Day 58: Arts & Crafts (Fourth shift)

[immortale]

Firo was glad to see the end of lunch, if only for the fact that in a few more hours, the day would be over. Night was the only time he had any real freedom of movement, and it was the only time he could do something worth doing, instead of just sitting around.

The usual soldier came to fetch him shortly after the announcement, with only a curt, "Come along, Saviano." Firo frowned, but followed him out of the cafeteria into the Sun Room.

He would have been fine with stopping there, but the soldier apparently had other ideas. When Firo stopped, he went so far as to grab hold of his shoulder and roughly steer him into one of the adjoining rooms, ignoring his protests all the while. The new room was full of round tables with various items like colored paper and paint in the middle, and Firo had a sinking feeling about it. What had the activity mentioned in the announcement been? Arts and crafts?

"What am I supposed to do in here?" he spat at the guard.

"Draw a flower. Make a bracelet. I don't care," was the gruff response before the soldier disappeared out the door.

Firo had half a mind to follow him out, but no—he'd wait a few minutes first, just in case he got shoved back into the pointless room. In the meantime, he took a seat at one of the tables, turning his chair towards the door and leaning his head against one arm propped up on the table.

[For Battler]

Comments

[age-of-kings.livejournal.com]

Despite feeling as though he was being juvenile, Tolten was somewhat eager about the idea of an Art Room. While the supplies were indeed juvenile, he didn't care. It was something stimulating, and he could perhaps add a touch of personality to his wall. And he could make little decorative notes of thanks for those people who had been so kind and gone out of their way for him.

Perhaps he was stuck in a strange world and imprisoned in some ridiculous farce of a...whatever this place was, but he was going to maintain normalcy where he could.

Or at least try.

Arms full of crafting supplies, Tolten took a seat and spread the bits of thick paper and paste and glitter and little decorative bits before him. He had to smile at the packet of little gold suns. Perfect. He selected a red disposable plate and began cutting off the edges. He really ought to do cards of thanks, first. It was only proper.

This one would be for Anise. He could give it to her tonight. It was hardly a way to repay her, but in the meantime he could at least show her he meant his thanks. While there were plenty of insincere people running about, he wasn't one of them.

Picking up a cylinder of paste, Tolten began humming some popular song from back home and set to work.

[free!]

[full-score.livejournal.com]

While Guy had been pretty gracious about the questions during lunch, Claude couldn't help but wonder if maybe he'd gone a little far. After seeing that note Anise had placed on the board this morning, though, he just hadn't been able to contain his curiosity about how those sorts of things worked on Auldrant. Since he'd never visited the place, his only knowledge about his friends' culture came from his own observations and whatever they took the time to explain to him. That sort of interest was only natural.

Right?

Well, he doubted Guy would hold it against him. Besides, he was certainly free to ask Claude whatever he wanted about Earth culture and customs.

In the meantime, they had one more shift before dinner, and then they'd have night on their hands soon enough. After leaving a note for Anise on the bulletin, Claude made his way over to the arts and crafts. Although he'd just stopped in here yesterday, most of the patients were scattered between here, the sun room and the showers. Since he'd spent second shift in the sun room, Claude figured it'd be nice to hang out in here for the remainder of the day.

Too bad he couldn't fiddle with any origami supplies, he noted with a glum glance toward his bandaged hand. Maybe he'd read over Rita's notes again and doodle some pictures while he pondered over their meaning.

Either way, it didn't take Claude long to select and empty seat and settle down. As he did so, he couldn't help but notice someone close by was humming an unfamiliar song. Looking up from the journal clutched in his uninjured hand, he saw a young man around his age. Claude realized he hadn't really seen him around much.

Was he new? And what was he doing with that red paper plate? Interested, Claude silently watched him for the time being, not wanting to disturb his work.

[nobleman]

While it was always nice to spend some time with Claude, Guy had to admit he was a little relieved when their conversation was interrupted this time around. It wasn't that he'd had anything against answering his friend's questions, but Claude also hadn't really let up once he'd gotten started. Combine that with the fact that Guy wasn't used to explaining his phobia so openly and he was pretty eager to go meet his escort. Not that he made that obvious, since the last thing he wanted to do was hurt his friend's feelings.

As it turned out, they had either the Sun Room or the Arts and Crafts room to choose from for the last shift of the day. Seeing how he had just been thinking about trying to get some supplies from Arts and Crafts, it was easy for him to pick where he wanted to go. He realized that a bulletin note still had to be put up for Anise, but he was sure Claude could handle that. And if not, he'd make sure to get one up before dinner came.

Luckily enough, he was one of the first people to enter the Arts and Crafts room, which meant that tracking down a soldier to ask about the supplies would hopefully be easy.

He knew that there was a specific one who was supposed to be waiting somewhere to answer questions, but Guy went ahead and tracked down one of the men who was standing against the walls; the guards who were meant to stand by and make sure no one misbehaved.

"Hello there," Guy started, as polite as he could be. "I'm not sure what you can do for me, but I was kind of hoping that I would be able to take a few sewing supplies back with me to my room. I find that sort of thing relaxing, so I'd be interested in working on sewing something during dinner." As things stood, he wasn't exactly lying either. The only part that wasn't completely true was that he'd probably be working on it more through the night rather than during dinner, but that was something the soldier could probably guess at.

