damned_institute | DAY 64: ARTS AND CRAFTS (THIRD SHIFT)

What was it that Alice had said, when she stumbled deeper and deeper into Wonderland? Murphy couldn't remember. But he felt like that, by the time he was hustled away to the third shift. It was...disorienting. Not even counting the weirdness level, just the fact that the schedule was different than Ryall's. At least he'd been able to pee at the right time, which was a relief.

He wondered how long he'd be stuck on prison-time. This place was basically a prison, but it wasn't the same. And for the moment he could deal with a gilded cage, as long as it wasn't throwing monsters and manifestations of his own guilt at him.

The nurse that was apparently assigned to him decided to steer him to Arts and Crafts when he just shrugged as an answer to where he wanted to go. He didn't feel like catching the movie - it was one of his favorites, he just wasn't in the mood - and anyway....

He had noticed during brunch that there were kids around. Teenagers, sure, but...what the hell? Were they here at night? They couldn't be. What sort of sick fuck would do that to kids?

But Murphy knew all too well the sort of sick fucks who did things to kids. It just pissed him off, and he was edgy and frustrated when he was deposited in a room that reminded him of the ones back in the Monastery.

And there was only one other guy there, who Murphy decided had done some hard time himself. He had that look. Rubbing the back of his neck, the ex-con took a seat at the table, figuring it safe to approach someone on their own.

"Funny way to have a bunch of supposed psychos spend the time," he grumbled, rolling his eyes at the kiddie crafts on the table between them. He hadn't touched any of this kind of stuff since....

Ugh. He didn't want anymore reminders.

"It's just another game," Scar growled, looking up at the newcomer. He hadn't seen him around before. Scar would have assumed that this man was new, but he had a weathered, hardened look about him. The faint scar on his cheek added to it.

"Just another subtle way of putting us down lower. It's not like he even thinks we're psychos in the first place." He looked back down at the table, still riffling through the supplies for something potentially useful even though it was highly unlikely that he would have no such luck.

"'He'? Oh, you mean the big doc on the intercom."

Murphy hadn't entirely figured that whole thing out yet, either. He was the bull goose, though, Murphy knew that. And probably the kind that got off on messing with the prisoners. This place was remarkably fucked up and painfully familiar all at once.

"You never know. Who knows what they think about us?" He didn't even really know who 'they' were. Neither did anyone else, really. It was just guesses and pieces of information and a whole bunch of possible-lies, as far as he could tell. And there could be some actual psychos running around. Took all kinds, that went here from what he'd seen.

That didn't even count the way being locked up could make some guys lose it. Murphy had been lucky there, at least. He'd already been broken enough that prison hadn't hardened him much.

Scar nodded. "The way he speaks, I'm sure he's well aware of what is actually going on." He looked up at the other man again.

"Are you new?" Scar didn't mind conversing with this man. He didn't seem to be stupid, and he wasn't so excitable that he got on Scar's nerves. Two traits that were definitely positives to the Ishbalan. Plus, he wasn't gawking at his scar. Another good thing.

"What's going on, yeah, but...he still might think some of us are nuts." Murphy found himself looking up, as though the discussed doctor were some force or entity watching them from on high. That feeling was the same as prison, too. Just knowing the COs were up there in their towers, keeping an eye on the sub-society below them.

"And yeah, I guess I'm new. Woke up here last night, but waking up in fucked up hellholes without knowing how is pretty much my life right now."

And as far as he could tell, this place wasn't in Silent Hill. Why he'd been sent here...or taken here...

Fuck if he could figure it out. Maybe he just wasn't done being punished. He could believe that. The things he'd done...the things he was responsible for... one quick trip through hell didn't make up for all of that.

Scar put down the supplies, giving up on finding anything useful. The nurses were too careful to not give them something that could actually be a weapon of any kind. He leaned back in his chair.

"There are some here whose sanity I have called into question."

Pretty much his... life? Scar wouldn't ask. He didn't really want to know.

"That is a fairly accurate summation of this place, though," he grumbled. It was. This was hell.

