damned_institute | Day 61: Sun Room (third shift)

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Day 61: Sun Room (third shift)

The moment dear Landel-san announced that it was time for lunch, Erika wasted no time and headed straight for the Sun Room's bulletin board to check if there was any response to her message left for her dear friend. Predictably, there was nothing for her on the board, and the detective scowled as she realized she might have to write him off as a loss. She had lost a good number of potential allies in this place, but losing this one was a bit of a blow, if only because he had useful things on him. On the other hand, if he was gone, and that ring was still here...

Perhaps it was not a great loss, then. Still, Erika was mildly annoyed as she wandered away from the board and back towards a nearby couch. She was spending a lot of time in the Sun Room lately, which seemed to be a bit of a waste as she could have spent in going around the Institute. On the other hand, she had a sandwich here that was waiting to be consumed and after spending a week with little access to "real food", Erika was more then happy to enjoy her time spent eating.

Still, at some point she was going to have to manage her time a little more effectively. There was no reason why she couldn't multitask, so Erika kept her gaze on the door of the Sun Room so she could watch people filter in on their way to other rooms. She wouldn't get everyone, no, but perhaps she would find someone useful that she could bother for the rest of the shift. A familiar face, or maybe someone new. She'd decide on that eventually.

[ hau Seishin ready for round 2. /killed ]

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Free time was definitely welcome, especially after freezing outside at that field. He would have to meet up with Renji again at some point. Despite his mouth, he was tolerable to be around, it seemed. Scar entered the Sun Room, which was exactly how Lust had described it. He noticed the bulletin board she had mentioned, but didn't give it much interest.

Scar stretched out on a chair closing his eyes, strain slightly evident on his face and the sun warming his body. He was tired- both physically and mentally. So much had happened in so little time.

[Free!]

Seishin had been spending his time wandering the side of the field, idly watching the patients partaking in the recreational activities. The conversation with Silvestri-san earlier this morning regarding the basement hadn't done anything to ease his worries, and as the day passed they only grew worse. The offering of blood and the fact they had all passed out bothered him. It did not bode well at all, did it?

The nurse came, and the former priest requested to be taken back inside. However, she wanted to make sure that her charge wouldn't retreat in solitude for a second time in a row and once they had arrived in the Sun room she promptly dragged him over to a familiar face on the couch. He had met the self-proclaimed detective yesterday, ironically also because a nurse dragged him over. The conversation hadn't been very pleasant, something the nurse was completely oblivious to as she pressed a lunch bag into the novelist's hands, emphasizing that he had to eat all of it before leaving them alone.

Indeed, his only wishes did not matter. Nor could he be trusted with food, he thought darkly to himself. But none of it showed on his features; Sotoba had at least been good for masking his thoughts and feelings.

"Furudo-san," he started. Though the girl was still a teenager, Seishin had the feeling she wouldn't have liked to be referred to by the 'chan'-honorific. "I hope you've been doing well?"

A polite question, but not entirely insincere. Their first conversation hadn't gone well, but that didn't mean the former priest immediately wished disaster to befall on her.

Although he had his coat with him, Kurama was glad to go back inside. What little sun there had been earlier had disappeared, as well. Again, this was one of those times he wished he still had fur. His nurse, now the one he'd had yesterday, came to fetch him just as the intercom started up with another announcement for the end of the shift. It was to be another free shift for lunch. The talk about therapy shifts registered in his mind for a moment, but he eventually dismissed it. This was supposed to be a mental institute, wasn't it? Therapy sessions were normal. Kurama himself hadn't been called to one yet, but seeing as he hadn't run into any trouble yet with pretending to go along with the Institute's daytime act, he decided he could deal with it if and when it came. He had other things to worry about.

His nurse led him back to the Sun Room and handed him a bag (chicken; she remembered his preference from yesterday), and then left him to his own devices. The first thing Kurama did was head to the bulletin board to check for any new responses or posts that might be important.

There were new replies to the Arts & Crafts club, an interesting request by a person called '667', as well as several other posts that piqued his interest. Kurama wondered if there was any way he could get information about the history of the institute. Perhaps it would lead to figuring out how the institute had managed to get them here, which would lead to figuring out how to get out. So far, there was no post yet from the person called 'Rita Mordio' about different technology, or from the History Club. He also had yet to see anything from the Search & Rescue club he had heard about.

