damned_institute | Day 29: Chapel

Entry tags:

Day 29: Chapel

Hiei didn't give a damn about religious services, meditation, or pretending to be social. The always sudden waking after night put him in a bad mood, this one particularly so. Even with Kurikara licking him like some perverted moron, the warmth the dragon provided was welcome in Hiei's bed, and missing when he woke, giving the surrounding air a greater sense of chill.

But the perfect thing to relieve his anger might just be making an appearance that morning, and that at least gave Hiei hope for a decent day.

Hopefully Kurikara and Kurama both would be clever enough to figure it out for themselves. Without hesitation, Hiei demanded to be led to the temple, taking a seat in one of the rear pews. Humans had a way of overdoing things, and this place wasn't really much exception to that. Granted Hiei's limited knowledge prevented him from realizing there were much more outrageous churches, but to the demon, the colored pieces of glass and polished wood seemed to be much.

It didn't matter, however. Either could be turned into weapons, perfect objects to slice into that damned head doctor's throat or bash in his skull. That was a thought worth grinning about.

[Feel free to pester. Just, uh, be aware that he's not exactly nice.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sam shook his head slightly, something in the remark conjuring another small, wry smile. "I was a hunter. Still am, for whatever it's worth here. The education comes with the territory."

He frowned, attention straying briefly as he took note of his brother, then returning as he dismissed this as an optimal location for the sort of discussion they were likely to have - if not immediately, then soon.

"If all the inmates organized, I doubt they could stop us. Not if we managed to take them by surprise. We have numbers, and a reason to fight. The real question is, would there be enough 'us' left at the end of it to make it a workable solution?"

The answer to his inquiry took him a little by surprise, but left him quite intrigued at the end. "Hunter, eh? I'll take a wild guess to say you hunt demonic shit and send 'em wherever they came from." Barret had his run in with many monstrous things in his past. All returned to the Lifestream mostly, but he secretly wondered if there was a separate place where those unredeemable souls vanquished to. Almost everything was hypothetical--except the Lifestream. That he had seen with his own eyes. If this guy was from a different world, it was possible the logistics of his universe worked differently.

"Got a point there. I'd figure a good percentage would be left for dead or recaptured. Gotta be strategic about this whole mess. I can't seem to figure out if they want us dead, or for something else. You'd think if it was dead, when we got injured they wouldn't bother to heal us. It's all so damned confusing."

"Yeah, that about covers it. Monsters in general, actually. Real demons aren't that common." Sam's expression darkened perceptibly, offering a momentary glimpse of the quiet anger that simmered somewhere below his relatively personable mien. "Thankfully. The few that do get out cause enough damage as it is."

He fell silent for a moment, considering, before at length replying, "If they want us dead, it's only after they get something else out of us. If they were just going to kill us, they'd've done it already. It's not like they're lacking opportunities. What it might be, though - I can't figure that one out, either. See how far they can push us before we go insane, maybe. Or how long it'll take to brainwash us all into buying the stories they're spinning."

Barret nodded, his gaze showing approval for the mans' profession, not too much unlike his own at one time or another, "Can't say that I'm not unfamiliar with the darker side of life. My hands are stained with the baddies blood...or hand, more accurately," he flexed the fingers of his metallic appendage to get his statement understood.

"I've heard a theory...that they want to mold us into some sort of army, and weed out the weaklings. While it's a possibility, I can easily see them fuckin' with us just for the hell of it. They got that kinda vibe about 'em." He sighed, rolling his neck around and producing an audible -crack-, which seemed to relax him further. "Got anyone in here you know? That you knew before you found yourself in a strange asylum?"

"Seems a lot of people are," Sam replied. He registered the prosthetic, noting it with a slight nod of his head to show he grasped the man's meaning. There was neither pity nor horror in his expression; he'd seen war wounds before.

"You might have a point, about the army." Sam's expression turned momentarily thoughtful, and not along any sort of pleasant track. "I've seen both, in the past. Not with this sort of diversity, though... And, yeah. My brother. Been here a bit longer than me." He cut himself off before he could follow that train of logic, having been over it time and again already. "What about you?"

"If they weren't before, they ought to be now," he said with a bit of a smirk. There was little reaction regarding his metallic appendage, which set him at ease and caused him to have a greater liking toward the man. He'd lived a long time with people fearing him because his hand was missing, that it was replaced with a weapon that killed. He wondered the other man would have the same reaction, or lack thereof, if what had been there two years ago was there now.

It'd sure be more useful in a place like the Asylum they reluctantly resided in.

"Friends, former enemies and current enemies. Makes things...complicated. Tryin' to keep distance from the enemies, tentatively forming alliances with old enemies, and making sure the friends stay alive and well." He paused a moment, thinking back to Tifa and Vincent who had both miraculously disappeared, "Not too sure how we're doin' on the latter. Some of our crew can't be found. Though from what I hear, that sort of things happens a lot. It's a blessing and a curse to have people you care about here with ya. Especially family."

