damned_institute | Day 31: Sun Room (Fourth Shift)

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Day 31: Sun Room (Fourth Shift)

Though perhaps not entirely as successful as he wanted it to be, Homura walked away from lunch feeling satisfied with his efforts. Roland and Fai both had shown interest in the goal, and that was enough for the moment. Homura could be patient, had already been for five hundred years, and felt no harm in waiting another five hundred if he had to. He would have his goals realized, no matter what obstacles he faced, be they from the prison or those trapped within.

But now was time for business of a different sort, and the demi-god made his way to the Sun Room, near the common board. He made sure he could be seen from the entrance to the cafeteria, knowing that one stranger and one member of his own group both wanted to meet with him. It worked out well enough, especially given that the stated purpose of the History Club was simple.

Revenge and escape.

For now, Homura had no intention of revealing that it'd grown more complicated than that.

[Waiting for L and Junior]

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[waiting for Roy Mustang (and Miles Edgeworth)]

Sadly, Armand was still hungry when the nurse came to take him to the next activity. At his request, she left him in the same chair in the Sun Room that he'd occupied in the morning. He never seemed to see the other rooms, something that he was certain would get him in trouble someday. For today, the staff seemed to understand he was in pain and out of sorts from his hurt hands.

So he was content to sit in the afternoon sun that streamed in through the skylights as he looked for the man he'd arranged to meet. He had no idea what to expect, but somehow he had a feeling this wouldn't go any better than his meeting with Hitsugaya had gone so many days ago. Even now he could see the deceptively young looking little fellow sitting on one of the other couches, busily scribbling notes.

Armand had to harden his heart against the pang of guilt. He had no reason to feel shunned and excluded by anything Hitsugaya had done. Armand himself had declined to take up with the leader to avoid both having to lie about his own honor and risking his rejection. It still hurt. The Arts & Crafts Club seemed to be getting things done. His own little group of night comrades couldn't quite say the same thing.

As a potential leader, Citan Uzuki left much to desire in that he never seemed willing to advance his own ideas. Morrison seemed more likely to fit the mold but again, his training as a subordinate worked against his taking the lead. And Armand knew in his bones that he was no leader himself, not unless where one wanted to be led was to dishonor and disaster. When he was feeling well, Armand knew that he could keep details in his head better than most gave him credit. But his mind tended to scatter under stress.

Damn.

Now he had nothing to do but wait with his own sour, brooding reqrets.

Checking in with Hughes almost always had Roy feeling better, even if all they seemed to talk about was how bad things were and how long they had been held here. It wasn't like he was in denial about their situation, after all, but just getting to talk to his friend (regardless of what they were discussing) tended to pick his mood up.

He couldn't explain it, but he figured it was one of those things that didn't require any explanation.

The last shift before dinner required him to track down a patient based on a rather limited description, so Roy had to do a good amount of searching around before he found someone who met the description. Even then, he couldn't be sure, so he was properly professional as he walked up to the seated man.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe we spoke over the bulletin board earlier today...?" He could have asked his name, but he honestly wasn't sure how to pronounce it, and he didn't need to start off this meeting by butchering the man's name.

Armand stood as the stranger spoke to him. Despite his alert need, he'd been too absorbed in his worries to see the man approach. "I am Armand St. Just," he said. "M. Mustang, I hope?"

His bandaged hands made him feel even more awkward than he'd be normally, and he fidgeted slightly before crossing his wrists behind his back, out of sight. Then he plunged right on without waiting for an answer to his question. "I was told days ago that I should speak with you. Certain matters make me unable to participate in the Arts & Crafts Club, but I wanted to learn more of your organization."

In many ways, he feared he was wasting this busy man's time, but he had to enquire or it would nag at him that he hadn't tried hard enough.

"Ah, Colonel Mustang. It's been quite a while," Edgeworth said, walking up to the two gentlemen. Things had been interesting that day, that much was certain, but as the day wound down, he wanted to be sure to be prepared for that night. "And Mr. St. Just, I spoke with a representative of the Arts and Crafts Club this morning. I hope I'm not intruding, but if you're also a representative, I owe you a thank-you."

While Roy was relieved to know he hadn't come upon the wrong person, he didn't reveal any of that outwardly. At first he was expecting a handshake, but upon noticing the state of the man's hands (and the way he handled them), he realized that wasn't much of an option.

