damned_institute | Day 58: Arts & Crafts (Fourth shift)

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]

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That was true. How did that old saying hold up when the enemy of your enemy was also a power-hungry sadistic sociopath? Was there even a lesser evil in this equation? Landel hadn't really done better for them - the military just seemed to be more efficient and regular about its torture.

"Good point." His shoulders sagged a little, but he his fingers twitched in his lap, itching for a cigarette. He exhaled silently again, and shrugged. "Landel helped build this place, so I suppose either way he's our best bet for finding out what happened to the people we've lost and shutting it down permanently. His man power's gotta be more limited too."

All speculation. There was too much they didn't know or couldn't confirm, too many ways for things to go stupidly wrong. And Renamon was right of course. They didn't know exactly what either party was after, and to do anything they needed some way to get close enough to have an effect. Right now, they were as much of a commodity as the institute itself, and little else.

Badou gnawed on the inside of his lip. "Infiltration is kinda out of my league." Which was a shame for a PI, really. "Don't suppose you've got any ideas besides 'play nice until someone picks us for their team'."

If the man was willing for discourse. And though Landel talked more than any other in the building, the man was nearly invisible to the naked eye--in the way that he seemed to shun one on one interactions. It made sense, of course; when you took into consideration that the times he had surfaced, he'd been under attack. From the reports given on those, however, it seemed as if there had been no threat at all. A shame.

So it only came down to what Badou had already narrowed down. Renamon pursed her lips together in thought. "I have in the past, but it's unlikely that I would have the outlet for it here." Infiltrating a prison normally would require one to be on the outside. Finding one outside of it--or making nice with the ones in charge of it--would require more resources than any had at their disposal here. A different way, then.

...Except there wasn't much. Her eyes flashed with frustration briefly and she let out a breath of air. "...Exploration, mainly," she gave. "I have the means to get to Doyleton at night, and the basement is a secondary focus. It's possible there are clues somewhere to narrow down what they actually want from us, other than the obvious." Her expression gave that it was a goal considered minor, but in the end, her hands were tied. They remained powerless here. Even with the changes given, that wasn't adjusting.

"Damn," Badou muttered. He hadn't tried with the army, but the old staff had stonewalled him until he'd finally given up playing nice and drilling them for information. Unless someone decided to step up and make the first move, it was damn near impossible to get near any of them.

Badou hesitated, absorbed in his own frustration, then nodded at her suggestion. The last time he'd been to Doyleton at night he'd nearly gotten his ass eaten by zombies, and something in the basement was so bad that no one seemed to want to talk about it. It might not necessarily lead to anything, but it was their only option right now. At the least, Doyleton had weapons. Guns. Who knew what the basement held?

"It's worth a shot. Let me know when you're headin' out to Doyleton, if you don't mind a tag-along." He shook his head. "I'd kill to get my hands on a gun again."

[ and about at a stopping point? ]

Two, then. That was two that had asked for guns within this day. Surprisingly, she cocked a slight grin in amusement. "Earlier, a girl I met requested the same. Maybe you should partner with her."

Teasing aside, the Digimon still nodded to him. "I'll let you know. If I go there without you, I'll keep an eye out on anything I can bring back. Large or small?" The terminology was beyond her, but she could at least view differents in style after watching them being used.

[Yeah I think we're good.]

Badou choked on a laugh. "Unfortunately I'm taken."

He couldn't tell if Renamon had meant for that to imply anything, but even if she didn't it was so unexpected it was hilarious. "I wouldn't mind meeting her sometime anyway." He added. He was all over a cute girl who knew how to work a pair of guns or some other horrible thing he wouldn't say out loud.

The question gave him a moment's pause. He didn't work with a lot of people who were unfamiliar with guns, so he frowned thoughtfully, thinking of both his needs and a way to phrase them.

He settled on pulling out his notebook and making a few quick sketches while he spoke: a revolver and a bullet, a standard hand gun and a full clip of ammunition. They weren't perfect but they got the idea across. Even if he could find them, his precious Mac-10s were too impractical here. They went through ammo like Badou went through Marlboros.

"Small. And any bullets if you see them." He tore the page out and passed it to her. "That should give you an idea."

"And Renamon?" His smile was small, but genuine none the less. "Thanks."

The man laughed, and she took that as a good sign--was actually pleased to see it. She smiled slightly at him, closing her eyes. "I'll let her know. She's new, and likely needs someone with experience to show her around." If there was a secondary meaning, nothing was given away. Only what was said. The Digimon's eyes remained closed.

Until the man started outlining what he wanted. She watched him closely, curious, then took the page when it was offered. "I'll look for something like this." There was a shift in the room, people beginning to move out of the room. Badou spoke once more and Renamon glanced to him. "It's nothing." She stood, taking the page with her, and then nodded to him. "...It's good to see you again, Badou."

Day 58: Arts & Crafts (Fourth shift)

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