Day 58: Cafeteria

[gald_digger]

Anise woke up feeling lucky to be alive. She still felt a bit waterlogged, even though her skin, hair, and clothes were completely dry. During last night's adventures, she'd swallowed a lot of water, and it still felt heavy and disgusting in her stomach. Her arms and legs were tired from treading water. Lying still in her bed, she still kind of felt like she was floating and bobbing in the water.

But she was alive.

Knowing how close she came to death last night, and remembering the lengths her friends had gone to in order to save her, there was no way Anise could let a little discomfort get her down. She had to be at her best today so she wouldn't seem ungrateful to Guy and Claude. On that note, she had to remember to thank them properly, now that she was better able to express herself.

While getting ready, Anise was surprised to actually run into Claude that morning. He came to her room asking for the notebook he stored there (or maybe it was an excuse to see her cute face again), so Anise happily located it and handed it over. She was pretty tired, but the big smile she gave him was genuine. Who wouldn't be happy to see her savior so soon after a dramatic rescue?

After he left, Anise finished re-tying her pigtails into a low position so the military beret would fit on her head, and then she was ready! Even though her stomach wasn't feeling that great, she figured sitting down to a decent meal would help normalize it. And luckily for her, she was among the few who had the privilege of eating such a meal. Anise filled a plate with french toast topped with syrup and fruit, accompanied by small portions of each of the available side dishes.

It looked like she was early, which meant there weren't a lot of people around. That was okay, though. Anise could get a good head start on her meal before any company came around. She sat down at a table by herself and started on her sausage first.

[for Tolten!]

Comments

[age-of-kings.livejournal.com]

The night had been spent in the cell room.

Tolten wasn't foolish. He was unarmed and lacking in knowledge, and without a single loyal ally. It would have been death to venture out at night on his own, regardless of what he himself had or hadn't seen. And besides, there had been too much to think about!

Now that he had - more or less - accepted that this place was a prison from which escape would be no easy thing, it was time to apply some hard thinking to it. Which was of course daunting, as Tolten wasn't exactly the sharpest of swords in the armory. He knew he was by no means dumb - he wasn't Jansen, for the ancestor's sake! - but he also knew he was by no means a genius.

There were his fellow prisoners. There was the letter. There were what he could only assume were psychological military tactics to keep them in line.

By the time he had fallen asleep - never having left his narrow bed - Tolten had discovered no brilliant new angles and no sudden revelations. He woke to the intercom and mentally cursed. Ah well, at least there was proper clothing today! The military uniform, though decked in alien insignia, was comfortable and proper and gave Tolten a sense of calming. Uniforms for soldiers made sense. Uniforms made sense. Nothing else did, but the young kind was going to hold onto what he had.

Properly dressed and outfitted, Tolten was once more escorted to breakfast. At least today he had a Plan. Find the woman, Miss Tatlin, and speak with Officer Meekins again. Whichever opportunity presented itself first....

And, if the institute wasn't overrun with young women in dark ribboned tails, she should be easy to find. She had described herself as 'very cute', but Tolten really couldn't tell either way when it came to women. Unless of course they were women like Her Majesty or something. At least he was wearing clothes.

And if he was lucky, had spotted the lady in question. Who honestly, if his eyes could be believed, didn't appear to be terribly much younger than him. Somewhere between his age and Cooke's - splendid! Nervous, in case he was wrong, the young king approached the girl and cleared his throat politely.

"Please forgive my intrusion," he began with a small bow, "but are you perchance Miss Tatlin?"

[gald_digger]

Anise paused with her fork in the air when she was approached by a tall, blond man. When he asked his question, she quickly put two and two together and realized it had to be Tolten, the man she talked to on the bulletin yesterday. There weren't a lot of people who called her by her family name, and besides, he fit the physical features that he'd listed for her. He neglected to mention handsome as one, but Anise guessed she could forgive that.

"That's right, I'm Anise!" she cheerfully replied, smiling brightly. "I bet you're Tolten, right? Go ahead and have a seat!"

She took another bite of her sausage then. Anise was eating pretty slowly today, but she really wanted to be careful about possibly upsetting her stomach. If she took it slow, she was sure she could get all her energy back, no problem.

"You said you're interested in magic, right?" she asked after a few moments. "If you've got any questions for me, I'd be happy to answer!" Not that Anise was really an expert fonist, nor was she a very typical fonist either... but whatever! She still knew a lot of stuff.

[herr-inspektor.livejournal.com]

They were definitely gone.

Lunge frowned and searched his suit pockets again, just in case, but there was nothing there. It was possible that he'd misremembered- not something he'd ever had to grapple with before, but with the after-effects of what they'd done to him still lingering he couldn't afford to make assumptions anymore- but surely the stress of the situation hadn't been great enough to knock out his memory, had it? There had been a degree of danger, yes, but at no stage had he and L ever been in any obvious danger.

Which meant that the pills had vanished. Of course they would. Why would Aguilar leave his potentially-dangerous prototypes around for patients to take and use at will, either against each other or against the staff if they found the opportunity? Under Landel he might have had the chance to keep some to test, but no, the General was far too controlled, far too sensible to allow that to happen.

A relatively pointless night in all, then. If he wanted to know the effects they'd had he would have to conduct interviews with those who had actually taken them- no easy task, given that said effects were likely to have been traumatic enough to make retelling them to a stranger all the more difficult.

Lunge, back in military gear, entered the cafeteria with his mind focused on the day ahead. Finding out about last night was important, but it would be a mistake to put too much focus on it instead; the overall meaning of it was more important than the details. Even without talking to anyone he could work out that the purpose was to test courage as well as to test product; soldiers were no good if they weren't willing to take measured (and sanctioned) risks every now and then. What the pills did would maybe flesh that theory out, but it was unlikely that it would be a game-changer.

So. The rest of his time would be allocated to finding someone to re-sketch Jill's portrait and to continue hunting down the all-too elusive bulletin board witness. Experience told him the latter would be, yet again, a washout- determination refused to let him quit while he was ahead.

[melodists.livejournal.com]

A brother who knew not of himself and yet remained as remembered was a terrible prospect, and Tear hoped the world would excuse her for staying in last night. It might have been more sensible of her to inform her teammates of Van's visitation as soon as she found the chance, but something within her could not find the heart to be so upfront. Not yet, at any rate. "Michael" had done enough. His sister was at a complete loss on what could be done with the brainwashed man.

Eventually, she would have to tell at least Guy about Van. For now, she would keep the incident close to heart and under wraps.

Two positive aspects did come out of her night in her room, thankfully. For one, the Melodist managed to narrow down the number of usable artes at her disposal. Granted, the list happened to contain a single fonic hymn, but that hymn happened to be Holy Song. A healing arte was a boon in a place where injuries were commonplace, and though its potency had been greatly lessened, it was a wonderful backup to have. Only as a backup, however. She wasn't so careless to disregard how much energy it had taken to sing the hymn.

For another, Anise had left a gift on her door handle, one she would not have thought to check if not for her roommate's departure. Thank goodness she had; everything in the bundle would have been lost upon morning if Tear had not noticed. Furthermore, she would never have felt as grateful for the younger girl (if that was possible) as she had now. Anise's thoughtfulness and effort had touched the soldier, especially when both elements had been entirely optional. She did not have to, and that very fact showed how much she cared about her friends. Anise was a really good girl, despite some of her antics. Tear would have to thank her profusely after breakfast.

At the moment, however, Tear had to attend to breakfast. Her escort stayed as tight-lipped as ever, but that ironically made the morning routine much smoother. She managed to obtain her tray of food without much fuss, and after a brief glance around the premise, she settled on a seat across from an older man. "May I?" she asked, gesturing to the chair.

[freewill]

Michael felt like he was waking from a long, long sleep.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, his body feeling stiff in the bed. For a split second, he was overwhelmed with the panic of realizing that he was not where he should be -- that is, in his rundown apartment -- but then all the memories, fake and hazy as they were, started to fade back in.

Like what he'd hallucinated the night before: exploring the hallways with a woman called Donna who he'd been, frankly, rude to, and then ending up in some archaic coliseum. He remembered the pain then, but only vaguely, as pain never really stuck with someone properly once it was gone. His hands scoped down the length of his body, but it was clear that he was perfectly fine.

Because none of that... none of that had happened.

Michael sat up in his bed and sucked in a breath, glancing around at the neat room he was in and nodding to himself. Landel's Institute. He had watched Matthew Derringer fall apart to the point that he'd had to be placed here, and now he'd followed suit. But everything felt so much clearer today, something that came as a definite relief: like the weight of the world had been taken off of his shoulders. And maybe it had, in a way, since for the past week or so he'd been thinking that the Apocalypse was on its way.

He rubbed at his eyes, disoriented by how little he could call real of what he remembered from the last week. He knew that the only way to sort through it all was by facing the day head on, even if it meant dealing with other people who were still caught in their delusions.

The one thing he couldn't understand was why the military had any place in a mental institute, but the dog tags around his neck and the uniform he was wearing made it clear that that, at least, was real. He hoped, anyway. If he had to question every single thing he came across, he might just break down further.

He forced his detective's mind to not think too hard on it, instead standing from his bed to put on his boots and beret. He had to behave, to show that he really was getting better. He knew he wasn't ready to be released, not when he'd been coming up with such an elaborate hallucination just the night before, but... maybe he was on his way to being well again.

A soldier came into the room soon after that, and Michael couldn't help glancing over to his roommate, who was still sleeping. Stefan, he'd called himself. For someone so young to be so sick was a true tragedy, and he quietly prayed that the teen would recover soon.

"Come along, Collins."

Michael nodded and followed the soldier down the halls, ones that he remembered from both the day and the imagined night. It was a bizarre experience, but he tried to focus on the things he'd done during the day, the things that had actually happened.

Unfortunately, the meals were just as unappetizing as he recalled, and he sat down with a bowl of the gruel and sent a weary glance around the cafeteria. So many people and all of them so sick in the head. The detective would have claimed that he felt more out of place than ever, but Castiel had felt the same way, hadn't he? Just not for the same reason. Sighing to himself, he started to eat.

[For Sam and Dean.]

[boyking]

Guess they were back in military gear.

He still felt like crap when he rolled out of bed this morning, but the sensation of his skull splitting in half had at least subsided. In a way, that wasn't really good news because it meant that instead of having the pain as a distraction, he was back to thinking about how they were no further away from being totally screwed.

