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damned_institute2011-07-14 03:25 am
train-tracer.livejournal.com) wrote in damned_institute2011-07-14 03:25 am
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Night 57: M1-10 Hallway
When the familiar crackle came on from overhead, Claire had paused, then continued about his business, sorting through the few possessions he had in his box and setting them into seemingly random positions on his desk, looking as listlessly bored as he'd been just prior to the announcement. But he was quiet, quite aware of what this Aguilar man was saying. Ah, so he'd been right about his nurse after all -- it had been a play, hadn't it? He himself hadn't received any visit or letter from one of these supposed "loved ones" today, but all the same, it was a terrible trick to play, wasn't it?
Still, there was a sort of liking he took in this Eagle. The man was straightforward and he said things clearly. Simple truths, just like that. There were none of the stories that Martin Landel had come up with in his words, though those stories had been interesting in their own right. But Aguilar shared that same, self-righteously entitled attitude as Landel. Who was he to trespass on other people's worlds? Claire's world? That wasn't allowed. Claire couldn't allow that.
As the voice continued on, Claire finished sorting through all his belongings, then replaced all but a few back into the metal box, closing the lid with a snap. His dinner lay untouched, pushed to one side of his desk, but aside from that, the only loose items on the table top were the flashlight, the handheld radio, and the gun.
The gun. He picked it up, weighing it in one hand. The voice droned onward as he ejected the magazine, counted the bullets -- one, two only -- then slipped the magazine back into place. He raised his arm straight before him, the one with the lightning burn, and took aim down the barrel at an invisible target on the blank wall before him. As the message ended, his finger jerked slightly on the trigger, but came up against resistance. The safety was still on. No worries.
What was worrisome was the fact that it was almost as if someone at the top had just made a gift of this weapon, as if telling him, here, let me provide with a way to kill your enemy. Which felt an awful lot like someone was baiting him -- do this, you know you want to. And that wouldn't do at all. The problem with the entire Institute here wasn't that they were telling lies to all the inhabitants and keeping them locked in one place -- it was that the people who ran this place acted as if they could control these people, as if these lives were theirs to control in the first place. The gall of that assumption! Everything Claire was hearing now about that new Medical Wing was positively charged with it. It was... annoying. Yes, annoying was the right word to use here.
He really had been in that medical ward for too long, he decided. He needed to get out and do something.
The click of the unlocking door was his signal to leave. Claire twirled the gun expertly around his finger with practiced ease, smoothly slipping it into his pocket. Really, if they were going to be so generous as to give him a gun, they might as well have provided a holster with it. Not that it mattered too much, though. He grabbed the radio and flashlight, then headed for the door.
With a wave over his shoulder to his new roommate, Vino left the room.
[to here]
Still, there was a sort of liking he took in this Eagle. The man was straightforward and he said things clearly. Simple truths, just like that. There were none of the stories that Martin Landel had come up with in his words, though those stories had been interesting in their own right. But Aguilar shared that same, self-righteously entitled attitude as Landel. Who was he to trespass on other people's worlds? Claire's world? That wasn't allowed. Claire couldn't allow that.
As the voice continued on, Claire finished sorting through all his belongings, then replaced all but a few back into the metal box, closing the lid with a snap. His dinner lay untouched, pushed to one side of his desk, but aside from that, the only loose items on the table top were the flashlight, the handheld radio, and the gun.
The gun. He picked it up, weighing it in one hand. The voice droned onward as he ejected the magazine, counted the bullets -- one, two only -- then slipped the magazine back into place. He raised his arm straight before him, the one with the lightning burn, and took aim down the barrel at an invisible target on the blank wall before him. As the message ended, his finger jerked slightly on the trigger, but came up against resistance. The safety was still on. No worries.
What was worrisome was the fact that it was almost as if someone at the top had just made a gift of this weapon, as if telling him, here, let me provide with a way to kill your enemy. Which felt an awful lot like someone was baiting him -- do this, you know you want to. And that wouldn't do at all. The problem with the entire Institute here wasn't that they were telling lies to all the inhabitants and keeping them locked in one place -- it was that the people who ran this place acted as if they could control these people, as if these lives were theirs to control in the first place. The gall of that assumption! Everything Claire was hearing now about that new Medical Wing was positively charged with it. It was... annoying. Yes, annoying was the right word to use here.
He really had been in that medical ward for too long, he decided. He needed to get out and do something.
