if the other boy might find it bothersome, he was drawn toward him. What had caused such a severe injury that he'd be left in such a state? And worse...what if it was his roommate like Albedo had feared? Was Nigredo really letting his roommate hurt him this badly?

When he drew close, Ritsuka tried not to frown more than he usually did and stopped a few feet away. "Nigredo....? What happened?"

[For Phoenix )]

As the intercom blared its greeting, Meekins awoke with a start. Only minutes ago, it seemed, he had been in the pantry with none other than his very own former superior, ex-Police Chief Gant. Who neither was a ghost nor tried to murder him. And who led a mission to procure more edible food items than that gross pink substance that the soldiers served for dinner last night. Which Meekins was grateful for because, as he dimly recalled, he wouldn't get to eat breakfast (or "brunch," according to the loudspeaker) today due to his punishment for "insolence." Of course, if Meekins were to classify this enforced fasting from a meal of more of that pink goo as a punishment or a blessing, it would have to be the latter.

At any rate, he would have to track down Mr. Gant to receive his next assignment for today. He sat up in his bed, noting that Mr. Williams was still asleep, and turned to look at the sold-- nurse! Dressed in a nurse's uniform instead of the stiff soldier's outfit from yesterday. However, unlike the sweet young nurse at Meekins' doctor's office who always gave him a lollipop for taking his shots like a "brave man," the woman standing before him had a grim, distant look on her face.

"Mr. Bibbitt! Get up already! You are still under notice for your behavior. Remember, until dinner shift, you are to remain standing. Now get on with it!" Nope, no lollipop from this one, Meekins realized in letdown.

"Yes, Sir!" He carefully got out of bed and stood up straight, saluting the nurse. It was then that he noticed that he was no longer wearing the military uniform from yesterday, but a set of drab gray sweats brightened by a large yellow happy face on the front of the shirt. What a nice contrast it was to the gloominess of everything else here! It filled Meekins with such hope that he suddenly blurted out, "If I might ask, Sir... can you take me to see Mr. Gant, Sir? I need to check in with him after last ni--"

"Silence!" the nurse barked, interrupting him. How rude! Not even Nurse Miney stopped him while he was relating his stories to her. "Whoever you met last night was all a dream. It's all part of your illness. You will speak no more of it. Now come along or risk further punishment!"

Ack. Best to do what she said, or else she would give him a shot and be mean enough not to give him a lollipop afterwards. "Y-Yes, Sir!"

He followed the nurse down the hallway to the giant room he remembered from last night that had scary things happening there. 0r maybe he just dreamed it, like she said. Because today, it looked rather nice. Light was coming in from the high glass ceiling, and there were tables and comfy chairs and couches scattered around (although Meekins wasn't allowed to take advantage of them today). There was even a bulletin board, which already sported a number of strange notes. Maybe he could get a hold of the Police Chief this way! After all, the nurse said not to speak of it; she'd said nothing about writing about it!

After tacking up his note, he turned away from the board and started pacing the room to pass the time. He was concentrating so hard on remaining upright that he didn't notice the two faces familiar to him in this room.

Oh, morning, was it? How nice. He was looking forward to yet another tedious day before another random night. Of all of this, Albedo was getting bored. His actions taken were starting to reflect that, and it couldn't be helped. At the least, some should be glad he was amusing himself in other ways--rather than using his nice, new toys on a certain blond-haired fop. It was only a thought, after all.

The return to grey uniforms, the role-play the soldiers were putting on--none of it rang as interesting. He didn't pay attention enough to make a choice on location, and really, did it matter--either way, was just another conversation, another set of ideals and options, another mind to press against his or be beat down in succession. These were the thoughts that existed, vaguely, abstractly, shifting around in Albedo's mind before he walked through the sun room doors. And instantly, the boy's mind changed.

Of course, he had registered his sibling as nearby. But nothing more, and perhaps it was on Albedo then for not taking more note. No, instead his mind split, allowing notice of a random point before focusing on another. Ah, there was his brother. With Ritsuka. And for that brief moment, it could not be told if Albedo was wary beyond all else or took some comfort in the two he cared about being near to each other.

Then, as the saying went, the other shoe dropped.

There was a beat of two seconds where the boy stood wide-eyed. That existed until Albedo realized he had already starting moving, literally running to the pair's sides, to drop in a kneel next to the wheelchair Nigredo was in. His waveform prodded at Nigredo's, seeking, trying to find the extent of the damage. His hands gripped one of the armrests, clenching it fiercely. "Nigredo!"

His body shook without realizing, denying himself the realization of the fear he was feeling. Because he would not allow it (no, he would never say it)--because he would not allow it--

He would not let Nigredo come close to dying.

Nigredo's methods for evoking calm were a tad unorthodox and usually involved closing his eyes long enough to feign rest. Sleep was a comfort, a love currently neglected due to recent events. If he pretended long enough, he could force himself into a neutral state. To something close to calm even as the boy could feel loss and offense nearby. Sunlight helped speed up the process, of course, but poor luck wouldn't have it. He had to make do.

Years of practice paid off, however. Eventually, all anger evaporated, leaving behind nothing in particular. In time, too, as a figure approached his chair, looking quite concerned despite the two having just met. Nigredo lifted his eyes to the other boy and smiled in cordial greeting. "Oh, hello, Ritsuka," he offered.

At the question, he hesitated, smile dropping. There was no doubt Albedo had let the little incident with Sync known to the boy. If Nigredo became careless and referenced the basement misadventure in any way, shape, or form, it would most certainly go back to his brother. This would not be allowed, especially given last night's agreement. He would likely return underground tonight with the merry group of traitors, and if Albedo knew...

"Monsters," Nigredo finally answered. His tone remained even. "I got a little careless; that's all. I'm fine, though. They put me in this because--" It hurt to walk. Only, this was never explained.

A sibling's waveform rose up within the link, and with it came the brother himself, looking more panicked than was the usual. Green eyes settled on the newcomer, with Nigredo appearing somewhat off-center. "Albedo?" For a moment, he couldn't place the albino's fear; he was, after all, very much alive and not in any danger of death. In fact, had taken great pains to survive the night. It was not until the youngest remembered the wheelchair that he understood the reasoning. This probably didn't look good to anyone, even as Albedo gathered the basic facts of the injuries.

He glanced between the pair, trying to place reassurance with both. "I'm okay. It's nothing to worry about." Please believe him.

Ah, a familiar voice. Byrne glanced over at the owner of that voice, half unsure of whether his headache would would allow him to tolerate too much conversation or not.

...And suddenly, the headache seemed so trivial compared to what he was looking at.

True, he couldn't see all of the bandages, but it was clear enough just by looking at her that Renamon was in a hell of a lot more pain than he was. Byrne sat up quickly, face full of concern and surprise, and mumbled under his breath, "Holy sh..." His subconscious parental censors prevented him from completing the sentence out loud. A habit that could only be obtained from being a parent. Why should he even bother now? Today was not a day for censorship, damnit. "Renamon? What happened to you? Are you alright?"

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Day 57: Sun Room

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