So, you know. Life as usual.

The last time Sam had spoken to Castiel, he hadn't managed to get enough out of him. Those answers? They'd just raised more questions. He needed more information. And what about Ruby? Did he want to hedge his way into asking an angel questions about a demon? Why the hell didn't any of this come with an instruction manual. He remembered back when they used to be able to flip through Dad's journal and they'd usually find the answers there, or at least a lead or something.

He hadn't opened Dad's journal in a really long time. He'd thrown it under Dean's stuff in the trunk and then piled everything on top. It'd been kind of hard to think about Dad without thinking about Dean.

Anyways. Castiel first, and then Dean and Ruby. He needed to see how they were both doing. Ruby especially. Not that he wasn't worried about Dean, but Dean at least was...Dean wasn't new. He knew his brother well enough to handle it. Ruby was another set of problems altogether.

Jesus, why did he feel like he was the only one holding anything together?

Sam took his tray of blindingly pink food and found the angel across the room. There was something...different about him (the way he held himself?), but Sam brushed it off after a moment. He still wasn't sure how he felt about Castiel, but he had to admit that the angel was pretty open about his information. He didn't spill everything, but he answered frankly enough. For someone used to dealing with demons, that was actually a welcome difference.

"Castiel, hi. May I—?" He gestured at the seat. Okay, so greeting angels was still a work in progress. Look, it was hard when Castiel wasn't a straight up dick like the Trickster. Gabriel. Gabriel, he knew exactly how to greet.

(And yeah, Sam had stopped trying to figure out the Gabriel-Trickster-angel relationship. He just. He wasn't thinking about it. Sometimes, you just had to accept certain things: Dean watched porn on Sam's laptop, Sam would never be normal, and the Trickster—the guy for whom a good time was killing people in inventive ways—was an archangel of the Lord.)

[lighthearted]

The morning came as suddenly as all the other times, but Sora's main response to it was to groan and roll over in his bed. He'd gotten further with Kratos and Kairi than he had during some of his other nights recently, but he still wished that they'd seen more, that they'd at least found a few answers for his friend.

On the other hand, none of them had been tempted to take those drugs, so that was the bright side of the whole thing. And now they knew exactly where the medical wing was and they had a lay of the land, so it would be much easier to go back there in the future. And he would take Kairi there as many times as she wanted to in order to figure out what had gone on during those days that she'd been gone.

As Sora sat up from the bed, he realized that he still had both of the girl's presents in his possession. (Well, not right now, since their things were taken during the day, but they'd be back tonight, right?) If they teamed up again tonight, Sora would just have to head over to Kairi's room and drop them off with her before they headed out anywhere.

Other than that, he couldn't help noticing that they were back in the military uniforms. Now that there were no outsiders for the military to pose for, it made sense, but that didn't mean that Sora had to like it. He let out a sigh as he pulled his beret on, hoping that it would stay on better this time around.

As usual, Sora went and left a message for his club members on the bulletin board, finding that the staff was still as polite to him as they'd been before. And, of course, he had access to all of the good food, so it wasn't long before he had a plate of french toast that was drowned in syrup on his tray.

He didn't see any familiar faces among the patients so far, and so he decided to go take a seat on his own. Hopefully whoever had decided to try those drugs last night hadn't suffered too badly...

[For Riku.]

[inherited]

While Sora felt that he had gotten farther than he had in some time, Riku realized he felt the same way. The cold rush of morning—the chill, of course, due to the difference in setting between the MRI room's fighting and his sterile room—was not one that he met with disappointment. He was sore from the fight, but he didn't feel tired. It was quite the opposite. Accomplishment was something he could boast about. Not only had he visited the medical wing and taken that drug, but he had something else to show for it.

There were other things to mention that didn't reflect that feeling, but Riku knew that things could only go so far in the institute. He was satisfied as he dragged himself out of bed. That was enough for him. All his time in the institute had led to a lot of feeling of dissatisfaction, so he found it didn't change much to change his tune—or, as much as Riku's tune could change.

That feeling didn't vanish as he pulled on the rest of his uniform, and it definitely didn't as he was guided down toward the cafeteria. Riku's nose wrinkled at the slop handed back to him, but it wasn't that important. He knew his friend was here—possibly both of them, actually—and he had things to share. Being active did some good for him. He recognized it, too.

So when he located Sora, Riku didn't hesitate to join him. There was a pause in his step as he approached him to size him up, and also to be sure he wasn't meeting anyone else. They hadn't planned this, anyway; odds were, knowing Sora, he was waiting for someone else.

But then, who cared if there was someone else? They could make time for his return. It was an oddly arrogant thought for the boy whose thoughts commonly lingered in Darkness, but he allowed it to carry him into sitting across from his friend. Time would only tell if this mood stuck. Spending time with Sora would hopefully not be a test of it—his friend's continued presence was a good thing. Riku needed him there, even if he didn't want him to have to deal with the crap that the place put him up against. But he knew he could handle it.

For now, he offered his typical smirk to his friend as he looked out through his light colored bangs. "Look who's back?" Not his typical greeting, he knew, but he imagined Sora had seen enough of his confidence in the past to recognize something good had happened.

[human-sponge.livejournal.com]

It seemed that whenever Peter actually got up to help the patients who'd been experimented on, the end of the night was actually something of a relief. It meant that all of them would be safe, rather than having to worry about being attacked in the dark while they were already vulnerable. Granted, he didn't know how much help he'd been when the kid they'd found had already healed from all his wounds, but...

He had to admit it was starting to worry him, how he'd come across two other patients recently who seemed to have that power. Claire could have just as easily been in that position, could have been the one stumbling out of that room covered in blood and yet without a scar to show for it. Torturing a regen was something that could turn even Peter's stomach, and the idea of it happening to his niece made him that much more determined to care for her.

Not that he had seen her in over twenty-four hours now, which was enough to bother him on its own. He knew that she was probably fine -- it wasn't like she couldn't take care of herself -- but going longer than a day without a word exchanged made him worry here.

But he had other things to focus on in the immediate moment, such as pulling on his beret (with that worrying pin attached) and going to meet his soldier escort. The guy wasn't as rude as he could have been, which Peter appreciated, and yet the return to uniforms and guns wasn't as welcomed.

The main thing he had to concern himself with today was meeting up with people about a possible paramedic group. Or healer group; whatever word appealed most to the rest of the patients was what he'd use. He'd finally grabbed some interest the day before, so he could only hope that those people would follow through now. He had a list of names in his journal to make sure he kept track.

That would have to come later in the day, probably. For now, Peter just got himself a plate of food -- the french toast looked delicious after a long night -- and went to grab an empty seat before they all filled.

[For Claire Bennet!]

[autophoenix.livejournal.com]

With everything hugged out between her and the younger Peter, Claire had to admit she was feeling … well, a little better. When she woke up that morning, she didn't even feel that bothered by going through the motion of getting her stupid military uniform together. When she moved out into the cafeteria and began to put her plate together, she caught sight of her uncle, and for a minute, just one minute, it almost felt like normalcy.

Which was just scary in and of itself.

She went to sit across from him, offering up a smile and setting her tray down.

"You weren't planning on meeting anybody, were you?" She settled into her chair and started opening her drink. Her calm disposition had her mind finally clearing up. She could tell Peter about her surprise visit from her 'dad,' which had shaken her more than she'd care to admit, and then work on figuring out how to find other people who'd dealt with the hallucinations like she and the two Peters had.

It was strange. She'd been practically hysterical as Noah Bennet ended their visit, but as soon as he was gone, all she felt was this renewed sense of … well, of determination. He wasn't going to be the one to get her out, which meant she had to do it herself. And probably even save him in the process.

For the first time, she almost felt like she could do it.

[spandexorgtfo.livejournal.com]

Another day, come and gone. Kratos sat up almost mechanically as soon as he opened his eyes, first taking notice of the return of the military uniform (--which he admittedly vastly preferred) and then of the mention of the possibility of "rewards" later in the day. That was...pathetically transparent, but was about what he expected from the military management. They didn't need to bother with pretenses at all- except when visitors came to call, apparently.

He spent a few minutes recalling their brief exploration of the medical wing and the parts of it that he had managed to map out in his head so he wouldn't forget it for later, and ended up opening his journal for the first time in weeks so he could copy down what he remembered. Sora seemed to be intent on exploring the new section more for Kairi's sake, so he would work on the map on the side for them while keeping an eye on the two.

At that moment, one of the staff appeared to remind him that he needed to be at breakfast promptly, so Kratos set his journal aside and eased out of bed, smoothing his hair down with a hand so he could tug the beret on. Some of the parts in the back still stuck out at odd angles, but there was nothing he could do about that other than put it out of his mind and continue on to breakfast.

The old menu was still available to him, so Kratos casually filled his plate with sausage, some sort of eggy toast, and just a dab of syrup before finding a spot at an empty table. It wasn't a difficult task - the cafeteria itself was mostly empty - so it wasn't long before he was seated and cutting his first piece of toast into his customary bite-sized squares.

[for America]

apologies for lateness, but i'm always fashionably late

[brb-burgers.livejournal.com]

Waking up had been jarring, to say the least. It hadn't been the same dramatic Hollywood mumbo jumbo with him sitting up and patting himself down, but instead a sudden snap from asleep to awake. His room, he was in it and his roommate still wasn't there-- where the hell did this invisible man go? The act of even turning his head was painful but in a dull throbbing sort of way.

So what had happened the night before wasn't a hideous nightmare. Well, that didn't bode well for him. Sitting up gingerly (since when was he so damn weak?) he rubbed at his neck and frowned as he looked around the room. Time to get up, fall into step and get back into the swing of things. Only this time he was less dismissive of it. In no time he'd dressed up proper, knowing how to make himself look sharp in a uniform, even if it wasn't his own uniform. He'd even caught the attending military goon by surprise when he'd opened the door as they stood there to retrieve him. Okay, that had felt good, even if it was a small victory and maybe he imagined the soldier looking surprised.

The smell of food always brought him out of a foul mood, last night not completely forgotten but overshadowed by the very essential need to refuel. Getting as hearty a portion as they'd let him he finally sauntered off and given a look around. Making friends had never been hard but right now he didn't know anyone around-- and the only way to fix that was to just make some friends. He could befriend whales and aliens, humans wouldn't be so hard. So he picked the fellow sitting alone at a table and looking particularly isolated.

