Day 67: Dinner

[damned_intercom]

"Goodness, is it really already time for dinner? Time certainly does fly! And such a lovely day, too. I certainly wouldn't mind having a nice cup of cocoa out on the patio or something..."

That was how the Head Doctor greeted them, although it apparently didn't take him long to realize he'd gotten a little off topic.

"Now then, it's time for the nurses to escort you all back to your rooms, where you'll have the opportunity to tuck into a scrumptious plate of turkey and gravy. And, of course, we always carry vegetarian options for those who don't eat meat. We also have our usual assortment of water, juice and milk.

"Also, some of you will be receiving some extra help in warding off whatever bug some of us have been catching. Please take care, everyone, and be sure to wash your hands! I'll talk to you all again later. Enjoy your dinner."

The intercom clicked off, leaving patients with the prospect of preparing for yet another grueling Nightshift.

((Respond to this post with your character's room number in the subject line. New room assignments are listed here. If you have any questions, let us know!))

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[skeletonenigma]

An open declaration of trust from someone who barely knew Skulduggery at all was as refreshing as it was surprising. Maybe it shouldn't have been; this was the Scarecrow, after all. From what Skulduggery remembered of his character, he did tend to be blindly trusting. Still, it was a nice change of pace not to have to argue.

Even though he probably should have argued those last words. He couldn't quite call himself living proof anymore, could he?

Skulduggery was about to respond - with what, he wasn't sure, but it would have been something, and probably something poignant - when he opened up his own wardrobe to discover, quite prominently in alongside the pyjama pants, a suit. A suit he recognised well, because it was one of his. One crisp white dress shirt on one hanger, and a blue suit jacket and pants folded neatly on another. There was a hat in with the suit, a tie in with the shirt, and a pair of dress shoes on the floor of the wardrobe next to the slippers.

For a moment, all Skulduggery did was look at them. Well-tailored, excellent quality, the spitting image of his own suit back home; but he could tell, even from here, that it wasn't the one Ghastly made. The one Ghastly made was bulletproof. This one, obviously, wasn't.

But it was still a suit. Skulduggery didn't take his eyes off it, even as he quickly replayed the Scarecrow's words in his head. "So the popular theory goes, yes. Where I come from, death tends to be an exception." For him, anyway. There was still a first time, albeit much later than it should have come, and there would presumably be a second time as well. He just had no idea when. "It's not fun. It's usually painful. And no one knows anything about afterwards, so I'm afraid I can't give you much detail. But the pain usually has an end, so there's that. It's what happens when death isn't permanent that's worrying, and in a place like this - "

He cut himself off. He was doing that thing again, as Valkyrie so often pointed out. That thing where he wasn't being sympathetic enough. Skulduggery took a deep breath in, just because he could, and swallowed once, just because he needed the practice. "I'm sure everything will be fine. Your death will either be permanent, or it won't happen. I'll make sure of it."

[scarefaux]

Without a word, the Scarecrow returned his gaze to the ring in his palm, thinking. Despite his initial assumption regarding the subject, there was some hope in his mind attached to the thought that death might not be permanent, a small glimmer his usual optimism simply wouldn't let fade away. On the other hand, it might not be such a good idea, after all: if death wasn't the end all be all as Abe had implied in his explanation of the matter so long ago, did that mean someone like the Wicked Witch of the West could come back to life, as well? And if that was the case, was the Emerald City safe in his absence? Oh dear. That was troubling.

Perhaps it was something unique to the Institute, he thought. It was a curious place in and of itself, given how the Wizard Landel seemingly had complete control over everything and everyone in it, at times. Brainwashed patients, roaming witches, the ability to put non-human constructs like himself into a human form- it wouldn't have surprised the Scarecrow to find that their captor had magic strong enough to bring back the dead, as well. That presented an even more unsettling thought: that Landel might have the Wicked Witch of the West working for him in a similar fashion to the Mangled Witch or the Burning Man. Oh, the Scarecrow didn't expect she'd be happy at all if she remembered what happened to her.

And then, there was an even worse notion that came to the surface of the Scarecrow's mind: that if death wasn't permanent in Landel's by some magic or other anomaly, that he'd return to life as well. This wouldn't have been an awful prospect if it didn't come with the thought that he'd be a monster again, and that there'd be no end to the trouble he might cause his friends because of it.