"Always are." Murphy shrugged and picked up a box of crayons, turning it over in his hands. He remembered 'art therapy' when he was going to counseling. What a joke that had been. Not the therapy itself, but Murphy attending. he hadn't wanted to, hadn't really cared. He'd been going through the motions in the office and going through bottle after bottle of scotch at home. And every day, Carol hated him a little more....

"So, uh, I don't mean to pry, but...you done some time? I'm fresh out of the can myself, that's the reason I'm asking. Stupid shit got me in there."

He didn't mind fessing up to being an ex-con - literally, he had figured - but he knew the conclusions people could jump to. Even other prisoners. He didn't want to give the impression, that he was violently dangerous or some kind of drug fiend. On the other hand, 'stupid stuff' was vague enough that if this guy was a violent con...Murphy could swing it so there wasn't any problem.

A convict? That probably explained the weathered look the other man had.

"I was wanted," he responded, watching the table with a frown. Scar would give him more details if he asked for them, but he wasn't about to offer them up freely.

Scar didn't want to think about what would have happened if they had caught him alive. They would have had to chain him up to keep him from using his arm... Drop him in solitary... Treat him like trash because he was an Ishbalan...

"Sucks, huh?" Murphy tapped out a crayon, not looking at the color. "I was wanted for all of eight hours." And then he'd pulled over in South Ashfield and let the cops arrest him. Funny how he was still brought up on resisting arrest charges. Hadn't 'evading capture' been enough?

Not that it mattered.

"I just got out of jail two days ago. But now I guess I'm back in there." As he spoke, he pulled a piece of paper in front of him and began doodling, not paying much attention to what. "Only I can't figure out if this place is better or worse than where I was. Probably worse. At least there weren't any kids stuck in the can."

And the one in Silent Hill hadn't been real. Thank God.

"It was what I deserved," Scar replied quietly, watching the other man doodle. Actually, he had deserved worse than to die at the hands of a firing squad.

And he supposed he had. But apparently that hadn't been slow and painful enough of a death for Ishbala. So here he was, alive all over again.

"I don't even know how long I was on the run." He had been on and off the streets, in and out of camps... His sense of time had been lost. All he knew was that he had aged a lot more in that time span than a normal man would have. He felt old and tired almost all the time.

Murphy could only shrug at that, a round clock face emerging on the paper in front of him. His drawing skills were nothing to write home about.

"I don't know your story, pal." And who was he to say what someone else deserved? He'd thought he had that right, once. Look where that had gotten him. Hell and deeper into hell, and no way out no matter where he turned. Was this about justice and karma? Or was it some sick joke?

"You got any family?"

Scar was silent for a moment. No, he didn't know his story. A scant few people did, really. And he was unlucky enough that one of those people was here. Then the question.

"They're all dead."

There wasn't any point in avoiding the question. Everyone he loved was gone; taken.

"I'm sorry."

Murphy knew better than to offer anything that would come off as pity. He knew that kind of pain, you didn't want to hear anybody's pithy advice or commiseration on the subject. But these were just the kinds of things you asked each other in this kind of situation.

He finished his crude sketch of a clock tower and the crayon kept going, making a diamond in the corner of the paper.

"Been here long?"

He didn't dwell on the subject of family. He knew that tone, too. Plenty of guys had it, himself included. It was a big neon sign that said 'I don't want to talk about it'. You learned to respect that pretty damn quickly.

And he knew not to dwell on the subject, either. Finally, someone who seemed to understand Scar's 'don't talk about anything personal' vibe. This man was probably in a similar boat.

"This is my..." It took him a second. Could it really be only his fourth time waking up in this hell hole? He frowned. It had felt like so much longer... So much had happened.

"This is my fourth day. So no, not even a week."

Only four days? That wasn't that long at all. Murphy would have guessed ' a few months' at the lowest and a 'few years' at the highest.

"It gets easier," he offered, a squiggly line now extending from the base of the triangle. "Being locked up, I mean. You start to get used to it. Get used to the schedule. That's the biggest thing, I think. You get so damn used to doing this thing at this time and then it's all you know."

He wondered if there were any work details or groups or anything like that here. He'd found that keeping his mind and hands busy in the clink were a life-saver. Workshop had at least made the time go faster, and even let him forget a little bit.