"Mind if I join you?" his smile held more to one side of his face, hopefully inviting but he reckoned he must look tired. Maybe his glasses would conceal the dark circles beginning to form under his eyes.

That and this guy had some really cool hair.

[diamondstorm]

The sound of a cheery voice was the first thing that prompted the Digimon to wake. For a moment, her mind worked to place it, before noting it as unfamiliar and putting it aside. She swung her legs out of bed, feet touching the floor as she idly noted the uniform had changed back to military wear. So that was a show just for the visitors then. As should have been expected. She--

Renamon paused in the room, eyes widening. Her memory halted after Rika had showed up. Both dinner and the night had vanished from her mind, if it was ever there at all. A timeslip? Or she had 'slept' through it? But what was the cause of that?

It was different than the last time her Tamer showed, but the Digimon remembered that she had lost a day in time soon after the girl had showed up last time. Was there a correlation, or was she looking for things that were not there? Her mind pushed backwards. Utena. She had stood her up one way or the other, then.

Renamon stopped by the bulletin board on the way to the cafeteria, leaving a note for the girl. Then, she gathered up the contents of a meal, a bit more substantial than her usual fare. The bandages on her back had lightened overnight, but the ones binding her torso were still thick. She'd rather gain strength to heal from that, rather than be a hindrance when she could be needed. She ate quietly, in a corner near the wall.

[ for Leanne! ]

[survives]

[from here.]

The woman didn't speak to her again. She only led her through several hallways. If asked, Leanne would have had to admit she had no idea what any of them even looked like, still stuck in a daze. When they finally reached their destination, however, a large room with with several long tables, she instantly perked up. There were other people in the room.

None of them seemed to be paying her any attention, which she supposed was for the best. It likely meant she hadn't been brought here for anything too dangerous. It also meant that she could probably quietly find someone to talk with, someone who could give her some answers. At least one of them had to be more talkative than her current companion.

Leanne shot a glance at the other woman, but she paid it no mind, only kept moving. She directed her to take a tray of something, before pointing her to the tables.

Having absolutely no desire to spend any more time with the stern-faced woman, she picked one at random and walked briskly towards it, keeping a careful eye on her surroundings as she did so. It looked like everyone else was... eating?

Wait, what?

She stopped next to a table, glancing dubiously down at the pink mush on her tray. She grimaced, resisting the urge to poke at it just to see if it'd move. That was supposed to be food? Even she could cook things that looked better than that.

With a shake of her head, she raised her eyes again, catching sight of a blonde girl at a corner. Judging by the food in her hands, she wouldn't be eating breakfast any time soon, so what better time to ask around?

She approached the other girl, stopping at the seat across from her. "Can I sit here?" she asked quietly.

[nobleman]

The relief that Guy felt when he woke up with a healthy set of lungs and a completely dry set of clothes was hard to describe. He realized he shouldn't ever be happy to be stuck in the same bed again, but still being in the institute was far preferable to death. He didn't know for sure that anything they had done last night had actually advanced their plans for escape, but he could only hope it had counted for something.

Either way, challenges that required them to trust each other and work together were much easier than the Coliseum, where they had all been pitted against each other and forced to spill blood. He couldn't say that he'd found the jump from that cliff or the race to save Anise enjoyable, but they'd been successful at both and that was something.

But now he would have to work through the daily grind, and the military was once again showing itself in full force. Guy adjusted his blue shirt as he sat up in bed and then gingerly set the beret on his head. He didn't know if hats really suited him that well, but it hardly mattered when everyone was wearing the same thing.

The mention in the announcement of possible rewards was enough to pique Guy's interest, though he wasn't going to put that much weight into it. Aguilar's military had already shown that they enjoyed messing with them just as much as Landel did, if in different ways. Speaking of which... he wondered how those drug trials had gone.

Still, nothing seemed amiss when he entered the cafeteria; in fact, Guy even caught Anise speaking with a man around his age. Nothing had really changed there, then, had it? Remembering how the girl had clung onto him the night before, he could only shake his head and laugh. She was really something else, wasn't she?

If Anise was safe, then Claude had to be too. That made Guy feel about ten times better. And after all of the energy that he'd exerted last night, a large breakfast sounded like a dream. Guy stood in line for his french toast and then took the tray over to a seat where he quickly started eating.

[Free!]

[believein0.livejournal.com]

[From here (http://damned.livejournal.com/1151520.html?thread=79351840#t79351840).]

But this escort was far from cooperative. Zero asked the human plenty of questions as they walked, and each time he was either given the silent treatment or one of these unhelpful responses:

"Shut up and walk."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Move!"

"I guess a real answer is too much to expect," the Reploid-now-human said flatly. That comment rewarded him with a shove and another threat of being put on report for misbehavior. Sigh. Perhaps it was better to give up for now.

Their destination turned out to be a gathering place for humans, or the 'cafeteria' as the man over the intercom had called it earlier. Here, Zero was ordered by the pushy escort to stand in a line and receive his morning meal. Simple enough, though he wasn't sure what this 'morning meal' was supposed to be or why he was receiving one. And it wasn't like asking about it would yield him any positive results either, as proven earlier. He did as he was asked anyway, and at the end of the line he was given a plate of.....uh.

...What...was this?

Sure, he'd seen Ciel and other humans eat food before, but he had never seen them eat anything that looked like...this. Whatever it was. Was this really something humans consumed for energy purposes? It looked disgusting.

A heavily confused Zero took his 'morning meal' to one of the tables and sat down, staring at what he'd been given instead of trying to eat it. He stared for a good minute or two, head tilted slightly to the side, and then became a little more adventurous by starting to poke the 'meal' with the metal utensil that came with it. So, it was pink and...had a mushy texture. If he still had his sensors, he would have been able to better analyze this goop, maybe even see what it was made of. But unfortunately, he was stuck with these human abilities that, so far, had proven to be almost useless.

After around five minutes of staring and prodding, Zero gave up trying to figure it out on his own and turned to the human sitting beside him instead. This guy's plate had something different than the mush, something that looked more like the things he'd seen humans eat before. Maybe this man knew something about the pink mush, then? Zero tried to get his attention - hopefully a 'hey' would work here - and then pointed down at his plate and asked, "What is this?"

[ofthemotions]

...And he had fallen asleep. A wonderful start to an imprisonment, because Mikado couldn't even check to see if what he had been told was true. He sighed from his position on the bed, the heels of his hands pressing into his eyes. All right, then. He was still here, check. Now in new clothes, which lined up with what Peter said. Though... the outfit and the guy on the speakers made it seem like they were in the military and that... Could not be right in any way.

At the least, he could talk to a few more people today if he could, and see what else people had to say. Tonight, he'd stay up, check if they could leave their rooms and what all happened at night, and... Move from there, he guessed. Mikado wanted to check in with Izaya at some point, but he didn't want to bother the man more than necessary. Letting Mikado know Celty was here was enough for now--he wondered if anyone else was here that he knew but hadn't met up with yet.

"...America," he muttered quietly. Going to Ikebukuro had been enough of a task when you got down to it. Going to an entire different country? Without even wanting to? Or... even remembering how you got there to begin with....

He tagged after the man accompanying him, the orderly garb shirked in favor of military dress, and it was sort of intimidating, seeing all these people like this. It was like a lock-down or something. Mikado swallowed, taking the tray offered and moving to a table nearby. His stomach growled, and he grimaced, giving the pink mash in front of him the same wary look he had yesterday. "Food shouldn't look like this," he murmured, resigning himself to his fate. His fork idly prodded at the goop.

[ Lily~ ]

[unit67.livejournal.com]

Hopefully, Mikado didn't want to be alone with his thoughts, because seconds later a blond girl bounced up to the seat opposite him, placing her own platter on the table with a quiet clatter that made the pink gruel quiver nauseatingly. The morning had come abruptly just as it had the night before, but at least this time she hadn't been interrupted in the middle of a fight. As such, her mood was much better, and the wide smile she gave the boy was genuine with only the weakest hint of shyness. "It's not that terrible," she said cheerfully as she picked up her spoon. "At least they give us something, right?" A spoonful of the slop slid neatly into her mouth, and she looked up at the ceiling as she considered the taste, thoughtfully rolling her tongue around the oatmeal-like texture. Finally, Lily wrinkled her nose and swallowed. "No, you're right. It's pretty bad."

The spoon was returned to the bowl. Lily would eat her meal in due time, but for now, she focused intently on this other person, another stranger. How odd it was, to see dozens of unfamiliar faces after spending her life surrounded by the same few people.

She idly fidgeted with a thin silver cord dangling around her neck. Lily hadn't fully processed the novelty of this new person, but staring wasn't friendly, right? People didn't like being stared at, and Lily didn't want that. She needed to make friends. It was reassuring to know that Rose was okay, but despite the growing crowd in the cafeteria, the place still felt lonelier than the stark halls that just a few days ago, she would have given anything to escape. Still, there was sky here. Sky and flowers. It felt wrong to be sad in a place with sky and flowers, so she pictured them, white blossoms against blue. The sense that filled her couldn't quite be called nostalgia. She didn't miss the flowers: they were waiting, just outside the door. Instead, Lily felt a wordless melancholy for her years without flowers, and for her friends who still lived without them. It was okay, though. She'd share them. She'd pressed the petals in her notebook, and she'd take them back to her friends. No one would be without flowers again. The thought filled her with warmth, and a pleasant pinkness spread across her cheeks.

"I'm Lily," she said, grinning. "What's your name?"

[tasteoftruth.livejournal.com]

The first thing Badd did upon opening his eyes was to check the color of the walls. Normal boring Landel's Institute paint, not the sickly cream yellow of Cece Yew's hotel room, and not streaked with blood from the hooves of a monstrous sheep. At least he wasn't hallucinating again.

Byrne.

Badd was out of bed long before the guard came, pounding at the door. "Where is he?" he shouted. "I took the damn pills, where is he?"

"Settle down, Mr. Savalas."

"What did you do with him?"

"Settle. Down."

Badd's eyes went to the gun, just for a moment before he backed off. It would be suicide to try and grab it, at most he'd take down two or three before they gunned him down, but if they'd murderered Byrne after all Badd had done it would be worth it. Let them see that one prisoner wasn't willing to be a peaceful lab rat. But Byrne wasn't confirmed dead yet. And if there was one thing Badd had learned as a homicide detective, it was that they weren't dead until you saw the body.

(And in a place like this, sometimes even that wasn't enough.)

Badd stalked down the hall, body tense and his heart in an iron vise. He didn't begin to start calming down until he saw Byrne's note on the bulletin board. He was alive. From the note he was in a bad way, but he was alive.

Good. Then he had more time to plan how he was going to murder everyone in the building for laying hands on him. Badd waited by the cafeteria door, hunched, breathless, aching to see his friend again. Badd would not fail him twice.

[Byrne come give me hugs]

[corvus-veritas.livejournal.com]

[ooc; there are a few things assumed from a backthread here, but all has been discussed so it should be okay!]

Byrne was miserable. Of all the days he'd been here, he'd never woken up feeling like a literal train wreck until today. His neck ached heavily from the injection he'd been given the night before, but it couldn't compare to the ache he felt in his chest. The emotional ache from everything he'd seen strapped to that chair.

It hadn't been real. But goddamnit, it had felt real, and he hadn't known it wasn't real until after they'd finished 'torturing her'. He wanted to vomit just thinking about it.

The bulletin board was Byrne's first objective once he was led from his room. Luckily, he was one of the first ones there. No doubt Badd would come by here before breakfast trying to see if there was anything left for him. The prosecutor scribbled a very hasty note (http://damned-bulletin.livejournal.com/840380.html) to his partner, slapped it on the board, and then made his way to the cafeteria. He hadn't noticed the shiny new M-U pin on his beret yet, but that was probably a good thing. All he needed to worry about right now was when Badd would get here.

The wait was painful, but short. There he was by the cafeteria door, waiting for him. Thank god. Byrne stood up to rush over to him as quickly as possible, but then a terrifying thought entered his head, a second guess, a hesitation. His feet became metaphorically glued to the floor and he couldn't move forward. Would...would Badd be angry with him? When he learned that Byrne had given in to a servant of the institute? That he'd sworn to her that he would never follow the principles of the Yatagarasu ever again in exchange for Kay's safety? The Kay they had harmed before his eyes, the Kay who had only been a hallucination?

It sounded silly, but... Ever since his first day here, Byrne had imagined himself fighting against the Institute up close and personal. Maybe they'd been foolish, immature thoughts spawned from moments of anger, but it didn't matter. He'd thought of them. And in every scenario his mind came up with, he always imagined himself winning against any torture they threw at him. Resilient. Noble.

But when he had been in that situation for real, he'd given in to them, just like that. There was nothing noble about it. He was a traitor to himself and all he believed in. Foolish enough to fall for such a cruel trick. No matter how real the hallucination felt, even if Kay was a part of it, there was no excuse.

What will Tyrell say?

...He had to go. Even from here, he could see that Badd looked just as upset as Byrne felt inside. Maybe something had happened to him last night, too. He needed to go. And he wanted to go, as much as he feared Badd's reaction.

Byrne swallowed hard, then marched himself over to his friend, eyes locked on him. Not breaking eye contact was a cheap way to try and hide the doubt and shame he was feeling, easily seen through, but he didn't care. Byrne stopped a few feet away from Badd, unable to say anything at first. But he didn't care about that either. Words weren't necessary right now. Just being near the one man he trusted more than anyone else was enough.

Enough to both satisfy and torture him.

[bodhiandspirit.livejournal.com]

It looked like Rita's group made some progress last night, though it was hard to guess at what they'd progressed towards, or how close they were to reaching it.

For now, it was morning, and Rita had some results she wanted to record in her notes. Last night, she'd performed a heraldry spell flawlessly - save for the fatigue that came with any sort of spell she cast at the institute. Rita brought her notebook with her as she went to breakfast.

The repulsive slop she was served was set down at a table and promptly pushed away so that she wouldn't have to smell it. Rather than making any move to eat, Rita occupied herself with making additions and revisions to her research. The world outside of herself and her notes may as well have not existed.

[full-score.livejournal.com]

When Claude woke up the next morning to one of the most obnoxious voices he'd heard in a long time, he felt like he'd just been hit by a truck.

...Well, no, that wasn't entirely accurate. He felt more like he'd gotten rammed by a sea serpent's face over and over again, then bit on the hand and poisoned for good measure. Honestly, if he could have pulled off sleeping all day, he might have, but time was precious within the Institute, and Claude didn't want to waste any shifts snoozing if he could avoid it.

At least he didn't have to dress himself. Normally that thought creeped him out a little if he thought too hard on it, but the fact his whole hand was bandaged and in a cast didn't lend itself well to putting a shirt over his head. It look more like a mummified paw than a human hand, but Claude supposed that was to keep it all the more protected. Still, it meant he wouldn't be able to fight with his sword again until it was healed; his sword style generally required two hands.

But that was hardly worth feeling depressed about right then. As his escort got him up out of bed, he felt more than satisfied in knowing that the three of them had made it out of last night's disaster alive.

Before he started for the cafeteria, however, Claude quickly asked the soldier if he could try retrieving something from Anise's room. Apparently his rank didn't make it much of a problem, and, after a brief, relieved exchange with Anise, he caught sight of the journal he'd left in her room. He guessed the military was more concerned with confiscating weapons and extra clothing than things like flashlights and journals...

"Something of yours?" the soldier asked once they left the patient blocks.

"Yeah...sorta," Claude answered after a moment. "I mean, it's mine now, I guess."

"Well, you won't have a free hand to carry your tray, so I can help you with that," the soldier volunteered.

"N-no, you don't need to bother with--"

"You have to eat, so there's no room for discussion," he insisted. As embarrassing as it was to need assistance, Claude knew he'd have to accept if he wanted to eat. And even if he didn't accept, he had a feeling they'd do it anyway.

After a small fuss, he eventually left the line, with someone else holding his tray of French toast. He had to admit that a big breakfast sounded like it would hit the spot right about now.

As Claude scanned the area, he took note of several patients in the cafeteria. Anise, alive and well, seemed to be enjoying herself as she spoke to a man he'd never met. And while it was tempting to head over to Guy, who also looked healthy, another familiar face caught his eye. Rita didn't appear to be too busy, so now seemed as good as any to approach her about something that had been weighing on his mind for awhile.

After tucking the journal under one arm and convincing the soldier to let him have his tray back, Claude made his way over to Rita's table. Before he could let himself sit down, though, he asked, "Hey, mind if I join you?"

[zack-fair.livejournal.com]

To say it was jarring it go from being attacking bats in a dark room while in the form of a dog to laying in a bed back in a human body was putting it lightly. Zack jerked up out of the bed, his arms extending in front of him because for a split second, he still thought they were front legs with claws attached.

He realized he'd probably yelled, too. That was... embarrassing. Good thing that his roommate seemed to have slept through it, since he didn't know how obvious it might have been that he'd been attempting to bark.

But once that initial confusion went away, Zack could feel nothing but relief. He'd sort of assumed that he'd go back to normal once morning came, but there had still been that irrational fear niggling in the back of his mind. Now it was able to slip away, except for the fact that he very well might change again when night came. Once again, though, it was something he'd have to deal with when it happened.

For now, he was going to treasure his human body while he had it, and so he jumped out of the bed and stretched. "Maaaaan, that feels good." He was no longer four-legged or rotting or equipped with a mouth full of fangs, and that was something to celebrate. Now he just had to hope that he'd actually get a reward for going through all that, though he probably wouldn't know for sure until dinner time.

And hey, even if it had been a pretty harrowing experience, he'd still accomplished something. And he'd kept Rose safe for the most part. All good things in Zack's book, and he found that the overly positive morning announcement didn't even annoy him. His mood was more or less the complete opposite of what it'd been yesterday.

Reinvigorated, he grabbed for his beret and forced it onto his unruly head of hair before waiting by the door for his escort to show. The guy still hadn't warmed to him much, but Zack didn't mind, allowing himself to be led into the mess hall. He saw that the same gross food was on the menu, but he took a bowl of it without complaint.

He wanted to check up on Rose first and foremost, but he didn't see the girl anywhere for the moment, and so he went ahead and grabbed a seat while he still could. They tended to fill up fast, after all.

[For Neku.]

[composers-proxy.livejournal.com]

Neku woke feeling a little queasy, but otherwise there didn't seem to be any side effects from the drug. His arm was a little itchy, from where the needle had gone, but that was normal. Maybe he'd lucked out and got one of those... what's it called, sugar-pill sort of things?

The uniforms were back again, which was enough to distract him from the medication. That meant a day with no headphones and a lame-ass hat. He grumbled to himself, but put on the clothing; Shiki'd come up with more embarrassing stuff than this, so he could suck it up and deal if he had to. He just didn't have to be happy about it.

It was the same story a little later when they escorted him to the cafeteria and handed him a bowl of pink slop. Ugh, pass. He was in no mood to eat the stuff, but he was getting really hungry. There was another annoyed grumble as he sat down, sighing at the food in front of him. There was actually a second or two that passed before he noticed his present company.

"Hey. It's... Zack, right?" he tried. They'd gotten off to a pretty lousy start last time, but he seemed like a cool enough guy. Neku picked up a spoon, stirring the pink stuff with obvious lack of enthusiasm.

[anemptydecapo]

When morning came, it was the first time Venom had wished for his usual nightmares instead of what he'd seen last night.

He'd risen slowly from his bed and dressed as commanded by the guards, but the usual irritation and ire he felt in doing so had taken a far-back seat. His eyes were anywhere but on a goal, mind on everything but the here and now. The room was so clean. Light lit up both it and the hallways, highlighting the sterile nature of the institution. It had always been a lie and he'd always known that and he'd accepted it before and ignored their tricks but now it didn't sit right. Walking through these spotless halls did not sit right and the guilt twisted his stomach into knots, those knots tying themselves into tighter ones and those into tighter ones still until it was a miracle his chest hadn't split open onto those pristine white floors.

There was supposed to be blood. There was supposed to be stench of death and blood on his hands. But no matter how hard he stared at the floor and at his hands, oblivious to having arrived inside of the cafeteria, none appeared. There was no blood. There was supposed to be blood.

