damned_institute | Day 27: Intercom, Evening

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Day 27: Intercom, Evening

The intercom gave its cheery jingle just before the Head Doctor's equally buoyant voice rang through the halls.

"Ah, and finally, our day is coming to a close! Rooms and roommates have been reassigned with care, though what great partnership can start without a good meal? Ah, yes, after the nurses escort all of our patients, new and old, back to their proper rooms, everyone will have the chance to enjoy a savory chicken pot pie, full of peas, carrots, potatoes, and of course, chicken. On the side, we'll have buttery corn on the cob and green beans, and to drink, you may choose from the regular slew of water, milk, or assorted juices, which your nurse will bring to you.

"I believe that's all for now! Phew, long day, huh? I know I'll be happy to get some sleep, and thank you to all our vigilant doctors and nurses, although Dr. House seems to have gone AWOL... Hmm... Well, in any case, have a good dinner, everyone!"

The intercom clicked off again as the nurses began organizing the patients for the small trek back to their rooms.

[ OOC: Remember, room threads go in response to THIS post, and please put your respective room number in the subject line of your first post. Thanks! ]

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Upon waking, Crowley's first thought was that his head hurt.

Well, to be absolutely precise, it was less a thought and more blessed burning pain ow sort of sensation, but the general idea was about the same. Irritably rubbing at his eyes, he willed his headache away. That must have been the pinnacle of all drunken binges last night if he'd fallen asleep before even remembering to sober himself up.

Except he didn't remember drinking last night. In fact, he didn't remember drinking last afternoon, last morning, or at all point yesterday. Also, his headache had gotten perversely worse, as if thinking about it had angered it somehow, and it was determined to exact some twisted revenge on Crowley.

Crowley shook his head (a bad idea) and looked about the room he was in. He didn't recognize it, which wasn't good. It was plain and white and filled with bright fluorescent light, and so hideously decorated it hurt him almost as much as the headache. His clothes we equally somber, some sort of grey and baggy monstrosity with a happy face looming up from the center of it, as welcoming as Satan's own visage. Their was one bed across the room from him, its sheets undisturbed.

This blessed room was as depressing as hell on a bad day, Crowley thought, and stared irritably at his clothes. If nothing else, he could will himself into some better clothing. More fashionable. Less terrible.

Except that wasn't working either. He couldn't change anything, and it took him a moment to place the harsh sound in the room, rapid and necessary breaths. He had to breathe. If he stopped, the lack of oxygen would eventually kill him. He'd breathed before - it was commonplace enough - but he'd never had to. It was required now, something he had to do, and that was not as it should be.

He was not panicking. In fact, Crowley had the situation well under control, and trying to bring out his wings was more checking than anything, and not because he was panicking -

The effort of trying to force his wings out nearly knocked him back onto the bed he'd so recently vacated. His vision washed with red, and he breathed (because he had to) while his vision - and his headache - cleared.

He couldn't do it. He could feel them, somewhere inside him, but he was cut off from them, at least for now.

In a room, dressed in things he wouldn't have been caught dead in - not that he'd been able to die, but it was the intent that mattered - and cut off from his demonic abilities, caged in something terribly close to truly mortal. There was only one explanation for all of this.

He was in Hell, and they'd gotten creative since he'd last left.

Instead of annoyed, Saetan was amused this time at being escorted so solicitously back to his new room. He noted the room number to make finding it again easier. Dinner sounded appetizing and almost familiar, though now he had a proper appetite he'd rather be at home eating one of Mrs. Beale's masterpieces of culinary art and enjoying some wine from the cellars.

His next surprise, not entirely pleasant though not unexpected since he'd noticed the two beds per room when he'd awakened earlier, was that he had a roommate. Oh yes, the head doctor had mentioned that in the announcement about dinner. As the nurse swanned off to get him some milk to go with his pie and vegetables, Saetan crossed to his side of the room, checking the wardrobe and desk drawers, while covertly examining the young man on the other side of the room. Well, he looked young. Again, like many of the patients here there was an oddness to his psychic scent that marked him as not strictly a landen, but too alien to be Blood.

He pulled the long coat--very heavy and warm to be sure, but a layer of stiff cloth between his skin and teeth, claws or blades could only help--from the closet. He draped it over the bed as the nurse returned with his meal, smiled inanely at them, and departed again. No one had spoken yet.

"Are you also new?" he asked the other man before he sat down to eat.

New? Yeah, he was new. New and confused and in Hell.The man before him didn't look like a demon, but then, most of the time he didn't either. Crowley wondered what form he preferred - some demons had a tendency to go for one shape or the other when they changed to something suitably terrifying.

Bless it all, there'd probably be claws and gnashing teeth and maggots.

Crowley pushed the headache and the internal monologue away.

"Yes. I just woke up, and now I'm here, wherever here happens to be."

