damned_institute | 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.

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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?"

Day 27: Intercom, Evening

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