The man seemed to have some idea of who he was, if the brief glance he gave his dog tags was any indication. Guy continued to give him a very open, almost pleading look.

"I suppose that's all right. Just keep in mind that if it turns out you're doing anything other than sewing with those supplies, you'll be punished and put on report."

"I understand," Guy quickly responded. "Thank you so much, sir." After bowing his head slightly, Guy headed over to one of the cabinets and started searching through it for the things that he needed. It was a good thing that he'd listened to Claude's suggestion.

[For Ilia.]

[avengingfists.livejournal.com]

Arts and Crafts, huh? Ilia hadn't been in the room since her first day at the institute. It was here she had met Anise, and through her had learned so much about the institute. For that, Ilia considered it an unexpected place for chance meetings, not just childish activites. And speaking of one Auldrantian and chance meetings, Ilia spotted another familiar face that she had been meaning to meet with again. She had spotted Guy and Claude talking earlier at lunch, and that had reminded her all too easily of Claude's few words about their adventures the previous night. The bulletin posts between the two blonds and Anise had raised quite a few questions, questions Ilia was certain Claude would try to side-step as he had earlier that day. Maybe she would have better luck getting some info out of Guy.

While Guy was busy with his search through the cabinets, Ilia approached with a smile, a hand reaching out to tap him on the shoulder. "Hey, Guy. How's it going?"

She didn't know how extensive the injuries from last night might have carried over. Claude had at least had a broken hand, and Anise had needed some serious help, but Ilia was unaware of any cuts or bruises Guy might have suffered. She determined to make her friendly touch as gentle as possible.

[freewill]

That had been nice, in a weird sort of way. Michael didn't know if Reiko had been humoring him, but he didn't really mind if she had. Because they'd been able to have a conversation that wasn't completely insane, that didn't require talking about Heaven and Hell every few words. And at this point, that was a relief.

It wasn't that he had anything against the Bible or the things he believed in. What he took issue with was that his broken mind had turned all of that into. Honestly, thinking he was an angel sent down from Heaven to help a pair of brothers was so blasphemous that it almost turned his stomach. What he really wished he had access to now was a priest, someone who he could confide in and who could tell him what it all meant.

For some reason, though, he didn't think that he'd be able to find the answers even then. This was likely something he was going to have to do on his own, and it was going to take a lot of soul-searching.

It didn't help that his brother was also part of the equation. Matt and Eric weren't his concern -- not anymore -- but Noah was. Noah was very, very sick, and if Michael didn't help him out of that somehow then he would never be able to forgive himself. It didn't matter that they hadn't spoken for years before now. When push came to shove, family was family.

One step at a time, though, and now that his conversation with Reiko had been ended, it was apparently time to go to the Arts and Crafts room. Michael didn't understand what point this had in a mental institute or a military facility, but it wasn't his place to question it. Instead, he calmly went along with the man who was in charge of him, finding an empty seat at a table before giving a wary glance around him. At least most of the others seemed to be adults, although the majority were still younger than him. It was hard not to feel a little ridiculous.

[For Izaya.]

[propheteer]

Some people might have thought it was ridiculous to try to sit down a group of adults at tables with craft paper, safety scissors, and miscellaneous other supplies and expect them to participate willingly in 'arts and crafts'. But Izaya? Izaya wasn't among them.

He'd made a stop at the bulletin on his way to the room, of course—that was turning into something of a habit, as one of his few sources of information, news, rumors, and gossip. But afterwards, it was off to the art room with a skip in his step. He knew that some people would think it ridiculous, and that some people would embrace it. He wanted to see all of them.

Izaya's eyes darted around the room when he entered—there were some people who were working with the supplies and others that were pointedly ignoring them (such as one disgruntled-looking young man), and there was even a boy who looked too young to be counted among the adults (what was he doing in there?). There were faces he recognized, too, but the only ones he knew by name were Tina and Castiel.

Humming, he made his way towards the latter. He hadn't had a chance to hand the man the lock diagram the other day, and now could be a good opportunity.

"Hello, Castiel," he greeted, settling into a chair beside the older man.

[lighthearted]

[From here.]

While the children were supposed to spend their time in the Sun Room if they showered quickly, Sora had already made plans to meet with someone in Arts and Crafts. Not just anyone, either, but one of the people who had decided to join his club. Sora had recruited him over the bulletin board so this would be their first time meeting face-to-face.

Speaking of nervous people, it seemed like this "Mike Meekins" was that way too. Would he be worse or better than the man who he'd spoken to at lunch? Sora would do his best to navigate the conversation either way, but it was going to be a little tiring to go through that twice in a row.

Oh well! If someone was going to contribute to his club, then the least he could do was meet up with them, right? Sora entered the Arts and Crafts room for the second time that day. Technically only the adults were supposed to be here now, but the soldiers were willing to let him go based on his high rank and good behavior. For once all of that was paying off!

Since he'd already done some drawing earlier on with Lily, Sora didn't bother grabbing any markers or paper or anything else. Instead he just took a seat fairly close to the room's entrance and waited for Meekins to find him.

[For Meekins.]