He shook that thought from his mind, trying to keep himself on track for a change rather than letting his mind wander as it often did. He didn't have the luxury of spending hours entertaining any topic that came to him, using his newfound brains to ponder over each and every question he had. Even if he did have the time in Landel's, which he certainly didn't, he hadn't the brains to think properly anymore- the ones he'd been granted by the Wizard in the form of a diploma, which he so trusted to be the best there ever were, were no longer in his possession with his human body. He had brains enough with it, but they'd been tampered with in his sleep study, and had proven themselves nowhere near as capable as those he'd been granted back home. It was unfortunate, as he knew he could have thought of something— a solution, a plan, a way home— had he only had them.

When he doubted himself, the Scarecrow had only one place to turn: his friends. He decided to put his faith in his roommate for now, given Skulduggery seemed to know a lot about the topics of death, and of doing what needed to be done when it needed to be done. He had to admit that it was a welcome change from his previous roommate- Depth Charge never failed to beat around the bush when it came to telling the Scarecrow what was going to happen, always wanting to spare him the finer details in the hopes of keeping him out of trouble.

And yet, he was the one who was gone, and the Scarecrow, naive and ignorant and painfully aware he was both of those things to a frustrating degree, was the one left to try to deal with Landel, the one who would be setting out to do what he could to save his missing friends. It wasn't the best of circumstances, but he'd never been one to give up- not until that moment, where he realized that a permanent death might be the only way to keep himself from hurting, and therefore hindering, anyone else, especially the friends he had still remaining at the Institute.

"I suppose that's best," he noted finally, closing his fingers around the ring in his hand, looking over its twin he wore on his own. "I've only ever seen one person die, and I do hope she never comes back. Or hasn't already, if that's possible."

He cast another look toward his roommate before making his way into Skulduggery's side of the room. Opening his hand, the Scarecrow offered the ring to him, the blood-red gem a far darker shade than the rash that covered his palm. "Just in case something does happen to me tonight, and you get into trouble after all, you'd better take this. I don't know if you've seen one of these, but if you break the stone on it, it'll get you out of here. Hopefully, it'll take you somewhere safe."

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery nodded absentmindedly. The Wicked Witch of the West, wasn't it? He wondered briefly if he'd like living in a world where only the criminals could die. He certainly wouldn't mind it, given that he'd probably be dead himself.

But there was no more use standing around. It couldn't be much longer until the intercom crackled back to life, and Skulduggery wanted to be prepared by the time that happened. So he stepped forward and took both of the hangers down out of his wardrobe, carefully folding the two parts of the suit over his arm so they wouldn't crease. Ghastly's custom-tailored suits never creased, but Skulduggery wouldn't put it past Landel to take away more than just the bulletproof ability. The detective shook his head sadly. Of all the unforgivable crimes...

He glanced up when the Scarecrow walked over, and held out what looked like an ordinary ring. Probably a fairly expensive ring, judging by the gem, which looked to be some type of blood ruby. Or possibly a form of garnet, like a pyrope. Skulduggery was by no means an expert, but the ring itself looked ordinary enough. He suspected that assumption was wrong even before the Scarecrow explained what it was.

Skulduggery's face didn't change, as it never did, but his confusion was apparent in his voice. "Get me out of here?" If it was an escape route, surely someone would have used it by now. "I haven't seen one before, no. Does this come from Oz?"

It sounded like the red shoes Dorothy wore throughout most of the movie. It was also really hard to actually break a ruby or a garnet, so unless Skulduggery was missing something here, the ring - while a nice gesture - was ultimately useless for anything more than sentimental value.

[scarefaux]

"I'm not sure where they came from," he answered honestly, "but Dep— well, my last roommate and I— we used one to make a quick getaway one night. It felt like the floor came out from under us, and then we were outside, far away from the Institute."

His eyes trailed down to the ring in his hand, his brow furrowing as he tried not to think too hard on the fact that Depth Charge was gone, that he hadn't been able to find him and help him, that he might not get the chance to do so if he changed again. "After you break it, you can fix it again, and it'll return you to wherever you did. At least that's what I've heard. I did that last night by cutting my finger and rubbing it on the stone, thinking that if I found you, I could bring us back here. Didn't do me much good, now did it?"

He smiled, mostly out of reflex rather than out of actual emotion; it was a safeguard for him, a mask that hid how scared he was about what might happen once the night began.

"I don't know how it works, or if it'll be of any use to you, but please take it."

[skeletonenigma]

Well, certainly not useless, then.

It sounded a lot like what the Teleporters from Skulduggery's dimension did, as if the rings were harnessing their ability in a way anyone could use. Another dimension's technology? It didn't belong to the Scarecrow's last roommate, unless the Scarecrow's last roommate saw fit to carry three of the things. Another attempt by the Head Doctor to be apparently helpful, then? Either way, if they carried any risk with being used, Skulduggery imagined someone would have warned the rest of the population by now.