"And hey, it's three meals a day and a bed."

Scar's eyes narrowed. He didn't want to get used to it. He wanted to be rid of this place, however that may be possible.

"Maybe so. But most prisons don't have beasts running around the halls." He could deal with the schedule. With the condescending nurses. What he was sick of doing was running for his life. But if he ever wanted to get out, running for his life every night was the price he had to pay.

"That's true," he conceded. It was much easier when he at least knew he could sleep and eat without being attacked.

Rapunzel had spent most of brunch trying to perfect one of Eugene's best pouts. There were no good reasons for the nurses to keep them apart like this. None! What was she getting out of sitting by herself watching Eugene from afar? Boredom? Longing? She'd had eighteen years of both. No thanks.

She could barely enjoy her food throughout the shift, and when asked what she wanted to do for the free choice shift, she chose grudgingly and with much metaphorical gnashing of teeth. The choice ended up being Arts & Crafts, partly because she hadn't been there in a while, and partly because she had just left a note for Sora about the club on the board, which put the name on her mind. With any luck, she thought, Eugene would see that note on the board and maybe think to try looking for her there.

"A little paint never hurts when you want to feel better about things, right?" she said to herself, starting to pull down some sheets of paper, brushes, and other materials from the shelves.

[Kratos and Eugene]

Eugene hadn't seen the note (in fact, he had yet to realize that the bulletin board was a means of communication between patients), but he had seen Rapunzel get up and begin to make her way to the arts and crafts room. Without even saying goodbye to his unpronounceable companion, the erstwhile thief stood up and followed her.

He stood in the doorway for a moment and watched her begin to get out some paints and brushes. Of course she wanted to paint. He remembered the walls of her tower, completely covered with drawings, and the chalk painting she had done in the town just...three days ago. Had it only been three days? After all that had happened since then, the lantern festival seemed like a lifetime ago.

Eugene walked over to her, arms folded across his chest. "Want to take bets on how long it takes for the nurses to separate us again? Apparently it's for our own good."

He didn't think much of staying in the Sun Room and watching a movie, and even though returning to the library and picking up where he'd left off in Inferno sounded intriguing, Kratos knew that he wasn't really in the right mood for concentrating on words. His mind was currently preoccupied with all the things that they needed to accomplish tonight (many) and the likelihood of the club to do that (slim). It didn't help that he barely knew where to start with this illness.

Honestly. Where was Raine when you needed her?

From years of experience, the best solution for working off so much nervous energy was usually slicing up imaginary enemies or going for a run, but since it was pouring outside and half his body aching and protesting, that was out; he ended up settling for the next best alternative: the arts and crafts room. The last time he had gone in here, he'd come out red-faced with a paper mustache as a souvenir, but Honda was nowhere to be seen; maybe he could do a few more sector sketches, and this time remain completely undisturbed.

Armed again with a few pieces of white construction paper and a black marker, Kratos next began searching for an open and empty table, only to catch sight of two people that he had actually been meaning to find. (Well, only one of them really. He wasn't quite as worried about Eugene.) Speak of the devil.

He joined the two of them, mirroring Eugene's posture with both arms folded as best he could with the paper and marker still in his hands. "Why am I not surprised?"

...that wasn't exactly the best way to join a conversation, but at least he'd managed to sound more amused than irritated.

It seemed Rapunzel's hunch had been right, because she had barely gotten her supplies together when who should come up behind her but He Of Permanent Smarm himself. She grinned, looking back over her shoulder to answer, only to see not just Eugene, but Kratos too. There was something about the combination of her boyfriend's sarcasm and Kratos's deadpan response that caught a tickle in her chest, and she bent forward with a short laugh.

"Yeah, I'm starting to think I'm going to have to tie a really big knot around you to keep them from doing that again," she answered after setting her materials down on a nearby table, lifting a section of hair and pulling it taut between her hands with a raised eyebrow. Then she tilted her head toward Kratos and looked his way. "You might have to give us a break. First time in love, you know?" she said, her grin becoming faintly sheepish.

After the moment had passed, Rapunzel moved into a seat, inviting the boy~~toy~~s to sit with her. "Seriously, though, are you okay after... Well, all that?" she asked Kratos.