He was playing a potentially risky game, he knew, by employing different personas on the board. Having aliases practically screamed that he had something to hide -- and that was correct, Kurama did have something to hide. He'd spent all day devoting one portion of his concentration to hiding his aura and using the rest for information gathering. As he'd said on the board, he wanted to keep a low profile, but at the same time, he wanted to slip into as many corners as he could so he could know as much as there was to know. And that was the risky part. He hadn't been here long enough to know what consequences there were if he were found out. And this was only the first part of the process. Ideally, once he had gathered enough information, he'd make his move.

In any case, he made his round of the bulletin board, storing interesting information where he found it and replying where he saw fit to. Then, he took his sack lunch with him to an empty seat in the Sun Room. He still hadn't eaten anything from the Institute and he could feel the eyes of the doctors and nurses watching from above. This 3rd shift marked the fact that he had now been here for an entire day. How long would he be able to avoid eating?

[Guy]

Daemon took his bagged lunch from his nurse and made his way to the Sunroom. He still felt chilled from the previous shift outside, but the daylight had been nice at least. He grabbed a chair and sank down near one of the large windows, legs stretching out in front of him, ankles crossed as he dug into the bag to pull out a grilled cheese sandwich with a skeptical look. At least this was still better than the pink gruel, he admitted with relief.

[Calling this meeting of psychopaths and their redheaded boyfriends to order!]

Lana had wandered into the library, but after a few moments she wandered back out with a book in her hand to the Sun Room. She'd tucked it down under her arm, by her hip, as she'd passed Harvey -- he didn't need to know she'd bypassed a raft of classics, including Doyle's oeuvre, for a little thriller whose grip on the legal process might be charitably called naive.

Then again, the truth wouldn't make for much of a story, after all. It mattered to the people caught up in it, but from the outside it was a boring, often sordid, mess. There had been a few exceptions; Hollywood was too nearby for there not to be, but once the luster faded from a star, even a three-day trial was beyond most people's attention span.

There were plenty of armchairs, and Lana claimed one, along with an end-table, and spread her lunch out on the latter while parking herself more neatly in the former.

[free!]

Edited 2012-01-24 04:55 (UTC)

Well, that had gone pretty well. While Rita had to be a little skeptical of Rapunzel's claims about her abilities, the fact that it was a fairly consistent story made it admittedly plausible. Perhaps if Rita or one of her acquaintances got injured in the future, she could call on her for a demonstration.

With a new shift came a new appointment. Up next was a doctor (of what, she wondered) who claimed his magic could 'grant wishes'. Sounded pretty phony, but considering how Rita just got back from having a serious discussion about magic hair? She figured she could at least hear the guy out.

Since they hadn't specified a meeting place, Rita supposed it would make the most sense to wait by the bulletin board in the Sun Room. She'd given her physical description to the man she was meeting, so hopefully he'd find her before long.

When she reached the board, Rita started looking over the notes. Nothing from the History Club yet, it looked like. And now that she thought about it, she'd promised to start a new magic discussion. Rita grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, figuring she might as well start on that while she waited.

[Doctor Facilier!]

Well, that was fun. Badd wondered if Byrne had gotten the same treatment, he'd have to ask him about it tonight. For now he just needed a little...me-time.

No, not like that. Just time to sit and think. The institute seemed heavily invested in the illusion during the day, despite the fact that at night they didn't seem to much care. Even the board was censored to prevent them revealing the true nature of the institute, but not taken down completely as they might due to simply block communication. So they weren't trying to fool the patients, or the nurses...

Badd's eyes widened. Then someone else had to be watching. They were pulling the wool over someone's eyes, just not someone they could see. But who and why? Ah, but it was getting somewhere.

When the shift changed, Renamon remained, staying to mull over the changes and wonder if possibly there was a better way to approach people that were adverse to the more controversial topics. In essence, she hadn't touched the surface with Barnaby--had not mentioned monsters, other worlds, the details of the experiments, the fact of half of the populace not being human--but the simple fact of the institute not being what it was and the details about the military had been enough.

She needed to rethink her methods if she was going to continue to inform the newer people who showed up.

That said, the Digimon took to a couch, and intermittently glanced at the bulletin board. Nigredo still had her notebook, and while she didn't need it, it seemed odd to be without. Ah, well. Renamon slid her eyes shut, bowing her head lightly as she evened her breathing. Mediation, at least, was always something useful.

