Barnaby Brooks Jr. [Bunny] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
baniichan) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
damned_institute2012-01-19 12:07 pm
baniichan) wrote in damned_institute2012-01-19 12:07 pm
Entry tags:
Day 61: Sun Room [Second Shift]
Even if he hadn't eaten much, the time to himself had helped improve Barnaby's overall state of mind. Despite the grueling insomnia that had plagued him before his arrival, he felt remarkably well rested now. Maybe he didn't agree with all of this Landel's Institute's methods, but there was no denying that he was much more stable than before.
Of course, he hadn't managed to shake the knot of unease tightening in the pit of his stomach, nor the restlessness that seized him when he thought of all of the recent revelations concerning Ouroboros, as well as his own recollections of that Christmas Eve nearly 21 years ago. Ill or not, he didn't have time to sit in a hospital right now. He needed to talk to Mr. Maverick.
Studying his bare wrist, Barnaby inwardly sighed as he stepped out of the cafeteria. Though his knee-jerk reaction earlier this morning had been to assume that someone from Apollon would get in touch with him shortly, he realized that he may not be in any state to continue with his hero work. The fact that the doctors had deemed it necessary to confiscate his PDA said more than anyone here was willing to tell him to his face.
That didn't mean they had a right to take his cell phone, though. Unfortunately, when he asked about it, his nurse thought otherwise.
"Like I said, Mr. Banks, this program doesn't allow for outside contact with friends and family except under specific circumstances," she reminded him.
"Brooks," he flatly stated.
The nurse blinked. "Excuse me?"
"My name isn't Banks," he corrected her. "It's Brooks -- Barnaby Brooks Jr." The nurse glanced down at her clipboard and nodded in understanding.
"Of course it is, dear," she said in a tone that conveyed that she was just humoring him. Barnaby's fingers curled into a fist at his side, but otherwise his face remained remarkably composed.
"I understand if you feel the need to downplay my presence due to my occupation," he spoke in slow, measured words, "but you'll have to excuse me if I find your methods extreme and, quite frankly, unnecessary." Combined with the Head Doctor's poor excuse for an announcement a few moments ago, their conversation just made Barnaby conclude that this facility was being run a bunch of incompetent morons. Barnaby had no intention of causing a scene, but he wasn't going to just roll over and let the staff treat him like a child, either.
"That said, I'd like to look at the paperwork that was signed the day I was committed here," he stated, his shoulders squared as he look his nurse right in the eye. "I should know what my rights are."
"I'm afraid I don't have the authority to do that."
"Then put me in touch with the person who does."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, either."
Frustration welled up inside Barnaby, and he took a small breath. He couldn't wait to get in touch with his attorney later. "Then what, exactly, can you do?"
The nurse smiled. "Take you to the recreational field, of course. The other male patients are there now. Wouldn't you like to make some friends?"
Barnaby folded his arms, his cool gaze falling onto a bulletin board located along the wall. "Actually, I'd rather stay in the sun room and read what's over there, if you don't mind." He didn't catch the flicker of disappointment on the nurse's face, though he wouldn't have cared much even if he had. As long as he wasn't hurting anyone or himself, they didn't have the authority to dictate how he spent every second of his time.
"We do allow patients to stay here during activity shifts, so I suppose you can do that," she said, albeit a bit reluctantly.
Barnaby nodded. "All right, then." With that, he made his way over to the bulletin and began to peruse through the notes. Perhaps he'd learn a little more about this place and how some of the other patients could even stand being here.
[For Renamon!]
Of course, he hadn't managed to shake the knot of unease tightening in the pit of his stomach, nor the restlessness that seized him when he thought of all of the recent revelations concerning Ouroboros, as well as his own recollections of that Christmas Eve nearly 21 years ago. Ill or not, he didn't have time to sit in a hospital right now. He needed to talk to Mr. Maverick.
Studying his bare wrist, Barnaby inwardly sighed as he stepped out of the cafeteria. Though his knee-jerk reaction earlier this morning had been to assume that someone from Apollon would get in touch with him shortly, he realized that he may not be in any state to continue with his hero work. The fact that the doctors had deemed it necessary to confiscate his PDA said more than anyone here was willing to tell him to his face.
That didn't mean they had a right to take his cell phone, though. Unfortunately, when he asked about it, his nurse thought otherwise.
"Like I said, Mr. Banks, this program doesn't allow for outside contact with friends and family except under specific circumstances," she reminded him.
"Brooks," he flatly stated.
The nurse blinked. "Excuse me?"
"My name isn't Banks," he corrected her. "It's Brooks -- Barnaby Brooks Jr." The nurse glanced down at her clipboard and nodded in understanding.
