damned_institute | Day 58: Cafeteria

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!]

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Civilians- if Lunge had doubted Grants' legitimacy before that telling slip he no longer had any reason to. She was right, though- the law enforcement here seemed to be more inclined to make their presence known here than any other group, presumably to enhance their ability to gather information.

"We're more public figures," Lunge suggested, smiling faintly. "We like to make our presence known. It's useful to be recognised by someone with a story to tell or a situation to report."

L seemed to be more the exception than the rule, in that respect: a private investigator, with emphasis on the private, and more caution than he would have thought necessary in the Institute. It was fairly obvious that he was being followed, or that at the very least he felt that his old case might have followed him here, but the specifics were lost to him. It seemed unlikely that the man would open up to him any time soon.

Grants was starting to eat; he chose to ignore the bowl for now. Conducting an intelligence mission- that required several skills that one could see value in. Intelligence, care, awareness, focus. Not necessarily skills found in the average officer. It was already clear that they looked for those with unusual talents; maybe that went double for military personnel.

"I see. Don't worry, I don't need the details." He gave her a thoughtful look. "Would you say that you had any specific skills that set you apart from your fellow officers? It's not an especially important question, if you'd prefer not to answer." It wasn't worth alienating someone over for being too prying, at least.

The comment about publicity brought a small smile to her lips. Although it was far too early to make permanent judgements about the man's character, she could at least tell that Lunge was entirely competent and natural in his position, even in a setting such as Landel's Institute. Not many could hold together under stress of this nature, and it was almost inspiring to see that there were individuals here who could do so.

"I'm actually glad for that," responded Tear. "It does help to have someone for others to trust, and your efforts have established some peace of mind." Perhaps others might disagree with her view, but she knew how important effort was for overall morale. And they needed as much morale as possible given recent events.

Lunge assured he was satisfied without the details of her mission and the subsequent detour. The soldier nodded, mildly relieved. She did, however, think it was wise to answer his query. There was a reason she refused to keep her 'unique' abilities to herself in this place; healing was an element that was drastically needed.

"It's fine," she said. "Yes, that is correct. I am what is called a Seventh Fonist. To summarize, we are able to control a specific type of energy particle, which in turn, gives us the capacity to use healing and certain types of offensive artes. Seventh Fonists are not entirely rare in my world, but we are rather valued for our skills."

Well, that was surprising to hear. The position of most of the investigators here seemed to Lunge precarious at best; they were either suspicious in their prying, hoarders of knowledge with little care for sharing what they learned, or bureaucratic intellectuals with only the slightest grasp on the reality of the situation, confusing their priorities.

"Thank you," he answered, and with it came a smile he allowed to be just that little bit more genuine than usual. "That's good to know; maybe even moreso than in our home worlds we rely on the other patients here for our information. Being trusted is of vital importance."

In that way her subsequent answer was perhaps an expression of that trust, though once she'd explained her powers to him it was easy to see why Grants had opened that page to him so readily. "I can see why," he answered. Healers were always in high demand here; fortunately enough, the majority of them seemed to be eager to help, and advertising her skills where she could probably made excellent sense to Grants. It also made her a good person to know, period. So the morning wasn't going to be wasted after all.

"That could be one possibility, then: that those with military experience are only taken if they have exceptional abilities that would cancel out any potential difficulties. I suppose there will always be exceptions, but-" He broke off suddenly, catching himself, and gave an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I'm getting ahead of myself. We need a lot more data before any conclusions can be drawn."

Indeed, trust was a critical element here. Though one could afford some careful deliberation elsewhere in regards to what they did with their faith, in Landel's, they were more or less fellow prisoners of an unjust cause. To better their chances of escape, Tear believed with a firm mind that they had to work together. Having established authority around (even if their expertise was more relevant in their own world) was a vital key to unifying the populace.

Her answer, therefore, came easily. "I agree," she said. "We won't be able to return home without relying on everyone's expertise." Expertise that wasn't so readily available elsewhere, she might add. Most regions in Auldrant relied on the military to fill the capacity of law enforcement, but Tear had to admit, sometimes soldiers were not as capable as actual police groups. Also given the overwhelming percentage of civilians in the hospital, the presence of both was better than none.

If they couldn't fight for themselves, someone could in their place. Sometimes, that made all the difference.

"It's fine," Tear returned. She definitely did not mind discussing the reasons behind the staff's actions. "Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if they rely mostly on abilities to make their selections. There was one civilian whom I've met a few days ago: she had very similar healing artes to my own. Otherwise, she didn't appear to be familiar with this type of environment at all."

Day 58: Cafeteria

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