Day 58: Lunch

[full-score.livejournal.com]

Although it had been good to see his mom again, Claude entered the cafeteria with a dark expression on his face. He was glad she felt comfortable enough with him to share her experiences from last night, but that didn't make him any less angry at the military for using her to do their dirty work. Why couldn't those bastards clean up their own messes? Surely they had the resources for it.

Were they really going to have to fight someone else's war now?

His head buzzed with those sorts of questions as he moved through the room. Even so, with the help of his escort, Claude assembled a tray with a rather large hamburger, the appropriate condiments, and a cup of water. The cafeteria was still relatively empty, save for the soldiers on duty, so he took very little time in the line. It was probably just as well. He'd been so engrossed in his conversation with Rita during breakfast that he hadn't eaten much.

After finding an empty seat, Claude gingerly placed his tray and journal onto the table and sat down. As he lifted up his burger with his good hand, Claude couldn't help but think of Ashton for a moment. Where was he? He'd disappeared so long ago, and yet part of him worried the military had used him for something too.

Eyebrows furrowed, he took a bite and tried to focus on getting a decent meal in his stomach.

[For Guy!]

Comments

[anemptydecapo]

Well, that had been... on par for what a discussion with Harry usually turned out being. Once the shift was declared over, the assassin politely requested his captors allow him to collect his journal from his room, which they surprisingly did not deny. Pen and paper in hand, he took to sitting in the usual corner of the cafeteria, mind more on work than food.

It had been a long while since he'd written anything down. The days had begun blurring together in his memory, leaving bits of information that he should recall all too distant. It was sloppy of him. He knew that. He wasn't going to stand for being so distracted again. No matter the circumstances, he always had to note the important happenings. In a situation like this, he couldn't allow himself to forget anything.

Half-way through a particularly depressing thought, his pen stilled. There was that feeling again, like someone had taken to breathing on the back of his neck. When he turned his head up from his journal, he realized why.

It was her. Unlike all the other times however, she wasn't standing across the room. She was right in front of him, staring down at him from under her matted hair. It was strange... For some reason, he'd never taken notice of the fact that she hadn't changed into her military uniform. She wore what she did the night before, yet none of the guards bothered to correct her. What the hell was going on?

This was getting completely ridiculous. "Ms. Littleton," he called out, voice strained with barely contained annoyance. "I respect your decision to not speak with me, but if you're going to do nothing more than stare, I request you--"

drip

The sound cut him off far more effectively than any words could. It wasn't water--he knew that immediately. It was a sound he'd heard too many times to count and one he shouldn't be hearing right now. It didn't make sense. His own wounds were bandaged; he couldn't be bleeding. No one should be bleeding. Ms. Littleton was fine, she was...

drip

Distance had hidden what he'd been avoiding all day. The new proximity showed everything and it was cowardly of him, but he wanted to close his eyes, to ignore it until it went away and know it was just some stress-induced hallucination. He didn't close his eyes. He had been too far away before to see that the back of the woman's shirt was stained red. He hadn't noticed how pale her skin was or the exact same blank stare she'd given him when--

when he'd killed her.

That was it. His pen dropped, rolling across the table before hitting the floor with a hollow noise. He couldn't tell. It was hard to hear anything over that constant dripping, over the blood pouring out of her head. He could barely hear his own words, some pitiful croak of "I'm so sorry" that eventually shuddered off into nothing. This was why she hadn't answered him. This was why she kept staring at him and no one else noticed. This was why the guards hadn't scolded her or why she hadn't changed.

She was dead.

In the next few seconds the woman vanished, going back to staring at him from across the room. It was simple enough to say he couldn't notice over his blurred vision and the sting of salt-water seeping into the wound across his cheek.

[oh god edward help.]

[prodigalson]

Now that one of his compatriots had been met with (he could stop worrying because she was fine, whole, unharmed; nothing happened, Edward, get a grip,), the other he was also concerned about had to be found. Venom, of course, probably did not want to be found. Edward had already learned that ignoring Venom's wishes was probably for the best, because otherwise he was going to find himself without a friend again, and that would -

- it would be bad. He didn't want it, surprisingly.

Venom was usually easy to find, looking like he did. Today Edward did not need to use his eyes to find him. Once he began perusing the room, ignoring the food line as he often did, he saw blood. Not in the room, but from someone's thoughts. That was usually more than enough to get his attention, especially when he was thirsty, but it was... hard to explain. Either way, he knew the image came from Venom's mind, tinged with his internal "voice".

Ignore it. The thirst flared to painful, hot life along his throat, but he sat. He picked up the pen that had fallen by his friend's feet, setting it back down on the table as he took his position beside Venom. Against what he thought was the better of two options, he put a cold hand on the assassin's shoulder.

[zack-fair.livejournal.com]

Having made sure that Rose was doing fine now, Zack's mood was doing better than ever. He realized that in the end he hadn't gotten much further last night than any other time, but he had actually realized a goal that might have a tangible reward. That was enough to boost his spirits, even if he'd had to go through a pretty odd experience to get there. In a way, that made it feel more legitimate.

In fact, the only thing that could have made the day better was having a proper meal. Still, it seemed that was too much to ask for; even though he'd played into Aguilar's hands last night, the military wasn't willing to give him anything but the pink stuff. So Zack stood in line for his second bowl of gruel and tried not to be a brat and send longing glances at the hamburgers.

They smelled so good, though.

As he sat down and started to drag his spoon through the gruel, Zack glanced around the mainly empty cafeteria, knowing that it would fill up before long. He'd already heard from Tifa, but nothing from Yuffie or Cloud so far. Seriously, his friends were trying to give him a heart attack, which really wasn't fair seeing how he'd already gone through one premature death.

But hey, if he could laugh about that it meant his mood was pretty decent.

[For Lightning.]

[thestormishere]

Right... so now what?

Sighing as she made her way through the line, Lightning's sharp eyes scanned the room, taking in the faces and statuses of those present. However, in her current state, still none of them really seemed worth approaching; acknowledging she needed to do something was easier than actually doing it. Frustrated, she made to sit by herself again... before then noticing on a second take that one of the guys seated nearby was someone who she not only knew, but had drawn out some sort of ally-ship with before.

Unbidden, an idea popped into her head, driven by her continued failure to figure out where Hope and Serah might be and what she should do about it, and without another second of hesitation, she moved to sit in the seat across from Zack--

Her demeanor wasn't quite as serious and put together as it might have appeared before, though, looking tired despite the fact that technically she was probably getting enough sleep in that space between being suddenly knocked out and pulling herself out of bed in the morning. Staring at the man intensely, she gave a short nod.

[nobleman]

That shower had really worked wonders, though Guy made sure to take his time with drying off. He had enjoyed getting clean, but he did have to admit that he'd rather not still feel damp by the time that they went out to lunch. He hadn't lost his love for the water, but he wasn't all that keen on sitting in slightly wet clothes after last night. So he towel-dried his hair as best he could and arranged it neatly before lunch came.

The mention of a soldier who would be actively speaking to patients was intriguing, although Guy didn't know if it was worth his time. Even if he was one of the highest ranked patients around here, chatting with the soldiers would probably just make him feel dirty. He wanted as little to do with them as possible.

Besides, as he walked into the cafeteria he immediately noticed Claude sitting on his own, and Guy figured that speaking to his friend was far more important than tracking down a soldier. With that in mind, he quickly got his food -- burgers today, huh? -- and went to go join his friend.

Claude's hand was wrapped up with a thick layer of bandages; that was the first thing Guy noticed as he took a seat. Chances were that his friend had even more wounds that weren't immediately obvious. He frowned at him for a second, his concern bleeding through. "Hey," he greeted. "How are you holding up?"

