damned_institute | Nightshift 33: Men's Bathrooms (M01-M40)

Luffy blinked as he followed the swordsman inside. It looked like there was tons of metal just waiting for them, but the main problem with the bathroom was there wasn't really much in the way of snacking. Still, a promise was a promise, and if this was where Zoro wanted to get their metal from, he couldn't really complain. Well, not much, anyway.

He didn't need to ask what Zoro's train of thought was, and he held up his frying pan, laughing a little. "I don't think I'm gonna be able to use this to do much, you know."

Zoro paused thoughtfully at Luffy's statement before simply drawing out his last bat and offering it bottom first. It wasn't a sword by any means but for all Zoro's serious handling of it, it could have been.

"Here." He waited for Luffy to take it, lacking any of the complaints he would have had if the person asking him for the bat had been Nami or Sanji.

Luffy met Zoro's gaze before giving a sort of almost-knowing smile and tucking his frying pan into the waistband of his pants. It looked kind of weird, but it was better than just letting it sit on the floor. He almost looked like some kind of frying-pansman! With how many places and worlds there were, there was probably someone out there who fought with prying pans instead of swords, right?

"Thanks," he said, grinning widely once he grasped onto the handle. "I'll make good use of it!"

Zoro nodded to Luffy, already turning to the sink closest to him. There were four on his side and, though he'd been severely weakened, he knew he could make short work of them.

Slowly, Zoro closed his eyes and lifted his one remaining bat with well-practiced focus. It took him a few strong hits to dislodge the pipes of the first one, then a couple more for the second. The feel of a single bat was wrong and Zoro didn't like it, but he didn't say anything and instead remained concentrated on his task of breaking the pipes off from under the last two sinks.

The dark-haired boy wandered over to the sinks on the other side of the room, grinning to himself. Zoro wasn't really saying much, but he guessed he was busy trying to get metal. Tightening his grip on the bat the swordsman had given him, Luffy swung down against the pipes with all of his might. It echoed loudly through out the room, but the pirate didn't pause to consider whether any monsters would hear them or not. It didn't really matter in the long run, as long as they got enough metal for Zoro.

After several good, hard hits, Luffy bent down to inspect his work, expression brightening as the pipes fell apart in his hands. He let the metal fall onto the floor with a sudden clatter, before picking up his bat and moving over to the next sink. "You know, Zoro," he said, glancing over at the other man. "This is kinda fun!"

"Hm?" Zoro looked over at Luffy, watching the other for a moment before turning back to the third sink. He smirked.

"Guess you could say that." Driving forward, Zoro attacked the pipes with precision, working to weaken until they fell to the floor in pieces. He kicked said pieces aside toward the other pipes, forming a small, scattered pile on the floor.

"One left." He muttered to himself.

As soon as Luffy was standing in front of the next sink, he started hitting it with all of his might. Actually, it made for a pretty good work-out, too! Not that Luffy was one to really obsess over work-outs or training (unlike a certain someone he knew), although the pirate had to admit that it was a nice change of pace, especially considering how cooped up Landel's kept everyone.

Too bad bat-swinging couldn't be one of the scheduled activities in the daytime. He got the feeling the Cat Ladies would frown at the idea, which was a real shame.

"We should do this more often!" he said with a laugh once he paused and let the pipes fall to the floor. He still had two left to go, but maybe Zoro would beat him to the last one.

The amount of sheer focus Zoro put into repeatedly whacking the pipes out from under the sink would have been surprising to an ordinary bystander but even that intensity didn't waver when he properly resumed conversation with Luffy. That he was resting the bat on his shoulder and looking just a little cheerful didn't change any of this either. Zoro was always in a good mood when he was breaking things.

"Yeah. Not sure how much we're going to need, anyway." He scratched the back of his head and looked at the metal scattered all over the floor. Was that enough to (alchemy?) make two small swords? Hrm.

With the bat in his left hand, he swung out and hit the last pipe. The bat connected with a hollow clang and Zoro casually drew his arm back for another swing.

"Did we do this too before?" Zoro asked, thinking about how they'd supposedly gone to the kitchen together once back in that time he couldn't remember.

Zoro's demeanor as he broke the pipes wasn't all that jarring for Luffy. The intense and focused air his swordsman usually carried was second nature for the pirate captain. It was both familiar and comfortable, and it made breaking the pipes apart even more enjoyable, as far as he was concerned.

"Yeah, I dunno much about all that alchemy stuff," the dark-haired boy admitted, though he didn't seem too worried about it. He grinned. "Maybe we should just grab a whole lot!"

As Zoro moved to hit his last sink apart, Luffy did the same. The sound of their combined hitting caused all kinds of racket. Maybe if Nami had been with them, she would have urged them to quiet down, though the captain didn't really pause to think about that.

He paused when the green-haired man spoke to him. "What, hitting pipes apart?" he asked as he glanced back towards him. "Nah. We went to the kitchen once, but the door was locked, and we couldn't find a way in." That had sucked, but the kitchen door didn't seem to be locked anymore, which was good!

