damned_institute | Day 28: Bus 2

Momo tugged on the collar of the light blue sweater she was wearing as she followed her nurse to wherever these buses were, winding her hair up into its customary bun as she went. It was an odd feeling, knowing she was about to go outside of the institute's borders. Maybe the Head Doctor was about to make an error and the shinigami, as well as everyone else, would no longer be limited and they could finish what they started several nights back.

That was probably too much to hope for. She was feeling better this morning, even with the blood moon, and was mildly looking forward to the bus ride. Captain Jack said he was going to be here this morning and even if it wasn't customary breakfast in the cafeteria, she's be satisfied with him sitting next to her on the bus.

The nurse handed her a muffin, some napkins, and a small box with a straw. She stared at this box for a moment before shaking it. From the sound it contained liquid. How odd... Momo wasn't sure why they would but liquid inside a small paper box - it didn't make any sense to her and she wasn't sure how one was supposed to get it out of the box.

Clambering onto an empty bus, Momo chose to sit in the very back near the emergency exit. Maybe she could force her way out of it as they were moving and escape the limiter enough to come back and level the institute, freeing everyone. Or maybe she just wanted to be able to see everyone that was on the same bus as her. Wishful thinking versus reality.

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Not quite an answer though it may have been, it was enough of one for Sam. He filed it away in the back of his mind, in the space devoted to trying to comprehend some of the insanity that he seemed to have been sucked into. As the bus started into motion, his gaze shifted away from the seat, tracing over the scenery as it spooled past. Momentarily, he wished that he had the capacity for self-delusion that would be required to convince himself, even for an instant, that this was just another road trip.

"My brother's here," he replied at length, a thin thread of worry winding its way into his voice, though it would take one quite adept at observation to catch it. "So I'd say it happens."

Just such an observer happened to be sitting across from Sam, and there was a slight thread of sympathy woven into the brief nod M gave him in return. Someone younger and more expressive would have said Ouch.

Instead, M thinned her lips, and admitted that "The stakes are always higher when there's family involved."

She, too, then studied the scenery, bemused as to what it represented other than a pleasant country trip, potentially to Hell.

Sam shook his head briefly, not tearing his gaze away from the window. There were - no, wait. Still just trees. Damn it all.

"We work better as a team. It's just..." he trailed off then, with an internal grimace as he realised that he was falling into the same sort of trap he himself was inclined to use. It was hard, sometimes, not to talk to someone who seemed to actually be able to listen, rather than just wait for their own turn. "Complicated," he finished, a touch lamely.

A soft snort escaped M, with that same thread of sympathy as earlier.

"All of the best teams are," quoth she, turning briefly from counting telephone poles to give the young man beside her a dark-eyed look at once secretive and open. Secrets shared, perhaps.

An olive branch was offered then, a judiciously measured offer of private glimpse for private glimpse.

"I had a much older brother than myself. He was one of the ones who went up in a Spitfire, and never quite came back down."

(M's player has no idea about siblings or not in canon, but it seems more likely than not.)

Sam winced as he looked back at her, hazel eyes darkening with a brief flicker of deeply rooted fear only very recently dragged back to the surface. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. It was genuine, carrying the air of one who was still young and idealistic enough to wish that others never had to experience loss, though not quite enough of either to cling to protestations that it wasn't fair.

"It was the war," M replied, mingling a small nod of gratitude with a swift and practiced gloss over memories now six decades old and personal besides.

The wince was noted and stored ruthlessly away for potential use or investigation later, but in some small attempt at kindness, or simply good sense, she offered a change of subject back to earlier philosophy.

"They fought for a better world. What they won... well, it seems to be the chance to go on fighting for it."

Sam nodded understanding. That, at least, was a principle he knew well enough. It showed, the comprehension out of place on the boy-next-door features. "It seems like that's the way it always is. But it has to be better to have that chance than to lose it. Or give it up..."

Day 28: Bus 2

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