[full-score.livejournal.com]

When Guy came to join him, Claude looked up from his food, immediately brightening. While the question didn't surprise him, he did catch himself hesitating a brief moment before answering. Should he tell him what happened to Mom? But she'd likely shared all that in confidence, and Claude himself was still reeling from the implications. Maybe he ought to keep all that to himself for the time being.

"I'm okay!" he finally said with a grin. While he wasn't at his best, he didn't want to needlessly worry Guy, either. "I didn't break both hands, so it could be a lot worse." To demonstrate, he took a large bite of the burger clutched in his right one.

After chewing and swallowing, he set the food down, studying Guy for a moment. "What about you, though?" he asked, looking a bit more serious. "Are you okay? You know, after you had to..."

Claude trailed off, unsure of how he ought to finish the sentence. Guy didn't strike him as the overly-sensitive type, but he realized they hadn't really spoken much about his gynophobia since that night he'd told him about his dead family.

[freewill]

It figured that dealing with Noah was just as frustrating as it had always been. Michael barely knew how to feel about the whole thing. He hadn't seen his brother in over a year until now, but all they'd done was argue. It was hard not to when his brother always seemed to make a joke out of everything. Michael knew that he should have been kinder, should have given Noah the benefit of the doubt because of his illness, and yet for the most part he'd acted the same way he always had. The sickness didn't have anything to do with Noah's tendency to push everything serious off to the side -- and to tease him.

Honestly, they were grown men by now. Why was it like nothing had ever changed?

But in all seriousness (because that was something Michael was good at, when it came down to it), this was becoming overwhelming. He was the only one who seemed to have some hold on who he really was, and trying to push everyone else toward health was an impossible task. He was no psychiatrist; he couldn't make Noah or Eric or Matt suddenly come to their senses. And yet he felt responsible despite that. He knew it was irrational and stupid and a host of other things, but...

As Michael entered the cafeteria for lunch, however, he was temporarily allowed to forgot all about that stuff because -- well, because he smelled burgers. Sizzling hot animal fat drenched in cheese and with all sorts of toppings; his stomach twisted and his mouth watered. His fondness for the all-American food was something he hadn't even been able to kick when he'd thought he was an angel. That was impressive.

But even as he wandered toward the grills, he was quickly stopped by one of the soldiers who explained that that was something only granted to the higher ranks. Michael tried to argue: "Look, can't you tell that I'm so much more lucid today? I think I deserve--"

"Rules are rules, Mr. Collins." And he couldn't really argue with that.

After standing in line for the far less appetizing gruel, Michael took a seat. Rubbing at his forehead with one hand while scooping up some of the pink mush with the other, he hoped that he might be left alone for once.

[For Renamon.]

[diamondstorm]

The conversation with Nigredo hadn't made things any simpler--the opposite in fact. It raised valid points, both productive and detrimental, and half of the Digimon wondered if she had been out of line. It was vaguely human to think, a step past learned decorum, and she was slightly dissuaded; not enough to disturb but enough to shift to a different mindset. More considering. There was talk of the drug trials on the board, and Renamon wondered if she should put effort into exploring that after tonight. A goal to consider, by any rate, even if the payout for it seemed lax.

The cafeteria was slowly filling by the time she approached it, and she took the tray of actual food given, and moved to find a spot to eat part of it. The burger reminded her too much of eating with Byrne, and it would be ignored as much as possible. The sides were more edible, in her own view.

Her gaze chanced to catch on a recognizable figure, and the Digimon realized she hadn't seen him for a couple of days. She moved towards him, setting her tray down opposite from the angel. "Castiel," she nodded in greeting.

[human-sponge.livejournal.com]

It was hard for Peter to willingly leave that patient alone when he'd seemed to really be suffering. It wasn't the obvious kind of suffering -- he wasn't screaming in pain or anything -- but something more quiet, where Peter had to wonder if there really was something mentally wrong with the man. It was hard to say, of course, and it wasn't like that was his area anyway, but he'd still wanted to help. Because in the end, that was always his instinct.

But maybe it was best to give the man some space, and it wasn't like the soldiers approved of patients sticking together too much during the day anyway. Peter didn't know why they cared, but...

It sounded like they were going to have the soldiers start to interact with the patients a little more. What was their angle? To try and incite trust in them? That was pretty much an impossible task, so maybe it had something to do with gathering information. Peter didn't see why any person in their right mind would be forthcoming with that, though.

Even if he'd been interested (which he wasn't), Peter already had a meeting planned for lunch. If all went well, he was going to chat with the patient named Tear who he'd been speaking with over the bulletin. She'd said she had long brown hair and blue eyes, but seeing how he'd gotten here first, that wasn't much help.

Peter went ahead and got his hamburger and french fries and then returned to the room's entrance, picking a table near it to sit at. They'd agreed to find each other somewhere around here, so it would probably be fine, right?

[For Tear.]

[melodists.livejournal.com]

Between arranging meetings and gathering information, Tear barely had a minute left to write up a thank-you note to Anise. In truth, the young woman wanted to contact her teammate and offer her thanks in person, but she understood the futility of a chance meeting in this place. Furthermore, the girl apparently had had some major business to attend to, if her earlier note of appreciation was of any indication. As long as she was well, Tear supposed it was best to leave Anise be for the time being.

Instead, the Melodist took to jotting down a quick note to show that she had received the gift. This somehow took longer than expected due to her inability to come up with the most appropriate words, but she managed to attach the paper to the board and still stride through as one of the early arrivals to the cafeteria. She had a very important meeting with Peter, and it would be terrible form to arrive late.

Surprisingly, if the descriptions on the board matched what she observed, Peter was already in a seat by the entrance. Not only had this man sounded very competent in his work, but he was also prompt. She could appreciate that, although a part of her felt guilty for being late. Never mind she was never late to begin with.

Tear approached the man she assumed to be Peter and offered a cursory look. "Are you Peter?" she asked.

[age-of-kings.livejournal.com]

Well, that had been...interesting.

Tolten supposed he at least felt better being cleaned and in fresh clothing. And he had survived his first encounter with barracks style bathing. At least he had been well distracted through most of it. And despite the rather terrible faux pax of losing his temper over something rather silly, the sergeant was a good man who had been very kind and helpful. Really, everyone Tolten had met so far had been kind and helpful.

And at least he had a plan. It seemed as though everyone was working to the same end, so he had no need to bluster about and try and escape in a night or two. He would find someone who needed aid and he would aid them. He knew he could do that. Even without being a mage he could do that.

And he had to eat again. He took his gruel and found a seat, frowning over the gloop. He knew he'd eaten worse - he had never wanted to ask what was in the stew in those refugee camps - but it was the principle of the thing. But he needed to keep his strength up.

"For Uhra," he mumbled as he began to methodically spoon down lunch.

[For Sonia!]

[stylebythemile]

I think I finally know what's going on. She'd been thinking about it ever since she'd seen those dog tags. But after listening to all the announcements, she was beginning to be sure of it: what if Aguilar had brought them here to receive some kind of special training? But for what? And why grab people from different worlds?

It explained just about everything. Besides the way it looked, this wasn't your average prison, and there'd been little doubt the doors unlocking at night served an important purpose. She thought back to her conversation with Sora yesterday. Letting people out to see how close they got to escaping... It was like they were part of an experiment!