Sam grimaced slightly. The last remark hit too close to his own discomfort for his liking. He uttered a humourless chuff of laughter. "Yeah, I'd noticed that. Guess it'd be too much to hope that anything here'd be less than a double-edged sword. Still, with what this place turns into at night, it's good having someone you can trust watching your back." He sat back, brow furrowing as he ran over what little he'd learned of the facility thus far. "The people you can't find - were they here before?"

Barret almost laughed himself at the question. He wasn't sure if he should divulge into the entire story behind Cloud's disappearing, reappearing, rinse and repeat act. Instead, he settled with the short version.

"One of them was here before, then...was killed. Then he returned but remembered different things from a later time than his previous self, then disappeared again, then reappeared remembering a bit more. There is a theory going that folks are bein' taken not only from different worlds, but timelines as well, which would explain what the hell happened to him.

"The others...yeah, they were here. And now they're no where to be found. Dead or alive...who knows at this point, and it's hard to figure out for sure. I'm holdin' hope, no matter how futile it might be, that they got out alive somehow." Crossing his arms at his chest, he allowed his eyes to drop to his lap, "My advice to you is keeping a close eye on that brother of yours. You're right, it's a good thing to have someone around you can trust completely to watch your back, but it ain't no joke when you wake the next morning and they ain't no where to be found. The experiments, the creatures...any number of things could happen to 'em."

"Seems like there are a lot of theories going 'round," Sam muttered, expression sliding further towards pensive as he grasped onto the intellectual exercise, at least temporarily. "It'd be nice if they'd let something slip that wasn't deliberate..."

He inclined his head slightly at the detailing of the risks, the gesture treading the line somewhere between simple acknowledgement and agreement. "Wish I could say that didn't sound so much like business as usual, except that the scenery's changed. 'Least if he's here, I'm not wondering." He'd been down that road before, and didn't relish the thought of revisiting it. He raised one hand, scrubbing it over his eyes as though to wipe away a train of thought that at the moment was still unnecessary, futile. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your friends."

"Only thing that seems to have slipped through is some guy named Jack who apparently paraded around here as patient, who really is the same guy on the other side of the radio droppin' twisted hints to somehow help us out. He and the Head Doc hate each other. Most of what he says is backward talk and riddles. Ain't always easy to figure out with the fuck he's talkin' about." He gave a slight shrug, "Better than nothin' I suppose."

Barret felt the strings of his heart clench when he thought of his missing teammates in action. He was suddenly worried if anyone else had gone missing as well. He wasn't too sure how many more losses he could take, "Thanks, man. It's hard to make allies around here and keep 'em. There are good people as well as bad bein' held as patients. Each do as they do, whether they be loyal or ready to stab you in the back at any given opportunity. You at least seem like the loyal type."

"Almost anything is better than nothing," Sam replied, though words aside, he certainly seemed a touch dubious. "At least it's a sign that there's someone out there who knows what the hell's going on here, and doesn't agree with it." Privately, however, he couldn't help but note that concrete aid would be more useful - and less suspicious.

He grimaced slightly, wondering briefly just how many of his fellow hunters would say the opposite, after Meg. After Gordon, even. "I've never been much for backstabbing," he agreed. "Wouldn't be, even if allies weren't few and far between. From what I've heard, though, it sounds like they've got ways of crawling into someone's head here..."

"Just wish he'd be more useful..." Barret griped with the knit of his brows, "Twisted words and riddles don't make me feel secure. It's like a game between this radio queer and the Head jerkoff."

Wallace found himself momentarily frozen as he recalled the situations of brainwash, the potential of such things, and the most recent to have occurred with Rufus. He'd never forget River, that fighting machine with a tampered brain taking down himself and his allies single-handedly, "...be careful about that. That shit..." he adopted a slightly haunted look to his eye, a vision of Marlene and Dyne coming to his mind, "...it'll twist you raw. They'll turn you against everyone, they'll turn your brother against you. So far, ain't none of 'em been strong enough to resist. Plus, if you get a visitor today, don't believe nothin' they say. They are victims too, brainwashed just as much as they're tryin' to do to us, but what they tell you won't help nothin'."

"Could be he's worried any overt help he could give would be blocked," Sam suggested. And then hesitated a moment before adding with a faint grimace, "Or that he's actually just another part of whatever twisted game's going down here, willing or unwilling."

His expression hardened briefly, a bleakness touching his eyes that was at odds with his age and the faint air of innocence that lingered perpetually about him. "It does," he agreed quietly. "There's nothing quite so terrifying as being forced to turn against your own."

Barret shook his head, mostly because he didn't know what to think. It all wove tightly into a ball of indiscernible confusion that he didn't feel like pulling apart strand by strand. "Hard to tell. Doc sounds like he really hates the guy. But then again, Mother fucker sounds downright pleasant during the day. All the worlds' a stage, I heard someone say..."

He nodded his agreement to the statement, remembering the look on Vincent's face when he told Wallace he'd killed Cloud while controlled, "That ain't all they do. They also do experiments. What exactly, I don't know, but it ain't pretty I can imagine." Looking to the stranger, the determination behind his eyes was clear, "I ain't always the sharpest tool in the shed, but if you ever need a pair of strong hands to crack skulls or bulldoze down a wall, I'll be glad to help out a fellow do-gooder."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Day 29: Chapel

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject