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damned_institute2008-11-20 12:50 am
scarletspeedstr.livejournal.com) wrote in damned_institute2008-11-20 12:50 am
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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.
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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Maybe this had been a bad idea, but they were here now, and Dias was talking about it. The man probably needed to get it off his chest, even if he didn't want to admit it himself.
The news didn't bode very well at all, and Guy couldn't help but worry - mainly for Claude's sake. His friend had seemed intent on finding Ashton last night, and if the brunet really was missing, it was obviously going to effect a lot of people.
Ashton being absent from his room wouldn't have been so strange if his roommate hadn't been gone as well. Guy scratched awkwardly at his head (it was odd having to use his left hand for everything) as he thought it over.
"It's possible that he got taken for brainwashing or to be experimented on," he suggested. "And maybe his roommate had just gone off somewhere by the time you got there?" He didn't think it was a good job to be jumping to conclusions too quickly, even if Dias' frustration was totally understandable.
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"You know," he said, glancing around at the staff that was watching over all of the patients in the cafeteria, "you might want to ask one of the nurses about him, if you know his real name. I think sometimes they'll give out information if... they have it."
Namely, they might know if Ashton had been "discharged," though Guy wasn't about to spell it out for the other man. He figured knowing for certain would be better than having to work with maybes and what-ifs, but everyone was different.
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He suspected Guy was trying to be helpful, even if most of the evidence thus far suggested something to the contrary. (Clearly one of the reasons he got along with Claude was because they both had the tendency to stick a foot in their collective mouths.) So, before he could try being any more helpful, Dias added, "And his roommate's missing, too."
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If Ashton was gone, there was always the question of how. Dead, or just disappeared? Neither was ideal, but Guy personally preferred the latter. Maybe it was more ambiguous, but sometimes that was a good thing.
"I'm sorry," he eventually offered, not because he was automatically assuming that Ashton was gone, but because this wasn't something anyone deserved to deal with. "My best friend disappeared from this place, so I've been there," he explained. "Hopefully Ashton will turn up."
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Then again, Claude still wasn't entirely happy about his relationship with Ashton - possibly it hadn't been discretion at all, but discomfort. Not that it really mattered, in the end.
"Thank you," he said finally, deciding to shove aside his problems for the moment. He had, in retrospect, been a little rough on Guy due to his worry over Ashton, which wasn't quite fair given that Guy hadn't done anything to deserve it(aside from one ill-timed remark; Claude had done far worse when they'd first met). While Dias could be abrasive, and knew it full well, he didn't try to be intentionally so unless people earned such treatment.
"Is your arm healing well?" he inquired, in an almost forcible derailing of the current topic and an awkward attempt at friendly concern instead.
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He glanced down at his arm, glad that Dias had asked about how it was healing rather than what had caused it. Guy would have felt obliged to explain, seeing how he had wandered over and questioned the other swordsman about all sorts of personal things.
"It's doing all right. The pain is mainly gone today, so that's good. Though tonight I'm going to get it properly healed." He could only hope that the spell would be successful and that his arm would be as good as new afterward - though if it wasn't, he would just have to deal with it. Staying in one night was acceptable, but he wasn't planning to make a repeat performance.
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He managed, though he was wishing that the younger man wouldn't take all the blame for something that had hardly been his fault. "He helped me to the clinic last night, so I guess that answers your question," Guy explained, somewhat distracted.