[dork-at-duty.livejournal.com]

If Meekins had to classify his lunch time with that strange young man who called himself Niikura as pleasant or not exactly pleasant, it would have to have been the latter. Just like everyone else in this hospital, it seemed, he didn't like being called Sir. What was it with all these people who didn't appreciate that term of respect?

Which reminded him that he was supposed to meet someone else who didn't like being called Mr. or Sir. Having been occupied with all of those phantom monster attacks all day, Meekins nearly forgot about his scheduled meeting in the Arts and Crafts Room with the very leader of the club that had the same name. Which Meekins had to think of as odd, since taking drugs (which he'd always been taught were baaaaad, even for an investigation, was a far cry from making little collages of the Police Department on construction paper.

It wasn't until he arrived at the room that he realized that he'd forgotten to ask Sora what he looked like during their bulletin board conversation. Afraid that he would have to shout out Sora's name and thus risk getting reported again for misbehavior, Meekins was somewhat relieved to find a few familiar looking faces in this room. Unfortunately, Sir Tolten and Ms. Maya-who-wasn't-a-Fey were already talking to other people, but... Neku! His superior officer from last night was here, sitting near the entrance! He'd asked Neku on the board how he was doing, but Meekins was glad to see for himself that he seemed to be all right.

"Neku!" Meekins exclaimed, almost a little too loud yet again before he caught himself. "It's good to see that you're okay, S--" he almost appended the very word that everyone seemed to hate being called in this hospital, then saluted the spiky orange-haired young man. "Are you waiting for our leader, Mr. Sora, too? I'm supposed to meet him to deliver a report on our findings from last night!"

[stlg13bomber.livejournal.com]

That note on the bulletin board had given him quite a start! Claire had been one of his favorite people here, and that little speech she'd gave him had been a point of strength in his moments of doubt. For someone as clever and strong as her to be dead while foolish people like Carter were still alive was unthinkable. If anyone deserved to survive around here, it was her.

But he understood now. They'd used this ploy a dozen times back in Germany, usually with his bombs to explain the lack of visible corpse, while they secretly smuggled the dead man out of the tunnels and off to England. In fact, his predecessor in the Heroes had used it as an excuse to return home when he became sick beyond the medical treatment one would accord to a prisoner of war. The fact that the note-maker had torn down their discussion to hide it from the guards only confirmed his theory and he felt a bit silly for panicking in the first place. Such a clever thing, and exactly the kind of plan she would think up.

It was completely obvious that Claire had faked her own death and escaped under cover of darkness.

Carter would miss her. She'd been lovely, and that coffee they'd shared in Doyleton had been...thinking about it made his cheeks warm. She'd been a friend who had believed in his competence and those were really rare for him. Not the prettiest woman he'd ever met, but she made him feel like a real hero. Wherever she'd made it to, he hoped she was happy, and this only strengthened his need to get out of the institute and find the wider world of the future. Maybe she'd managed to get a letter back to them (in code, of course) to let them know how she'd be doing.

Lost in memory and hopes Carter wandered into the arts and crafts room. Perhaps he couldn't get a message out to her, that would break the entire secret, but there were other people still trapped here and despairing of life. Carter still wasn't sure of the date but it had to be getting close to December. He wouldn't lie to Harold's uncle, that would be cruel even if it would make him feel better, but he could still cheer him up a little. And everyone had been generally upset lately with Aguilar cracking down. They needed a reminder that there were still good things in life.

Carter sat down and pulled a few sheets of construction paper close to him. He picked up a pair of scissors and snipped them experimentally, giving the paper the same intense stare he'd give a prospective time bomb's wiring.

Yes, today he was going to bring a little happiness to the world. Today he would make Christmas cards.

[Edgar!]

[girlsandgadgets]

Well, that had been an interesting conversation, to say the very least. Edgar ran a hand through his hair, pushing more sweat-laced strands from his eyes. As much as he wished for allies, or even just more patients who understood that cooperation would be the only way to conquer those running the institute, this was something far riskier. Locke from the future, and Terra from the past- no, Terra before she knew either of them, before she learned of her heritage, her potential. It was the most logical explanation for her memory loss, and was also the most unfortunate.

She was someone with whom he'd have to deal later: after a brief stop by the bulletin board (though the soldier was markedly less pushy over how much time he spent glancing over the nights than the day before), he was escorted to the arts and crafts room. He breathed a sigh of irritation through his nose- as much as he liked constructing tools, it wasn't the same doing it with colorful paper. On the other hand, at least the shift spent in the room would allow him to see some of the supplies located there- he was always looking for potential ammunition for his Launcher.

While perusing some of the materials, he spotted a familiar face: Sergeant Andrew Carter, cutting some construction paper with a smile on his face that could only be described as disturbingly fevered. As for the reason, Edgar could only guess.

Well, no time like the present to find out. "Sergeant," Edgar addressed, joining him and taking a sheet of paper for himself.

[zack-fair.livejournal.com]

It was possible that Zack had just run whatever hint of an alliance that he'd had with Lightning right into the ground, and all because he'd been trying to return to her the kindness she'd extended to him. Still, he couldn't say that he wished he'd gone about it all differently. Zack didn't like lying, especially not to people who he considered on his side. Sometimes he wasn't the most forthcoming with information, but that hadn't been the case this time.