As if Luffy's answer signaled the end of an even greater noise, Zoro's last pipe fell to the floor with a final sounding rattle. He tucked away his remaining bat, kicking the pipe towards the rest of his pile as he did so.

Zoro's normally creased forehead was smooth but he was obviously in thought as he began gathering pipes into one of the pillow cases.

"Anything changed since then?" He asked Luffy. It could have just been Nami's presence that changed things since they had found a way into the kitchen already but Zoro couldn't be sure. He'd only been at Landel's for a week. How was it like being stuck in the place for more than that? A month? Several months?

The place obviously brought in new people every once in a while but if it grew in different ways... Zoro couldn't help but take that kind of thing into consideration. It felt like someone was playing some kind of game with them and the swordsman didn't like the feeling one bit.

[ From here; for convenience's sake, we're assuming Brock and Sylar get here at a different time from Zoro and Luffy. ]

Sylar dropped the body's arms as soon as he was able, though he kneeled down next to it rather than standing up and letting Eddie drool all over the prize. He looked up towards the other man, meeting his eyes with an assertive stare.

"Here's how things are going to work," he said, voice calm. "You crack the skull, I look at the brain, and then you get it all once I'm done... studying. Deal?"

If Eddie said no, their partnership was over before it even began, which would be as unfortunate as it would be a relief. Sylar knew now that it wasn't so hard to take down a patient, but... Noah Bennet and Peter Petrelli would definitely be tougher to kill than the idiot on the floor. Bennet and Petrelli knew what he was, and without his powers, it'd be a hard fight to get to Claire with the two protecting her like the self-righteous fools they were. And even if he didn't need her blood... well, he needed her powers, and he wanted those men dead anyway.

"Fine," Brock said. He wasn't really sure what was so interesting about looking at the brain, other than getting it exposed to the outside air longer than it had to, but whatever.

Did he trust Sylar? Well, obviously he had no problems killing people - or trying to take credit for it. But could he start running his mouth off? Yeah, probably, but Brock could run his mouth off too and Sylar was a murderer now: who were people going to believe, a guy saying someone was running around eating brains or a different guy saying the first one was a lying murderer? They could handle Sylar...so long as they could control themselves and not jump on one little meal like they were starved for good meat. Kneeling, Brock reached down, cradling the patient body's head with his hands, staring down at it for a moment as if examining it, his fingers feeling around through the hair for a good spot to open it.

His claws formed in one split second, just long enough to punch through the skull, and with a crack, Brock had opened it with one quick motion. The symbiote gave an excited turn in his head as it got a good whiff of a perfectly good brain, its own senses tuned to it. Brock licked his lips, but was proud to say he kept himself under control.

"Hurry up," he grunted, taking a step back.

A smirk crossed Sylar's face as he heard the crack and then saw the flesh and bone peel back to reveal the familiar tissue underneath. Brock was good at what he professed to do, that was for sure, and if Sylar could get something out of this body's head...

Ignoring Brock's urgings to be quick, Sylar leaned forward and slid his fingers in between the brain and the skull, gingerly pulling it out as his eyes wandered over its surface. Yes, yes, he could feel something here, the kind of possibility he'd first experienced when he'd realized the pathetic nature of Brian Davis, when he'd discovered his own true evolutionary imperative. It seemed as if this brain had belonged to an evolved human after all, and there was something here, something between the creases of tissue and the cells and dead synapses, that spoke to him and whispered of something new to be acquired.

But then.... why was he having such a hard time seeing it?

Sylar narrowed his eyes as he pulled apart the two halves of the brain, trying to focus on the sections, the pieces, as they all slowly began to come together in his head. He felt sweat gathering at his brow and felt his head begin to swim. Why was this so hard to do? He didn't have the Shanti virus, didn't have to worry about the Company having taken away what was his, but... then again.... his telekinesis, his cryokinesis, his... everything... if he was only able to see how things work, then that meant that...

...It was all gone.

Something clicked at that moment and Sylar found that his eyes had found a line of understanding, the kind of intuitive knowledge that was so hard to explain to others who had never experienced such superiority over others. This man's power... it was to recombine, to reconstruct, to trade off a slew of items for something else. But it wasn't just power that was required–it was study and symbols and....

Sylar's eyes shot from the pulled-apart brain to the man's hands. He reached over and grabbed one of the wrists, pulling the palm up and studying the mark on it. This was a different kind of power, one he hadn't seen before, one...

A sharp pain hit Sylar's head and he grimaced, putting one bloodied hand to his face as he dropped the brain with the other. Was this the weakening and side-effects that the other patients had spoken about on the bulletin board? Was that why his other powers were gone too? Whatever it was, it was making acquiring new abilities far more difficult than it should've been...

"It's... all yours," he growled out, trying to keep his eyes open as he looked at the marks on the other palm. Through the pounding of blood in his ears, he was able to recognize that yes, these were indeed related to the man's... to Sylar's power.