...Maybe there was no blood because no one had died. Ms. Littleton was still alive and even if she had died, it would be fine. He'd died himself before, everyone in their group had. They'd all died and awoke the next morning without any ill-effects aside from the scar on his neck. That meant it was fine. He had to calm down. She was fine. He could apologize to her when he saw her-- except he did see her. She was right there, staring at him from across the room, but she never came any closer. He couldn't blame her. It was his fault but she wasn't dead, not anymore and not in the first place. He could apologize when she'd speak to him.

It was his fault it had happened, but she was alive.

He hadn't killed her. He hadn't killed anyone.

With those thoughts endlessly circling in his mind, it was a wonder he managed to swallow down the meager amount of food he did. The guards were most likely getting tired of him carrying back untouched bowls. A half-empty bowl would have to do this morning.

[Free, but currently freaked out.]

[stlg13bomber.livejournal.com]

Carter was getting tired of waking up covered in bandages, but there was a certain soldier's pride in what he'd done. That was two batches of monsters in two nights that he'd beaten up, and this time it had been five at once. It made him feel like he could take on the world.

Slowly. Carter had to lever himself to his feet and walk carefully, wary of pulling sore muscles or tugging the medical tape too hard. He was grateful for the institute's quick-healing ability (the bitemarks from the bat were nearly gone!), or he might start feeling sorry for himself.

But no, he was an ace. A professional monster fighter. Carter even had a little grin on his face as he went to breakfast. He took a seat next to a man with bizarre long white hair, who was probably an alien but it wouldn't be polite to ask off the bat.

The alien seemed really sad, too. "Hey," Carter asked, leaning forward to try and look the man in the face. "You all right?"

[ex_rosebuds752]

Rose jolted upright in her bed, disoriented and still flailing at a creature that was no longer in front of her. Bright light flooded her room as a voice spoke over the intercom, announcing that it was morning, and time for breakfast.

Breakfast. The concept sounded so normal that Rose just wanted to laugh. Her hands were still shaking slightly from the adrenaline and the fear, although in the light now, that had faded away, seemed foolish. There'd been no reason for that kind of panic, no logical explanation for any of it. Then again, there was the fact that Zack had somehow turned into a dog for most of the night. Who needed logic?

She hoped Zack was alright this morning. And human. She'd have to look for him later. At the moment, though... At the moment she just wanted to find somewhere quiet to regain her composure. And to stop shaking. And with the sudden appearance of a guard in the doorway, hiding in her bed all morning was suddenly crossed off her list of options.

She followed the guard numbly into the cafeteria, but steered in the opposite direction of the food line, heading to the far corner of the room. Finding an empty table, she sank down in one of the chairs and buried her head in her hands, feeling weary and miserable. And hungry, but certainly not for anything being dished out on the plates of the other prisoners here. Dammit. She was going to have to do something about that soon...

[For Damon and Alaric.]

[saviored]

After waking up the past couple of mornings ready to tear into the nearest body with a pulse, it was a decidedly pleasant experience to only feel that way in moderation.

Thank you, Rick. What would I have done without you.

Well. Feed off of someone else, obviously.

Speaking of feeding. There was one person here who'd be running into trouble with that soon, and while Damon was in no way planning to share his source (these were limited quantities they were talking about here), it was still in his interest to know what she planned on sinking her teeth into and when. This wasn't his territory per se, but it was still a vampire in close proximity with people he knew. That made it his business.

Besides. Their last conversation had been inconveniently interrupted and unlike most people, Damon had zero problems picking up the threads of an abandoned topic with little to no segue. Especially not when it concerned Elena.

He had half an eye out for Claire, too, as he made his way through the cafeteria. She'd wanted to talk (or whatever passed as a talk for her) and the woman wasn't the poster girl for patience. Really, if she hadn't caught his attention that day in town with her little slip, she wouldn't even be here right now.

—Hm, oh. There she was. Rose, not Claire. He'd almost missed her, what with only the spiky back of her hair being visible. Someone hadn't had coffee with their blood this morning.

Instead of the seat across, Damon slid into the one next to her. "And how did you sleep?" he said in the pleasant tone of someone who knew perfectly well what the answer would be.

[dreadofthegrave]

.... So, it was morning. It may have been early, and he had slept well enough, but Battler certainly couldn't say that he felt all that refreshed. To tell the truth, part of him just wanted to stay in bed. But he couldn't do that, right? In fact, he should have never slept at all. .... He didn't have the time to be sleeping here. He had to gather information.

But, as it was, he was having a difficult time focusing on anything like that. Instead, his mind kept drifting back to yesterday. To Dad. .... To Ange. Or at least, the people calling themselves that. He was convinced it couldn't be them, but even so, hadn't they looked and sounded exactly the same....? ... Of course, it couldn't be. It was just a trick, right? .... Nothing but emotional blackmail. They were just trying to force him into doing whatever they wanted by showing him people he cared about. Like hell he was going to let that happen....! Using family against you was bad enough as it was, but his sister? She was just a little girl...!!

Somewhere in the middle of his thoughts, he noticed that, despite telling himself it wasn't really them, his thoughts began to stray, treating it as though they really had been brainwashed. Because the truth was ... he wasn't really sure which it was himself. He wanted to believe that it definitely hadn't been them, and yet...

Either way, it was clear from just that the military knew exactly how to push his buttons. There was no reason to show him a thing like that but to get him to react to it, right? Therefore, instead of letting them get to him and agonizing over it, he had to leave his room and continue like normal. No more staying holed up in here and being depressed on his own. And after such a totally unfair trick, these assholes actually had the guts to offer rewards for listening to them? Yeah, right, don't fuck with me! As if he was about to get bullied into helping his enemy...!

Indignant, he followed his escort to the cafeteria, grabbing his "meal" and settling into a random seat with a sigh. He'd said that he wasn't going to let them get to him, yet... he wasn't really in the mood to be eating.

[for a glimmerous fop.]

[rocksthecourt]

As per usual, Klavier was up before his escort had come to the room to collect him for the day. Though it had been several days now, he couldn't say he was adjusting to this whole military shift very easily. The nurses had been a little irritating at times, true, but he would much rather be greeted with a smiling face in the morning than this new stern one. The contrast somehow seemed more apparent with the jarringly upbeat morning announcement by someone he didn't even recognize. Klavier almost had to wonder if he'd woken up in some parallel dimension by mistake. Who the heck was this now? Just how many people were in charge here? And how many were in on this whole mess?

He mulled it over as he quietly followed the soldiers to the cafeteria, sadly used to the routine and the route by this point, before just deciding to file it away as one more thing to add to the list of mysteries. Frankly, it wasn't important at the moment. And he really needed to focus on what was immediately important. He was irritated by his lack of progress and the itchy feeling of having wasted far too much time. He'd spent too much time here. Getting too used to this place. He needed to learn more about this place and get both himself and everyone else out of here. And fast.

For now, though, he had a role to play. There was a pace to these things, and there was little he could do if too much attention was drawn to himself. For now, he was content with staying obscure and figuring things out from the shadows. So despite the sickening-looking garbage they places on his tray, Klavier offered no complaint or comment (which actually did cause his escort to look at him a little strangely). He just took it with a slight wrinkling of his nose before quickly smiling to cover for it and walking off to find a seat.

Klavier scanned the room, trying to find some familiar faces to sit with. He wasn't really in the mood to press his luck by sitting with a potential psychopath at the moment. Something a little lighthearted was a far nicer way to start the day, if he said so himself. So once Klavier spotted Battler sitting alone with his pink mess of a breakfast, it was a quick decision to saunter over and slip into the seat across from him.

He offered a bright smile in greeting, something nice to contrast the gloomy atmosphere created by the staff and circumstance. "Well good morning, Herr Red. I'd say, 'Fancy seeing you here,' but I suppose that would be a bit redundant, ja?" There was a small pause and he blinked at Red with a feigned curiosity. "...You remember me, don't you? Or should I run through introductions again?"

[dualistic]

Not even the sudden switch in scenery or the sound of an overly enthused voice on the intercom could cause Harvey to startle as he came to. Instead, he was filled with a numbness, the sort of creeping sensation that he remembered most clearly from when he'd been in that hospital bed at Gotham General. It had happened all over again. This time didn't compare at all to the night with Rachel, but he'd once again had to stand by helplessly while --

The worst part was that there was no one to blame, not really. Except for Aguilar. Harvey wanted to gather up all of his rage, all of that darkness brewing in him, and confront Peter, yell at him for what he'd done and shake him. But that wasn't right, because the kid hadn't had a choice and Harvey was going to hazard a guess that he was even more traumatized than the rest of them.

No, it was Aguilar who really should suffer for this, and suddenly Harvey knew that even if he found a way out of this place, back to Gotham, he couldn't go. Not until he'd tracked the general down and put a bullet between his skull, coin toss willing.

It was as if he was back to his first day here, where he didn't even want to talk to anyone, let alone get to know them. He'd slipped too much with Jones, gotten too friendly, and now he'd paid for it just like he had with Rachel. He was really starting to wonder if he was cursed at this point, though the thought was almost too melodramatic even for him.

If he believed in God, he would have said that the guy didn't like him, but as it was, he just had terrible luck.

In any case, he'd learned his lesson. It was getting himself to face the day now that he'd learned it that was proving to be the hard part. Harvey was still laying prone in his bed when the door opened and a soldier marched in. He was soon on the receiving end of a glare.

Harvey wanted to be difficult, wanted to yell in the man's face and throw a tantrum because he deserved to by now. But he knew that would only end in humiliation, and so after murdering the man with his own glare, he got out of bed and finished getting dressed. He was struck once again by how ridiculous he had to look with half his face bandaged and his head covered with the beret.

Not bothering with the bulletin (he didn't need to check on the others), Harvey collected his bowl of food and realized that he'd never wanted to eat it less than he did now. He sat with it in the corner and fought off the urge to strangle someone. Eventually he had to get out his coin and started flipping it around in his hand.

[Free!]

[deadlyjuliet.livejournal.com]

The voices were only getting worse. Or that's how it seemed when Grell woke up that morning. Kurogane was already gone and so he'd taken his time brushing his hair out, waiting for his own intrepid little military lackey to come get him. That was when they started again, like whispers along the corners, voices he recognized. They said words he couldn't quite hear and it sounded like it was coming from the walls. Throwing his hairbrush down, Grell jumped onto the bed and pressed his ear to the wall, banging his fist against it. "Can you hear me?! William! What in the name of God are you doing?!"