No matter, though. He put the pronunciation of the name to memory and nodded in response. "You would be right."

While the mention of somehow not being able to be part of the Arts and Crafts group intrigued him (it seemed rather open to new members, after all), Roy knew better than to ask for details. Instead, he focused on the fact that this was a possible new recruit for his own group -- and he was definitely in need of them.

"Certainly. What did you want to know?" He was about to take a seat and get more comfortable, but at that point Edgeworth strode up. Roy turned to him and bowed his head slightly in greeting. "It has. It's good to see you're well." The man didn't come across as much of a fighter, after all, and it was hard to say how long those types of patients would last.

He didn't know what sort of correspondence was going on between Armand and Edgeworth, but he imagined he could gather some details if he followed their conversation. It was better not to ask unless they offered a direct explanation.

Armand bowed hurriedly to them both, trying to cover up for his fit of nervousness. "Oh, M. Edgeworth, I am not a representative. Far from it. I was talking to M. Mustang about his organization." Or rather just beginning.

Even though he was naturally very friendly, having two people to talk to while he planned to skirt the narrow edge between falsehood and truth--he liked to think of it as hopeful thinking--made the task more difficult. He was a poor judge of character at the best of times.

"Mostly, I wanted to know what kinds of tasks your members try to accomplish and what... qualities you expect from them."

"My apologies for the presumption," Edgeworth said, returning the bow. "And do let me know if I've interrupted."

"Colonel, I've put in a request with your team, by the way. My wool-collecting mission was successful last night, and I should have enough for what I'm after. If not, it wasn't a problem to acquire it, and shouldn't be one to get more," he added, smiling in Roy's direction.

He waited for Roy's response, trying to hide the smile on his face - he'd been a fan of the Scarlet Pimpernel when studying it in school, and meeting one of the primary players in the story was exciting.

It seemed that all of a sudden he had a whole lot of explaining to do, and for that reason he ended up turning toward one of the nearby Sun Room sofas so that he could take a seat. Both of the other men seemed polite almost to a fault, so he could only hope that would take the hint and seat themselves as well.

Turning to Armand, he figured he would answer him first. This meeting was originally with him, after all, and while he didn't mind Edgeworth's presence, he had to keep his priorities in order, especially with a potential recruit.

"Well, as you can imagine, it's not as if I can be picky. I'm usually willing to let whoever wants to help join in, but I will take whatever skills you have into account when giving you an assignment. I can't say there are any tasks that are completely danger-free, but some missions are certainly harder than others."

That seemed like a brief enough explanation. He didn't have hope that Armand was a skilled fighter of any sort (he could tell that just by looking at him), but hopefully he would have some amount of expertise to contribute.

Turning to Edgeworth, he raised an eyebrow, not sure if the man was using some coded talk that he wasn't privy to. "You mean materials for a weapon?" he inquired, careful enough to keep his voice low. "I do recall having your name on my list, if that's what you mean."

Armand sat down again, though now he had to keep his hands in sight, which bothered him. He had no idea what to do with them, so he crossed his ankles, which felt awkward with bare ankles in the annoyingly flimsy slippers the Institute provided them, and rested his elbows on his knees. When Mustant explained, he waited even past when the man turned to Edgeworth before he realized that was all of it. So simple. He caught himself before his jaw fell open.

"That's it?" he finally asked. "I have two men I usually spend the nights with, but we seem without direction. I'd like to feel as if I were working to some purpose. I don't feel I should abandon them every night, though." But he felt he had become a liability to them. Not something he wished to explain. "I meant to try to speak to you days ago, and kept putting it off."

As for his skills, he had no idea what he could offer. "I was studying the law before the revolution, and after that I had very few opportunities to do anything very useful for anyone, including myself. I can follow orders." He didn't always do so, and that was the source of his nervousness at the moment, but he still could not imagine the kind of pressure he'd been under last winter duplicating itself at this Godforsaken institute. "I'm small, stronger than I look and clever with my hands. And I can be taught."

"I feel tis only fair to explain that there are many modern devices and concepts I still don't understand." Like how to restore the fuel source to his portable light, or even if he'll have some kind of light tonight, having lost it in the battle.

I'll have to remember that not everyone uses the same code. Edgeworth nodded to the colonel, taking a seat next to Armand. "That's exactly what I mean," he said. "And thank you. I know you're quite busy and there are few people here with the skill to make weapons, so I do appreciate it."

