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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Ophelia's reply did two things: it didn't actually answer Beatrix's question and it made it quite clear what it was about Ophelia that the Bride had been finding so familiar.

Vengeance.

The passion and hatred Ophelia was displaying for this one-horned monster was like Beatrix's own for Bill and the rest of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad. Such hatred, and the things that brought that emotion about, bred insanity in the one they possess. She could see it in Ophelia. It was almost like looking into a mirror; the only real difference is that the Bride was in control of her insanity and Ophelia was not.

Though Beatrix did not like the arrogant bitch across the table from her, she did respect the desire for vengeance.

"Something to keep in mind, Ophelia - vengeance is a dish best served cold," the Bride replied. "Is a yoma what your world calls a demon?"

"No, but they might as well be," Ophelia seethed as she felt herself coming down from the high of her emotions. "They look and act as demons are said to. Their origin is unknown, but it's probably somehow very much tied to the physical world and not to some nebulous Hell."

She sighed softly, the last of her excited rage slowly fading back into her smiling, cocky baseline. "Now, it only seems fair that since I've explained so much about myself and my world, you should tell me a few things about you and yours," she said, finishing the last of her sausage and then picking up a piece of the warm bread. "Tell me of this strangely literate world you come from, and your place within it."

"Demons come from many different locations depending on one's culture," Beatrix replied.

She felt no need to be 'fair' and tell Ophelia anything about the world she came from nor her place in it. Yet, considering how very similar this location was to her own world - was she really starting to think of it as not her own? (no, it had to be the weird magical shit came to her world not that she been taken somewhere that had it) - that imparting some of that knowledge to the bitch would give the Bride a known advantage.

"It's almost identical to this world. The technology is the same, the names of the places are the same. The only difference is that non-humans and people with magic do not exist in the world I am from," Beatrix said in a bored voice. "As for my place in it... I've been known by several names in the past, one of which was well known amongst certain unsavory circles of society and I am probably still talked about by many."

She peered over her glass at Ophelia. "I am retired now. The things I needed to finish, the situation that needed remedied, have and has been completed. I was set to live the rest of my life out raising my daughter. Then I ended up here." The coldness slipped back into her eyes. "This place has forced me to once again become who I used to be. They have made a grave mistake in doing so."

Well that first part wasn't particularly helpful, thought Ophelia; she didn't know the technology or the place names of this world yet. But, of course, this didn't really surprise her. In truth, she wasn't so much truly interested in Arlene's world in particular as she was in just hearing about the concept of other worlds in general. It was just such a strange concept to her that she couldn't help be intrigued.

The second part about Arlene herself, however, was surprisingly interesting. She couldn't imagine a mere human rising to quite the same heights as a warrior of her own calibre, but she could certainly familiar with having names and reputations among those in the know. She couldn't say that she relished the idea of retiring from her warrior's life any time soon, but in a way, it seemed like a desirable concept. There was no such thing as retirement for Ophelia's kind. All of the organization's warriors either met their end in battle or awakened; there was no such thing a quiet death from old age for them.

"And you don't feel any excitement whatsoever for the opportunity to be active in that way again? Not one bit?" she asked, seemingly innocent enough (though her grin was just one step too sweet to really be taken as such).

Had Beatrix been asked that question before last night, the answer would have been an easy negative.

Yet, the martial exchange she'd had the previous night with Celes had stirred that samurai spirit she held deep underneath the surface. It wasn't the prospect of a good fight as much as it was a challenge by one willing to test skill versus skill without using any of that magic or divine powers or whatever so many around seemed to have. It was learned skill against learned skill in a straight forward setting.

"My skills were developed for a specific purpose; I do not think about them when they are utilized. Thoughts on future instances are of nothing more than determining the amount of pity I may feel for the ones foolish enough get in my way," she replied coldly. "I do not seek confrontation."

Ophelia simply nodded at that, her expression unchanging. Arlene's answer hadn't really been positive or negative, despite the strong-seeming statement at the end. She found that intriguing.

Why would a warrior ever deny the fighting spirit within herself, she had to wonder. Some of the other ranked fighters of the organization puzzled her in the same way with their reluctance to seek battles with yoma without explicit orders to do so. Some were simply afraid because they were weak, yes, but other perfectly capable warriors simply seemed to not do so on some sort of vaguely established sense of principle. Why bother holding back, she'd always thought. The life of a warrior could be very short, and always ended in a very painful fashion; why not live it up in that time, taking pleasure in the addictive adrenaline rush of battle as often as possible? That was a big part of the way Ophelia lived her life when she wasn't seeking the one-horned monster.

"Oh, and what might the purpose of your skills be, I wonder?" she asked, resting her chin comfortably on one hand. "Force of circumstance, as with many taken in by my organization . . . or something more interesting?"

"Something more interesting," the Bride replied. "Wonder as you will; I am retired. The true purpose of my skills is only be revealed to someone who has earned to be on the receiving end of them. Only one has, and that's not you. All other instances are only due to my desire to continue to live."

She took a sip of water. "I feel little need to talk up who or what I am. How many fighting styles are you a master of?"

Well at least the woman probably didn't have a boring backstory as some of the more pathetic organization warriors did. "Wahh, my family got eaten by a yoma and when the organization came looking for orphans, I was powerless to stop them. Wahh, my parents sold me to the organization. Wahh, I was on the streets before and fighting was the only way to live." Oh boo-hoo, Ophelia had always said. She had survived far worse just before being found by the organization, and she didn't regret being given an invitation to join them yet.

Ophelia was more than glad to further talk up who and what she was. "I have mastered several offensive and defensive one-handed and two-handed sword styles. I prefer to flow between them as I see fit, seeing as how yoma can be a might unpredictable," she replied. "And I know one particular special style that I developed myself, one which has nev-- rarely let me down." She grit her teeth a little, remembering the stranger's almost god-like ability to block every single strike from her beautiful Rippling Sword. As soon as she escaped, Ophelia decided, she would make finding out the identity of that stranger one of her top priorities.

Beatrix mentally categorized the different styles, not particularly impressed. She did note, though, that Ophelia only spoke of sword styles. The specialized style was of interest, though, if only because of the bitch's correction.

"Is that all?" She raised an eyebrow. "And how many of those are you actually capable of utilizing to their maximum capacity while here with your... human levels?"

"Hmph, unfortunately, the effectiveness of my personal style will definitely be reduced in this form. It's tragic to think about; it's gorgeous to witness," Ophelia admitted with no small amount of annoyance in her tone. "More standard styles I should think would still be more or less fine if I am able to secure a blade, if perhaps a bit slower than I'd like. I don't know a formal hand-to-hand combat style, but I know more than enough individual techniques to handle myself competently without a weapon."

Well, when she was prepared for it, anyway. She was beginning to wonder if she should chalk up her failure to get past the human women earlier to pure surprise at her new lack of strength. Perhaps if she tried again while knowing her limits, she wouldn't give nearly as pathetic a show next time. Yes. Yes that sounded right. There was no way that someone as great as the organization's Number 4 could legitimately be beaten by mere humans, right?

Well, that was nice to know. With that admission, the Bride knew in an unarmed confrontation, Ophelia would fall easily to her. The bitch barely knew any formal unarmed style and Beatrix was a master in both kung fu as well as Pai Mei's personal style.

"Shame I won't get to see it," the Bride replied. Her voice carried that bored tone again. "You will find weaponry is hard to come by here - swords even rarer." And with the bitch's inability to read, it was doubtful she'd ever find out about the alchemists. It did make her vaguely wonder if Ophelia was observant enough to notice the pairing knife Beatrix had carefully concealed in her hair.

"Not surprising," said Ophelia, finally taking a bite out of the warm bread. It tasted strangely . . . eggy. And sweet. She hadn't really been expecting that. Was this some sort of unique delicacy in this world? "But you said hard to come by, not impossible. I take it there is a way to find something decent if one tries hard enough?" she asked as she took another bite of the oddly tasty bread.

"If you're intelligent enough," the Bride corrected. "Most improvise with things they find through exploration. Sometimes there are acceptable weapons hidden by others you may come across, though most of those you have to defeat one or many of the creatures at night to earn. Still, I'm sure there are other means in which to acquire something decent."

"Good to know," was all Ophelia had to say to that as she continued to munch on her breakfast. She was starting to become fairly disinterested in what Arlene had to say, starting to work out in her mind what she was going to do to prepare for the night and to get back at her two human handlers. Perhaps if she could get some time alone somewhere, she could test her new limits further. "I'm quite resourceful when I want to be. I'm certain that I'll be able to come up with something usable quickly enough."

Beatrix chuckled. "We'll see." She smirked a little as she turned back to her meal. "We'll see." She was going to be keeping an eye on this particular bitch. If she turned out to be too much of a liability, the Bride would simply strangle the bitch with her own braid and be done with her.

All in due time.

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Day 37: Breakfast

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