"Burnett! Get down!"

After a brief yelling match, Grell had been pulled down from his bed and given a "talking to" about behavior and protocol and blah blah blah. The death god gave no mind to any of that until the voices faded, which they did, as they had last night. "Didn't you hear something?" he asked, ignoring his guard's exasperated eye roll. Of course not, the man said, motioning him toward the hallway. It was time to go to breakfast and he'd best behave himself since he'd been awarded a new rank today.

A new... rank?

This rank business cleared itself up when Grell was given real food rather than the pink mess for the first time since these military buffoons had come into power. What a pleasant day this was shaping up to be - insanity rewarded with a bit of cinnamon toast and syrup. With a final warning to be careful about shouting unnecessarily, Grell was let loose in the cafeteria to find his own seat. It seemed many people were already seated, some engaging in pleasant conversation while others appeared to have the pall of death upon them (if only). Still, only one person stood out to the god and he smiled, switching his tray to one hand as he sauntered over.

Harvey Dent looked like he was barely containing his rage. Maybe he was trying to hide it behind those bandages. Or maybe he was just trying to pick out someone to murder. Oh, Grell hoped for the latter! Sliding into Harvey's field of vision, Grell's smile turned less friendly. "Bad night, Harvey Dent?"

[oneman-onekill.livejournal.com]

After several days of getting roughed up in some manner, Niikura would've thought that he would know better by now and actually take his own advice to play things safe to heart. But...old habits sure did die hard. And last night, well, he hadn't had much of a choice. Even though they had only known each other for a few days, Mike was his ally, and there was no way in hell he was losing him, even to the likes of Sesshoumaru.

There was of course the fact that Mike had somehow transformed into a giant-ass turtle last night (And he really hoped it had been Mike or else all of his bleeding would have been for nothing.), but he was hoping to clear that up in just a little bit. If he could manage to even get himself out of bed, for starters: he'd woken up in another one of those typical teenage moods where nothing short of the threat of starvation would get him to throw aside the covers.

The soldier who came to get him just had to use that threat, of course, so Niikura was finally persuaded to roll out of bed with a noticeable wince and wrestle with the ungodly combination of his hair and the stupid beret that they made them all wear. Something new was there on the brim this morning: a shiny pin- an award, just for him. He snorted before jamming the beret on over his spikes and heading to breakfast.

For once, he didn't pull a face while getting in line to receive his first of three bowls of pink gruel; no, he was too concerned with finding Mike- more specifically, finding that telltale missing arm that did not belong to a dog youkai who had tried to slice him to pieces last night because he'd gotten in his way, the moron.

...yes, he'd just called Sesshoumaru, Lord of the Western Lands and Half-Brother to the Protagonist of a Very Popular Manga a moron. But only in his head.

"C'mon, Mike-san, where are you...?" Niikura muttered anxiously under his breath as the line moved forward. God forbid the man was still a gigantic turtle.

[for Mike]

[hiddenbadass]

Michelangelo woke up screaming, jolting himself into a sitting position.

And then, he stopped abruptly. The pain was gone. Except that it actually wasn't. There was still a dull throbbing in his left arm that had gone away a long time ago, but it was back, and he could almost... it almost felt like he could flex an arm that wasn't there.

He was human again, but that was irrelevant to Mike's interests at the moment. The former(?) turtle was sore all over, and his scars felt tighter than usual. Mike winced, reaching up to rub at his upper left arm.

The sensations went away years ago. Only every now and then did they cause him problems. But whatever experiment they had done on him last night--fuck. Was that going to happen to him every night? Was he going to constantly relive that moment in his life.

Mike focused to control his breathing even before it could speed up. No. No. It couldn't happen every night. He wouldn't go through that pain every night with his scars feeling fresh and new.

At that time, a soldier came for him, and Mike welcomed the distraction. He got ready and then let himself fall into a mechanical rhythm as he walked, clearing his mind of thought. It wasn't quite meditation--he wasn't capable of it right now--but the quiet was a welcome relief.

Except it didn't last for long, as he joined the line and saw Niikura standing just a bit away from him.

Shell.

The line moved forward, and Mike could only remain quiet as he tried to figure out how the hell to explain this to him.

I'm a giant talking turtle with more scars than you have years, kid.

Yup. That should just about do it.

[purgatio]

A new day and a new dawn--wasn't that the phrase? It likely was, and still it called as tedious and tolling, and there was little to show for the night but spent shells and ammunition. Not that Albedo minded, in the end. It was Nigredo who'd likely have a problem if any, but the amount of shells were never specified and were still close to a surprise. In any matter, it was a way to release some tension, and he had half a mind to spend every night close to the same in this.

Except there were days in-between, and he was half-tired of the redundancy. The boy sighed when he was collected, tugging at the uniform in light weariness. The man who was with him pointed at the hat resting mussed on Albedo's head. "You can take it off if you need to." The boy raised his eyebrows. After all the fuss to get him to wear it the first time. The soldier said little else, merely pointed at the pins on the beret. Albedo slid it off and stared at them. So there was a usage to these things after all.

How cute. It was like they were training them to respond to comfort. Should he wager 'good' little patient-soldiers got candy and cigarettes? Albedo laughed, making the man glance at him. The child could care.

He grinned as he left the soldier's care, moving to a nearly empty table and dropping the plate without a second look at the mush. His body was reacting negatively to a lack of food by now, but it wasn't enough to halt his processes. Therefore, Albedo didn't need to feed himself. Logic. He had it.

So instead of eating, the boy amused himself by spinning the pins around on the beret. How many more were there, he wondered.

[ Ritsuka. ]

[forgot-it-all.livejournal.com]

Fear. Ritsuka woke up with his heart still hammering in his chest, jolting up in bed as if thrown. What he was afraid of, he didn't know, but feeling was there and it was intense. The memory was fuzzy like memories usually were when they were part of a half-lived dream. The more he tried to remember, the further away it became until the only thing that remained was the emotion and it drained him. He clutched at the collar of his shirt and waited until the seizing in his throat eased, waited until the soldiers came for him.

Like clockwork they came and moved him out into the cafeteria. His rank meant that they talked to him, but Ritsuka wasn't sure he wanted to listen. His guard congratulated him on completing the objective last night and on earning a new pin. Ritsuka ignored him and took his tray, filled it sparingly with food that he knew he'd eat. French toast today. He could do that. Eating would be an automatic task, but it was necessary. If what he'd seen last night was real...

"Your friend's over there."

The word friend caught his attention and Ritsuka raised his head, following the soldier's pointed finger to find a familiar shock of white hair. Albedo. Albedo might be able to help him understand what he'd seen last night. "Thanks." No smiles for the soldier, but he afforded him a nod of gratitude as he peeled away and headed over for his friend. That's what Albedo was, right? Yes, a friend where such things were a luxury.

A friend who was not eating. Ritsuka frowned as he approached and set his tray down across from Albedo's. Their food was different, but the effect was the same. "You should try to eat something, Albedo."

[kingside]

The shift from night to day was as welcome a transition as always, but getting up wasn't. Lelouch felt weighted down, sluggish, and if the entire day was going to be like this, what the hell was his incentive for getting up?

"... Loiterers may find themselves without food for the day..."

All right, that would do it.

Gingerly, he peeled back the covers and pushed himself upward, unsurprised to find himself fully clothed again. The clothes themselves earned a raised eyebrow, but continuing his self-assessment ranked much higher in his priorities. He still felt slow, weakened, but the sleep, unnatural though it may have been, seemed to have done him some good. Food would help even more, assuming he could reach the cafeteria without incident.

His nurse-- no, the soldier who came to fetch him was quick to instruct him to put on his boots and beret when he arrived, and Lelouch obeyed without comment, picking up his journal and a pen while he was at it. These were the changes brought on by the new regime, hm? He could live with that, at least while he was here. Being on the receiving end of of their orders would take more getting used to, but he would see to it that it didn't last for long.

As he'd hoped, the journey to the cafeteria proceeded without incident, even if he was a little unsteady on his feet. He still wasn't sure entirely how much blood he'd lost, but what mattered now was replenishing it. He did somewhat distantly recall that he had a meeting lined up for this morning, but... he'd have a seat first, try to force down some of the gruel, and gather his thoughts. There was no evidence at all to suggest that this potential member for G.A.M.B.I.T. would be worth his time or effort, but he could at least try to make a good impression regardless.

[For Phoenix Wright.]

[lastlovesong]

What happened last night was an automatic failure, according to Chise. The 'food' that was served during dinner did not improve her health, nor state of mind. She attempted to go to the staff lounge on the second floor, but was utterly thwarted by the sudden change in shift. So here she was, in a military uniform once again, staring at the gruel that was guaranteed to be "full of nutrients for a healthy body". She really, really didn't want to ingest the pink stuff on her tray, but her stomach said otherwise.

Alright cafeteria, you win this time...

Slowly taking a small teaspoon of her 'breakfast', Chise prepared herself for the worse and took a bite--

--and was surprised by how it tasted; it was as if she was eating plain yogurt. Either they improved the taste because of complaints, or her taste-buds were totally whacked from pills. Whatever the reason was, she kept on eating spoonful after spoonful.

[for Fai!]

[not-rly-fai.livejournal.com]

The end of the night felt like something of a blur, but Yuuhi woke up in his bed, dressed in the uniform once more. Unfortunate, since it meant he wasn't allowed to wear his eyepatch. He carefully brushed his hair to cover most of the injured eye before putting on his hat. His hair was starting to get a little long, he noticed, but cutting it hardly seemed like a priority.

He followed his escort to breakfast, once again self-conscious when he was served a normal meal and so many patients were served the same pink goop as before. There were fewer and fewer seats the more he lingered, so he latched on to the first familiar face he saw and took a seat. It'd been a while since he'd seen Chise, but she seemed to be doing alright.

"Morning!" he said cheerfully.

[threepwood]

In good news, Guybrush was feeling better physically than he had in days, save for the knot on the back of his head from two beatings with an oxygen tank. He touched it idly as he opened his eyes, pulling his hand away with a wince— yep, still sore.

