damned_institute | Day 57: Cafeteria

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Day 57: Cafeteria

Edgar's charming company had raised Anise's spirits enough that not even the Head Doctor's voice could bring them back down. Besides, she was feeling pretty sure that Landel wasn't actually around. To begin with, it wouldn't make sense, and secondly, his announcements sounded suspiciously like ones she'd already heard before. While Anise wasn't very familiar with Earth technology, she'd seen the little devices in the Music Room that could play recordings of people's voices. This had to be something like that.

It wasn't long before Anise was escorted to the Cafeteria, and then to the section where edible food was being served. As she filled her plate with waffles, fruit, and sausages, she looked to the other side of the counter with a look of sympathy. It was hard to enjoy her own meals while knowing what the other patients had to suffer through.

She wasn't about to refuse her meals just out of guilt, though. Anise needed her strength for tonight. There was still a bit of a nervous twist in her stomach whenever she thought about what could happen down in the basement... but she wasn't going to back down. Not after promising her friends they'd go together.

With her tray in hand, Anise seated herself at an empty table in the middle of the room. She preferred to have company while eating, but it looked like she was one of the first patients there, so there was no one to sit with. Maybe if she minded her manners and tried to look her cutest, she'd attract someone handsome! Holding her utensils delicately, she began to cut her waffles into smaller pieces.

[For Battler.]

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With his mouth full of pink paste, Guybrush glanced at the woman, gave her a reflexive nod, then returned to trying to shovel gruel into his mouth and down his throat as quickly as possible; after another few seconds, it suddenly hit him who he'd just acknowledged. Even wearing the same smiling shirt everyone else was, it was hard to forget the face of a woman who'd dropped a hammer on his head.

Guybrush swallowed the gunk in his mouth (and nearly the spoon along with it), scooting back in his seat. "It's you!" he exclaimed loudly, earning him a sharp look from the nurse(?). He stiffened, trying not to look intimidated, scared, or anything between.

Not that he expected her to attack him right there in the cafeteria or anything, but it didn't hurt to be on his guard to run at the first sign of having his face bashed with a woodworking implement. Come to think of it, aside from Scott, he hadn't met one of the formerly-brainwashed patients. And even then, all Scott had to say was how sorry he was and how badly he felt about it. Chances were the woman felt the same, and acting nervous wasn't going to make her feel any better. So much for all that making-nice he'd been trying to do.

"Uh, hi. You want to sit down?" It was a start.

The man did not recognize her immediately, and Tear wondered briefly if she would have to clarify the reasons for her presence this morning. Thankfully (or not), recognition caught up to him soon after, sparing her from an awkward explanation of how she had dropped a hammer of unique properties on his head and injured his companion. All because she couldn't bother to look out the window and confirm the lack of miasma. Ugh. Right. She wasn't going to think about that.

Her lips thinned at the response and the subsequent stares, but she managed to keep on her feet. There was a chance he wouldn't accept her apology as well as her offer to undo last night's "effects", but she was obligated to do her part. "I'm not going to hurt you," she assured, emphasizing the not in an effort to show she meant no harm. "I give you my word."

When the man calmed down and even offered her the seat, however, she blinked in surprise. In all honesty, Tear had expected some coaxing before she could get to business. He was willing to hear her out without (justified) resistance. So far, an excellent sign. "If you don't mind. Thank you." She took the seat offered, letting the tray down gently. "I know I'm probably the last person you want to talk to, but I wanted to apologize for last night."

"Nah, the last person I want to talk to has already been here, scarred me for life in the showers with his display of shamelessness, and been 'released' from the institute," Guybrush returned without a beat. That was one of the notable bonuses of having a dedicated villain: he always knew who was the last person he'd go to for a conversation.

Guybrush wasn't sure which of the two was making him feel like he needed to vomit: the pink crud that refused to settle in his stomach, or the mental image of LeChuck and his first mate standing before him, the water running through his thick beard and into the region-that-should-not-be-pictured-when-thinking-about-one's-nemesis. His imagination made the scenario worse in an instant, combining the two horrors into one featuring LeChuck bathing in the gruel.

"But the apology is appreciated," Guybrush added quickly, trying to force the nightmarish image from his mind's eye. "Let me guess: brainwashing?"

Scarred him for life in the showers? That was hardly the mental image Tear needed during a mealtime apology. "I, er, see," she said, brain scrambling to figure out how to tiptoe around the subject. Straightforward was generally a good thing, but something so...personal as that was better avoided altogether.

Fortunately, the man shifted gears, revealing his knowledge of brainwashing. For that, Tear was glad. She would not have to explain the process and the reasons. "Correct," the soldier replied, solemn gratitude in her eyes. "I was told there would be miasma--poisonous gas--outside the institute. To protect the patients, they ordered me to guard the front entrance."

A sigh. "Needless to say, there wasn't a single trace of miasma on the grounds."

"We figured that out as soon as we got outside. There was the usual creepy fog to complement the sinister atmosphere that usually surrounds this place, but no poisonous gas." Guybrush waved his hook in a circle, as though the vague action would perfectly illustrate what he meant by 'sinister atmosphere.'

It was weird hearing the motivations behind the attacks- well, of those attacking. Scott had said something about a girl and how he thought Guybrush was an ex-lover, she had a problem with gas (which he still imagined was Pox-like in nature, but probably with more death and less cravings for coleslaw). As for the institute, there was no telling exactly what they had in mind by keeping the patients inside in such a way, especially since they could apparently magic everyone to sleep every night, pull people to the institute through time and space, etc. There were easier ways to go about it, so the brainwashing was probably done for a reason.

"At least you were hurting us only to protect us, even if you were tricked into believing the thing you were protecting us from existed, and you dropped a hammer on my head to keep me inside- that is not the best way to get someone to cooperate, by the way."

She figured she wouldn't need additional confirmation for her unfortunate idiocy, but the affirmation did not hurt. Tear exhaled, attempting to appear contemplative as opposed to exasperated. There existed no purpose in rehashing her annoyance. "I thought so," she answered as she watched the man wave with his hooked hand. "I'm glad miasma wasn't the actual case, at least."

That comment placed a good deal in perspective. Better to have been fooled by false information than have to deal with the actual thing.

Yet, as the man continued, a part of Tear could not help but be further ashamed. "Unfortunately, I can be extremely obstinate in matters regarding life and death." An explanation, not an excuse. "I apologize again. I am more than willing to mend both of your injuries. Part of my abilities include the capacity to heal others." Which was probably hard to believe given the artes she had demonstrated last night.

[Sorry about the delay! D:]

"Heal others?" Guybrush questioned. If she was about to offer what he thought she was about to offer, it sounded too good to be true. His aching ribcage and mild concussion said otherwise. With her aforementioned obstinance in matters of life and death, the first image that came to his mind was her standing over the corpse of someone she'd hammered to death with her staff in one hand and a can of Ash-2-Life in the other; however, if she could conjure hammers from thin air, who was he to question whether or not she could really do exactly what she said?

"So how does this work, exactly?" he asked, genuinely wanting to satisfy his curiosity. "Is this healing stuff via voodoo, or is it some other technique that would take too long to explain and I should therefore trust you on the basis that you seem really, really sorry?"

[No worries! ♥]

Voodoo? Tear couldn't be certain as to what that meant, but the curiosity in his voice indicated that he was suspicious of her artes and their nature. She could hardly blame him. From her observations, Earthians had no similar system--at least one that could be taken logically like fonons and their uses. This conversation was beginning to remind her of the one with Rapunzel.

First thing, however, was first. "You don't have to trust me," she answered flatly. One might have expected her to be hurt or offended by the comment. Tear, however, could understand why the man would bring up that clause. Pride had nothing to do with it. "Frankly, I would be concerned if you had accepted my offer without a question. In any case, the aforementioned healing is possible due to a specific technique. More accurately, it's a science."

Here again was her explanation. One might have wondered if repeating the words would annoy her; in truth, she was grateful for the chance to review basics. "Auldrant," she began, "the world where I'm from, is composed of particles we call fonons. There are seven types of fonons, the last of which is known as the Seventh Fonon, or the fonon of sound. The Seventh Fonon is the primary component in healing artes." Tear folded her hands across her lap, eyes drifting to the pink food in front of her. "I can use the Seventh Fonon in my body and in the air to reduce injuries and relieve sickness. It's not so different from basic aid or medicine; it is simply faster and more convenient."

She sighed, returning her gaze to the man. "Or used to be more convenient. This place has limitations."

Guybrush listened to her explanation without comment, partly because it sounded complicated and partly because he didn't get to mention that he'd accepted far more dubious offers from shadier people than her during his various adventures. From the way she described it, the process was more technical than just finding ingredient A and ingredient B and using them X way to hopefully accomplish Y, granted one didn't replace ingredient B with ingredient C if he couldn't find exactly what was required, or because he lost ingredient B and had to improvise at the last minute with ingredients D through F. Her method probably had better results most of the time, though.

While most of what she was saying was lost on him, he did catch the part about limitations. "Let me guess: the fonon thingies don't work as well when you're not brainwashed and attacking your fellow patients. That's what happened to a, uh, nemesis of mine. He's usually reeking with voodoo energy, and when he showed up here, he was completely human."

Ow, he'd really dodged a bullet with LeChuck's disappearance, now that he thought about it. If LeChuck had ever been chosen for brainwashing, would have pretty much been it for the institute, especially if he was returned to his state when he'd taken all the voodoo from La Esponja Grande.

The man appeared to get the gist of her explanation, though Tear supposed most of it was likely complicated due to the logistics involved. Luke had a difficult time grasping the concept, and he was from Auldrant. A lack of complete understanding was, well, understandable. She nodded at his response.

"That seems to be the case. I'm not entirely sure what they do to control our abilities, but at least they haven't taken them away permanently," continued Tear with a sigh. "It's just baffling to me on why they would only remove limitations for brainwashed patients." To guard things that did not make sense nor exist.

The thought was enough to flare the annoyance once more, but thankfully, the man's clarification succeeded in distracting the soldier. "I have to ask," she started, "what is voodoo?"

"Voodoo is..." Guybrush trailed off as he thought about it. Just how did one define voodoo, anyway?

♦ A religious cult involving witchcraft and communication by trance with ancestors and animistic deities, common in Haiti and other Caribbean islands
♦ Powerful sorcery used in rituals for everything from communicating with the dead to enlarging underdeveloped sea sponges
♦ Something that could either hinder or aid you in arduous quests, based on your ability to follow exact directions

"Let's just say it's kind of like magic," he said. "I've had a lot of experience with it- using a talisman to find my way through a cavern, enchanting a sword to defeat my nemesis, making a doll of said nemesis to stop him from using his doll of me to torture me while teleporting me to either a dimension of unspeakable pain or down the hall- but I've never really had to explain it to someone. I couldn't even tell you how it works... just that it does. Sometimes."

The intercom hissed to life, announcing the start of the next shift. Guybrush gathered up his tray, standing. "Well, it's been an enlightening conversation Miss... huh. I never did get your name."

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Day 57: Cafeteria

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