He listened carefully to the Arts and Crafts club description, making mental notes of it all; it felt too awkward to pull out his notebook. It almost seemed to him that if the various clubs here combined their strengths, there would be more of a difference. At the same time, however, the personality dynamics were so different between them, and a power struggle was the last thing anyone needed.

"I'd be more than happy to explain any concepts that either of you aren't clear on," Miles said, in response to that statement from Armand. "The Institute seems to be close to the time I was taken from, aside from the means through which we're brought to it. While there are a few small differences in technology, those aren't enough to change much. I'd also be happy to explain the differences in the legal system between the 1700s and now, if you're interested. Things have changed quite a bit."

While Armand did have something to say for himself, Roy could tell that he was stretching to an extent. That didn't mean that he was useless, however. If there was one thing the colonel could appreciate, it was a willingness to listen to orders.

Not that he believed in blindly following whatever orders were given. That was quite the sore spot for him, in fact, and he certainly didn't expect people to listen to him if they disagreed. But he did his best to be fair, and he didn't see what was wrong with being listened to in that case.

"There is some technology I don't quite understand myself," he admitted. He hadn't dwelled on it too much, though. There had been so many other aspects he had been forced to get used to -- some foreign technology had been the least of the man's worries. He did appreciate Edgeworth's offer, but he was too wrapped up in catering to Armand's interest in his club at the moment to ask any specific clarifying questions.

"In any case, I would normally send someone like you out to investigate radio clues. It sounds like you have the mind for it, and it's not overly dangerous. But with the recent turn of events..." Roy paused, trying to think of another task he could give the man (and two companions of his, maybe?). There was always metal to be collected, but he knew how dull that could get. Still, someone had to do it.

Armand shot a wary glance toward Edgeworth when the man mentioned the 1700's. He had mentioned his time of origin on the bulletin board. Was that how Edgeworth knew? He couldn't recall the specifics of his correspondence with the man at the moment.

"I--how did you know that, M. Edgeworth?" he asked, trying not to assume. He was always looking for ways to correct his ignorance of modern matters without earning the wrath of the nurses.

Then, he too, had to return the better part of his attention to Mustang. "M. Mustang, if you're willing to try me, the earliest I'd be available is tomorrow night. It's too late now to tell my companions of my change of plans, and Dr. Uzuki promised to help with my hands. Tis likely he'll be more effective than the staff." He couldn't help sneering slightly toward the last. He had little respect even for the ordinary staff at Landel's Institute.

"I'd inferred it from your reference to the Revolution and from your comment about modern technology," Edgeworth said, a bit of a smile on his face. "I'm a prosecutor back home, and in my line of work, you learn to pick up on the small details such as that. You have to, since so many people lie when involved in a criminal affair. I suspect that's one thing that hasn't changed."

Doctor Uzuki? He raised an eyebrow at the man's name. "I wouldn't think the powers that be would be taking doctors, if they had such confidence in their own staff. I agree that your friend is probably better at what he does than they are," the prosecutor said, the smile fading into a frown. He could feel tiny pinpricks of pain at the scar on the back of his neck, and he rubbed at it a bit to try and make that go away.

"That's perfectly fine," Roy replied with a nod to Armand. He didn't expect the man to be signing himself and two others up at the drop of a hat, after all. He glanced down at Armand's hands again at the mention of it, wondering briefly what had caused the injuries.

"Just get in contact with me over the bulletin tomorrow once you know for certain." He looked to Edgeworth as he explained himself, and then made a comment about a doctor being a patient. Roy was fairly certain he had heard of it before -- and doctors would be helpful to have around for those exact reasons.

"So this Dr. Uzuki is one of your companions?" he asked. "Who is the other?" He might as well know who he was possibly allowing into his ranks.

"Yes," Armand answered Roy simply. "He doesn't think I should be so formal, but none of us are exactly friends yet." Though if they weren't, Armand was beginning to wonder what exactly they were. They had to trust one another for protection, didn't they? "The other man has numbers and letters for a name, but he agreed we could call him Morrison. It's easier to remember. He's tall, with tanned skin and broad, muscular shoulders. I'm afraid he could break me with one hand if he wanted."

He still wasn't entirely convinced by Edgeworth's explanation, but the man did seem genuinely friendly. "I was studying civil law," he said. "I'm sure everything has changed in the intervening years.