[ Byrne! ]

Reluctantly, Leanne left the Greenhouse (and all those absolutely beautiful flowers) when the shift ended. At that very moment, it was one of the very last things she'd have rather done, but the nurse that came for her was insistent. Next thing she knew, the nurse had her out of there and back inside the building with a bagged lunch, after being informed she had another free range shift.

"Then why didn't you just let me stay there?" she mumbled to herself as she stepped into the Sun Room, still clutching the bag tightly. Maybe she could go back later. Not that particular night-- she'd already made plans to meet Renamon tonight, but as soon as she possibly could...

Leanne huffed out a breath, shaking her head. There were other things she needed to focus on too. There was no way she'd be able to just spend all her time in this place inside the Greenhouse.

Putting the thought aside for the moment, she took a quick look at the bulletin board. However, nothing on it caught her eye and she found herself instead heading for one of the couches.

She could at least be comfortable during her lunch, right?

[Zero!]

Something disturbed L's sleep—he dreamed of a swarm of bees that formed themselves into the shape of a lumbering man, twice life-size, buzzing with anger. A gust of wind dispersed the insects, and the skeleton of the man clattered to the ground, dry old bones sounding against each other.

He murmured, fussed, and rolled onto his side to face the wall.

The lack of windows made it hard to tell what time it was when he woke up, but he knew that it was late and that he had probably missed at least part of breakfast: Orihara was nowhere to be seen, and the corridor outside of his room seemed quiet, in contrast to the bustle he could expect if it were still early.

He sat up, blinking, then raised one hand to his head and rubbed his scalp, his fingers brushing against the fine, smooth scar on the back of his head. None of it dispelled his drowsiness, but time would probably take care of that. He flexed his toes, then slid his feet into the slippers that waited beside the bed, then moved to take the journal and a pen from the desk drawer. He was interrupted by the intercom.

Lunch...? It's even later than I thought. Landel seemed to be sticking to his new meal plan, for the time being. That meant that L had missed access to the fruit at the salad bar for the entire day... still, the meal itself would be tolerable, if he took the cheese sandwich.

He was more troubled by the fact that he had missed at least two opportunities for conversations: he still wanted to talk to Jones, and he wanted to find Daemon, to learn what he could about the encounter Daemon had had two nights earlier. If other people got to them first, he'd have to postpone, and in doing so, he might lose the chance to get the information at all.

At least we were able to accomplish something last night. It wasn't much of a breakthrough, but it was the most he had been able to manage in days. He had a nagging feeling that if he had approached this as a regular case rather than an involuntary one, it would have been wrapped up by now with very little personal cost to him. That was as irritating as anything else. They might have saved his life by pulling him away from the Kira case, but they had put him into a situation that was hard for him to tolerate. It required the constant suppression of annoyance and anger on a level he had never attempted in the past.

The nurse appeared a moment later to lead him to the Sun Room, where he took his bagged lunch. Apart from the items Landel had mentioned, the bag also contained a small lollipop, cream soda flavored, a familiar American style with a waxed paper wrapper. Not bad, but this couldn't possibly constitute the "changes" that the doctor had mentioned so ominously.

He glanced around the room again, and something stood out: there weren't many people in the Sun Room. A "free shift"... it sounds like we're being given a choice, but I don't think many of us would choose to be here at all... the choice is illusory. It's a way for Landel to present himself as magnanimous. In actuality, allowing patients to choose one of half a dozen places to spend the next hour or two, and combining that license with the fact that we're escorted everywhere and therefore can't simply search for someone until we find them, greatly inhibits our ability to strike up conversations, especially those that haven't been planned ahead of time. It scatters us. It makes us less of a threat, whether in theory or in practice. He had a sense that the most cynical interpretation possible would usually be the correct one. That wasn't always true, but it was often true, and until he was free of the Institute, he might as well consider it a rule to live by.

He saw a man who he thought might be Daemon, but that man was already deep in conversation with someone else. Jones didn't appear to be around, and there was no way of knowing which of the other areas he might have chosen, so that avenue was also a temporary dead end. Lunge was here, talking to the older man L had met a few days earlier, but L's third choice, Edgar, was nowhere to be seen, and the bulletin board held nothing of pressing interest.

With a sigh, he found a seat on one of the sofas and took the cheese sandwich out of the paper bag, waiting for something to turn up.

["Something" = another Japanese kid who wants to save the world by killing a lot of people. Hi, Niikura!]

Edited 2012-01-26 15:35 (UTC)

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