damned_institute | Day 29: Cafeteria, Brunch

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Day 29: Cafeteria, Brunch

Hitsugaya left the chapel no less frustrated than before. The head doctor once again had chosen not to hide his face, yet promised he would be making an appearance at some time in the near future. He didn't like being patient, but there wasn't much choice. Either the head doctor would show his face, or he wouldn't. Renji had already seen him, and knew how to find him. That was enough.

The thought of eating made him slightly nauseous as usual, but he knew he needed to get his strength up. He could either be weak and try to force his way through brunch without eating anything, or he could be smart and actually give himself something to eat. And there was rice. Rice and fruit. He took a heaping pile of rice, and grabbed as much watermelon as he could fit on his plate, then proceeded to an empty table. He scanned the room, watching for Momo. He wasn't exactly looking forward to their conversation, knowing how she'd acted yesterday; however, he knew he had to speak to her, and there was a good chance that she would show more restraint now that the drugs were out of her system.

Thoughtfully he consumed his rice and waited.

[free at the moment, pester if you wish]

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"Somewhat of a colourful bit of imagery there," M sniffed, chasing down a peach section with her spoon. "But not that far wrong, I'll grant you. Perhaps the monsters are some psychological equivalent to an electrified floor for a rat."

The peach segment was caught and devoured, and M isolated a cherry with extreme prejudice before she looked up and over at Sam, brows furrowing together. "Any particular tells?"

Dean's head was spinning from Rein's anecdote. God, he was sick of hearing the same damn whimsical crap from everybody. Did he look like he wanted to know? Never until now had he consciously thought he wouldn't wanna hear someone's back-story during investigation. Each sob-story after another merely supported the argument that this was one screwed-up Fantasy Land he'd landed himself in. No one deserved to be kicked around like this.

He gave a faint smirk as he approached Sam's table, seeing an old lady - who looked so familiar, was it just him? – had joined his brother for Brunch. How sweet, he thought, smirk only widening as he loomed closer. After scanning the younger man for signs of injury, he deduced there was no point in stopping by the table except to poke fun at Sammy and his girlfriend. The guy looked like he was getting somewhere, anyway. Sly dog.

"Catch," he said over his shoulder, chucking a ball of paper (http://thehellismycar.livejournal.com/5719.html) at the younger man's front. Contrary to how he'd felt yesterday, he'd be going against teachings if he kept this up, avoiding his brother for the sake of reducing chances he'd get what was coming to him...

"Talk later," was his quiet farewell.

Sam's hand snapped up to catch the ball of paper, the response automatic. One might wonder if it had become ingrained over repeated instances over a long period of time. He nodded once in agreement with the farewell, taking the moment to study his brother for injuries in much the same way he'd been scanned.

The flicker of relief in his eyes was muted by paranoia over just who might be watching and cataloguing, but was not entirely wiped away.

Sam lowered the hand holding the ball of paper into his lap, only the faintest of crinkling suggesting it is being unfolded rather than unceremoniously dropped. There is a moment of silence lingering in the wake of Dean's departure before the younger hunter again picks up the thread of the earlier conversation.

"It depends on what they really are. Everything has a tell, but learning how to recognize them - and which ones to look for in a given situation - is a matter of experience." He paused a moment, then offered a wry smile as he added, "In this case, it's probably safest to assume that if they're working here, they turn into those things we saw last night."

There was one person, at least, watching and cataloguing. However, her assumed named was Emma Thornbridge and she was sitting across from Sam.

Fortunately, perhaps, the lecturette on bug eyed monsters was proving engrossing enough that the interaction between the Brothers Winchester got only a small mental footnote applied to it. 'Analyze later'. She smiled at Dean as he came and went with the absently imperious politeness of a tradtional old British dragon.

"That would imply a limited number, at least, assuming they aren't recruiting in other creatures from elsewhere, at nights."

"And assuming that they're the kind of creatures that start as creatures, rather than the kind that start human and are turned," Sam replied, voice kept even save for a thin, warm thread of anger he hadn't quite managed to bury.

He took a bite of his hamburger, gaze drifting down to take in the page on his lap. His brow furrowed, ever so slightly.

He chewed, swallowed, then continued. "Unfortunately, whatever the staff are, they aren't the only things here. From what I've seen and heard, this place has the most diversity in supernatural fauna out of - well, anywhere."