"Of course it is, dear," she said in a tone that conveyed that she was just humoring him. Barnaby's fingers curled into a fist at his side, but otherwise his face remained remarkably composed.
"I understand if you feel the need to downplay my presence due to my occupation," he spoke in slow, measured words, "but you'll have to excuse me if I find your methods extreme and, quite frankly, unnecessary." Combined with the Head Doctor's poor excuse for an announcement a few moments ago, their conversation just made Barnaby conclude that this facility was being run a bunch of incompetent morons. Barnaby had no intention of causing a scene, but he wasn't going to just roll over and let the staff treat him like a child, either.
"That said, I'd like to look at the paperwork that was signed the day I was committed here," he stated, his shoulders squared as he look his nurse right in the eye. "I should know what my rights are."
"I'm afraid I don't have the authority to do that."
"Then put me in touch with the person who does."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, either."
Frustration welled up inside Barnaby, and he took a small breath. He couldn't wait to get in touch with his attorney later. "Then what, exactly, can you do?"
The nurse smiled. "Take you to the recreational field, of course. The other male patients are there now. Wouldn't you like to make some friends?"
Barnaby folded his arms, his cool gaze falling onto a bulletin board located along the wall. "Actually, I'd rather stay in the sun room and read what's over there, if you don't mind." He didn't catch the flicker of disappointment on the nurse's face, though he wouldn't have cared much even if he had. As long as he wasn't hurting anyone or himself, they didn't have the authority to dictate how he spent every second of his time.
"We do allow patients to stay here during activity shifts, so I suppose you can do that," she said, albeit a bit reluctantly.
Barnaby nodded. "All right, then." With that, he made his way over to the bulletin and began to peruse through the notes. Perhaps he'd learn a little more about this place and how some of the other patients could even stand being here.
[For Renamon!]
no subject
He also remembered her situation regarding her position back home very well. And although he couldn't say he found her forging evidence as anything close to admirable, no matter what her reason, he could at least respect the fact that she openly admitted it and seemed fully prepared to face the consequences head on. It was at least a little more honorable than the alternative. Brave, even. So no, he didn't feel sympathy for whatever punishment she faced upon returning home, but he had no intention of rubbing it in her face either. It simply was what it was. Though, hah, what a mess that must have been to deal with, hm?
In any case, he left both be without comment, although his expression faded to something a little softer when she mentioned Ema. ...He was glad. Both Ema and her sister had remained unharmed despite their environment. Last he had spoken to Ema, her spirits seemed to be better as well. ...And Ms. Skye didn't seem like the type that broke easily. It also seemed that Ms. Skye was thoroughly on top of her sister's condition, which likely meant they were still sticking together. He was glad for that as well.
"...Self-defense classes?" he repeated, obviously a little astonished. Without thinking, his eyes immediately flicked over to the bulletin board, over to one of the posts he had just glanced over a moment ago requesting something similar. ...Interesting. Normally he would be completely skeptical of such offers, figuring they were either a trap or a code for something else. Yet Skye was saying whatever she was participating in was legitimate. ...It still didn't sit completely right with him.
"Isn't th--? Ah. That is to say... I agree to a point. I doubt such a thing would be a useless effort, by any means. Any little advantage one can get here may ultimately prove to make all the difference in the end, ja?" It made logical sense when you thought about it that way, but still. "Though I am surprised to hear such 'classes' even exist here, I must admit." He turned back to her, frowning a little in attentive curiosity. "...What kind of 'self-defense' is this precisely?"
Admittedly, Klavier was a little concerned as to what the answer might be. Regardless of what moralistic mistakes she may have made in the past, she was still a prosecutor. So he had an expectation of her not participating in anything... unseemly. However, the same did not go for whoever her 'teacher' was. What kind of things would these people teach? And how many people here had they taught? ...Did this have anything to do with the History Club, he wondered.
no subject
That wasn't why. She'd seen enough, and there was stubbornness and then there was just idiocy; if she were by herself, she'd do things differently. Though, to be perfectly honest, if only with herself, whether that would lean towards caution or reckless self-endangerment, she wasn't entirely sure.
"I spoke to someone on the bulletin, who was willing to see if they'd let us practice outside this afternoon. Though I'm afraid I can't invite you -- you're pretty, but not that pretty." She smiled, gently, turning what could have been critique or uncomfortable praise into merely what it was: the truth.
"Mostly I've had a few lectures in running away, and a very basic refresher on how to throw a punch." She understood why the former had been necessary, but once had been enough. At least Ema had listened to Renji, when she wasn't quite as happy listening to her sister.
"I take it you haven't found the nightlife here too limiting?"