As his hand passed in front of his face, his eyes widened; he sat up quickly, admittedly surprised (and grateful) to see his hand at all. He looked himself over: tail gone, humanity returned, strange desire to find his tailypo replaced with the urge to offer a meager apology to Inspector Javert— it was a relief to be himself again, as he'd half-expected he'd be stuck as a mangy monster for the rest of his natural life. As complicated as that would make his stay at the institute, he'd been more concerned that his love life might suffer. Roguish charm could only get a pirate so far: when one's mouth became as foul as LeChuck's because he was changed into a creature only a desperate mother with no other children could love, there were bound to be some averse effects on his relationship with a beautiful woman like Elaine.

While the list of good news was short, the amount of bad was piling up: not only was he pretty sure Javert might never fully trust him again (a state with which he was familiar, given that most people didn't really trust pirates in the first place. It came with the territory), but it looked like the patients were back to normal with the military. The uniform had returned, complete with stiff shirt and even stiffer pants. There was at least one new addition to his attire, however: a shiny pin for his troubles, attached to his hat. Looking back, it hadn't really been worth it, but there was no changing the previous night now. He could just hope it didn't happen every night from then on, and try to avoid ingesting strange liquids in the future.

The soldier, no longer bothering with the nurse outfit— not that it fooled anyone, least of all the perceptive protagonist of the incredibly popular Monkey Island™ series— fetched Guybrush for breakfast. Indeed the rest of the institute had followed suit: soldiers around every corner, an air of hostility that hadn't been there before, and the pink sludge being served in place of a proper meal. He sighed to himself as he trekked to an empty seat. "So much for getting better food via drinking a possibly toxic concoction. Maybe it takes more than one? Well, not like I'd ever consider doing that again."

Guybrush took a seat, eyeing the gruel as he listened to his stomach churn from both hunger and nausea. "Not tonight, at least."

[Facilier]

[doctor-voodoo.livejournal.com]

Facilier awoke with a slow start, dazed and perturbed as his eyes begrudgingly opened to find that familiar white ceiling glaring down at him. He was back in his bed, trapped in the small room he was forced into day after day. If it hadn't been for the lack of metal bars, Facilier would have called the room a prison cell.

His rude roommate was asleep in the opposing bed, but Facilier had no plans on talking with him; the man was likely still in his deep coma like the night before anyways. As the Bokor gingerly pulled himself out of his bed and back to his feet, he had other concerns on mind than whether his roommate was alright or not. Something wasn't feeling right with the witch doctor, something felt out of place...

Facilier could only comprehend that odd, confused feeling he was experiencing once the memories of last night began to return to his consciousness. Was last night just a dream, or did he really find himself in that strange "Dance till you Drop" show in the Sun Room? It all seemed so random and disconnected from reality that Facilier was nearly convinced that it had simply been some hodgepodge dream caused by that awful pink gruel he had for last night's dinner. (If only he could avoid eating that blasted stuff...) It just didn't make any other sense!

Facilier's theory of his memories being nothing more than some wacky nightmare was proven wrong once he recalled what he had been doing before his encounter with the surprise dance competition and its cross-dressing host: His collection of materials from the Arts and Crafts room! Facilier was sure that had all been real. He hated to think that his discovery of so many helpful items had been for nothing!

So a quick check in his closet and the witch doctor's worries were eased. His pillowcase of crafts sat in the back corner of the closet, yet beside it rested the prop cane he had chosen from the dance show's wardrobe. Seeing the cane baffled the Bokor. "So all that was real then..." Facilier thought to himself, rubbing his chin and looking all the more perturbed, "How much more bizarre can this institute get?

Just as he closed the closet, Facilier was suddenly intruded upon by an unwanted visitor. A stern soldier in full military garb had arrived to escort Facilier to the cafeteria for breakfast. As Facilier was led down the hall by his unfriendly guide, it was obvious to him that the strict, no-nonsense authority of General Aguilar was back in full swing in the institute. And to Facilier's dismay, his favorite pink gruel was still on the menu.

With his tray laden with the edible abomination on his plate, Facilier's sour mood took another nose dive as he scoured the cafeteria for a quiet place to sit. If he wasn't allowed any time to himself, then someone was going to be the receiving end of his frustration...

A glint of curved metal caught Facilier's eye, directing his scowling gaze towards a familiar stranger. With a small goatee on his chin, his hair tied back in a ponytail, and a hand replaced by a hook, the young man slouched over his own tray of unappetizing food was immediately recognized by Facilier.

It was that pirate-wannabe Facilier encountered during his first night in the institute! The same fellow who used him as a distraction and sent that raving boy armed with a sword after him! Yes, that fellow... Facilier wasn't going to forget that scheming man anytime soon for what he did! This called for an investigation to see if the man in question was of potential use or a possible threat...

"Good morning," Facilier said in a dry tone as he seated himself across the table from his target. Once he placed his tray down, Facilier greeted the man with a sardonic smirk. "I see y'all made it out of that fight with Mr. Pilgrim a few nights ago..."

[tightsofmight]

Peter had hoped to god he wouldn't wake up today. Better yet - that he would wake up and find that he'd had nothing more than a feverish dream. That there wouldn't be a sting across his knuckles or furrows from bullets along his ribs. If those were gone, then they couldn't have happened. And neither would the rest.

But the first thing he felt upon waking was exactly that, smarting fingers and the scream of fresh wounds. Yet the cloudy, seeping ache that welled out of his chest numbed them both instantly. It curled around his throat and squeezed until bitter sounds emerged. Peter hadn't stopped crying. He'd lost consciousness with wet eyes, and he woke up with fresh tears still springing out and sobs wracking his bones.

He didn't give a fuck that he was back in the military uniform, or what the presence of Harrington on the intercom meant. He didn't care that Brainy was across the room and sleeping the morning away ever so peacefully. He didn't give a shit about how much his side hurt, what the day would bring, what those bastards outside would drag him out of bed for; he did not fucking care.

The only thing Peter was set on doing today was rolling over, pressing his face into the pillow and screaming with all the gusto of a banshee. His fingers curled into the pillowcase as if to tear it. He succeeded regardless of intent, the seams popping open by scant inches as Peter bellowed into the rest of the fabric. The act was so like the morning after Harry had died that he began slamming his fists on the mattress to stamp out that memory, too. Bringing back how close the two incidents had been together - Harry had died hardly two weeks ago - and then coupling up with this...

But Harry had been eaten. It was Peter's fault but he hadn't dealt the final blow. Now, he heard Indy's ribs cracking even in the near silence of dawn. The following squelch, phantom pressure on his heel. He'd meant to kick him down. All he wanted to do was put the man on the ground, steal the ammo for the pistol, and do the noble thing. The right thing. They had brought Jessica here just for this, he was so sure of it - a perfect double meant Peter was the expendable one - and he fucked it up.

His foot had gone through Indy's chest because he was too much of a tool to remember that he was hitting a person and not a Chevrolet. Indy had fallen down. Indy bled. Indy had gurgled on his last words because Peter was a freak of nature and an idiot. And a murderer.

The kicker of it all was that even now, he still didn't understand why.

He shouted at the soldier when the man came to collect him. He demanded answers. He got none. He fought back, tried to punch the man's teeth out but found his wrists twisted in an inescapable grip. Stoic orders were the only consolation Peter got. "Go to the cafeteria. Now. If you keep this up, you will be put on report."

It was more the memory of how easily the nurses whipped out the needles that put Peter in the cafeteria, silent, head down low and hugging his middle as he meandered towards a seat. The breakfast line up was completely ignored. He didn't want to eat. He also didn't want to talk to anyone. His belly shot into this throat when he saw Harvey Dent sitting alone. Peter skittered away from the man and found a table by itself. He melted into the chair, put his arms on the table and buried his face in them. Damp patches blossomed on his sleeves shortly after, hidden under the mess of his bangs.

He couldn't stand one more day. Not one second more. He just wanted the whole world to stop.

[For Jessica.]

[arakhnes.livejournal.com]

The rest of the night had been uneventful. Nothing had happened. No monsters or brainwashing, no murderous urges. In fact, she was almost disappointed that there wasn't some sort of aftereffect to her taking the drugs -- but not that disappointed. Here, she had been expecting to grow extra arms at least, but there was nothing. But she wasn't ungrateful. And even then, she knew to take something like this with a grain of salt.

Something would happen. Something always did.

When she woke up, part of her had hoped she would be in her shitty apartment back in New York, waking up to bare belongings and peeling wallpaper. But she was still in her room, still in her military uniform, still hearing the words over the intercom. No, she wasn't back home. She sat up in the bed, knees pulled to her chest, glancing around the room.

And that's when she saw it.

A figure standing in the corner -- something that directed her attention because no, it wasn't Erika, no, she didn't know what it was, but on closer inspection -- Her eyes shot open because that was her face. That -- one of her brothers. One of her brothers was standing in the corner, flesh ripping from his cheeks, tattered Spider-Man shirt. She could feel her heart racing, but when she brought her hands up to rub at her eyes, blinked, he was gone.

What?

It was probably just her imagination. Some trick of the light that... lasted way too long. Either way, Jessica refused to think on it and shuffled down to the cafeteria, going through a routine she was already too familiar with. Standing in line, tray in hand, getting food that still wasn't particularly appetizing but that she had no choice to eat. It was so routine that, as always, she wasn't paying attention as she wandered through the tables, setting her tray down without noticing her surroundings, or in this case, who was at the table before her. Head down, face in his arms, and immediately, there was the response of irritation, that she should yell at him.

But she knew. She knew something was up; he was upset. (Was he cry -- no. He couldn't be.) She bit down what she wanted to say and instead, tentatively spoke up -- as always -- "Peter... Peter, hey." Jessica was reaching across the table to put a hand on his shoulder -- maybe he was just sleeping? "Are you -- are you okay?"

[ultimagi]

Once again, the girl awoke without memory of falling asleep. Once more, she found herself in a room, not knowing how she got there. It was daylight now, morning, and though she could not tell if this was the same room she had awoken in before, there was not enough different to prove that it was not. The headache was gone, but the fog in her memories remained. The only relief was that her mind was not a complete blank; the girl could remember being in a room like this before, only at night. She could only hope it had been the night prior to this, but there was no way for her to know.