M had come to the end of her fruit salad. This left her with nothing for it but to start nibbling at the terribly healthy sandwich on the plate, one of those sad vegetarian concoctions that attempts to pass off shaved eggplant as meat.

(On an entirely personal and private level, M resolved to arrive early, and claim herself a proper sandwich by force, if necessary.)

Outwardly, she chuffed a laugh, memories of a conversation in the chapel returned to her as she summed up that "It sounds as though we're in the centre of some mystical menagerie. And we are not the lions."

There was a pause, while she considered the eggplant-infested sandwich, and then favoured Sam with a flicker of an eyebrow from across it. "On the up side of the matter, mice can get into much more interesting space."

"I've never been a lion," Sam replied, giving M a wry smile. "But I've managed to hold my own. We have the advantage of knowing that we're on unequal footing, and that the inequality isn't in our favour."

"Ah, the Battle of Britain all over again," M sighed, with a humorous crinkle of her eyes. She ignored the sandwich, in the hopes that it would realize her displeasure and, in the absence of minions to correct the error, transmute itself into something more palatable, hopefully involving corned beef.

"Albeit with rather a lack of Spitfires. But the secret skirmishes are likely to have some similarities. Tell me," she requests. "Do you know if anyone's tried to go digging around offices?"

"Not that I know of, though from what I can tell people tend to stick in close-knit groups. It's hard to say how much information is passed outside the groups, and how much they keep close." Sam hitched one shoulder in a shrug, though the frustrated flicker of a grimace across his face put the lie to the gesture. "It would be worth digging, though I'd imagine anything worth finding will be well-guarded."

"Unsurprising, if likely playing into the Powers That Be's hand," M grumped. Compartmentalization was a fine and well-thought out system. Assuming that M was in the central compartment.

"Well, there's worth finding and then there's finding enough that seems worthless that one can sift together a picture that's worth something. I admit I've not yet taken the lay of the land yet. Should I hope for some therapy soon?"

She eyed the eggplant. It had not transmuted.

"For all that this place pretends to be a mental institution, I haven't seen a single doctor since my arrival," Sam replied. "And the only people I've seen medicated have either been injured or in the process of being sedated. Even if it weren't for the rest, that'd be strange enough on its own."

He lifted his water glass, but instead of drinking from it simply peered inside. "Why an asylum?" The question was not, of course, one that demanded - or even expected - an answer.

"The first battlefield is the mind," M suggested, and finally ate a bite of her sandwich. An eyebrow arched, and apparently the eggplant proved edible after all, as she took another one.

A chew, a swallow, and a sip of her fruit juice later, she continued that "If you're gathering fantastic creatures and fantastic people from a myriad of places, the easiest way to convince us we're all off balance, to trust no-one, and that we're powerless is to put us in a place where, at least for those of us who come from the normal world, we're already set up to question our sanity just by being here."

Sam uttered a quiet laugh of his own, though there was little humour to it. "I think that would depend on just what you're used to in the normal world. The things that come out at night - I've known about them for almost as long as I can remember. I guess you get used to knowing things that would make most people think you're crazy." There was a moment's pause before he admitted that, "It does make it hard to know who to trust, though. How many people here really are insane?"

It was, perhaps, a tacit admission that he would understand if she thought he was crazy. After all, how many sane men believed in monsters?

"Oh, likely more than a few," M replied, tone considering and an eyebrow flicked upwards.

She took a bite of her sandwich and noted that "That doesn't necessarily preclude them being useful, of course."

No admission, tacit or otherwise, of her thoughts on Sam's sanity made it out past that aged and ironic face, but she at least seemed inclined towards business.

"Herr Commandant mentioned something about friends and family this afternoon. Have you encountered that before?"

"Of course." Beneath the table, there was another crinkling of paper, nearly lost beneath the sound of voices and scrape of utensils. Sam took another bite of his hamburger, though there was little hope that he tasted it. One ate because eating was necessary.

"No," he replied at length. "Though from what I've heard, the people who come to visit look like the people you know, but are either brainwashed or impostors. They'll try to reinforce the same story the staff's been spinning."

"Lovely," muttered M at that news, taking a moment to stare through the table as if she might thereby visualize the source of the crinkling. She returned to munching her sandwich after that, although it was doubtful as to whether she, too, was tasting her meal at this point.

"Well, I suppose in my case it might give a little insight into things based on who they decide to use as my family."

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Day 29: Cafeteria, Brunch

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