"Well," Saetan said slowly, "I believe it purports to be a mental hospital by name of Landel's Institute." By all appearances the young man seemed to be in pain, but that was hardly surprising here. Who knows where he was taken from?

He sat and started cutting open the potted pie, trying not to let too much amusement wash into his golden eyes.

"The staff are in the middle of serving dinner. Do you want yours?"

Dinner? He still felt too nauseated to be hungry, and if he tried he'd likely force another all-too-human involuntary physical reaction. The breathing was bad enough (and really starting to get on his nerves - he'd breathed regularly enough in the past, but he hadn't had to then.) He didn't want to think about what vomiting would be like. He shook his head in response as he thought of what his roommate/possible demon tormentor had said.

"Mental hospital? As in, we are the patients of? That's...creative." Crowley couldn't remember hearing of Hell designing any set-up this elaborate, but he'd been on earth for millenia, and was admittedly out of touch with current trends in damnation. Still, it was (presumably) a large scenario for just him, which meant others might be stuck here too.

"I'm Crowley. And you are?" Still, probably best to assume everyone was a demon bent on inflicting torture and harm and all that until proven otherwise.

"It's downright annoying," Saetan said. The food was passable and nutritious, at least. "From what I've heard, none of the other inmates buy into the illusion, but it's fairly strong during the day. Now the night I've heard interesting tales about. I'm looking forward to it."

He smiled, just a little. "I'm Saetan SaDiablo." He decided it was prudent not to divulge any of his titles here. Which of them would even make sense to someone not from the Realms?

Saetan SaDiablo? Were they serious? It was like they weren't even trying. Occasionally Crowley could almost feel ashamed to be a demon. Put together all this effort on this ridiculous mental institution or whatever it was, and then give the demons or constructs within it names like that. Crowley couldn't have come up with a more demonic-sounding name if he'd tried.

Still, playing along would work just as well for now. He still felt so weak, so terminally human, and the only weapons he could see in the room were the utensils that came with the still-nauseating dinner.

"So we have a normal mental hospital by day, albeit one populated by terrible fashion and people who don't think they need to be here, and during the night...?"

Knowing the current trend, he'd probably be set upon by the legions of hell. Of which he was, or had been, (technically) a member. But hell had, among other things, a terrible severance plan.

He didn't like the man's attitude, but he wasn't here to pass judgement on anyone. "I'm not sure, since I've only been here a few hours myself. My son says that the lights go out and there are monsters. I suggest you eat. You'll probably need the energy by morning."

Then he smiled, which could be chilling when he wanted it to be. "Unless you'd rather hide in here all night and learn nothing."

Crowley felt he'd annoyed his potentially-demonic-roommate, which wouldn't have been an issue except, really, there was no need to antagonize anyone into torture sooner rather than later. In his experience, most demons assigned to torment divisions tended to the traditional side, and had quick tempers.

"Monsters. Lovely, we're going the full-on traditional route," Crowley muttered under his breath, while moving to his undisturbed food. Thing. His stomach had somewhat settled, and it looked edible.

"My desire to learn usually depends on what's being taught," he said, inspecting the utensils. The knife was dull enough to be nearly useless. Something else his roommate said stuck with him. "Your son? Did he arrive in the same manner?"

What was this, a family torture business? Hell was outsourcing? Bless it all, none of this was making sense.

"I'd assume he arrived as we did. He's been here a day or so already." Saetan neatly finished his pie and moved on to the vegetables. The milke he'd requested had that thin bluish quality indicating it was skimmed of most of its fat, which was partially why he'd requested it. Even with their powers muted, he counted on the high metabolism of being Blood to burn through calories at an accelerated rate. Perhaps their captors didn't realize that. They certainly seemed intent on keeping people healthy.

He lifted his golden eyes to his roommate and tried to catch the other's gaze. "Something is bothering you. I can tell. You don't have to share, but it would put my mind at ease, which is a good idea if we're to share a room."

At this point, the better question would be what wasn't bothering him, but still. Damned if he did and damned if he didn't, so to speak, which, considering the situation at hand, was perhaps not the best expression to be thinking of.

Still, he had to stay focused. He might be able to get out of this be being clever enough to stay a few steps ahead of hell.

"I'm in a mental institution I don't remember checking myself into. That would be a good place to start. Apologies if I directed it at you - your name threw me for a moment. It's similar to the name of someone I know, and I'd never heard a name like his before."

That wasn't even a lie. Technically speaking, he knew Satan, and people didn't go around naming their kids 'Satan' or 'Lucifer' or 'the Beast of the Bottomless Pit' much, so to hear a name like it had been a surprise. (Excepting, of course, the naming habits of some Satanists, but the less said about those groups the better.)

Crowley looked at the clothing and materials by his bed. "There's a name written on these things by me - 'Alexander Blake.' Was that the name of the person who used to use this room?"

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Day 27: Intercom, Evening

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