How was Aguilar choosing people? Sonia could guess why they'd want her here; she wasn't called a Freedom Fighter for nothing. What she didn't get was why they'd only caught her. Why weren't they interested in Sonic and Manic? On the other hand, she couldn't be sure that they weren't, or if they had been captured and she just hadn't seen them, but she'd like to think she could recognize her own brothers no matter what they looked like, even in a crowd this big.

Anyway, Aguilar must have known who she was (or maybe he'd just got lucky?). So why were they trying to make her think she was someone else?

As soon as Sonia got to the cafeteria, she was ushered into the food line. Just eating that stuff for dinner was more than enough for her. If her diet didn't improve soon, she didn't know what she'd do. She didn't want to think she'd get used to this. "Yeuggh!"

So either she was sitting by herself this time, or someone would be kind enough to offer her a place at their table. Tray in hand, she walked between tables that were already full, head turning left and right in search of an empty chair. She suddenly stopped in her tracks when someone sitting alone got her attention. Ooh. He was very handsome. Actually, it took her a few seconds to realize he kind of reminded her of Bartleby. At least, what he might have looked like in one of these bodies. They both knew how to stand out from the crowd.

A natural smile appeared on her face as she approached. Looked like something was bothering him. "Um, hi!" she greeted brightly, stopping next to the seat across from him. "Mind if I sit here?"

[damned-soldiers.livejournal.com]

The woman didn't seem to show any outward pride over being chosen for this task. For the most part, the expression on her face was unreadable as she waited. She stood, with perfect posture in that same black uniform, and sent calm glances around the cafeteria. As formal as she was, there was something casual about her as well; she was at ease. There was, after all, nothing to be scared of.

Harrington's announcement had made the patients aware of her presence, and so she was content to wait for the moment. She placed one hand on her hip, a few inches away from where her standard-issue gun was strapped, and kept an eye out for anyone curious or interesting.

Her black hair was kept neatly under a cap and despite the fact that she wasn't revealing much about her mood, she seemed open enough.

[Free; check here (http://damned-lounge.livejournal.com/2567864.html) for more details.]

[selfnighted.livejournal.com]

The new Intercom Man seemed to be quite emotional, strangely enough. Had intercom duty turned into too menial a task? The least he could have done was indicate who this open-to-questions soldier was—if the soldier existed at all. It was only a hearsay, was it not?

However, as Maya made her way to the food line, she happened to notice that one of the black-garbed sentries didn't seem to be watching a patient. Was this the mysterious intercom soldier? Hmm. Maya had expected a man, but... Maya's personal guard was a woman. My. What an unfortunate assumption she had made.

If she had made one—but the attitude of their new overseers didn't permit this kind of slack, she'd imagine. We'll find out soon enough, shall we? Maya glanced at the soldier by her side, but she didn't seem to object to Maya's little diversion. Forging ahead it was, then. "Not a flattering introduction, was it?" Maya asked light-heartedly, putting on an I-am-harmless smile. "Almost as if he had forgotten."

[lighthearted]

So far, today had been both exciting and relaxing; exciting because Riku was back and relaxing because he'd just spent a shift drawing pictures and doing arts and crafts with a girl named after a flower. What could be nicer than that?

It was easy for Sora to let himself forget about all of the more serious stuff that he had talked about with Riku that morning when there were other patients to meet and activities to do. He'd learned by now that while in this place, sometimes he needed to just relax and stop worrying about things in order to keep himself healthy. It was kind of a shock that he'd never come down with a cold here, considering the bad weather and the stress.

But that was something to be grateful for, right? Much like the food he was about to eat. Sora hadn't ever appreciated it as much as he did now, when he saw what most of the others had to eat. While the soldiers said that the pink stuff was nutritious and healthy and all that, it didn't really match up to a hamburger, did it?

Sora collected his food and then glanced around the room, spotting the soldier that they had said would be out and about to talk to patients today. Maybe he should go speak with her? But that seemed like something that Riku would be better at; Sora wouldn't really know what questions to ask. He'd probably just end up talking to her about the weather or something.

Besides, he'd been too distracted by talking to Riku at breakfast to eat much of it, which meant that he was pretty hungry now. It was probably best if he focused on his meal before he did anything else, and so the boy went ahead and grabbed himself a seat.

[For Japan.]

[osoreirimasu.livejournal.com]

After spending the entire last shift enjoying a shower to wash away the foul taste the morning meeting had left in his mouth, Japan felt a little lightheaded. Over an hour spent in a hot, steamy room tended to do that to a person even if there was no sauna or actual bath to sit in. Still, even with wrinkled fingers and a slight flush to his cheeks, he was glad he'd spent so long in the shower without talking to anyone. He felt a bit more composed now and ready to deal with...well...people.

Japan never was one to be very social in the first place, even if he was curious. It was simply stressful to be surrounded by so many foreigners all the time, but at the same time exciting. When he'd come to realize the people here were real? Well, then he'd felt much more like talking to them until he ran into another problem; that of his shyness. How could he simply walk up and talk to someone like Cloud Strife or Lightning? Or worse, what if he annoyed Venom again and the assassin tried to kill him? Not that he...would, but the possibility was there. As was the possibility of angering one of the Square Enix characters and getting punched in the face for stealing their signatures. Which Japan did anyway, but he had learned he had to be careful.

With his tray in hand, the island nation made his way through the cafeteria, trying to find a seat. As he walked, he wondered if he'd be able to catch any more signatures today. There was still time left and the afternoon was when more people posted anyway. Perhaps before dinner, he could run through the entire bulletin and take away the small papers before anyone noticed. "Maybe today I...."

His musing was cut short when a small dialogue box popped up in his lower left hand corner.

A Wild Sora has appeared.

"...? A wild..?" Turning his head further in that direction, Japan found himself looking at the cutest protagonist ever created by Square. Sitting and eating his food. Normally. Like a kid. It was Sora. Eating. Right in front of him. Japan made an undignified squeak as he tried to say something and promptly froze to the spot.

[witchoftruth]

Naturally, Erika's foul mood grew even fouler as lunchtime approached. It was normally foul around this time because she was subjected to the smells and sights of food that was now as magnificent as Toshiro Gohda's cooking, while she was forced to consume pink oatmeal (she preferred to think it was oatmeal) that was probably expired. However, the added humiliation from last night and the very physical reminders on her body was enough to send her into a near rage. For a moment, she entirely considered abandoning the Cafeteria altogether - it wasn't like she wanted this sorry excuse for "food" and she had noticed that her usual escort was aloof, or nearly absent. In fact, Erika was starting to think that no one would notice or care if she left. It made sense to her: Who would notice a discarded piece moving around on a gameboard? If anything, you'd want to remove it in the first place.

So she seemed suicidal enough to try out her little "experiment", when her handler from this morning approached her with a curious item. It surprised Erika, if only because she hadn't even attempted to stand up yet. And furthermore, there was no reason for her to receive an item like "that". For one, she already seemed to have received a consolation prize for her "participation", she supposed, in that damnable arena: A pin, exactly like the one Sync had, which was affixed to her beret when she woke up. Erika didn't really think that remaining alive was much of a reward, as this was now the only Fragment where she could 'exist'. So she wasn't really sure what to make of this. Perhaps it wasn't meant for her. Maybe it was someone else's birthday.

"From the General," The soldier said as he dropped the item in front of her, pushing it forward to it was well in her hands. "Remember the rule about sharing food with unauthorized personnel." And just like that, he was gone, leaving Erika with her "gift".

It was difficult for Erika to properly determine how she was supposed to feel about this. The item was gaudy and colorful, a very cold reminder of the brief hell she experienced last night when she ... well, one could only call that a loss, no matter how one looked at it. On the other hand, it was something that Erika had been craving for quite some time, something that she normally would welcome with open arms if it weren't for the fact that she was certain this was supposed to be some form of kicking her while she was down.