Or perhaps not. Prisoners tended to be a selfish bunch, after all.

"Does that mean breaking the stone now would bring me back here?" Skulduggery asked, still wary of reaching out to take the ring. "How do you break it?"

The Scarecrow's words, tone, and expression weren't lost on him. He just didn't see fit to mention any of it right then - at least not without rehashing what they'd already established.

[scarefaux]

"I'd think it would," the Scarecrow answered honestly, not knowing he'd accidentally given Skulduggery his ring that led to the mines north of the Institute rather than the one linked to the hallway. As much as he liked to think he could tell them apart, all three rings in his possession did look alike, save for the broken stones.

"All I did was set it against the wall, take my roommate's arm, and hit it with my flashlight." He mimed the motion- nothing too precise given his wobbly state, but close enough. "Like that." Despite how sturdy the gems looked when whole, it didn't take much to shatter them- or at least the Scarecrow didn't think it took much. He wasn't one to judge something on appearances anymore, having met both lovely witches and a lion who was anything but the pinnacle of bravery in spite of his monstrous roar.

He was glad the rings worked at all, honestly. It had been handy with Depth Charge to make a quick escape from whatever his roommate had been seeing that night, whatever it was that the Scarecrow hadn't been able to see. He'd said it was his shadow suddenly come to life- Scarecrow was never going to know for sure, now.

He sighed again sadly, his brave smile fading more with every one that passed his lips, ebbing away with his breath. This was for the good of everyone else, he reminded himself. He was doing no good turning into a monster and hurting his friends, especially when he wasn't sure there was a way to stop the transformation. All he knew about what was coming he'd learned at Landel's, having never thought on such things in Oz unless a lighted match was around. Abe and Skulduggery had given him all his knowledge on the subject of death: that it would hurt, that he couldn't be sure of what would happen afterwards, and that he wasn't coming back.

He felt as though bugs were crawling on his insides, every one burrowing into him as they worked their way toward his throat; he swallowed them down and wandered back to his side of the room, worry written across his face as he took a seat on the bed to rest his increasingly unsteady legs. Night was coming very soon, and he couldn't help but be afraid of the unknown.

And still, he was curious as to what it was like after death. Was there something to be found there? Or was it the end as it would be if he was burned away to nothing, as he'd imagined?

The Scarecrow laced his fingers together, wringing them as much as he could, a habit he'd had back when they were nothing more than ill-fitting gloves. "I know it hasn't been all that long since we got roomed together, and I know these circumstances haven't been the best for getting to know someone, but I want to thank you for helping me with whatever happens tonight. My old roommate— well, it was sometimes hard to convince him of anything. He could be so stubborn, and I know he just wanted me to stay out of harm's way, but—"

The smile that crossed his face was genuine that time, bittersweet. "You know, I'm not sure I can find the words for it, now that I try to think about it. So I suppose I should just stick with a simple thanks, shouldn't I?"

[skeletonenigma]

They couldn't be real gems set into the rings, if all the force it took to shatter them could be delivered by a flashlight. Wondering what the blood-red stone actually was, though, would accomplish nothing, so Skulduggery simply accepted it for what it was and took the ring from the Scarecrow with a short nod. Breaking it would return him here; he assumed he could only do that once a night, unless he 'fixed' it by pricking his finger. And pricking his finger, as a living skeleton, would be a problem. Otherwise, Skulduggery assumed the ring would fix itself every morning, like everything else in the Institute seemed to do.

He put the ring down on his bed, laid out the suit next to it, and put the hangers back in the wardrobe. He could very well be fighting the Scarecrow within the next few minutes, but there was no reason not to look good while he was. The 'helpful' things Landel provided, Skulduggery had found, were usually genuinely helpful. Or at least not traps. This prison was far too secure for anyone to escape, so there was no reason not to psychologically torture people with helpful items.

He changed quickly while the Scarecrow deliberated, and only turned around again when he was pulling on the jacket. "You don't even have to stick with that," he answered. "You don't know me. I'll quite possibly be killing you very soon. The less you know about me, the better."

Skulduggery meant that, too. But after a few more seconds - seconds in which he realised that he'd be fighting his roommate while on the verge of becoming Lord Vile - he reconsidered his words. "But you're welcome."

He'd be making enough excuses for himself very soon. He didn't need to add to them now. So with that, Skulduggery straightened his tie, picked up the hat, and flipped it deftly onto his head - just in time to hear the intercom crackle to life.