It was easy to follow the terse commands given to her, to dress to military approval, tucking her long blonde ponytail into the beret while an unfamiliar voice blared unfamiliar words over the intercom. Easy to follow in step behind the soldier, down a similar path she traveled before. What was difficult were her few attempts at questions: each were shut down with little regard for her confusion and uncertainty, and they had barely crossed into the western hallway before she fell silent.

It looked so different in the daylight; even the other people bustling around seemed somehow less threatening. They turned left where before the girl had gone straight, and they cut through a large room she'd never seen before. Her eyes took in the details while her dry mouth and uncertain tongue stayed respectively closed and silent.

They finally reached the cafeteria on the far end, but the directions did not stop there. She was directed to this line for food, to this less-crowded section of table. The food, some sort pink-tinted grain in an even pinker-tinted slurry (at least, it seemed like grain), had less flavor than the utensil that carried it. The girl didn't particularly care about taste. Her headache abated, it was easier to focus her thoughts inward now than it had during the night, and she turned questions over and over in her mind, trying to find an answer. (Perhaps that was why the soldier called her 'Turner' -- that couldn't possibly be her name, she thought, for shouldn't something like a name be more familiar?)

Her eyes drifted over the few other female soldiers seated here and there, hoping to find a familiar face. What had happened to Bella? And to Lana? Why couldn't she remember what happened at night's end?

Why couldn't she remember anything before night's beginning?

[Locke & load]

[kings_thief]

Locke's night had ended, once again, without memory of falling asleep, and, based on all that Edgar had told him last night, he figured magic was probably to blame for that. Locke was beginning to suspect magic played a larger part in this than it first appeared to.

When he'd woken, he dressed, still feeling very exposed without his gloves and the beret making for a sad replacement for his bandana, and followed his 'escort' out and down the halls, now a little more familiar after two nights wandering around them.

When he got to the eating hall that he was led to, Locke looked around, hoping to spot Edgar, though, it was difficult with all the people in there. However, his eyes did fall on a blonde girl who seemed very confused. Confused and more than a little familiar...but, her hair was all wrong for the name that ran through his mind.

Although it seemed impossible, he wasn't about to let someone with that much similarity to Terra just go by, he at least had to investigate. After all, with all the strange things going on in this place, he wouldn't put anything past this place. Getting the sad excuse this place called 'food', he carefully made his way to where she was sitting.

"Excuse me, but, is this seat taken?" He smiled, waiting to see if there was a reaction, while gesturing to the seat opposite her.

[ippo]

Ippo had never been so grateful for waking up. With a deep gasp, his brown eyes opened, catching an eyefull of the boring ceiling of his room. There wasn't anything more beautiful--No, that wasn't exactly true. But for the here and now, it was wonderful. His sight held color once more as he panned around his room for any evidence of last night's debacle. There wasn't any.

He was back in his usual military uniform, none of which was shredded or bloodied. Ippo brought his hands up to his face to check that they were human again before a relief so heavy washed over him that he collapsed into his calloused palms. His big shoulders shuddered as he began to cry softly, filling his hands with salty tears. What would have happened if he had stayed a monster permanently? Being unable to box would have been the least of his worries--but no, he had to remind himself. That ship had sailed now that Miyata had dropped him and their promise.

Whatever reprieve he had felt from being human again turned sullen and dark as he obediently got out of bed with a tired frown to meet the soldier responsible for him, whom inevitably barged through the door. He wasn't sure if it had all been simply a nightmare, or perhaps a psychotic episode. As he walked behind the man to the cafeteria, the boxer felt every joint and muscle and bone ache like he had just been hit by a truck, or by one of Sendou's punches. Those were about two tons of force as well. Man, what he wouldn't give to be pummelled by that man. The truth wouldn't be so scary then.

With a tray in hand, Ippo sulked pathetically through the sea of patients. He didn't bother trying to sit by anyone. The boxer wasn't very fit to be around anyone what with the giant storm cloud raging above him. Taking a seat by himself, Ippo began to eat his food with the precision and passion of a machine. He was numb to the taste and the atmosphere around him.

[Izaya]

[propheteer]

Morning so soon? To think that just a moment ago, he'd been in a darkened hallway instead of staring at the ceiling of his room as a soldier marched in to haul him off to breakfast. But despite the repeated suddenness of the transition, greeting the morning suited Izaya just fine. While the nights here afforded more freedom of movement, the days entailed gatherings—those varied persons that had been brought to the Institute would be all in one place, where he could easily observe either the crowd or a few individuals within it...

Granted, the food they'd been serving lately left a lot to be desired, but in the grand scheme of things, it was a small sacrifice; for the sake of his hobby, he would persevere. And speaking of his hobby...

Izaya had turned to the gathering pack after receiving a bowl of his so-called breakfast, looking from face to face until he spotted a particularly gloomy-looking one. And wasn't that... Ah, it was! Makunouchi Ippo-kun, the professional boxer.

He picked his way across the cafeteria until he reached Ippo's table, setting his tray down across from the young man. "Good morning, Ippo-kun," he said, with an amiable smile on his face. "You slept well, I hope?"

From what was written on Ippo's face, Izaya doubted it.

[girlsandgadgets]

It seemed there was no respite for the patients of Landel's: though his fever was down, Edgar immediately noted upon waking the return of the military uniform, the stiff collar tugging painfully at his neck as he turned in the bed. More irritating was the beret sitting beside him, now adorned with a pin. A frustrated grunt escaped him; he knew exactly why it was there. He examined the tags that hung around his neck a moment, finding a more pleasant surprise— he'd apparently gone up a rank at some point, possibly due to his sleep study as well— before the nurse arrived to take him to breakfast. Edgar found himself greeted by one of the soldiers instead; yes, that would be more appropriate of the military, wouldn't it? Not that their costumes had done much good at hiding their identities, anyway. Still, the thought that the military was no longer hiding their presence brought him no comfort.

Edgar kept an eye open for Locke as he followed his escort through the Sun Room. He'd dropped a lot on the treasure hunter in the span of one night, but he wasn't willing to take the risk that he'd never get the same chance again. He was fortunate that Locke had returned at all, and keeping him in the dark wouldn't help matters. It hadn't before, after all.

On the other hand, Locke had lasted a few days at least during his previous stay. If a serious discussion was enough to push him over the edge... there were some things Edgar couldn't forgive himself for. He shook his head- he couldn't allow himself to underestimate Locke's determination, but he had to remain aware of the lengths to which the institute would go to weed out those they deemed unfit for their goals.

Edgar passed the board without question, opting to go straight for the meal. He could skim it later, hopefully after some of the less tight-lipped patients had posted information about the medical wing. Surely someone had taken the time to check it out, though whether or not they'd actually share their findings was yet to be seen. Perhaps if Locke wasn't too busy that night, they could take a look for themselves, granted it was still open for investigation.

Finding himself led to the gruel line (alas, his upgraded rank and pin didn't save him from the delightful dish), Edgar scanned the room, looking for familiar faces. He wanted to thank Anise for her gift, but that could wait for later. There was a moment where he thought he recognized a woman in the crowd— even from behind her frame was familiar enough to cause him to take a second, longer glance— but he decided his eyes were playing tricks on him. Blond really wasn't her color.

[Ryuuzaki]

[ryuuzaki]

Even before he opened his eyes, L understood that the military uniforms were back. The shirt felt higher and tighter around his neck than the old patient uniforms or anything he would choose to wear if he were free, and the belt around his waist was equally constrictive and stiff. He pressed his lips together and made a dissatisfied face.

Yet he knew that acting out, even as much as he had yesterday, would put unnecessary obstacles between him and his goals. A number of reactions to the way he was being treated would be natural: seething resentment, depression, frustration, even eventual resignation. He couldn't force himself not to feel any of them; he could, however, refuse to indulge the majority of his emotional responses. He rested without moving until he felt some of the tension drain away.

As he sat up, the metal tags around his neck hit each other with a soft clink. He lifted one and peered at it, his vision blurred, and watched as the letters came into focus. The numbers were still the same—Irritating, he thought—but the class had indeed changed to B. He wondered if anything else would change as a result.

He listened to Harrington's announcement. Aguilar never makes an appearance on the intercom during the day. Why? Too busy? Too convinced of his own importance? Or... he's shown disinterest in participating in the charade that this is a psychiatric hospital, except when it comes to preserving appearances for outsiders. Therefore, hiding what's happening here must have a purpose for him... avoiding censure from higher authorities? Or public outcry? Landel claimed that Aguilar's group isn't an arm of the government. Is there some other reason that—

Harrington's concluding statement distracted him from this train of thought. "Several opportunities for rewards later in the day," hm? He frowned at the boots that had been set neatly on the floor near the foot of the bed, then, with a heavy sigh, reached for one and began to put it on. His curiosity would have been piqued in any case, but Aguilar's track record with regard to reward and punishment made the nature of those "opportunities" a topic of special interest.

After he finished with the boots, he retrieved the wool beret from where it waited on top of the desk, turning it absently in his hands as he considered the possibilities behind Harrington's words. His escort arrived a few minutes later. L gave her an expressionless nod, then dropped the hat onto his head and made a perfunctory effort to tug the rough fabric into place with his fingertips. She seemed concerned about time, leading him directly to the cafeteria without allowing any stops.

As they approached, he scanned the faces of the people who were already seated, trying to decide who he should talk to. He knew who was at the top of his list. To his knowledge, Taylor had been with Jones's group in the basement the night before, meaning that he would have been unable to investigate the drugs that had been provided in the Medical Wing. L was relatively sure that the drug samples he'd tried to collect were gone for good, but even discussing the tests themselves might be valuable in determining what kind of substance had been used, especially if they could put up a query about any side effects people might have experienced. Meanwhile, Taylor could bring him up to date on what Jones's group had experienced.

But he didn't see Taylor in the crowd—or Jones, for that matter. It was possible that neither had arrived yet—that would make it more difficult to initiate a conversation with either of them. He looked over both food lines to confirm it.

No Jones, no Taylor, but there was a familiar golden head just ahead of him as he took his place in the porridge line: Edgar, who he hadn't run into at all when investigating the new area. What was he up to, then? I doubt that he was still too sick to go out. Did he take the rush to visit a new area as an opportunity to try to look into something else without unwanted guests?

L leaned around closer to Edgar's shoulder, catching enough of his profile to confirm his identity. He murmured, just loud enough to be heard over the din, "Interesting night?"