... But the cupcake looked so delicious that Erika decided she didn't care. She carefully held the treasured treat in her hands, gazing down at the frosting and deciding that she was going to enjoy this cupcake to the fullest extent she could, intentions and meanings be damned.

[ i am sure gabe's cupcake senses will guide him to this post eventually.... ]

[survives]

The talk with Renamon over breakfast had been... enlightening. Very enlightening.

She still didn't exactly feel at ease (would it even be possible to feel that way in this place, she wondered), but the initial panic had subsided, leaving her feeling like she could actually breathe again. What she'd learned about the place, none of it sounded good at all, but knowing just what was going brought with it a sense of relief. And now that she wasn't entirely in the dark, she knew what she had to do.

This place seemed to have other plans, however, herding her from one place to another, until Leanne found herself almost exactly where she'd started. The... Cafeteria again. And, once again, she was given a tray full of something meant to be food. It didn't seem any more appealing than it had in the morning, but she had to admit, she was hungry. Food at breakfast hadn't... exactly happened for her, as engrossed as she'd been in her conversation.

Picking an empty seat at a table, she could only stare at the pink mush for several moments. The more she stared at it, the worse it looked. But, well, there was nothing to be done about it just yet, was there? It couldn't be that bad. Right?

Oh, she hoped it wasn't that bad.

[For Michelangelo!]

[hiddenbadass]

[Sorry! Was busy all yesterday because of Irene prep. Here now.]

Mike was actually impressed that he had managed to get back into his uniform, even with help. Last time, he had Wally help him out (how embarrassing was that?), and that had still been a chore.

At least it had been nice to get under some water again. This human body didn't need to soak in water as much as his real body, but--.

A flash of pain, but this time from his back. He grit his teeth and continued walking to the line, followed by a soldier. More of the pink crap was slopped onto his tray. Man, he bet that kids got better meals than this in school. (They had always universally been bad in television shows. He never found out if that's how they really were. Yet that was another lifetime ago.)

He needed a distraction, as a scar on his back continued to throb. He found it in a girl sitting not too terribly far away, staring at her gruel like it was going to leap out and grab her. New kid, obviously.

Mike approached her, putting his tray down before pointing to hers. "It's best if you eat that; it's all you'll get, and you gotta stay strong here."

He sat down without waiting to be invited. "Name's Mike."

[dualistic]

What a day.

Honestly, Harvey had needed something more normal -- more like his days usually were here -- after what he'd been through in the coliseum. He needed some time to recharge, to get a hold on himself, to deal with a loss that he didn't know how to react to. Instead, he'd been offered a partnership with a death god and been lectured for his anger problems by a futuristic doctor. And the day was only half over. He was almost to the point where he wanted to beg one of the soldiers to let him go back to his room so he could just sleep the rest of the day, but in the end his pride wouldn't let him. The military already had them by the balls; he wasn't going to completely submit.

So when the offer was made to speak to one of the soldiers, he almost wanted to take advantage of it. In the end, though, he realized that a simple grunt wasn't going to be able to handle all of his rage about what had gone on. Maybe they would serve as a good punching bag, but it would ultimately be pointless.

That, and it was a little more difficult to argue with women. He wouldn't hesitate to kill one if he had the right reasons and the burned side of his coin showed itself, but otherwise --

This whole train of thought was idiotic, he eventually decided. Harvey couldn't figure out if he was riled up or fatigued and he seemed to be going back and forth between the two. But regardless, neither one made him feel much like eating, and so Harvey managed to slip away and find a seat off to the side of the room without getting himself any lunch.

And, after a while, he ended up putting his head down. His earlier attempt at a nap had been interrupted, so this was round two.

[Free!]

[tasteoftruth.livejournal.com]

It was probably best that Badd started hallucinating again after he made it through the food line. Gant was the last person he'd needed to see today and rage was billowing inside him like a river about to crash through a weakened dam. Someone needed to pay for Byrne's pain. Someone needed to bleed. At this point he barely cared who.

As he picked up his bowl and spoon the walls around him narrowed and turned sickly yellow. He was walking down the corridors of the hotel, worn lollipop stick between his teeth, one hand under his coat. He was plainclothes, as were the cops surrounding the building, but it was hard to walk like a civilian instead of a badass.

He turned a corner and walked into a hail of bullets. They ripped holes in the collar of his coat as he dove to the side, going from paranoid to panicked in the span of moments. One hit his bulletproof vest, knocking the wind out of him before he could get his own firearm free. It gave the hidden gunman the opening he needed to aim lower and shoot him in the leg. Badd gave a low scream, even as he fumbled for his own gun. Go past the pain. Ignore it. Do your job. You've been shot before. Keep going.

He fired, but he could already hear the gunman carpet-muffled feet running down the hallway. Badd tried to get to his feet but fell back on one knee, sweating with pain and effort.

Cece!

Badd found himself leaning backwards against one of the tables, one hand on his thigh, breathing hard. Very carefully he pulled out his seat and sat down as if nothing strange had happened. He had no idea what he'd done during this bout of madness and didn't dare look up to see if anyone was staring at him.

[hes-deadjim.livejournal.com]

Asking Dent, what was he thinking? It wasn't like the man had been the most helpful person he'd run into here, but he should've known better.

When it came down to it, McCoy had no idea where Spock was. The one time he wanted the hobgoblin, he was nowhere to be find. And even that was saying it too strongly. It wasn't like he wanted to go through with this at all. Telling himself over and over that he had to, because the alternatives were that he really slip up the next time and actually kill someone, didn't make it an easy pill to swallow. McCoy had to resist from giving into the urge to pace again, to give himself some outlet, and instead sat himself down at a table.

This was probably the better choice when it came to tracking a Vulcan down. It seemed like everyone ended up gathered in the cafeteria for the meal, and it was only logical that Spock wouldn't blow off sustaining his bodily requirements.

He shielded his eyes from the bright lights, and alternated between watching the door and the rest of of the room. No sign of Spock. No sign of Jim or Uhura.

What if they had gone to the basement? What if they died down there? The thought sprang up suddenly and the anxiety that followed was suffocating. It could have happened. Easily. Jim was dead set on going down there. All the belief in the world, and no matter how crazy Jim got when it came to flaunting his relationship with Lady Luck, wouldn't help if if he got one good blow or injury amongst them. What if something happened to them?

[for Spock]

[dual-worlds.livejournal.com]

The moment Spock awoke, he knew that his body's sense of time was not entirely accurate. His last memory consisted of his tense exchange with McCoy, then allowing Kirk to leave him to his own devices, and then...

He wasn't entirely clear on what happened after that. Perhaps he blacked out just as he did every night. With the military overseeing activities, it was difficult to determine whether he ought to consider today's schedule. There was also the fact that he'd already been kept overnight for observation once. The soldier who came to bring him from his room was, unfortunately, of little help in settling the matter.

Eyebrows faintly furrowing, the Vulcan allowed the soldier to escort him to the cafeteria. While he wished to investigate the bulletin for signs of Kirk, Nyota, McCoy, or anyone else affiliated with the Enterprise, the soldier's gruff insistence that he spend the remainder of the shift in the cafeteria meant he would likely need to wait until 4th shift. There was little use in arguing about it. He was vastly outnumbered and at an disadvantage.

He would have to shift his attention to what little he could control at the moment. Once he'd obtained one serving of that questionable pink-colored substance, Spock scanned the area in an attempt to locate someone he knew. While there was still no sign of the captain or their communications officer, he immediately located Dr. McCoy, who appeared to be sitting alone.

