Castiel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
freewill) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
damned_institute2011-08-21 01:09 pm
freewill) wrote in damned_institute2011-08-21 01:09 pm
Day 58: Men's Showers (Second Shift)
By the time that breakfast had ended, Michael didn't really know what to think.
The good part of him -- the part that went to church every Sunday and prayed that he could find justice for his clients -- wanted to feel for those two boys. They were going through Hell (and not the literal kind that they were thinking of) and he really did hold out hope that they would get their acts together. But the rest of him wanted to forget all about them and focus on himself. They weren't his responsibility anymore, now that the case had been dropped. The very idea of a killer had been a fantasy, after all. It wasn't his job to worry about them.
He certainly wasn't some guardian angel, either. He had never signed up for that and he had no idea why his mind had decided that was the case. Figuring that out was probably his key to getting healthy again, but it seemed like an uphill journey at this point.
Either way, it was good to get away from Matt and Eric. He needed some breathing room, some time to just let his mind clear out all of that crazy angel and demon stuff. Being religious was one thing; this was another, and he knew it wasn't right. He tried not to think about what his parents probably thought of him, but for all he knew they weren't even aware that he was here. In fact, Michael couldn't even remember who had admitted him. It was possible he'd just brought himself here.
A shower sounded like a real blessing, though, and he didn't hesitate to strip out of the uniform and find shelter under the hot spray of one of the shower heads. It was definitely more than just washing off; it felt like a cleansing experience, like he was scrubbing the very idea of Castiel out of his skin. He knew it wasn't that easy, that he could relapse at any point, and yet he tried anyway.
However, once he'd washed his body and shampooed his hair, he realized that he needed to give up the shower space for someone else who might need it. As much as he would have liked to spend the entire shift there, he did the right thing and went back to get dressed once he was finished, heading out into the Sun Room on a soldier's heels.
[To here.]
The good part of him -- the part that went to church every Sunday and prayed that he could find justice for his clients -- wanted to feel for those two boys. They were going through Hell (and not the literal kind that they were thinking of) and he really did hold out hope that they would get their acts together. But the rest of him wanted to forget all about them and focus on himself. They weren't his responsibility anymore, now that the case had been dropped. The very idea of a killer had been a fantasy, after all. It wasn't his job to worry about them.
He certainly wasn't some guardian angel, either. He had never signed up for that and he had no idea why his mind had decided that was the case. Figuring that out was probably his key to getting healthy again, but it seemed like an uphill journey at this point.
Either way, it was good to get away from Matt and Eric. He needed some breathing room, some time to just let his mind clear out all of that crazy angel and demon stuff. Being religious was one thing; this was another, and he knew it wasn't right. He tried not to think about what his parents probably thought of him, but for all he knew they weren't even aware that he was here. In fact, Michael couldn't even remember who had admitted him. It was possible he'd just brought himself here.
A shower sounded like a real blessing, though, and he didn't hesitate to strip out of the uniform and find shelter under the hot spray of one of the shower heads. It was definitely more than just washing off; it felt like a cleansing experience, like he was scrubbing the very idea of Castiel out of his skin. He knew it wasn't that easy, that he could relapse at any point, and yet he tried anyway.
However, once he'd washed his body and shampooed his hair, he realized that he needed to give up the shower space for someone else who might need it. As much as he would have liked to spend the entire shift there, he did the right thing and went back to get dressed once he was finished, heading out into the Sun Room on a soldier's heels.
[To here.]
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"I don't know anything about all that," he said slowly, running one slick thumb over his chemical-scarred fingers. "That's nothing like what people call magic back where I come from. Are you sure you're not mistaking something real for magic and just calling it magic when you're doing all that?" He scratched his head. "It's the only thing I can think up. Otherwise it just doesn't make any sense."
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"No," he said, shaking his head. "Believe me. I..." He what? He had made up his mind to not reveal who he truly was, but it was difficult getting people to take him seriously without some level of authority. And he had already admitted he was involved in high level government ranks...
