damned_institute | Day 37: Breakfast

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Day 37: Breakfast

[for Sylar, I believe]

At the sound of the intercom, Wally jerked awake and blinked around at the room. He’d fallen asleep. He should have been up and keeping an eye open for ZEX, but he’d fallen asleep waiting on his bed.

“Idiot,” he groaned, ruffling his hair and sighing in annoyance. “Way to help a guy out, hotshot.” Hopefully ZEX hadn’t dropped by and thought he’d left or something, or wouldn’t be too mad at him for just forgetting about it like that. If he was lucky, he’d be able to catch up with the other patient at some point and explain what had happened.

Rolling himself a little awkwardly out of the bed, Wally took the opportunity to stretch his injured leg and test how well it was holding up. It was feeling a bit better, not so much that he could abandon his crutch or that it didn’t pull painfully if he wasn’t careful, but better. Tony had apparently made it through the night in one piece as well, which was a relief. He really didn’t feel comfortable about the thought of his roommate wandering about on his own with an injured arm. Not when Wally himself could relax and fall asleep in the apparent safety of their room.

Yeah, he wasn’t going to let himself forget that one in a hurry.

It was at that moment that the door swung open to admit one of the nurses. She seemed surprised to find him awake and ready to go already, but smiled warmly. “Hungry, are we Mr. West? Well in that case, let’s get you to the cafeteria. The staff have provided some delicious French Toast as well as a range of other foods I’m sure you’ll like. Now will you be needing a hand with your leg, dear?”

“No thanks, I can handle it,” Wally replied, smiling back. After all, it probably wasn’t the nurses’ fault that this place was so messed up, so it wasn’t like picking fights with them would do anything. With a cheery wave goodbye, Wally slowly made his way to the cafeteria, keeping a tight grip on his crutch all the while. Obtaining a plate of food was only slightly less difficult than it had been yesterday – he didn’t have the painkillers to work around this time – but he managed well enough, coming away from the buffet with a tray containing a plate piled high with slices of French Toast and slathered in maple syrup, butter, and sugar, as well as a glass of juice. Not quite as good as some coffee would be right now, but the sugar would hopefully make up for it. And, with how few people were here at the moment, he could afford to take more food than might have been considered ‘normal’ – he’d have most of it gone by the time anyone came to keep him company, then he could just worry about how many extra serves would be allowed before he aroused suspicion.

Feeling pretty happy with how things were looking so far, Wally hummed faintly to himself as he dug in to his breakfast.

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After another night of sleep, though not quite as blissful as he'd have hoped, Alec Trevelyan was led into the cafeteria by his nurse. There were things to be done at night, and he knew that, but on one level he just didn't care anymore. Not about the Institute, not about the monsters, not even about faux-James. None of it mattered to him.

You can play your game all you want, Landel. I won't be one of your pawns. I refuse to play.

Perhaps his refusal to play was what was robbing him of his well-earned sleep. He wouldn't be surprised.

As further proof that he was going absolutely fucking mental, he could hear Q, as plainly as if he was standing next to the Quartermaster, letting loose with an admonition more usually directed at James than himself: "Oh, grow up, 006."

Obviously his addled brain was trying to tell him that his refusal to play was childish. He'd go, again. For one night. And if nothing happened, then nothing happened, and he'd sleep 'til the end of the world, and that would be that.

Impress me, Landel... As if the Head Doctor could read his mind. Then again, he'd seen some pretty weird shit in his time here. Telepathy would almost be boring.

The ex-00-agent barely noticed what was on his tray until his nurse had put it in his hands. French. Motherfucking. Toast. Sometimes the attempted normalcy made him almost laugh. It took a moment before he spotted Armand, and decided to head on over for a chat. Then he saw the other person sitting at the table. A youngish, sleepy-looking man with weird hair. Then again, that could reliably describe half the population of the Institute on any given day. Was this person another new patient?

Yep, new patient, judging by the tail end of what he'd heard. "Hi. Let me be the first to welcome you to Landel's Institute, your own personal little slice of hell," he said matter-of-factly, putting his tray down on the table. "Morning, Armand."

((Whoa, I did not know this post was going to be so long. xD;; Haha, sorry!))

Good. Alec answered the hardest part of what the boy had asked. A slightly more genuine smile brushed across his features to greet Alec, but it didn't linger. What he'd said was all too true. This place was a kind of hell, and to tell the truth, perhaps it was exactly the hell he deserved. He set his utensils down.

"I'd heard there would be new people today. I didn't expect to meet up with one so soon. Mr. Trevelyan is right, though. Being here is anyone's worst nightmare, and there's no way out."