Perhaps he would be of some assistance regarding what had transpired since their last meeting. On the other hand, there was a chance McCoy's mental state had further deteriorated during that time. He could be uncooperative, irrational, volatile -- violent, even. Yet so long as he remained uncertain about everyone's present status, Spock could not afford to ignore their doctor due the mere possibility that he could lash out at him.

He cautiously approached McCoy, allowing himself to be seen far before he actually reached the table. It would be better to be as open as possible while communicating with him. After all, unintentionally startling him would do more harm than good in trying to assess the situation.

"Doctor," he calmly greeted once he stood in front of the chair across from McCoy. "May I take a seat?"

[rocksthecourt]

'All soldiers,' hmm? That was interesting. So they were openly referring to them all as soldiers now. Yes, it had been obvious that was how they were all being treated, but Klavier hadn't wanted to think that was the literal role expected of them. This was ridiculous. ...If it was true, anyhow. He actually had his suspicions that the term "soldier" was no more accurate than the word "patient" had been previously. If they wanted to cultivate soldiers, they would be spending all day running through drills or some such, wouldn't they? No, there was something more going on. Something in which it benefited the those in charge to lead everyone into believing they wanted them to behave as soldiers. ...But what could that be?

His conversation in the showers hadn't been horrible, but it had made him want to stop and think about this whole situation from the very beginning. The shift in power, the experiments, the memory loss... They were all pieces to a bigger picture, one none of them could ever imagine simply by looking at only one or two details. Yes, he needed to reconsider everything all over again. Right from square one.

But that wasn't how he was going to be spending his lunch. He'd do that afterward. Right now, he had his own little selfish priorities, and one of which was speaking with... a friend. Admittedly, Klavier had initially just thought of him as a kid who'd had the unfortunate luck of being thrown in here, who was pleasant to talk to, and who Klavier should keep an eye out for. But -- call him strange if you want -- he really did consider the child a friend. Which was why he'd been so offended by the way that one referred to him and treated him at times. ...

In any case, after wordlessly taking his tray of the military's finest slop, he turned back toward the tables. Rather than scanning the room for an available seat, however, he was looking for that familiar head of black hair.

[for Nigredooo]

[falseblack]

The promise of a responding soldier perked Nigredo's ears. Having their caretakers available for questioning was a rare novelty, one which he was tempted to take advantage of. There existed a couple of subjects he had wanted to delve into, and while the patient populace could be informative at times, they would be less than helpful with these. Asking a soldier, therefore, was deemed to carry more potential than none.

Nigredo, however, had an appointment. A rather large one when examining significance, especially in regards to the two individuals in question. If the boy did not clarify the matter, the situation could escalate to an irreversible level. Where would he be, then? He had promised protection to one and everything to another; to choose between them was simple but hardly easy.

Preventive measures, therefore, were better.

He was quick to follow his escort's orders and retrieve his food. The pink stuff was one of the few edible elements he could stomach, but today was a day for focus, not eating. Without glancing down at his tray, Nigredo began to search for a recognizable face. He finally caught a familiar braid in the near distance and took steps to approach.

"Klavier," he called out when Nigredo closed in. He waved with a free hand. "Here."

[she-is-ruin.livejournal.com]

_{[For Damon!]}

Lunch already? Even more acutely than usual, Yomi felt like she was living independent of time, in a prison of her own mind (and making, you know it's true). It had the disadvantage of putting her at time's mercy. Although she'd been keeping her eye on the daily bulletin news, it and most of the faces she'd passed by over the course of the day were blurring together into an indistinct mass. The day half over, and she'd done nothing. Nothing she should have been doing, anyway.

At the very least, she caught the sidenote to the noon announcement; it succeeded in getting her to focus, and as she collected a tray with the military's gruel on it, she almost felt like she could shake off her shadows. She scanned the cafeteria for this aforementioned 'her'. The soldiers were tossing one of their own into the middle of the prisoner population to do what, talk? It had the laughable quality of a mediation or a therapy session to it, as if only a chosen few soldiers could break away from the line constantly ringing the rooms and lower themselves to the task of communication. It had so far seemed to be a tradition, that day staff of whichever type ignored the prisoners as much as someone like Yomi ignored them.

She wasn't hard to spot, the female soldier assigned to break said tradition. The bitch was standing in plain sight as calm as could be.

Taking her meal to an unoccupied spot within earshot, Yomi sat and pushed her tray away from her. Approaching one of the soldiers for her own purposes was out of the question while... while the drugs were still in effect. But she could sit, and watch, and listen. It kept her mind steadied on something other than herself.

[saviored]

Q&A sessions with the soldiers, how civilized. He half expected to see them wearing name tags and Ask Me buttons. Not that the idea wasn't tempting, but Damon wasn't currently into playing with the soldiers just yet. He'd taken to mostly ignoring his and his had ignored him in kind, which was just as well. Their schedule wasn't nonexistent, but they weren't on a ticking-bomb clock, either. It could wait until he had something.

For now, he was mostly interested in the patients. Namely, the little mystery of what they were. He hadn't forgotten what he'd been told his first morning here and everything since then had proven her right. After being one of the only things on the supernatural food chain? Of course he was interested.

This could either work really well in his favor, or not. Whatever it was, he'd prefer to pinpoint which it would be soon. Which meant revisiting an old friend.

So to speak. He didn't even know her name, but that wasn't the point. Hey, she didn't know his, either. Even ground.

He found her not too far off. She blended, but she was easy enough to spot. He slid into the seat across from her, carrying some water and nothing else.

"You look like you could use some company."

[fourstonewalls]

Lana hadn't meant to sleep in; she wasn't sure when the last time she'd had the luxury or the ability to do so had been, before arriving here. But sleep in she had, and only the threat that if she didn't move right now she wouldn't have a chance to shower for several days got her on her feet, into the showers, and back out before she'd really woken up.

She blinked up at the bulletin board through wet bangs, until the curves and edges of handwriting became words and not merely fragments of uncatalogued evidence. There was less discussion of last night's revelations than she'd expected. Everyone had rushed over, and yet they thought by not speaking of it, it could be erased. Of course. Nothing changed, not where human nature was concerned. "Javert" was investigating, and so was Lamperouge, even if few of the others were, which was also entirely to be expected.

She claimed a section of table, and started eating her way through lunch with the same determination she tackled most things; grim but steady.

[Damon Gant]

[gargantuanlaugh.livejournal.com]

Badd. That son of a bitch. He had been the rat all along. Gant muttered innumerable curses as he finally left the showers, storming around in his fury. He stomped through the Sun Room in a haze. He stopped by the bulletin and barely recognizing what he was writing until he had finished posting his note (http://damned-bulletin.livejournal.com/851232.html). He felt no shame, though. Turnabout was fair play. After all, there was no guarantee Shou would actually believe him or even care about what Badd had done in his past, but Gant wanted the satisfaction that would come from using his own info on Badd against him.

Still seething, Gant was quick to grab up his 'lunch' and had planned to just sit down at the nearest table available. Then his former partner's distinctive features caught his attention, and he found himself drawn toward her.

He sat down rather insistently in a chair across from her, giving her a curt nod. "Afternoon." It was very unusual to be so brief, but he didn't want to risk being altogether unpleasant with about the only other person in the institute that he tolerated.

[heroesdontshave]

For all intents and purposes, Snow was completely ignoring his soldier escort guy. He was following, but his eyes were entirely on the crowd around them. He was searching one room as he left it and then searching the lunch room as he walked into it. He might have looked lost to anyone who didn't know better. Snow knew what he was looking for though. The same thing he'd been looking for since he'd woken up this morning. Serah.