Still, if Lightning wanted to burn bridges then that was a decision she was entitled to. Zack knew that holding onto acquaintances in this place was extremely important, but he wasn't about to lecture someone about how to handle themselves either.

It was a bump in the road, that was for sure. And yet he didn't want to let it ruin his mood completely. As far as distractions went, the Arts and Crafts room didn't rank that high. Zack wasn't what you would call artistic unless fighting was an art form -- which he sincerely believed it could be. His way of fighting was pretty straight-forward, but there were other people who made it look like a dance.

Even so, that wasn't the kind of thing they would be allowed to do here. Zack sighed to himself and started to look through the various supplies that they were offered, though he was already fairly certain that nothing was going to jump out at him. Couldn't they have been let outside instead?

[Free.]

[wantsyourzex.livejournal.com]

[care for a brainwashed ZEX?]

So he'd found someone he could hang on to during the night time, but that left the rest of the day worryingly support free. Max hated this feeling. The staff didn't seem that concerned about him, most of the other people around him didn't notice him... he wasn't used to not being the center of someone's attention. If Dexter was here then he would have gladly clung to him instead, maybe insisted that he make him something stupid and silly looking like a friendship bracelet, but he wasn't here. He was waiting outside this place for him to finally be sane enough to come home.

That was a sobering thought. He wanted to get out of here already, and he didn't like not knowing exactly how to do it. If he was sane right now, surely that was something, right? Wouldn't that be enough to get him out? He kept seeing flashes of movement out of the corner of his eye, but surely that didn't mean anything...

Feeling lost and sorry for himself, he was glad to see someone he recognized. That made him feel a little better, even if it didn't solve any of his problems, and he went to stand beside him.

"Hi, Zack!" As cheerfully as he could manage, hoping that pretending that nothing was wrong would make those invisible things disappear for good. They weren't real, he knew that, but they kept bothering him... "How are you? Are you doing okay?" Eager for any kind of conversation to take his mind off of more serious matters.

[selfnighted.livejournal.com]

Well, well. That had been...fairly fruitless, though that was to be expected when Maya hadn't thought out her plan of attack beforehand. Her conversation with Major Cartwright been interrupted by the routine mass exodus from one part of the asylum to others, so the Major had been granted a reprieve from what seemed to have been a touchy inquiry. Whether that had been more fortuitous for the Major or for Maya was a question for which Maya couldn't deduce an answer.

Someone Maya had incredible difficulty reading: that hadn't occurred in such a while. Though, Maya had simply not engaged in many conversations she was similarly invested in, given the Major's position of importance as indicated by Intercom Man No. 3. Even so, how vexing.

Perhaps not having to stare at the boring old Sun Room (she passed it every day; it was even less a novelty than the other rooms) would make her feel better. Gathering up a few sheets of black paper, Maya took a seat at a table and began folding one of her flowers. Perhaps Rose would like it...?

[threepwood]

With another serving of gruel barely settling in his gullet, Guybrush followed the soldier through the Sun Room without complaint, stopping by the board for only a moment to see if there was any news worth noting. Patients making plans for the night, more people turning up dead from the previous evening- in other words, the usual announcements from the bulletin board. He had to admit that hearing Indiana Jones kicked the bucket caused him a bit of worry: if someone as popular as Indy could bite it horribly, that didn't bode well for his own chances. What a crummy way to end the franchise that would be.

Speaking of the news, Guybrush had yet to hear anything from Morgan. Knowing her, she'd steered clear of the medical wing, probably opting to take a look around other areas while many of the patients flocked to the new one. Still, she could have least reported in by now, Guybrush thought to himself. Just what was Mo up to?

In spite of his insistence that he needed to stop by the board again to leave a quick note, Guybrush's soldier didn't budge, noting he'd been kind earlier during the panic-stricken bathroom crossing and would not continue to be so. His definition of 'kind' was arguable, but the pirate finally agreed to continue to arts and crafts with an irritable sigh. He could check for Mo later. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself when she wasn't being impaled on her own sword.

Handed some paper and pens, Guybrush was instructed to find a seat and do as he wished with the paper (within reason, of course. "No scissors for you, Moriarty," the guard had said, "as we're aware of your tendencies to pilfer things. Such behavior will not be tolerated"). At least there was a familiar face to sit next to.

Guybrush sank into the chair with a disgruntled moan. "Apparently, I'm not allowed to handle anything more valuable than a used tissue or dangerous than a boiled egg."

[vstheworld]

Scott made a frustrated noise as Peter disappeared into the herd of young boys and girls headed for the showers. Damn, foiled again. Curse you, arbitrary age restrictions.

The younger boy was probably going to take refuge in those showers for the rest of the shift; Scott knew he would have had he been in Peter's shoes. The way Peter had bolted upon spotting Scott pretty much confirmed that Peter didn't want to face anyone from the Coliseum. And if he was honest with himself, Scott wasn't sure he wanted to face them either. He knew he had to, though. He hadn't seen the boy's face for long, but he was obviously still a wreck. They needed to talk — as soon as possible — because they sure as heck weren't going to be able to talk with anyone else about this, not with Aguilar's voodoo silence spell in place.