He didn't mean to be dismissive at all, but he had to say something to Alec.
"I haven't seen you since the other night, Alec. Are you well?" he asked, worry creeping into his tone. Not seeing people here could mean they were seriously hurt or sick.

The two men obviously knew each-other and were pretty pessimistic about where-ever they were. Joe barely paid any mind to Armand addressing the other man, and told them reassuringly, "Don't worry, I've been in tougher situations before. I'll find a way out and be sure to bust you guys out too. 'Cause I'm..." he struck a pose, pointing his middle and pinky fingers on each hand to one side.
"Viewtiful Joe!

...uh, just as soon as I get my V-watch back."

Dear God. Not only is he new, he thinks he's some kimd of hero. And all of the heroes Trevelyan knew were dead. Or from comic books.

Still, his enthusiasm was refreshing. A little ray of sunshine in this hellhole was welcome. "Let me know if you find some way out of here, then," he said. "Though it's not going to be easy."

"I've taken myself off the board temporarily," he said to Armand. "Regrouping and so on. What about you?"

"I'm tired of it all. I'm tired of the sneaking around and the doubt. My sister came to see me yesterday. Can you believe that? My own sister." He shook his head and stabbed at the food a little in his vehemence.

Armand had no idea what to say in the face of such optimism. If the child were Percy, perhaps he'd believe him. "I'm afraid your magical gadget is gone. They won't let you have it back. They barely leave us our dignity." He pointed with some irony at the smiley face on his chest.

Joe was starting to feel uncomfortable, with the two older men having their own conversation while talking to him, and they both seemed pretty set on how terrible this place was. He looked down at his own shirt, "I dunno... it seems pretty friendly. I need to get my stuff back, but this place isn't that bad. What, you like waffles instead?"

"Emphasis placed on the word 'seems'," Alec said. Lord knew he'd had a hard enough time trying to get a hold of the enormity of the madness here - he was still half-convinced he was on a drip of psychotropic drugs in Gitmo. "You're new, so I'll give you fair warning. Things get weird at night. Seriously special. Giant scorpions. Things with metal triangles on their heads. It's like being stuck in a Japanese horror film."

At Armand's words, he grimaced. "They got my..." What was James to him anymore? "...an old friend of mine, last Sunday. He was not at all like himself...and perhaps too much, at the same time." So much of that faux-James had been a cover, a cover that MI-6 had perfected over the years, but there were parts that were vintage James in there, and that worried him more than he cared to admit.

Armand felt the need to say something soothing, something cheerful, to the new boy. "I know it's hard to believe us, but if you get a chance, you can look at the bulletin board in the Sun Room." He pointed toward that door. "The nurses try to tell us we're crazy for believing that we're ourselves. They won't give you your watch back because it's part of who you are." He tried to sound serious and real, not condescending. However, in the mood he was in, he had no idea how well he'd done.

Finally, he let his worry and unhappiness return when he looked back to Alec. "I wish I knew how they did that. Margot... seemed so heart-broken, but there wasn't anything I could do for her, because I'm not who she thinks I am. She isn't who I think she is either. Can you believe that these--these people have tried to claim that I took a gun and threatened people with it? Me?" He shook his head.

His V-Watch is a part of who he is? He hadn't thought of it that way, but it was probably more a part of him than anything else... even his lucky shirt. But he knew he couldn't really lose it so soon after he got it, that would just be... well... he didn't know. And besides, he'd always found a way, even when he lost his powers. It felt weird having to try and cheer up two guys older than him, but they needed it. "Well, I've got news for you. I've made it through worse horror movies, and I always make sure there's a happy ending."

Armand's story sounded a little more like what Alec's should have been than anything else. "Really? They've been quite vague with me. I seem to have suffered a temporary psychotic break due to work-related stress," he said conversationally. "And the reality of it is so much more interesting."

Joe's insane optimism couldn't help but make Alec laugh, which was something that hadn't happened in the past few weeks. "You'd need a lot of help for that. This place doesn't exactly lend itself to happiness...or pleasant endings, despite the cheerfully ironic choice of attire."

Armand smiled too, even though he was shaking his head. The boy was so optimistic, so cheerful. "Well, perhaps you'll be the one to figure it out." There was less condescension and more a small hope that perhaps someone was undaunted enough to break the chains. "But remember who your enemy is." He pointed upwards. "Dr. Landel. You likely heard his voice on the... com-no, the intercom this morning."

"There was work stress in there somewhere, I believe, but what kind of work makes someone take up a gun and hold hostages in his brother-in-law's offices? At least these people seem to give me credit for being more clever than I am in reality."