He'd been looking for hours now. The day was going to be ending soon enough. Normally someone would have gotten discouraged by now. But not him. No way. Even though he considered it pretty much impossible for him to ever overlook her, he was sure that was what was happening. They were just missing each other. After all, Hope was also supposed to be here somewhere, and he hadn't seen him around either. And like Ryuu had said, it was easy to lose people in all this mess. That was why he didn't give up. He'd try until he'd exhausted every possible option, and he still had a lot left.

Snow had tried calling for her in the crowd between shifts. Nothing. He'd tried looking for her in the Son Room and waiting for her to come out of the showers. Nothing. Now he'd moved on to leaving a message on the "bulletin board" for her to see and was going to look around the lunch room. If that also yielded nothing... well, he'd deal with that if it happened. But if the note didn't work, he'd have to accept that, at the very least, she wasn't walking around with everyone else. Which meant... there were gonna be a lot of soldier guys going to the infirmary tonight.

Right now, though? Still just looking. In fact, he was so distracted with looking, his soldier escort guy had to snap at him before he realized he'd had a tray of food handed off to him and was supposed to be moving. Snow didn't really care about eating. He just took a seat wherever the hell was closest and kept scanning the room around him.

[Izaya!]

[propheteer]

After he'd begun talking to Tina, Izaya hadn't been able to keep a constant eye on Villiers and Mikado, but at least he hadn't seen the pair look his way whenever he did glance over at them. Granted, Mikado wasn't Shizuo and therefore was far less likely to interfere with his... acquaintances by spreading tales (whether said tales were true or false was irrelevant), but there was still a possibility he could have decided to warn people away from Izaya.

So after seeing them talk, he was rather curious about what it was they'd talked about. He could guess at it, partly: Mikado was still fairly new, and even if he was surely beginning to adjust to the routine here, there was only so much he could see and believe in twenty-four hours without hearing it from multiple sources. Surely a part of their talk had been about the 'hospital'.

After bidding goodbye to Tina and spending a little more quality time with the bulletin board (Ippo had left a message with a flashy signature earlier, and Izaya smirked to himself as he left another reply), he was ushered into the cafeteria by the usual soldier. Pink goo was still the meal of the day there, and Izaya frowned at the tray he'd been given. Couldn't they have at least changed the color from meal to meal, if they were insisting on serving the same thing over and over?

Izaya tore his eyes away from the tray to find a seat, spotting one of the two people who'd been occupying his thoughts earlier. He made his way over to Villiers, setting his own tray down opposite the man and taking a seat. "Hello, Snow," he greeted. "I haven't seen you since we were in town."

[terriblehaiku]

The day was not getting better. He hadn't particularly expected it to, but he also hadn't expected his self-control to slip this badly. Last night had been bad enough, but now he felt that every time he turned around, he was going to see home again, hear Sannan leveling those baffling accusations at him, and be forced to watch it all spiral out of control as if it were happening for the first time.

He was a grown man, a leader, and he shouldn't have been letting himself go to pieces like this, no matter the circumstances.

And now he had to walk into a lunch meeting completely blind, and hope he could avoid any unnecessary questions about why Souji couldn't make it himself. He wouldn't be able to avoid the issue forever, but if he could hold off until after the task he'd planned for himself that evening, he would be grateful.

Walking into the cafeteria and collecting his 'meal,' he looked around for a familiar head of red hair. Not spotting Asuka, however, he took the nearest empty seat to wait.

[For Asuka]

[lookitmemama.livejournal.com]

Oh, good.

More of this.

Asuka held her tray stationary as she looked at her bowl of gruel that hadn't changed since the first time this slop came onto the menu. "Well, thank God no one's getting sick of this meal. I mean that would certainly put people in quite the mood, huh?" She didn't even bother looking for her guard's reaction since it wouldn't have changed. The older woman snorted at the attempted sarcasm and ultimately moved out of her way so the eva pilot could find her own seat.

One thing she did like about these soldiers is they didn't try to be part-time match makers. They didn't care who you sat with and, frankly, it was a refreshing change.

With that freedom, the redhead threaded through the crowd of people as she looked for one in particular--Well, two in particular, but she had to settle for Hijikata. He looked under the weather, and Asuka could imagine a few reasons why after the clusters of chaos she had seen on the bulletin board concerning last night.

What idiots to take pills from the enemy, expecting them to keep their end of the bargain. It was laughable! Whether Hijikata was suffering from post-pill trauma or just the general annoyance of this place, the young girl said nothing and sat down opposite him with her tray.

"Well, good afternoon, sunshine!" She said with an innocent grin that just didn't fit well on her face.

[toxicspiderman]

One morning wasn't much of a sulk. Nor did it make much of a dent in moving him down the bumper-car gridlock of grief. He would have stayed in bed all day, but nature had called, and while he was pissing they locked him out of his room.

Any improvements in their opinion from the extra pin on his beret and the Class A on his dog tag had been undone when he'd thrown it at the first soldier to walk in the door. The second one had gotten a shoe, since he didn't bother picking it up, even if it flew better. Nice round shape, the weight of the elastic turning it into a pocket Frisbee.

He was wearing it when he got to the Sun Room. The military mind was deliberately small, and he didn't need to get anyone fired from a job only marginally less shitty than lab rat. Indy hadn't replied to either of Peter's posts, which meant it was real. Some dude named Guybrush Threepwood had already gone with trying to cheer Peter up by pissing him the fuck off, so S.T. kept his replies short before slouching into the cafeteria.

They steered him to the real food, which looked about as appetizing as the goo. His stomach disagreed vocally, but he ignored it and commenced a staring match with the baleful slit-eye of a hamburger poking out of its bun.

[L]

1/2

[ryuuzaki]

At lunch, hamburgers were the alternative to the apparently inexhaustible supply of porridge. L couldn't decide which he found less appetizing--he certainly didn't envy anyone their greasy ground meat patty--but at least if he were allowed real food, he could have some fruit from the salad bar. As the situation stood, it was hard to imagine doing anything but picking at his meal.

The fact that Aguilar had presumably brought enough of the porridge with him to feed large numbers for an indeterminate amount of time was further support for the idea that he had always intended to oust Landel, and had used the riot as an excuse... or had he called in shipments, suppliers? It would have been easy for patients to miss that kind of delivery, especially if it had happened on Saturday, when most were in Doyleton. They hadn't been aware of any earlier deliveries (although the presence of fresh produce meant that food supplies were replenished on a regular basis). However, if Aguilar had made a specific request of his organization, that would mean that the Institute was located within a reasonable distance of some kind of supply depot, maybe the base where all these troops were normally stationed. It was the same with the uniforms: Aguilar might have brought them, or he might have had them sent, in which case it had to be feasible for the entire lot to be ordered, prepared, shipped, received, and unpacked within twenty-four hours... or much less time than that, if the uniforms had to arrive before nightfall. However, circumstances suggested that the General's usual center of authority couldn't be so close that a trip to Landel's was convenient enough to be a regular occurrence.

L came to the conclusion, as he turned from the line with his bowl of porridge and cup of water, that it probably didn't matter much. Aguilar's approximate level of preparedness on Thursday was irrelevant when his coup was a fait accompli. There might be some use in learning the exact schedule of delivery trucks, but L himself was guarded too carefully to get the information, or to make use of it. The same was true with knowing the location of any bases. It might be useful in the future, but it would probably be costly information to acquire--maybe too costly to pursue it until he knew how useful it might or might not be.