Roy's attention to his hands made Armand self-conscious again, but he didn't offer an explanation either. Getting attacked by magical flames was not his fault, but it was still embarrassing.

"My background is in criminal law, but I did need to take civil classes in school," Edgeworth said - the patch of familiar ground had him well at ease, and if there hadn't been the other gentleman around, he would have been able to go on for hours. As it was, though, he was content to say, "While a lot has changed, the basic principles are quite likely similar to what you remember."

He shifted in his seat when the topic of injuries came up. While his shoulder and arm were no longer as heavily bandaged as they had been the previous day, he was sure the injuries had left scars. Whatever the case was, Miles was sure that it wasn't as embarrassing as what had happened to him. "There's a monster with the ability to change its shape," he said, easing into the story. "A colleague and I were unfortunate enough to encounter it the night before last. I hate to admit it, but it took the form of a little girl, and that little girl almost killed the pair of us."

Roy wasn't sure if people really made friends in a place like this. He certainly didn't, even if there were people who he got along with well enough. Then again, he didn't often make friends in general, so he wasn't exactly a good example to judge by. Either way, the group of three sounded promising: a doctor, a fighter, and... whatever Armand was. Roy nodded in response to Armand's explanation, not having anything further to say about it.

Law wasn't a subject Roy was all that familiar with. He wasn't ignorant, but it wasn't something he had studied. He appreciated the fact that the other two were keeping their discussion of it brief enough that he wasn't completely left out.

The topic of injuries was something he could speak on with much more confidence, and the colonel glanced at Edgeworth while he described one of his encounters. "I've heard of that manner of monster a few times before. Nothing can really be trusted when it comes to nightshift." Not even familiar faces, if the stories were to be believed.

"M. Edgeworth, you and I should talk again sometime. I think we might have many things to share." His smile was genuine enough, even if he was underneath all nerves. He thought that he might easily come to like Miles Edgeworth. Normally he was quite good at making friends, but that wasn't coming as easily here. Already he'd made one bad judgement he knew of. He was dreading the dinner shift where he'd be trapped in his room with his roommate, whom he'd just been told was a very dangerous man, not to be trusted.

"That is truly disturbing," Armand told Roy. "I can't think what the ones controlling this possibly hope to gain by having us demoralized and untrusting of even one another. If they simply wanted to keep us bottled up, they need not let us out of our rooms at night." That was hardly an original thought, but then something else occurred to him. "It is possible, I suppose, that the unusual power our captors have over us here is the result of some bargain that requires Dr. Landel and his staff to let us out to try to find some solution to this trap but doesn't prevent them using their creatures and other powers to make it as hard as possible for us to make use of our temporary freedom."

"We should," Edgeworth said, nodding at the Frenchman. "Sometime tomorrow or the next day? I'm meeting with a friend at breakfast, but I'm free after that."

"That is an interesting theory," Edgeworth said, tapping a finger against his right temple. "I can see why they would want to have us not trust each other; that leads to groups splitting apart. People are easier to pick off if they're alone at night."

He saw his nurse moving over out of the corner of one eye, but chose to ignore her presence for now; she would come over if it was time to leave.

"I'm more concerned about the apparent death of the man on the radio, personally. If someone outside the institute's law, as it were, could be killed so easily, what does that say about the rest of us?"

Armand's theory seemed a little convoluted, but that didn't mean that it was wrong. Landel had a fondness for being grandiose, after all, so who knew how the man's logic ran.

The topic of the radio man's death made Roy tune in with some further interest. While he wasn't as attached to "Jack" as some of the others, that didn't mean that he was going to completely ignore what had happened.

"If he wanted us dead, we'd already be there," he pointed out. "That's not his main goal, I don't think, but he doesn't seem to care if a few patients get killed in the process of whatever his goals are. It seems that pride is what spurred him to murder rather than anything else." The two men obviously had a history, so Roy wouldn't be surprised if there was a lot more to the rivalry than they were privy to.

As if on cue, the intercom went off and Landel's voice boomed through the Sun Room. "Well," he said, getting to his feet, "it was nice to speak to both of you. I'll be looking forward to hearing from you," he finished, glancing to Armand. With that, he went to meet the nurse who would be escorting him back to his room for dinner.

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Day 31: Sun Room (Fourth Shift)

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