The click of the unlocking door was his signal to leave. Claire twirled the gun expertly around his finger with practiced ease, smoothly slipping it into his pocket. Really, if they were going to be so generous as to give him a gun, they might as well have provided a holster with it. Not that it mattered too much, though. He grabbed the radio and flashlight, then headed for the door.
With a wave over his shoulder to his new roommate, Vino left the room.
[to here]
M1
Then, with new pants on, the real work began. Jumping up to grab a hold of the bar in his closet, Goku pressed his legs against the back wall and pulled. With a yowl, Goku was pulled to the ground when the pole was released from its support.
"Ow..." he groused, rubbing his thick skull where he had been properly thumped. From the closet he dragged the pole out and freed it from the few clothes still hanging on for dear life. It was a shame the pole couldn't be made any small or bigger at will, but there wasn't much to be done. A obstinate staff was better than no staff at all. Sure, he could just use his fist, but Goku had fun flipping his nyoibo back and forth through his hands. It made fighting more fun!
Giving his roommate the peace sign, the kid waddled out of his room and into the hallway in search of the kitchen.
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He was probably overthinking things. He sort of wished he'd put Neku in his group, but he trusted his roommate to lead one himself. He could also hear from him about how capable Meekins was as a club member tomorrow, which would be helpful. The man certainly seemed eager to please, but it was always strange to recruit someone into his club without at least talking to them face-to-face first.
Still, he was sure things would go as smoothly as they could here. Or that's what he'd been hoping until the intercom came on and he realized that it was Aguilar himself that was talking to them. Sora paused while in the middle of changing into his complicated outfit to pay some attention.
It was good to have some clarification on the pins, but Sora didn't see why they should be striving to earn them. Even if they did get on the good side of the military, did that mean that they would get sent home? He doubted it. It was more likely that it would get them put in even more danger, right?
He wished Riku was around, since he would have been able to make better sense of it all. Testing drugs sounded like a pretty bad idea, though, and he hoped that none of the club members got tempted to try it. Even if it might lead to information, it probably wasn't worth the risk.
There wasn't much that Sora could do about it, though, and either way he had to hurry since he had a meeting scheduled with Minato's friend. All he'd be doing was handing over that weird gun that his roommate left behind, but it still meant that Kairi might actually beat him to the meeting point this time. The boy quickly finished changing and then got his items together, needing to use one of his pillowcases to carry everything. The gun was carefully put in first, followed by his radio and then the two gifts he had for Kairi: one of the coconuts and the small felt case that held her necklace. Once that was all done, he slung the pillowcase over his shoulder and turned to Neku with a smile.
"Thanks again for always being willing to help. Be careful, okay? I'll see you tomorrow!" He waved to the boy and then set off, knowing there was no time to waste.
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The announcement sounded and Neku pulled on his phones, having already thrown his beret across the room in distaste, and gathered his pins and flashlight before heading to the door.
[to here (http://damned.livejournal.com/1131146.html?thread=78872458#t78872458)]
M8
This discovery had been enough to make him cautious the next day, watching what everyone else did and observing the guards and how things were run. All it had really done for him was show him things were just as wrong during the day as they were at night, just, in a different way.
As for tonight, he still didn't know where exactly he was going, but, for now, he was going to do his best to find something new; even if that meant he got himself lost again. Only thing to do was to make his way out of this hallway and up to the main one.
[To here]
Re: M8
Once in the corridor, Edgar turned, waiting for Locke to show him which room was his. "Convenient that you're only a hallway away. Not that I'll ever complain about that. I'm in M16, should you need to come looking for me."
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Locke went in, not bothering to close the door behind him as he went to fish out the flashlight from under his pillow. "Still a stupid place to put this."
As he rejoined Edgar in the hall, he shot the other man a concerned look. "All right, where to?"
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[To here.]
M10
Oddly enough, many people here had asked him not to call them by that term of respect, showing his subordination. At the Academy and at the precinct, he'd been reprimanded many times for forgetting to call his peers and superiors "Sir." But it seemed to be different here! It was disorienting... but kind of nice for a change.
At any rate, he needed to get ready for the big mission tonight! And this time, he had to remember to bring his journal with the map he copied, and the radio, too. Oh, and the flashlight. He couldn't forget that, of all things! Meekins took a moment to catalogue everything he should bring along in his journal, so that it would help him remember for future nights.
