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

[ryuuzaki]

--Not the drug trials, then, L thought. It could have been a sleep study, but then she would have had to have slept through all of Saturday and most of Sunday afterward. That seems improbable.

If she's someone Edgar knows, I think he would have mentioned her... but he underwent the experimentation himself Friday night, and he was with me the night before. At the time, he was concerned about Celes. This isn't her. Nothing about the girl had come through with the strange transference of emotion and memory that they'd experienced Thursday night, either. He must know her, though... if he doesn't, he wouldn't have reacted to her the way he did.

L made the last few folds, then picked up his handiwork, holding it delicately between his thumb and forefinger and bringing it close to his eyes to examine it. The small bird had come out well. A tug at its tail showed him that its wings even flapped the way they were intended to.

"The names on the tags don't matter much. The man who was formerly in charge of this place was interested in convincing us that those were our real names. I don't think the current staff has the same goal... they seem less interested in whether or not you believe it than in whether or not you'll keep up the appearance of it."

He held the crane out to her, still pinched between his fingertips at the top center point. Neither his flat expression nor his matter-of-fact tone of voice changed. "Here. I'm sure they'll let you keep this. Has someone who told you that Tina was the wrong name told you one that they thought was right?"

He had another question, but her actions would answer it: he was curious to see how she would respond to a small gift. He had chosen to make the flying crane because a flower had seemed too obvious, and a block-like balloon too boring. The paper bird could have been an excuse to re-initiate the conversation if it had stalled completely; if it had gone more smoothly, it could have been "spontaneously" offered as a sign of their new rapport, trading on the sentimentality to which young women often seemed to be prone. Now, he thought that she might be indifferent to the present, or that, at best, it might help him gain a few kernels of her trust, to continue to draw her out, maybe make her begin to think of him as a friend in a difficult situation.

The soldiers would probably take the crane away in the morning, then give it back at night, though. He added, as an apparent afterthought, "You'll find a book on or in your desk in the room they take you to after this one. I'd keep the bird there. If nothing else, doing so might let you know if they're reading your journal."

[ultimagi]

She opened her mouth to answer, but the explanation left her at the presentation of a gift. Startled, the girl could do little more than blink her eyes a few times at the paper bird, as though it were some illusion that the motion would clear away. When that proved unsuccessful, her reach and acceptance were both hesitant, taking the bird gently by her fingertips. She seemed to frown at it at first, but it was soon clear she wasn't upset, or saddened.

Simply, as she was at most other things, utterly perplexed. The question he'd asked and most everything else he said was for the moment was disregarded when she finally spoke.

"Why... are you giving me this?"

Even in as mundane an event as this, the very concept of giving a gift seemed completely foreign to the girl.

[ryuuzaki]

He let out a heavy sigh, then rubbed the long hand that had held the crane across his temple. She's detached enough from normal human behavior that she doesn't understand a gift. Another complication.

The truth was that, if she and Edgar came from the same place, she might have certain abilities that could prove useful, and L wanted the chance to find out. Then, there was the news of Jones's violent death. It had brought uncomfortable dismay and frustration, as well as occasional queasiness, but it also made new alliances seem vital. He considered how to respond to her question. To cover the few seconds it would take to decide, he reached for another sheet of origami paper and began to fold it in half, his expression thoughtful.

Because I feel sorry for you. That might work in some scenarios, but the girl had offered no indication that she was looking for sympathy. Her frown, and the way she hadn't sought any information about the Institute from him yet, made him think that she might be independent enough that an overt show of pity would be a mistake. The same was true of compliments or flirtation: they would strike the wrong note.

Because my friend was killed last night. Jones was more of a professional contact than a friend, but he had been a valuable person to know. However, the girl seemed about as likely to dispense sympathy as to take it well. If she already couldn't come to her own conclusions about why he might have given her the crane, she might not be able to make the connections that would allow her to understand why a person who was sad might give a small gift to a new acquaintance, the idea that it might have been motivated by a simple emotional need.

His third idea, though....

"I'm sure you've already been told that it's going to be difficult here. At those times, it can help to focus on a pleasant memory... but you don't have any. I thought--" He made a small, helpless shrug with one shoulder. "I know it isn't much."

[ultimagi]

It was easy to say that nobody had ever done such a thing for her, in memory or out of it, but it said little about what such a gesture meant. She flicked one of the wings with a fingertip, the paper giving only slightly before springing back into place. "... Thank you," she managed to say, though now she was watching him much more curiously than before. What thoughts she'd been trapped in at the start, what internal refuge she was trying to carve, was for the moment abandoned.

She didn't know why he was trying to reach out to her; they were strangers, for one, and she hadn't been doing anything this time to deserve this sort of attention. So why?

"Who are you?" she asked, a bend to her brow and clarity in her eyes; the curiosity he had found so lacking before seemed to now be finally bubbling to life. "What's your name?"

[ryuuzaki]

His expression brightened, but his smile was only hinted, not quite reaching his eyes. To some degree, the circumstances had hampered whatever ability he might have to convincingly feign happiness or friendliness. Past his curiosity, past his anger, he felt tired--not a physical or intellectual fatigue, but a psychological one. No single event had brought him to it; it was everything that had happened since the night of the sleep study.

It frustrated him to understand how much the Institute was wearing on him.

"Please call me Ryuuzaki." He hadn't really answered either of her questions; those were at the top of the list of subjects he would talk around, if he could. "I've been here for a few weeks now. Of the names you've been given, have you decided which one to use?"

[ultimagi]

Ryuuzaki. She made sure to repeat the name in her mind, lips moving slightly to echo it, as she looked at his face. She had no idea how well memory would stay with her this time around -- she could simply forget every couple days, or every few weeks. Regardless, she had to do what she could to form them as strongly as she could as she went.

At the question, she looked off to the side again, evasive, uncertain how to answer. This time her gaze settled not on Locke, but on Edgar, engaged in conversation with a man she did not recognize (this, of course, told nothing).

"I...," she tried, then started over. "The people I met last night called me 'Jane,' because of my... circumstances." She shook her head once more, turning back to Ryuuzaki. "The other... I'm not sure I deserve it. So... I suppose 'Tina' for now, until..."

She shrugged her shoulders, barely making an effort to the gesture.