There was one person he could talk to, though, it seemed. Peter had been standing up from lunch with a familiar-looking man when he'd spotted the boy, and thankfully, that sasquatch of a man wasn't nearly as easy to lose in a crowd. If he couldn't talk to Peter himself, Scott reasoned, the next best thing he could do was to talk to someone who had just talked to Peter instead. He wasn't sure if that was a strategy that would pay off yet, but it was the best he could think of on the spot.

The tall man (what was his name again? Max?) was headed for Arts & Crafts, it seemed, and so Scott hurried to catch up. As they passed through the door, Scott reached up and tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey. You. Me. We need to talk." It took a moment for the rest of his brain to catch up with him. "About Peter. You just talked to him, right?" he added to clarify.

[Why hello, Samuel, how are you today? Please excuse the young Mr. Pilgrim's rudeness. He's glad to see you again, really.]

[boyking]

More time than he'd ever asked for spent hunting meant that he could usually tell when someone was following him; when someone was practically bolting at him, it wasn't even a case of having to pay attention. He placed the voice a split second before he turned around to match the face. Uh, what was it. Scott, right? They'd only spoken once, but as soon as the name Peter was out of his mouth, Sam felt instantly...

Look, it'd been a long day. Ruby, Dean, Castiel, that whole mess. He'd been glad he could talk to Peter, but if he was being honest, he wasn't feeling up to round two. Especially not when round two was being demanded of him.

Still, years of playing the good cop to Dean's bad cop paid off. That and. Well, were they friends? People were interested in other people for all sorts of reasons, but he read people pretty well and Scott hadn't seemed like the type. If he was being short, he was probably worried about Peter.

Sam paused. "I did," he replied carefully. He gestured toward one of the tables, stacked with glitter, those crappy dull scissors that couldn't cut through jello, and construction paper. "We should probably grab a seat."

[diamondstorm]

There was far too much to speculate on from the events of the day alone. Much had shifted with little warning. The possible loss of a current ally in the way of him finding his 'real' self, and the return of two past allies--one remembering nothing, and one apparently remembering all. And to keep to a theme, it seemed the basement held worse than an overgrown cat, and the elements wielded as weapons. The way it was spoken of, she would in fact do well to be cautious--as she would also do well to investigate it as quickly as was possible. Her knowledge was sorely lacking, as had been pointed out today, and she was not at all willing to lose any more time.

Her Tamer was waiting for her. Still, even now, Rika waited.

The Digimon moved to the room suggested with little fight, too wanting to contemplate the events of the day. There were missions now, as well, and she didn't know what to think of the concept of those. Though she was more than willing to take up what was offered if what could be learned was great enough. She'd do well to look into speaking with those who had mentioned them, and seeing what she could learn from those ones.

She moved further into the room, nails touching the table she stood next to absentmindedly. And how, in this place, would she move next?

[ COME TO ME, BFF. ]

[strayfag]

Though his appetite had yet to make a reappearance, lunch with Tifa had taken some of the edge off his mood, and as long as he could keep distracted maybe he'd hold it together for the rest of the night too. Given the option, the sun room left him nothing but chatting and time to think, but maybe in arts & crafts he could bedazzle his eyepatch or something if he got really desperate.

Well alright, not really, but he could at least try to remember some of the notes from his old journal and add what he knew to the new one. The soldiers didn't seem overly hands-on, but he didn't want to take too many chances. They were less likely to look twice at someone sketching maps in arts & crafts. He was a PI, goddamn it. He had to start working this out again not try to make a fucking collage about his feelings.

And speaking of being productive... he hadn't expected to find Renamon in here. She looked more out of her element than usual standing around among cheap craft supplies.

"Hey," Badou called, moving to stand beside her. He turned absently so she wouldn't be on his blind side. "Guess I found you instead. Long time no see." The words lacked a certain lightness, but they were sincere none the less. It was good to see her, even here.

[spandexorgtfo.livejournal.com]

Normally, Kratos would return to the Sun Room rather than set foot in the Arts and Crafts room: making things out of colored paper and...whatever else they had here was just so...juvenile. Not even in his barely-remembered youth had he ever done such a thing (and he would have remembered because it would have been one of the precious few moments in his life that had nothing to do with the military), and four thousand or so years later, he was not about to have an abrupt, uncharacteristic change of heart.

Unfortunately, going back to the Sun Room meant thinking about that...incident--and maybe, he realized, that woman would be waiting there for him to return, eager to resume where they'd left off. Above all, he hated verbal confrontations...It was a completely illogical train of thought, but Kratos was not particularly given to logical thoughts when he was in a mood or brooding relentlessly.

And so it was that he ended up for perhaps the first time in a month actually walking into the Arts and Crafts room with a thinly disguised look of distaste on his face. Perhaps he could simply sit in the back of the room with a piece of paper and...attempt art if anyone happened to look his way. Just the thought of it was almost enough to drive him back to the Sun Room, but it was too late to turn around now, so Kratos swallowed his pride, picked up a piece of construction paper (white) and a crayon (black), and did exactly as he'd intended.

Soon enough, he was engrossed in the creation of a highly detailed sector sketch that mapped out how one might go about seizing control of the Institute if he had the might of Tethe'alla's army (as he recalled it from the Kharlan War) behind him. He would probably need to destroy the paper entirely once this shift was through lest someone got ideas, but for now, it would do to pass the time.

