redcladidealist (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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damned_institute2013-12-14 08:50 am
redcladidealist) wrote in damned_institute2013-12-14 08:50 am
Night 74: M41-M50 Hallway
We'll see how long that lasts.
Those ominous words followed Lloyd as he made his way out of his room. Tonight, unlike last night, he'd chosen to wear his own clothes, red jacket and black pants, red gloves and boots, despite the metal that would get him into trouble if he had to go through that metal-detecting trap again. The Key Crest on his hand meant that he'd be in trouble anyway, so he figured he might as well dress as he wanted. His tool belt rested comfortable around his waist, packed with the things he thought he might need. His sword rested in his hand, ready for any attack, though he wished, not for the first time, that he had something to sheathe it in and make it easier to carry when he didn't need it. At least his other hand was free now that he didn't need to hold his flashlight. The little lamp he'd taken from that first aid kit last night dangled at his hip, attached to his tool belt with the ring at the top. It jostled with each step and he couldn't aim it easily, prompting him to take his flashlight along with him, too, tucked into a pocket in his tool belt, but the fact that he didn't need to hold it more than made up for that. It also made up for the fact that he had to stop every twenty minutes to wind the light back up. He'd spent dinner playing with it, getting a feel for how long the light would last.
He'd tried not to think about his roommate's still-empty bed, or the plate of food growing cold on the other's desk. It had been days since he'd seen Claude. What had happened to him? If he was gone, or if he'd escaped, then why did they still bring him food? Lloyd had tried to ask his nurse, but she'd just brushed the question off with a smile and a reassurance that "Thomas" was fine, then told Lloyd he needed to worry about himself, she'd hardly seen him eat a thing at lunch.
Lloyd frowned at the memory, then shook his head, pushing it to the back of his mind. He needed to focus on what he was doing tonight. Footsteps sure, he rounded the corner.
[To here.]
Those ominous words followed Lloyd as he made his way out of his room. Tonight, unlike last night, he'd chosen to wear his own clothes, red jacket and black pants, red gloves and boots, despite the metal that would get him into trouble if he had to go through that metal-detecting trap again. The Key Crest on his hand meant that he'd be in trouble anyway, so he figured he might as well dress as he wanted. His tool belt rested comfortable around his waist, packed with the things he thought he might need. His sword rested in his hand, ready for any attack, though he wished, not for the first time, that he had something to sheathe it in and make it easier to carry when he didn't need it. At least his other hand was free now that he didn't need to hold his flashlight. The little lamp he'd taken from that first aid kit last night dangled at his hip, attached to his tool belt with the ring at the top. It jostled with each step and he couldn't aim it easily, prompting him to take his flashlight along with him, too, tucked into a pocket in his tool belt, but the fact that he didn't need to hold it more than made up for that. It also made up for the fact that he had to stop every twenty minutes to wind the light back up. He'd spent dinner playing with it, getting a feel for how long the light would last.
He'd tried not to think about his roommate's still-empty bed, or the plate of food growing cold on the other's desk. It had been days since he'd seen Claude. What had happened to him? If he was gone, or if he'd escaped, then why did they still bring him food? Lloyd had tried to ask his nurse, but she'd just brushed the question off with a smile and a reassurance that "Thomas" was fine, then told Lloyd he needed to worry about himself, she'd hardly seen him eat a thing at lunch.
Lloyd frowned at the memory, then shook his head, pushing it to the back of his mind. He needed to focus on what he was doing tonight. Footsteps sure, he rounded the corner.
[To here.]