"I hold the highest position in the Uhran military," he said, feeling happy with that. Technically it was true. The kings of Uhra had always been warrior kings, and he was a consecrated knight. He just never actually had led any armies himself. "I am very knowledgeable about these things. I have used magic engines and magical artifacts myself. No, I really simply think it's a case of your world being nothing at all like mine. Most worlds aren't, it seems. Though Anise was quite familiar with many concepts common to Plank...."
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He hoped.
"We're all very different here, after all, from so many different places..." Which brought him to what he considered a pertinent question. "Though, on that note...is there anyone you know here? I mean, someone you knew from your own home?"
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That poor old man. After Carter had stopped laughing at the ridiculousness of being kin to a Klink he'd felt very sorry for him. It must be hard to not know where your relative is and then to get confused and think he's the wrong guy. He hoped the man eventually found Harold and took him home.
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Or was when you stopped to think about it. Or when he did, anyway, maybe not for Carter. The other man had mentioned something about a prisoner camp...
"You're an active duty soldier, aren't you? Or were until recently, if I'm correct?"
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"Sort of," he said, crossing his arms and putting one considering hand to his jaw. "See, my plane--uh, that's a machine that flies using science--got shot down in Germany and I was captured and put in a prison camp. Then I escaped, then I got captured again and wound up at another prison camp, Stalag 13. So the official story is that I was a POW." His life sounded remarkably complicated once it was summed up.
Carter grinned as he got around to the good part of the story. "But the thing is, we're actually running an underground sabotage and spy organization out of the camp, and helping prisoners from other camps escape. I was the demolitions man because I'm so good with bombs. So I was actually really active duty, it's just nobody knew about it but us."
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"You have my deepest respect, Sergeant," the young king went on, rather quietly. He didn't even bother pointing out that he knew what an airship was. But all of this did inform rather nicely into Tolten's next question. He wasn't certain how to brooch the subject, exactly, if there was any sort of etiquette he needed follow....
Well, best just dive in.
"What do you do here at night?"
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"It varies," he said, still riding on the glow of actual respect. "I fight a lot of monsters, and there's plenty of people here who need protecting from them. Sometimes it's just exploring. We went up to the Mines two nights ago, but I didn't see anything there but rats." More chin scratching. "I've heard people talking about going on different missions, or working with the clubs, but so far I haven't done one."
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"I am coming into a weapon tonight," he went on, voice lowered so the sound of water and conversation would keep it between them. "And I fear I have little skills other than that of a soldier. It is...all I've known outside of my father's house." All truth, though carefully worded. "I do not wish to sit idly by, but I am still rather new to this place. I understand the monsters that come out and the things that happen at night and I am confident I can meet them. I wish to offer my services to those who need it...."
Yes, he had heard all about the clubs as well. But they were well established, and Tolten knew how difficult it was to integrate oneself into an established group.
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"Just go out and walk in the halls at night, and you'll find someone who needs it. Sometimes you just run into them, or run into the monsters. Me, I don't even know that much about soldiering, just bombs, and me and my crowbar have been doing all right for ourselves." One giant rat, one man capable of setting things on fire, several cockroaches, and one bat killed with his bare hands. Carter felt he wasn't doing too bad for himself.
And the shadow. There was that. "But some monsters here you can't kill with normal weapons," Carter was quick to add. "I had to blow one up. So be careful, okay."
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He made a strange little keening noise in his throat before settling his jarred...well...everything.
"I suppose you're right," he responded, and this time he squeezed his eyes shut. "I've yet to see these monsters, but...well, I've seen plenty of monsters. But I will be very careful."
The announcement startled him and caused him to pull away, unaware that much time had passed.
"Oh god," he muttered, wiping wet hair out of his face. "It's lunchtime already..." And then he had to smile, and even chuckle a bit. "Sergeant, I think I'm forever in your debt for distracting me through this...experience."