In all honesty, drawing it all out was rather therapeutic.

[OLD MAN CLUB MEETING]

[osoreirimasu.livejournal.com]

Just what was it about him that seemed to drag misfortune in like iron to a magnet? It couldn't be his height because there were several people here that were the same size. His status as a nation didn't seem to matter either since he was a low rank AND the other nations hadn't been so thoroughly ruined over the past few days. So what? Was it his...age?

The soldier in charge of him led Japan into the Arts and Crafts room and it was with a great deal of relief that he then left the nation alone. There was something relaxing about drawing and papercrafts and being in here was one of the few highlights of Japan's week. It would be the second time, he believed. The first time, he'd made a paper Playstation console, but this time...

After gathering some paper, pens and markers (just in case), Japan moved toward the tables. He was ready to sit by himself when he passed by a familiar man's table - and noticed what he was drawing. The intricate map was...surprising, although appropriate for Kratos. It seemed just the sort of thing he would draw.

"...Perhaps if one rallied all of the patients here, it would work..." he murmured to himself.

[train-tracer.livejournal.com]

At least he'd managed to eat something, even though it was tasteless porridge stuff. Claire didn't have his journal with him to write lists down in (he'd even asked his soldier if he could go back to his room to get it, but the guy had only frowned at him and cut him off when he made to head in that direction), but he made a mental note to write at the top of his list when he did get his journal in hand:



Toss out all the pink porridge. It needs to go. Really.

Claire had frowned at his soldier, who had moved a hand none too subtly to the gun he had, as if to remind him. Of course, it did nothing in the lines of threatening, but Claire figured it would make everything a lot easier if he let it go. Be the better man and all, right? He'd followed his soldier to his next destination, which was probably the Sun Room, except...

Claire stared as the soldier matter-of-factly walked over to a side door in which there was... he looked up at the soldier, wanting very badly to ask if this was a joke. You couldn't really expect him to go in there and do-- wait, what did they do in there? But no, that wasn't the point. The point was that he would much rather lounge around in the Sun Room than go in that room and wonder why exactly he was being forced to...

His soldier might have looked suspiciously smug as he motioned with a curt nod for Claire to step inside. Really... really?! He might have stared blankly at the room for a while longer than necessary. But what if he had wanted to look at the bulletin board?

So... why was he here again? Claire wasn't the only one feeling out of place right, since he'd spotted Firo already? Wasn't this more of a children's thing, something they did in school? It was hardly anything that interested him, but when he looked back outside, his soldier was standing purposefully there, staring back. So what could he do?

... Well there was paper here, right? Maybe he'd just get started on a list and then bring it back with him after this all ended?

[Mikadoooooo c: ]

[ofthemotions]

Lunch went well enough, and Mikado had enjoyed talking to Makunouchi. Having just one stranger from the same place was reassuring, and it was strange how that had changed. Though... if he believed the board there was at least a few people from Ikebukuro. He hadn't yet seen Celty so Mikado tended to believe it. If this place was busy enough to hide her, there was probably a bunch of people scattered throughout the place.

In the rush after the shift, Mikado found himself in the doorway of a small room off to the side. The man with him glanced at the door, then sighed. "You missed it earlier. Go in there now." And then abandoned Mikado entirely. It wasn't the game room he had been in yesterday, so he was a little wary about what was inside. Though... Inside seemed to look like a child's art room. He paused inside the doors, looking at things warily.

There wasn't anyone he had spoke to, a few strange looking people and-- Oh. Izaya was here. Except he was talking to an unhappy looking man, and Mikado was prone to stay away from that. He looked at them curiously for a moment, then moved further into the room.

On the tables there was paper and supplies to make probably anything five-year-olds could have fun making. He frowned a little, looking downward as he walked around the edge of the table.

...And within three feet half ran into someone. Mikado jumped back, palms up, then bowed in apology. "Ah! I'm sorry! I wasn't looking...." The boy peered upward at the person he knocked into and trailed off. Hey, this guy looked like....

[ultimagi]

It was a short walk from the cafeteria, but she wouldn't have noticed if it had taken five seconds or five hours. So wrapped up in her own thoughts, she paid little mind as she was led into the already bustling room, dropped down into an empty chair. The crayon was practically shoved into her hand, and what few scribbles she put onto paper were little more than the back and forth strokes of a seismograph.

There was simply too much to think about to concern herself with proper shading techniques. With everything Edgar had told her, or warned her about, or blatantly did not tell her, it was a lot of information to sort through. Stacking that with conversations earlier in the day, and what had gone on the night before, she felt over-stimulated. She could not grasp the idea of great long stretches of time, but she was getting the hang of knowing when she needed at least a few minutes to sort things out.

With how much there was to sort, she'd need a lot more time than that. The crayon skidded back and forth across the paper, wearing a trench into the paper; her mind ruminated while her hand paced over wax.