[kings_thief]

This day had been a lot more strange than the one before, although, he was learning a lot more from the people he talked to. As...interesting...as his run in with Zero had been, he still hadn't stopped thinking about Terra and their conversation. It had unsettled him just as his night with Edgar had. He had so many questions that he knew no one could answer and it bothered him to no end.

As he was shuffled back into the eating place for lunch he could only grimace as the pink stuff was put before him. It was always this stuff...however, between not eating much for dinner and not really eating at all for breakfast he was starving.

Though, he still didn't know if he was hungry enough to eat this...whatever it was. Choosing a table he sat and once again picked at the stuff just staring at it and letting his thoughts take over again. All of the stuff Edgar had gone through, and now with Terra here as well, even if she didn't remember him, he was more set on getting them out than before; he just wished he knew how.

Finally he snapped out of his thoughts and, tentatively, took a bite of the grit. It was absolutely heinous, exactly as he suspected it would be, still, it was all he was going to get, clearly. He stomached a few more bites before giving up for the time being and settling for looking around. All of these people here...how many of them had gone through what Edgar had gone through and how many more still would before they could find a way out?

[For America~]

[brb-burgers.livejournal.com]

Again he'd been shuffled around and moved onto the next portion of the day, the routine grating on him somewhat because it was a routine he felt incredibly caged in. Thankfully the shower earlier made him feel cleaner and now it was time to eat again. Even if the food was kind of indistinguishable but he was too busy trying to keep himself busy to think too hard about it. First thing first, finding someone to talk to because awkward silence was never high on his things he wanted to do list.

Inviting himself without preamble he sat across from the spaced-out looking guy. Honestly, was everyone around here a space case? Well, they all had their reasons for being lost in thought, he was just going to have to drag people kicking and screaming out of their little introverted shells.

"Hey!" world-renowned for his sunny smiles he had no trouble sending one this fellow's way. "Name's Alfred," he shoved some food in his mouth with one hand, the other hand reaching out for a handshake, "kinna new here but..." a swallow followed and now his voice sounded less distorted by food, "always up to make some new friends. How long you been here? Care to share your story with me?" People usually liked to talk about themselves, especially if someone showed genuine interest. Truth was, he was interested in learning about everyone here. Each of them had been specifically selected, he was sure, for some reason or another. Might be smart to file away unique skills and histories and the like to try and filter out a pattern to the apparent madness here.

[ippo]

Ippo took his tray with his usual meek gratitude and slowly mingled through the crowd with no real destination in mind. Still new, still shy, the boxer only knew a few people, and those he recognized seemed occupied with others. The guard assigned to him had a more deliberate stride and so Ippo followed him for the time being.

Despite the alarming artillery holstered across his person, the soldier had never been cold or aggressive towards him. He was always polite, if a bit curt, in answering Ippo's questions, so he was tempted to ask about the General's announcement last night. He stared at the back of the soldier's head, the words right on the tip of his tongue, but every time the man turned around, he simply moved his gaze elsewhere.

Ippo was scared. He was scared of what the answer could be or what they would do if they thought all this questioning threatened their goals. Inevitably, the soldier had brought him to an empty table and Ippo had asked nothing. His most alarming question would be answered tonight, he supposed. The flippant thought didn't really make him feel any better.

He didn't want to become a monster again. Last night hadn't been so bad, but Ippo had been with a man who knew he was human. If it happened again and there was no one around who knew him, what would happen? Someone could try and kill him and he would be utterly defenseless--Well, as defenseless as a giant sheep could be, but the boxer didn't want to hit anyone. They would only be defending themselves against a creature they didn't understand. How could he raise a hand at someone who was simply trying to survive? He couldn't. He just couldn't. His coach had taught him, had ingrained in him that his fists were for only the ring.

In the institute, he would be a monster without fangs. A sheep without horns!

[Mikado~]

[ofthemotions]

[scream, so late. T_T]

Snow had been... Strange. But the man had been helpful, too, odd as he was. Things were lining up a bit more clearly, though in the end, Mikado would have to actually see how tonight was (and not fall asleep...) before judging anything. There was still a possibility that everyone was wrong, or insane. Though, honestly, Mikado was hoping that that wasn't the case. Despite everything he had heard.

Before too long he found himself in the cafeteria again, staring at what could be the same bowl of pink goop again. He sighed, eyes closing. If there was one thing he wished was different, it would be this stuff-- Ah, no, that wasn't really true. He'd more wish for Masaomi and Sonohara-san-- Or maybe he shouldn't wish for them? If this place was so bad.... They shouldn't get caught up in all of it.

Half-lost in his thoughts, Mikado found himself wandering past a table that had a single occupant, a guy a bit older than him, with short black hair. Mikado paused, wondering. Then asked, as if it were normal. "Ah, excuse me. Did you leave notes about living in Ikebukuro earlier?"

[monkeyboy]

Goku's guards had learned that giving the boy a tray before he sat down was a mess waiting to happen. He didn't like the food and it ultimately ended up on the floor with a crash. The monkey boy didn't want it, so he wasn't going to carry it. That wonderful duty was left to his guards, who took turns transferring the wild patient and his food to a cafeteria table. Today, though, he could barely function under his own steam.

He hadn't bothered with breakfast since what he had been given was in no way, shape, or form food. Now, halfway through the day and with the exhaustion incurred from last night, the monkey boy was looking for anything remotely edible. Hell, he'd probably start chewing on the tray if he thought it would fill him up, or taste better than his gruel.

The one guard who had a hold on Goku's arm lifted him up onto his chair with ease. The other placed the tray in front of him and then gave the boy space, far enough to eat peacefully, but close enough to neutralize the boy if he started to get out of control.

[Kibi face~!]

[bitpartgod.livejournal.com]

Goodness. Goku had earned himself a regular little band of followers, hadn't he?

Kibitoshin stopped in between the rows of tables and chairs with his tray, head tilted to one side as he tried to work out whether that was a good or a bad thing. Obviously Goku wouldn't like it, but it seemed to do the trick in the sense that it didn't look like the saiyan was going to be sedated any time soon. The soldiers seemed to have worked out a clever routine that used as few resources as humanly possible, like dancers putting together a show on a shoestring.

Actually, it was kind of admirable. Goku's food was still on his plate, for one thing.

Once the soldiers had cleared, he hurried over and sat down opposite, trying to get a better look at the boy- and no, he definitely hadn't been sedated. He seemed far too with-it for that. "There you are, Goku!" he bubbled hopefully, smiling brightly. This would cheer him up, no doubt- he knew how much better he'd felt to see his uniform in his closet, so getting a precious weapon back would probably be even better. "I was hoping I'd see you! I've got the best news for you!"

[36-24-35.livejournal.com]

Tifa wasn't sure how she felt about such an unproductive day. She had woken up late, had taken a really long but satisfying shower, and was now just getting in line for her "breakfast" as it were. Well, regardless, it was a little late to complain about wasted time. Once it was her turn for a smattering of pink gruel, the young woman tried to maintain a sense of grace and dignity instead of just sneering at yet another Slum Special. It looked like another good opportunity to fill up on a lot of water.

Now, the question was who to share this wonderful meal with. Her eyes started with spiky blond hair, then moved to spiky black hair when the first couldn't be found. Zack was here and he wasn't a dog. He was sitting with Lightning, her roommate, of all people. It was a rather amusing set up.

She kept her eyes open for someone else, anyone else she knew. Claude was there, but he was with another patient, and she couldn't spot Sangamon either. Feeling a bit dejected, Tifa found herself a place to sit and hoped she didn't look as pathetic as she felt. You're a big girl, she reminded herself. One meal alone isn't the end of the world.

