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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"Is there a handbook somewhere says that it's weird to ask these sort of questions of random acquaintances? I know your name, you ain't a stranger," he smiled a little as he stuck his fork into his food and looked at Kratos-- okay, smiled a lot, because asking those kind of questions always got the most interesting answers and he wasn't of the sort to let the discomfort of not knowing someone get in the way of his doing precisely that. Even if it might be a code name or something (Kratos sounded Greek) he still had a label to put on him.

The lack of knowledge about another Alfred didn't daunt him, now he knew an Alfred and that was a change for the better in his estimation. "I suppose there's something to be said for trying to eat alone but I figure you'd want people to look out for you. Just in case the docs decide they want to drag you off for nefarious things... not that we can really stop 'em even if we wanted to..." that seemed to dampen his spirits for a second but he shrugged it off, giving Kratos a rueful smile. "So I take it since you've survived this place a while you've been playing into their game? Either that or you're real good at surviving-- or both, come to think of it."

"Merely exchanging names and speaking for a while does not make one familiar with the other." The flat stare continued. Kratos was thankfully a patient man, or else he might have left the table by now, given his intense dislike for random, meaningless questions that only served to help people "get to know each other". That was fine, so long as there was an end to such purposes. If not, what was the point?

"And such things typically do not occur during breakfast," Kratos said slowly, and now there was a questioning note in his voice. The experiments that went on in the night were usually rarely spoken of during the day unless someone felt like venting or were dumping information upon an unsuspecting newcomer. "Come nightfall, having others to 'look out for you' would be appropriate, but as for now, one might call that overkill."

He bristled slightly at the suggestion that he could simply be playing along with the Institute; while that was true in some respects, Kratos would not count himself as one who had merely given up on any thought of escape or resistance. "The latter would be more appropriate," he replied coldly.

"Ah-huh," Was this guy for real? Part of him, a cynical bit, wanted to ask if he preferred to bond over showers or arts and crafts because breakfast at least was time to sit down and talk instead of be preoccupied with some other activity. But to each their own, no point in making enemies or pushing people away with a flippant answer. Though it was becoming fairly obvious that even his attempts to make himself at least pleasant was doing that very thing.

Not that it was going to stop him from doing it, but it was an observation. Some folks were loners, nothing he could do to change that.

"Can't blame me for trying to make friends at least," glancing down into his cup he rolled it between his palms. "So what do you think's the proper way for getting to know someone since I'm probably already at three strikes." it was unspoken but Alfred was going to try to at least to keep Kratos from getting killed or mauled, mangled, tortured, spliced, lasered, what have you. Being a hero was a thankless job because even loners needed them sometimes.

"Mm." If Kratos had even the slightest intent of Alfred's intent for him, he might have actually laughed. Killed, mauled, mangled, tortured...all of those had happened, some with an almost certain degree of regularity. It was impossible to protect everyone; better to direct your energies toward those who had no hope of defending themselves, those that were not him. After all, he himself was a knight, and what good was a knight if he had to be protected? It defied his very existence; he would have none of it.

"I wouldn't know." Kratos stared off at some spot over Alfred's shoulder as he laced his fingers together in front of him. "I don't think about that sort of thing often." He looked back at the blond, frowning lightly. "What do you mean by 'three strikes'?"

Somewhere, someone had to be laughing at this cosmic irony, that he be so entirely ignorant of the sport that his "real self" followed so vigilantly.

There was merit in being heroic, but there was also practicality in protecting people who would also benefit you should the need arise. He might have been more inclined to save any and all people before but now things were a bit more dire. And he had to think about his own more than about... "You know, three strikes..." being met with that same deadpan look as before (did this guy's expressions change?) prompted him to elaborate, one brow lowered and grinning a little ruefully, "...home runs, fouls, bases... and I'm not talking about any euphemisms-- baseball."

If he'd hoped to get anywhere it seemed he'd really picked the wrong guy. Normally the quiet folks had a lot more to say once someone showed some interest in them but it looked like he hadn't made the right decision or he'd misread him completely. Even he was at a loss-- couldn't chit-chat, guy didn't know sports... "It's a sport where you've got a batter, a pitcher and an umpire and the pitcher throws the ball and you gotta hit it and run like hell to the bases in an order to gain a point. Good for team work..."

"I...see." He still didn't look like he fully understood, but that couldn't be helped; baseball was probably something that needed to be experienced and seen in order to be truly appreciated, and the likelihood of Kratos ever witnessing a game was faint indeed. As things stood, though, he was sure that he could survive without knowing baseball inside and out.

Alfred still hadn't told him what three strikes had to do with this bizarre game that was good for teamwork, though. "I've never heard of it before." Frankly, it didn't sound too complex: hitting a ball with a bat was a simple concept, and so was running like hell. "You will need to elaborate; I'm afraid I still don't see how 'three strikes' connects to any of this."

"Three strikes means you're out." a thumb jerk gesture followed and he leaned forward on his elbows. "Part of the rules of the game. I'd show you some time if you're ever interested." Remembering the game prompted him to grin, something familiar and his own. "But basically you've got three chance to hit the ball-- if you strike out three times your team takes a hit. Once you have three outs your team is sent to the field instead of batting. Basically you're either trying to stop the other team from scoring or trying to score in turns. It really is much easier to show than explain." Did they have a baseball group here? If so, he was going to join up.

Might also be handy to know where all the bats were kept. Just in case he needed to brain something.

"...So three strikes... I'm out. It's just a saying, but since I keep striking out, my chances for becoming more than just some annoying guy you tolerated at breakfast steadily declines." best to be direct about it at least. "But better to make an impression than none at all, right?"

Day 58: Cafeteria

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