[L]

[ryuuzaki]

There was no point in heavy deliberation about tools that didn't hold much interest for him. Gluing a hundred plastic eyes to a sheet of construction paper... well, it might be consistent with Daniel Laurier's personality, but it didn't seem like a good use of a few hours to L, even if he needed to look busy for a while. Instead, his scanning gaze lit on the origami books that had been new additions to the Arts and Crafts arsenal a week earlier. He selected one, then took a short stack of papers to use with it--an easy decision.

He had always had a tendency to keep his hands busy while he talked or worked. Their recent relative idleness, caused partly by Institute's change in menu and the impossibility of stacking porridge on top of porridge in a bowl, seemed strange and uncomfortable to him. Stirring his food didn't satisfy the urge. Folding paper cranes, paper flowers, paper balloons might begin to, even if none of it was likely to cause any real improvement in his mood.

There was an empty seat at a nearby table. A young woman sat nearby, making aimless, perfunctory movements across a sheet of paper with a wax crayon. It was the girl Edgar had eaten lunch with. While she had a slight resemblance in terms of build and coloring to the conspicuously paranoid woman L had met on Wednesday, she wasn't the same person; he didn't think he had seen her before today.

Her conversation with Edgar at lunch had seemed difficult, from a distance. Edgar's inevitable attempts to ply her with charm, however inept, wouldn't explain the body language that L had observed in each of them. Apart from that, she hadn't gravitated to talk to Edgar again, or vice-versa. L could see Edgar's golden head some distance away, its slight bobbing indicating that he was already in conversation with someone else.

He took his seat, remembering not to put his feet in the chair, then spent a few seconds busying himself with finding an instructional diagram in the origami book. He plucked the top patterned sheet from his stack of paper and began to fold it. Finally, he looked up at the woman as if she had just attracted his attention, his gaze all amiable curiosity, and asked, "What are you drawing?"

[believein0.livejournal.com]

Another shift gone by. It seemed like Zero was having more and more questions about everything around him the longer he was here.

The bulletin board wasn't helping matters, either. The android he was talking to on it, Sechs, was a combination of being helpful, relieving, and confusing. How was it that he was mentioning places that Zero had never heard of before? The world he knew was a wasteland with few hospitable places left, so surely he would have heard of Tiphares before if it were as important as the fellow android made it seem. What was up with that?

...Maybe the better question at the moment was where the hell did giant mutant turtles come from?

It was all too confusing. But this shift would make things worse when Pushy Human Escort took Zero to a room catering to arts and crafts - a child's activity. For soldiers? Seriously? Why? What was the point? Weren't they supposed to be doing exercises or military training or something? Nothing made sense around here.

So just like the showers, the Reploid-now-human stayed in one spot of the room, doing nothing but thinking...and staring at everyone else around him. This time at least he could say it wasn't for lack of knowledge, unless gluing paper together was supposed to be another mind blowingly important part of human culture like soap while bathing was.

...

Oh damnit, it better not be.

[Since my hiatus is coming up tomorrow, it's safer if I call this one closed. ...Unless you really don't mind backtagging.]

[bitpartgod.livejournal.com]

It came as a massive relief when the shift finally ended and Kibitoshin could put down his spoon and admit defeat at the hands of his pink porridge, though not just for nutritional reasons- it also marked the end of the period of time in which he felt personally responsible for the amount of trouble Goku got into. Okay, so it was silly, but maybe that was his latent guardian instinct talking; even if everyone else here seemed to be from different universes, Goku was the one resident in his galaxy here, and that meant that it was his duty to look out for him as best he could.

Particularly when Goku could barely look out for himself, unless it was to find a scrap to barrel into like a tiny, part-monkey rocket of hyperactive violence.

Arts and crafts almost looked welcoming by contrast. What sort of trouble could he get himself into in sweet, quiet arts and crafts? There were no cats to terrorise him, and he'd delivered his information to Goku exactly as planned, so that meant that he probably wouldn't be sitting with anyone too destructive. Was there really that much that could go wrong with some safety scissors and card?

Soothed by the children's party riot of colour and the smell of poster paint, Kibitoshin settled down at an empty table to relax. He'd never really done anything like this before- he'd never really had a childhood to speak of, so maybe that factored into it?- and the possibilities seemed fascinatingly endless to him. There was glitter, after all, and bright paper, and wool. For all he knew he had a secret artistic side just struggling to get out.

He was still, unfortunately, smiling to himself as he went to pick up the tube of glue out on the table already, just to check how much there was inside. It was only when he went to put it down that Kibitoshin spotted the potential problem.

There must have already been glue on the outside, because thing wouldn't come off of his hand. He'd stuck himself to it.

The smile strained. Carefully, Kibitoshin shook his hand. The bottle stuck fast.

Damnit!

[ham_fisted]

Alright, let's get one thing straight: the only reason Gumshoe was here was because his soldier escort had insisted on it, and you could guess what might have happened if he'd refused a second time. According to them, he'd been pacing in front of the bulletin board for too long. (It hadn't helped that he'd apparently been blocking people from it as well.) When a detective took that much interest in something, you didn't tell him to move away from it! It was his job to be wherever a case took him! Why couldn't they respect that!?

...Anyway, it went without saying that today hadn't been very kind to his blood pressure. (And they hadn't even been served dinner yet!) He'd hoped to find them sometime during lunch since, excluding breakfast, it was the only time the entire population gathered in one place. The search became difficult when there were that many people crammed into an area, but lack of time hadn't been an issue.

So how come he hadn't seen them yet? He should have found at least one of them by now! Where could they have gone!?

Gumshoe had been left grumbling near the entrance, and in a few moments he'd started pacing in front of that, too. Several minutes passed before he finally sat down and took things in. He couldn't remember if he'd actually been in the Arts and Crafts room before. Sure, he'd known about it, but knowing and doing were two different things. His gaze didn't soften all that much when he noticed a guy sitting alone (like himself) at the table next to him. Gumshoe wouldn't have paid any attention to him if it weren't for the fact he stuck out so much. Not only was he the palest out of anyone in the room, but he seemed to be struggling with something. Maybe someone had made him mad and he was taking it out on the art supplies. The detective watched the younger man for a few seconds before deciding to find out what the problem was.

"You look like you're having a bit of trouble there, pal," he remarked bluntly from where he sat, nodding at the bottle the guy was holding.

[she-is-ruin.livejournal.com]

_{[Awaiting Klavier, resident lady-killer. :3]}

The pleasure of company...

The intercom's afternoon announcement was an unfortunate buzzing in her already over-crowded head, and Yomi was in no mood to pay Harrington's jaunty offer much mind. Taking the soldiers up on their new found friendliness was out of the question. She'd done enough talking already. Enough talking and remembering.

Father, dead. Mei, dead. Even Yomi, or the Yomi she'd been, was dead. Over and done with. Revisiting the past was pointless as a result. But the Institute had other ideas, didn't it? Whatever government was out there, they wanted this.

This pain. Like a repentant soul might have.

There was no windows, but Yomi still closed her eyes as if fighting back the sun's glare. Everything was too bright, too sensitizing. The Arts and Crafts room wasn't exactly the ideal place to escape from an abundance colors and sounds, but she came back to it because it was the safer choice, though she avoided the table she'd sat at with Albedo. Instead, she stood at one of the counters, her back to the room, leaning her weight on her hands.

[rocksthecourt]

Ahh, the Arts & Crafts Room. An essential element to any military operation. No, really. Klavier would love to know why it was that they even bothered maintaining the old schedule when they were obviously trying to keep some kind of military facade regarding this place. It was almost amusing. But as ridiculous as it was, Klavier would most certainly never complain about it. If they altered their activities to more closely resemble military barracks, he would probably be lying in a barely conscious, undignified heap on the floor.

Comparatively, finger paint and glitter was nothing to object to.

Normally, he'd choose to stay in the Sun Room during times like this, but right now he'd rather avoid being around the population en masse. He wanted a little time to think without worrying about keeping his eyes open on absolutely everyone around him. There would be less people in the Art Room, and there was less of a chance he'd be bothered. And it would be easier to keep his back to a wall.

...Speaking of which, he couldn't help but notice the woman who was doing precisely the opposite. That was what caught his attention first. Then upon closer inspection, he realized it was someone he knew. It was... Yomi. Yes, that was her name. The last time he had spoken to her was after that unfortunate brainwashing incident. Honestly, just looking at her somewhat reminded him of it all over again. But he quickly tried to push that out of his mind.

Instead, he tried to focus on the here and now. And on his need for a distraction. He couldn't really see her face from where he was, but he had an inkling she could probably use one as well.

He walked over to stand alongside her, only briefly catching the look on her face before speaking. "...Not exactly the ideal way of spending the afternoon, but it could always be worse, I suppose." That was just to catch her attention. So when she looked at him, he could deliver a perfectly timed, bright smile. "Long time no see, ja? I do hope you have been well."

[kings_thief]

Compared to the rest of the day, lunch had been an improvement. Al had, weather he meant to or not, lifted his mood just by saying 'hi'. Though, he now had plenty more to think about, it was better than he'd expected it to be, pink slop or not.

However, being led to a room full of craft things. A very small part of him was intrigued, and, if the situation hadn't been what it was, Locke might even find he enjoyed messing with the materials there. Unfortunately, this was neither the time nor the place, he had far too much weighing on his mind, even with his mood improved. Instead of actively doing anything with the supplies he found, he picked up a few random things and pretended to be busy doing something until the time he was supposed to spend here was over.

At least it would give him time to consider everything.


[For Byrne~~]

[corvus-veritas.livejournal.com]

Fortunately, Byrne had been granted his wish for having a quiet lunch. No one came to bother him, and that gave him ample time to cool off and think straight about his situation. He entered the next shift of the day with a much calmer attitude than he'd had in earlier hours - almost a miracle, considering the state he'd been in this morning.

...And then he realized just what this shift was about, and his frown was back. Arts and crafts? Well sure, he'd done stuff like this with Kay countless times, but--but that was with Kay and not by himself. How degrading this was, being told to do a kindergartner's activity at forty years old! What were they thinking?

Byrne sighed to express his displeasure with this whole stupid thing, then he wandered around the room looking for a place to sit. Maybe he could pass the time with social interaction rather than do what they wanted him to do. Talk about some more facts with a patient he'd never spoken to before, compare notes. Ah, there was a thoughtful young man sitting alone. He'll do. The prosecutor approached him and cleared his throat.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked politely, pointing at the empty seat beside him.