[strayfag]

If anyone asked him, Badou say he had a cunning and vicious plan to use up all the hot water in an effort to spite the soldiers or some bullshit like that because sulking in the showers was something other people did. It wasn't like this was the first time people had disappeared on him, and it wasn't like moaning about it was gonna change that somehow. Hell, for all he knew, they'd be back in a week. If he could manage it, at the least Mihai sure as hell could. (Assuming he didn't get lost on the way, or accidentally find his way home or something like that.)

Unfortunately finding his balls again by the time lunch rolled around didn't mean he looked any less like a drowned ginger rat, all pruney and red-eyed and miserable. At least he felt a little more human. Kinda. Baby steps, here.

He wasn't any more hungry than he had been at breakfast but he took his tray full of pink gruel and checked around for familiar faces. There were more than he'd realized at breakfast, between the bulletin and the ones he could pick out of the crowd. Heine was across the room talking to some guy, so Badou picked the nearest familiar face.

If Tifa decided to try killing him or licking his eyeball or telling him she was a man at some point, he was just going to give homosexuality some serious thought because there was only so much a man could take. There was bad luck with women, and then there was Badou's luck with women.

On the bright side, the day couldn't possibly get any worse... and, well. It was good to see her.

"So you were gonna name a cocktail after me, huh?" Badou set his tray down on the table across from her and slid into the seat, dredging up a smile. "Don't I rate something manlier? Shitty moonshine?"

[savagestray.livejournal.com]

Heine cast another annoyed glance at his escort as they moved back into the cafeteria. They fed everyone regularly, but it looked like more of the pink shit from this morning. Only some of the test subjects were being given regular-looking food. Another experiment? He frowned and took up his spot near a wall, crossing his arms.

No sign yet of Badou or anyone else he recognized for that matter. Breakfast had given him enough to think about and as he'd wandered some of the other rooms, he had to wonder if they really were above ground. The sunlight that came into the other room looked natural, but there was no guarantee.

Who cares where it is- Don't you want to tear up those monsters? Feel their blood on your hands and-

Heine shook his head and pushed those dark thoughts to the back corner of his mind. Would the others be here too? Bishop? That annoying woman with the sword? He frowned again and took to brooding, alone with his thoughts.

[Firo?]

[immortale]

Firo couldn't quite decide if the pink gruel got better or worse each time he ate it. On the one hand, it did sate his hunger, but on the other... Well, actually, that was all there was to it. The taste was bland, but it was infinitely better than starving.

He'd sat down at a table off to the side and started eating spoonful after spoonful mechanically, until almost half the bowl was already gone. It was then that he glanced up—by chance, really, and noticed a man who wasn't one of the guards had started standing nearby. He was dressed like the patients, so why was he just standing around?

"Hey," Firo called out across the table, hoping it would be enough to catch the other's attention. "Aren't you going to eat?"

[composers-proxy.livejournal.com]

Almost two weeks now and no closer to finding a way out. Had he just not been looking hard enough? All he'd managed to do was lose people one after another. Josh, Leonard, Sheena, all faces that were now lost in the sea of people as he trudged back into the cafeteria.

More of the pink stuff. Seriously, take it back. At least the food before had been decent. What happened to variety? He hated falling into the same boring habits, seeing the same walls, the same food, it was beyond obnoxious. Shibuya might be noisy and annoying some times, but at least it was always changing, always evolving.

He sat at an empty table, chiding himself for not being more social. Shiki would've dragged him into a conversation, didn't even matter who it was with. But Shiki, Beat, Rhyme, Joshua... none of them were here. Not even the Reapers stuck around.

[It's the Raaaaail Traceeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer!]

[train-tracer.livejournal.com]

It had been a good idea to catch up on his sleep the previous shift, Claire decided. it would probably also be a good idea to actually eat lunch this time, seeing as he'd skipped dinner the previous night and had only played with picked at his breakfast. ... Even if it was the same-old, pink gruel that he was starting to expect every mealtime. Really, what had happened to all the good food they'd had the first couple days he'd been here?

Claire looked down at his unimpressive lunch tray, bowl of watery porridge ruining his day just by sitting there and existing, and sighed. And he would not look over longingly at the angel food that some people were having. That'd just make it worse, wouldn't it? Hey, maybe he could try asking someone if they'd take pity on him?

Before he could try though, he spotted someone he hadn't seen since three days ago now. Claire grinned. Hey, this was a good thing he'd found him! He'd be able to ask the kid about those amazing powers he'd had!

Claire threaded his way around tables, coming up from behind and pulling out a seat beside the kid, one hand setting his tray down on the table while the other landed on his new messmate's shoulder in what he felt was a friendly gesture. (Because, you know, the kid had attacked him before, right? He should establish that he means no harm, right? If you conveniently forgot the fact that Vino had had every intention of harm that night. Whatever, the blame for that was mostly on this weird institute place. Mostly.)

"Hello! Long time no see! I don't remember if I managed to land a hit on you, but you know, that burn I got from you is still visible. That almost never happens anymore. You were lucky!"

[tightsofmight]

The ping pong turnaround of his moods today was already tiresome by the time lunch hit. He alternatively hated company and longed for it. He wanted to cry, he wanted to beat something, he wanted to beat himself. Peter had plenty of experience in playing the emotional wreck, almost pathetically so. He'd gone through the 'it should have been me' song and dance so many times by now that even thinking it should seem trite, but the sentiment had never rung truer than it did now.

He just didn't know what to do with it anymore. He had hurt people before. It was pretty much his job, so Peter was good at that. All too good, in fact, so it shouldn't be a surprise that he would progress to murder someday. His skin crawled with the vivid pictures of blood and sand that cropped up every five minutes, to the point where he was half convinced he really was full of maggots. Disgusting. It made him almost thankful it was shower day. Not even the embarrassment of communal bathing could bother him this time, he just needed to wipe it away and relish the time spent in silence. It was practically the only respite you could find around here.

Lunch, on the other hand, was never not a social affair. For this reason, he selected the outermost table he could find and turned his back to the entrance, once again ignoring the food line entirely. Peter was aware that he should eat, but the battle of keeping anything down today was not worth it. Just. No. No no no, screw you if you thought he should be shovelling pepto bismol soup down his throat right now. He didn't want it and he didn't deserve it.

Unlike this morning, he didn't immediately settle down to hide his face in his sleeves. Nor did he cry. Peter just folded his arms on the table and leaned forward, resting his chin on top and staring blankly at the wall. He didn't feel like crying anymore. He just felt sick.

[Sam.]

[boyking]

Lunch didn't come with much of an appetite. The food didn't help with that. Sam picked up his tray distractedly and searched for a table where he could be alone and...over-think again, he guessed. He didn't like to think of himself as one for indulging in easy distractions, but honestly? Sometimes it sucked being in a place where he couldn't even go for a run or a walk when he needed one.

He really needed one.

As he made his way down the cafeteria, he walked by Peter, registering the kid only a split second later. He paused, then backtracked. He remembered Peter hadn't looked so hot earlier and it didn't look like a whole lot had changed since then. He didn't want to interfere, but he figured it would be okay to at least check in, right? He'd seen the kid faceplant twice already, so that was...kind of a bonding moment.

Plus, he had to admit: an excuse to get away from his problems for five minutes wasn't a bad plan.

He approached Peter's table, though he didn't set down his tray or sit. Might as well make it less awkward to walk away in case it was really obvious the kid didn't want him around. "Hey, is everything okay?"