Now he was ready. He turned to look at his roommate to wish him a good evening, but it looked like Mr. Williams was still asleep. Uh oh... did this mean that his friend was sick? The young man had been asleep all day, which worried Meekins somewhat. Hopefully, Mr. Williams would be feeling better by tomorrow. After all, Meekins did want to share some of the good-tasting food that the Police Chief had allowed him to gather from last night.
As quietly as possible, Meekins entered the hallway and shut the door behind him.
Re: M10
Leaving M1
Jesus Christ. Dean had to wonder if anyone bought that song and dance. Somewhere out there had to. He figured a normal civilian here would probably be crapping their pants, especially if this was their first night in this joint. On one hand, he'd rather have it straight up, but on the other, he didn't feel he should be grateful just 'cause someone was telling him how it was gonna be in this joint. As if changed the fact they were all still prisoners here.
Thanks, but no thanks.
Dean threw on his jacket and shouldered his duffel before stepping out into the hall. Claire was probably out there waiting for him and while he was all for candy -- sucks she hadn't meant it that way -- he was also tossing around the idea of checking the Medwing. The fact of the matter was Sam and him needed supplies, bad, despite whatever was going on in the air between them these days. Dean was used to living out of his car or his duffel bag but this? This was trying to do more with a lot less than even he was used to. Somehow Dad hadn't thought to train them for the possibility of getting shanghaied to a crazy house with monsters running up and down the halls.
Or okay, maybe he had, sorta, but nothing like this.
Making a final check of his stuff, Dean tested the flashlight's battery and headed out of M2.
Re: Leaving M1
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The fourth shift came and went without a repeat of last week's events, leaving the assassin struggling to comprehend the equal amounts of disappointment and relief flooding his system. He'd spent the free-time given to him in the greenhouse, more attentive to the insects there than the plants, and generally kept to himself. Once he'd relocated to his room, exhaustion and hunger finally forced his body to succumb to their will: he'd collapsed onto his bed the instant he was near it and ate that bland-tasting gruel without a word. Despite the relative amount of nothing happening, the conflicting emotions coupled with the psychical illness as a result of the military's treatment, he almost didn't hear the General's rambling.
His accent was thick. Spanish, though even that similarity did not make him sound like Master Zato. His Master was not a harsh or emotional man, and was never one for long-winded speeches about perceived righteousness and what made him better than an old leader. He would always speak calmly and confidently, not like someone always barking out orders to unruly schoolchildren. He never had to raise his voice. He was charismatic and, as a result, never had to fight tooth and nail for respect. Not like The Eagle evidently did with the patient populace. Not like Venom did with the world's populace.
Biased or colored with affection as those thoughts might have been, they only continued to wander instead of clinging to any of the words being spoken through the intercom. His fingers found his pillow and they dragged it to his chest, his other hand placing the now-empty bowl onto the drawer at his side before wrapping itself around the pillow as well. It was a bad time to be this incredibly homesick, wasn't it? How were the other members of the Guild fairing without him? Did they think he abandoned them? He hadn't been the leader for as long as Master Zato, but surely they'd known him long enough to know he would never abandon his lord's cause. Maybe they were continuing the work without him, leaving him without any reason to worry. After all, while most of them were as dead-eyed and empty as he was, there were the few that genuinely seemed to enjoy their job and the destruction they caused. It wouldn't be entirely wrong to label those few as sociopaths and, honestly, they horrified him. But they did what he told them and their energy was enough to motivate the more unwilling of the group. He could only hope that group never decided to rise in his absence. The last thing he needed was another attempt by some idiot to overthrow the leader of the Assassins' Guild.
He didn't remember closing his eyes during all that pondering, but opening them once again proved an empty, dark room and absolutely no sound coming from the hallway. ...He'd fallen asleep somehow, hadn't he? Damn it.
Regardless of the ache still reverberating through his legs, Venom pulled himself back out of his mattress, collected his belongings from the box at the foot of the bed (so they saw fit to return them today. How nice of them), redressed, and was out the door. Hopefully he hadn't been out for long.
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After saying goodbye to his roommate, Edgeworth had exited out of his room and shut the door awkwardly behind him. He'd made it a priority to bring along the bat he had acquired the night before, but holding his flashlight in one hand while holding the bat made it difficult to do much else. After knocking the handle of the bat against the doorway a few times he managed to hear the door click behind him, and he made his way out almost immediately. There wasn't much time to waste, and the prosecutor had a feeling he might have to fight a crowd on the way to the medical wing - it was best to be as quick as possible and pray that it wasn't a trap.
[to here (http://damned.livejournal.com/1132031.html?thread=79019007#t79019007)]