damned_institute | Day 36: Waiting Room, Lobby 2

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Day 36: Waiting Room, Lobby 2

Celes had actually relaxed enough, speaking to Naminé during lunch, to allow herself a small smile. It thinned into a line, of course when her nurse materialized from nowhere and swept her off, giggling over her 'surprise.'

"Oh won't it be nice?" she chirped as they walked into the waiting room. "You'll be so happy, I am absolutely sure of it." Celes's small smile thinned itself into a line and she was plunked into a chair to await her visitor. Perhaps I shall be lucky, she thought, looking at some ridiculous motivational poster. It won't be anyone I know, not really. Her nurse wandered away and Celes folded her hands on the table, the picture of impatient waiting.

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Haine just let Badou grab him, giving him the same level gaze as always.

"They don't just let people walk in," he said patiently, ignoring the shaking. "There was a whole bunch of fucking paperwork and other bullshit. Visiting is a pain in the ass, so you should be grateful I came at all."

At the mention of cigarettes - because there was always a mention of cigarettes - Haine rolled his eyes and leaned back against the couch.

"Maybe I did, more likely I didn't. You think they just let you walk in here with shit like that?"

Visiting is a pain in the ass? Visiting is a pain in the ass? Badou did not like where this conversation was going.

He also didn't like that, upon further inspection, it was obvious that Haine wasn't wearing his guns. Or carrying them. Or hiding them (let alone anything wider than a quarter) in his outfit.

What was this shitfuckery.

"They let you walk in here with whatever you want if you shoot them in the face. Haine, what the hell. This isn't funny. Only my shirt is smiling."

"I only shoot people in the face if I feel like they deserve it. They've been keeping your stupid crazy ass quarantined away from the rest of the world better than a prison would, so you should at least be happy you're not being some giant, hairy asshole's best friend in the whole world," Haine said flatly, prying Badou's fingers off his leather. "Of course it's not funny. It's not funny because I have to pay full rent now. Would you hurry up and quit being crazy so that I can go back to eating one of these days?"

Honestly. If he wasn't going to get out of here and start getting back to work soon, he was going to come back to living in a cardboard box in the rain.

"You fucking liar. You shoot people in the face if your pants are chafing you the wrong way." Badou cut in before Haine could finish. What was he going on about? Haine, of all people, should not be condoning any kind of hospital let alone the kind full of monsters.

Why would he be in prison anyway? It wasn't like they'd gotten caught. Haine was taking this joke too far, and maybe him spazzing out only made it funnier. Badou leaned back again and folded his arms, looking about as sour as he felt. "I thought pale zombie assholes lived on brains."

"Yeah, well, this place doesn't allow guns." Finally free of Badou's death grip, Haine sat back as well and glared at his friend out of the corner of his eye. "And why the fuck would I carry them into a crazy house, anyway? They might get stolen. I'm not about to let some insane fucker gun me down with my own weapons."

He snorted at the mention of food.

"You're the one who usually brings in the brain-money, Olivia." Haine reached into his back pocket, felt the square box he had hidden there. "Somehow your shitty photos bring in more cash than anything I've tried. By the way, that last shipment you sent out before you landed here went through, but they're withholding payment until you get out."

Badou was just not going to mention how much fun that would be for him at least. After they got past the running for their lives bit, he would never let Haine live it down.

"Olivia? How do you get Olivia from Badou? Are you watching those shitty movies again?" Now he really didn't know what Haine was talking about. This had moved past the realm of playing kick-the-addict and into...into what? His photos never bought him anything except an ass full of bullets. And since when was he buying Haine food? Or contributing to the cost of an apartment? Their story didn't make any sense, sure, but at least it was more badass than Will & Grace or whatever the fuck this was supposed to be.

He stared at Haine for a long moment then, since his grip on sanity was nice and slack right then, shoved his head forward to be sure. "...Where's the collar?" His gaze traveled lower as if drawn by some undeniable force that was certainly not Haine's leather-clad ass. At least something here made sense. Conscious of the very real possibility of losing an entire pack of smokes, Badou kept his voice low enough for the two of them. "Either that's a square lump of ass cancer or you brought me smokes, Haine-chan."

"Your name is Oliver, dumbfuck." Haine pointedly ignored the comment about movies. He hated watching movies, especially the ones the cyclops beside him seemed to love picking out and spending hours in front of the TV with. Badou leaned closer, and Haine planted a palm in his face, shoving him away. "I didn't feel like wearing it. Autumn or not, it's still fucking hot out, and I'm wearing enough leather already."

And there it was, the noticing. How a one-eyed freak could see into shadows and through leather was almost amazing but probably just really creepy. At least he was being subtle.

Kind of like a brick wall to the crotch.

"Doc says I've got three months to live." Haine leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, and made no move to withdraw the pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "I blame you, by the way. All your goddamn smoking gave me cancer. You owe me big."

So Haine was out of his mind. That sucked. Especially since he was still good at blocking. He knew his morning had gone too well.