"That could work," Eugene replied lightly, frowning as if he were considering it. He reached over and lightly ran his fingertips through her hair before pretending to tie a hank of it around his wrist. "Might work if we had more to work with, though." Arching an eyebrow, he added, "Unless you want me on a tight leash."

Kratos had joined them by that point, tall and red haired and slightly surly. Eugene had just been about to make a smart quip in response to Kratos' comment...but Rapunzel got there first.

And what she said made his heart skip a beat.

First time in love. Sure, they'd hinted at it, and after everything that had happened there was no way that what he felt for her wasn't being reciprocated, but they had never called it love. All that talk of dreams, and yet they'd never gotten around to actually calling it by its proper name. Until now, when Rapunzel had said it so casually.

Eugene grabbed her hand, looked into her eyes, and smiled.

Ah.

Kratos had played the third wheel last night, but it hadn't been nearly so...mushy? Sappy? 'Hideously awkward' also sounded like a viable choice of words. Granted, romance wasn't entirely unpalatable - after all, he had even proven himself susceptible to it a decade or so ago - but even so, he had half a mind to quietly excuse himself and slip away to get started on his sketches and perhaps leave a note for Rapunzel instead.

Somehow, he didn't do any of that. "I see," Kratos said dryly, slightly tilting his head and raising an eyebrow in what had become standard procedure for encounters with teenagers. He stepped to the side to allow Eugene, who looked as if he were about to faint with joy, to sit down first before sliding slowly into the seat next to him and setting his materials down on the table.

"As for 'all that', I've been through worse." He certainly wouldn't be doing an encore any time soon, but the cuts and bruises he'd suffered were much easier to scoff at than, say, a dislocated elbow. "I'll be fine in a day or so."

It didn't hit Rapunzel until Eugene took her hand, just what she had said. In that moment of explaining to Kratos, she had tricked herself into forgotting about all the tiptoeing, the uncertainty, the lack of a name for what they had. It really was that simple, though, when she stopped over-thinking it: they were in love. They were in love! And Rapunzel couldn't have been beaming more when Eugene smiled her way.

Sadly, the revelation couldn't last too long. They did have another person with them, and Rapunzel didn't want to leave him out. So instead of tackling Eugene to the ground and kissing him right then and there, she gave his hand a squeeze and tilted her head his way, a non-verbal expression of "Let's talk more about this later."

She turned back to Kratos, relief over his words making her feel less guilty for smiling. "That's good. And you always have me if you need to speed things up again, remember," she said. "Don't be too proud to ask." She knew Kratos was a warrior, but even warriors could use a little help every now and then, she thought, giving Kratos a look.

Eugene wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at Rapunzel and gave her a huge grin. It was official now: they were an item. And it had taken a conversation with their perpetual third wheel to do it.

Still dazzled, he sat down at the table next to Rapunzel and gave her hand one more squeeze. For now, they had other things to worry about...and he felt a little bad for Kratos. The other man was doing an admirable job of not letting on how awkward this situation must be for him, though.

Speed things up again? Did that mean what he thought it meant? Eugene's expressive eyebrows were at it again, this time arching in confusing. "So...are we not keeping that a secret anymore?"

Don't be too proud to ask: it was a little late for that, actually, although he really was being honest when he'd said that it would only take him a day to recover. "I'll keep that in mind, but it shouldn't be necessary" Kratos said, bowing his head slightly. "I can speed the process up through my own powers if need be, and the injuries I sustained this time are well within their range."

Of course, that didn't mean that he would be using them, given the considerable toll using his magic took, but he wanted to reassure Rapunzel that he wasn't claiming relatively good health solely to maintain a reputation.

Eugene's question confused him as well until Kratos realized that he was talking about Rapunzel's unique ability. "You're referring to her hair, I assume." He glanced at Rapunzel. "I haven't told anyone about it, if you're concerned about that." He wasn't surprised at all that something like that needed to be kept under wraps, even though a girl with an unnaturally long mass of hair just screamed to be investigated.

DAY 64: ARTS AND CRAFTS (THIRD SHIFT)

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