You'd think Sylar expected to find gold in there with the way he was man-handling their meal. Brock watched as he picked apart the pieces, his mouth curling up in disgust. Gross. He hadn't thought looking at the thing meant running his grubby little human hands all over it - who knew what he was getting on what otherwise should be the best dinner they ever had since ending up here, all the kinds of bacteria and germs was now coating the glistening surface of the coils in his hands? Brock was so damn tempted to snatch up their meal from Sylar before he dirtied it up even more.

And then he had to fucking drop it on the floor. The floor!

That was it. Talk about disrespect, especially considering the fact Sylar would still be wiped off the map if they got pissed enough at him. Dropping their food like it was useless slop - the only thing keeping the hunger insanity at bay - was a pretty goddamn huge straw on the camels back.

"The fuck's wrong with you?" Brock snapped. He shouldered Sylar out of the way, picking up the fallen brains like they were made of china and shooting a glare at the man, eyes still filmed over with the symbiote's third eyelids, fangs bared in an annoyed grimace.

They didn't know what was wrong with Sylar, but their world was narrowing down to brain-food-eat and Brock was more concerned with trying to make the best out of a (dirty) meal than worrying about the health of his "partner".

"My head is wrong with me," Sylar growled back as the other man pushed him out of the way. He saw Eddie's eyes and fangs, but that was old news, and even if it wasn't, he had more painful things to worry about right now. He let go of the wrist of the body's hand to put a clenched fist to his forehead and shut his eyes tight. He'd never felt anything like this before, a pressure on his brain from the inside-out that made his thought processes fuzzy and his powers hard to handle. The newfound super-hearing and subsequent tuning-fork had hurt like a bitch, yes, but they hadn't impeded his ability to... to gain abilities! And where the hell was his telekinesis, anyway? And what the hell had he just picked up that caused him so much agony?

Sylar tried to keep his breathing level and to think straight through the pain. It wouldn't be good to lose Eddie's alliance at this juncture (even if the man seemed to be on the verge of a hissy fit already) so he had to stay calm. Sylar slowly opened his eyes a crack, staring at the marks on the body's hand blearily.

"Something about the..." he said out loud before trailing off. The marks weren't too complicated–two circles, two triangles, smaller circles, and a half-moon–and though he did his best to commit it all to memory, he wasn't sure if the state of his mind right now would allow him to keep the information come morning. (If only he had his real power of memory...) The tattoos were important, that he knew from intuition and the way the dead man had admired them, but he didn't know why.

He shook his head, flattened his hand against his brow, and tried to will his pain to go away.

Yeah, Brock got that something was wrong with Sylar's head. What he was wondering was if these headaches or what the hell ever were going to be all the time and make Sylar more of a liability than he already was - okay, so he'd managed to provide them a meal, and having him do all the killing it from being traced back to them. But that didn't mean Brock was up for hauling the other patient around just because he got these headaches out of the blue.

"Yeah, well, turn around," Brock said, and it was clearly more of an order than a friendly suggestion. While he'd eventually gotten used to the whole cannibal thing - it wasn't like he had a choice if it meant he couldn't be with his Other unless he shaped up and fast - that didn't mean he was comfortable with an audience.

Brock waited for Sylar to turn around, keeping a steady, watchful glare on the man before cradling the brains in his claws and lifting them to his mouth, unfurled, glistening coils hanging between them.

Sylar didn't protest at turning away from Brock's "meal," but that was more because of his own pain rather than any sense of loyalty or compliance. He staggered to his feet and pressed his free hand against the wall, trying to get ahold of himself. The pain was starting to subside just slightly, but it was a gradual process and every time he thought back on those symbols, it seemed to turn the ache back up again a few notches.

He stumbled against the door to the patient block hall and paused when he remembered the sack that the dead man had been carrying. Eager to find something to keep him occupied other than crippling pain, he stepped out into the hall to grab the thing and pull it back into the bathroom. He winced while he did it and ended up only using his left hand; dammit, the excitement and subsequent discomfort of picking up the new ability (whatever it was) had made him forget that his forearm was still in bad shape.

Safely back in the bathroom, he leaned against a wall, slid into a sitting position, and, after a short breather, began looking through the sack. He was spectacularly unfazed by the sound of violent brain ingestion.

To the human taste buds, there wasn't really much taste to a brain. It was a little crunchy with all the coils, but a lot of it was the clear cerebrospinal fluid...but there was something past the initial blandness that made the symbiote salivate, made it hunger for something even more than the Spider. They registered Sylar still somewhere in the room but he was far enough away not to be a threat and wasn't exactly a big blip on the radar when food, fresh, good food was right in front of them.

It probably only took a minute to finish up but it felt like much longer. He savored what it felt like to eat like they were naturally supposed to, sitting back on his heels after a while to lick his fingers and run his tongue along his fangs with a barely audible sigh.

Everything right now seemed so much more clear. Brock could swear he was already even starting to see better in the dark; he could definitely feel his symbiote become closer, become louder, become more than the whisper in his ear and head that Landels reduced it to.

Nightshift 33: Men's Bathrooms (M01-M40)

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