Joe finished his meal and stood again. "Alright, Dr. Landel. Got it! Thanks for your help, I'm gonna go check out that message board. And stay cool, dudes - the hero has arrived." With that, he walked off toward the door he'd been brought through (at least, he assumed that the room with sunlight was the Sun Room).

Alec chuckled again as Joe walked off. Then, in a low, though no less cheery tone, he said, "Ha, ha, ha...he's going to die, isn't he."

Hero. Please. Not for the first time, the ex-00 was convinced that some of the inmates actually belonged here.

And then, as if the universe agreed with him, he had to duck a flying piece of French toast. Glorious.

"Perhaps not right away," Armand said, his eyes also going to the departing young man. "If I didn't die the first night, he has a chance, if he's lucky." Of course, Armand's first night had been with Javert and Alex. "Have you spoken to Javert recently?"

"What?" He looked around to see where the flying food came from.

"I saw him yesterday afternoon. He seemed shaken. I think that he had the dubious honor of receiving a visitor." And Alec had a pretty good idea of who it might have been. It was one literary pair of adversaries that he had remembered - Javert vs. Valjean, the determined inspector against the reformed, unjustly persecuted ex-con.

Javert really wouldn't appreciate it if he said he felt more like Valjean...

"Get down!" Alec growled, trying to yank Armand out of the path of the flying breakfast.

Armand turned his attention back to the Alec, since he couldn't find where the toast had gone. The frown over the news about Javert had just settled, when his eyes widened in surprise at Alec's shout. He wasn't braced and got yanked almost flat against the table, straight into the heavily piled plate of food the nurse had given him.

"You bastard!" Armand cried, and picked up the now-squashed bits of toast and flung them at Alec. He scraped sticky syrup and eggs from his face and licked remnants from around his mouth. He was laughing a bit now instead of frowning though.

Whoops. So maybe that had completely defeated the main objective. But at least he still had his reflexes--

Apparently not, since Armand's surprise toast attack hit him in the face. He was, quite literally, gobsmacked.

Now, Alec Trevelyan could handle a lot of things. He could handle being shot. He could handle being exploded. He could even, somehow, handle falling several stories. But food fights were something alien to him. "Bastard, am I?" he said mildly, scooping up some of the scrambled eggs in his hand. "I'll give you bastard..."

Torpedo tube one, you may fire when ready. Engage! And the eggs were away.

It may have defeated the purpose, but it was a silly thing. Armand needed something silly to distract him from his horrid mood, not to mention that it saved him from having to eat that enormous plate of food the nurse had given him. Giggling, Armand ducked down, close to diving under the table, but was slowed by grabbing his plate to take with him. It wouldn't do to deprive himself of ammunition. So he ended up with eggs in his hair.

Now he also had a reason to look forward to getting clean in the showers later. A food fight was a brilliant plan. He wondered who he should thank, other than Alec. He grabbed two sausages, ate one and jumped up to chuck the other across at Alec.

Holy--! Flying sausage! Trevelyan ducked as the aerodynamic food item went sailing past his head. Scowling, he picked up a piece of bacon and bit off the end of it, much like how one would arm a grenade, then threw it at Armand.

Funny, but this was definitely helping his mood. He just hoped that there wouldn't be any nurses coming to spoil the fun. Maybe this would give him the motivation to actually go out and do something this evening...

With a giggling screech that shouldn't have come out of the mouth of a grown man, Armand ducked, then looked through his plate for more ammunition. There were still a few eruptions of flying food elsewhere, but he spotted a nurse and orderly team closing in out of the corner of his eye. He scrambled back into his chair.

He swallowed down his giggles, and slammed his plate back onto the table. "Alec, I think we've been caught. Nothing happened, yes? We were caught in the crossfire." Not all the giggles would stay suppressed. He couldn't find his fork, and he suspected that something squishy, perhaps a bit of egg, was between his rear and the seat of the chair. So he picked up a bit of cantaloupe with his fingers and nibbled on it. He needn't have been so delicate. His face and hair were sticky with syrup.

Oh, damn, speak of the devil. There they came, intent on making everything boring and institutional again. Trevelyan could teach them a thing or two about the value of chaos, that was for sure.

Still, he didn't wish to start off another day pumped full of drugs. He reluctantly returned to his seat. "Right. Just rather unfortunately seated at the conjunction of two neighboring food fights." He nodded and looked around. "Now where's my goddamn bacon?" he asked, although he knew for a fact that it was probably lurking somewhere in the neighborhood of Armand's hair.

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Day 37: Breakfast

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