Haine was obviously just not awesome enough to understand Badou's keen senses. He could sense every pack of smokes within three miles of his person at any given moment just by virtue of being Badou fucking Nails.

...Ok that was shit. But he could smoke them all, anyway.

Badou debated with himself. Put his hand in the vicinity of Haine's ass, or try talking him into passing them over nicely? Which was more likely to succeed? "Can you even get cancer? You can have my cactus and we'll call it even. I think it needs to be watered by now anyway." Enough smalltalk. "Did you bring matches too? A lighter?"

"Your cactus is dead," Haine said without even bothering to look over or change his inflection. "It was dead before you snapped. Hell, it was probably dead when you bought it." Still he made no move to retrieve the cigarettes from his back pocket. "I've got some matches in my other pocket, but you'd better keep them goddamn well hidden, because if they take them away from you and blame me for it, I'm probably getting locked up for helping a dangerous psychopath try to burn down his asylum."

And it was all delivered in the same barely-changing monotone. Haine really didn't care if Badou got caught; it wasn't his problem. Still, one had to be sneaky about these kinds of things, or else the whole visit was pointless.

Well. Kinda. He did want to see his stupid insane cyclops, too, if only for shits and giggles.

"Penelope, noooo. That was my best ash tray too." Who knew you shouldn't put cigarettes out on house plants? It had been pretty sturdy-looking at the time...plus it was a goddamn cactus. How could Badou's apartment be more dangerous than the open desert?

But back to the more pressing matters at hand. One, Haine's collar was gone. (If he could take it off why hadn't he just done that before? Wasn't it sort of bolted to his spine?) Two, Haine seemed to think they lived together. (Because he'd finally snapped from his laundry list of Reasons to be Crazy. They'd kill each other within a week.) Three, there were matches and cigarettes in Haine's pockets. (Badou might be in love. Or crying.)

Badou grinned so hard his face hurt. "I love you for-fucking-ever. If I pinch your ass, don't take it the wrong way."

He scooched a little closer, and in covert ninja-like fashion reached around behind Haine to...well, to poke around for the pocket and try to grope his ass as little as possible. Which, surprisingly, wasn't hard considering how little there was for him to grope.

Haine stayed perfectly still, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands, his facial expression unaltered, as Badou reached into his back pockets to try and withdraw the cigarettes from their otherwise impenetrable prison. It wouldn't be the first time it had happened, after all.

"And you call me the gay one," he said dryly. "Why don't you just put on some short-shorts and try to make out with me?" He didn't seem to care that Badou's hand was in incredibly close proximity to his ass. "Hurry it up, Olivia. I've got better things to talk about than your addiction."

"Because you never use a chap stick." Badou replied, frankly too pleased with the discovery of matches and cigarettes to care. The cigarettes never saw the light of day moving from inside Haine's back pocket and up Badou's sleeve but somehow, the nurses still saw it anyway.

Badou found his arm suddenly captured by one very large, imposing orderly who ever-so-gently fished the contraband out of his sleeve and tucked it away. Badou had to be in a state of shock or he would likely have tried to claw the orderlie's eyes out.

"Now, Mr. Ramstiner, you know better than to bring this kind of thing where patients can get ahold of it. Any more of this and we'll have to ban you from visiting. Riedel, the same goes for you. No more visits if we see any more foolishness."

Satisfied with his little speech, the orderly left them alone - as alone as they could be with the nurses watching so closely, anyway.

Badou stared brokenly at the space where the orderly used to be. "...My smokes. How did he - but I was - FUCK YOUR GUNS WHERE THE FUCK ARE MINE."

Haine basically ignored the orderly who took the cigarettes, giving a faint "hn" in response. Fine, let them believe he'd just accidentally carried his cigarettes in and that his dear old buddy partner pal had tried to take them. It might, after all, be the truth.

"Just trade for some here. It's like a prison, isn't it?" Haine sat back, not caring if he accidentally crushed Badou's hand. "I'm sure you could sell your ass to some guy who wants it for a pack or two. Or maybe you could donate your skull to science for some."

Meanwhile, Badou wasn't sure if he wanted to have a breakdown or just kill everything within striking range with his...pocket lint. Because fuck, if he wasn't insane yet this place was doing a good job of getting him there and no amount of womanly screaming seemed to change that. Which, admittedly, wasn't a first.

After a few more seconds of just staring, he slouched forward, elbows on his knees, and laced his fingers behind his neck. It pressed the nicotine patch down and made him look like a bony emo swamp monster with his hair hanging all over his face. Badou was fucking tired. He wanted to go home and shit in his own toilet and investigate stupid vague mysteries and eat the same damn Italian food with Haine bitching about his fresh dumpster smell. Because really fucking honestly, he hated being caged almost (almost) as much as Haine did. His life wasn't even good but it was his fucking life.

"You don't think I've tried? I don't get any of this. Are you going to help me or what? Because if you're going to bitch about some weird gay roommate shit, we're done and I'm going back to my fucking delicious pancakes."

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Day 36: Waiting Room, Lobby 2

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