damned_institute | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Good to know." Hughes nodded. "I'm a Brigadier General back home, myself. It's always a pleasure to work with other soldiers." It made things easier, and made him a lot less likely to hold back less than pleasant or more dangerous ideas. Military folks could handle it.

"I'll have assignments up later today, on the bulletin."

He was copying down the information as he spoke, to keep track of who could do what and all of that. He'd match them up based on the info he gathered.

"It is also quite a bit easier," Celes agreed echoing his thought. "I will look for the note." She returned to her meal. The use of so much magic, not to mention Siren's symbiotic suck of her own magical reserves had left her drained and weary. She chewed neatly at a bit of bacon and looked thoughtfully at her plate.

They'd done some terrible things to her in that white walled room, but damn if she couldn't think of the whole thing clearly. Perhaps it was a kind of mental block. "I wonder what the process the Institute's good doctors," there was a heavy trace of sarcasm on that word, "do to the patients that return their abilities," she said idly. "I remember very little aside from great pain." And needles, longer needles than Cid had ever thought to use on her.

"Yeah, it is."

Hughes nodded, and was glad the morning was starting off well. If he could keep this up, maybe the Cooking Club would get back up to snuff.

"No one really knows how they do what they do," he went on. "They guard their secrets real close. This is all a big game. Sometimes I wonder if we even matter, or if we're just convenient little game pieces."

Celes examined a piece of bacon, "I'm willing to believe, that with the patient number that constantly and consistently fluctuates with little regard to the relationships built on their being here, that they do not care which pieces stay on the board, or leave play. In my own experience, they've removed pieces quite abruptly in a matter of days." Edgar, Larsa and Gabranth, naturally, had affect her in what she could only think of was a uniquely crippling blow.

"However, I understand that some of them return, either with no memory of their previous time here, or as the 'visitors' which seek to affect us in abstract ways. But, you know," Celes dropped the cold bacon back on her plate and neatly wiped her fingers clean with a napkin. "Though I am all for playing games, I think it's far past time to start making our own rules. This Head Doctor changes them far too often for my tastes."

"It's hard to tell," Hughes said, glancing up as though towards the intercom. "I feel like there's a reason behind all the crazy stuff, but I just can't figure it out." And it drove hum nuts.

"We've been trying to make the rules for a while. It just doesn't seem to work too well. Right now, Landel's still holding almost all of the cards. We need some more of our own before we can start changing things up on him." He shrugged. "I mean, other than just organizing everyone to stay in their rooms at night so we don't let him play his nighttime game...."

And that was just ridiculous.

Celes hmphed, quietly, the wheels of her mind turning to try and discover some angle they've over looked. "I think it's because there are too many free agents - that is, too many patients that just go off on their own, for whatever reason. Certainly, some discovery has been made through the use of free agents - the basements, for example - but on a whole, we're not presenting a very united face to our enemy. Landel uses this quite effectively against us. And with the death of the former 'radio' man, the newer one has either been ignored entirely, or scoffed at for not being 'Jack.'" Celes postulated and ate the last bite of her French toast.

"But, on the other hand, trying to convince those patients that are civilian in nature to form up and be united would be like herding cats." Thank the Triad for the military.

"That's because we've just got chaos here," Hughes pointed out. This sort of conversation was one he was used to having, after all. "There's no government, no system of rules or laws. I mean, we've got what Landel puts down, but he's not exactly a respected authority figure. We've got different factions that need to be on the same page, free agents like you said, people who've got no idea what they're doing, in-fighting...."

It was exactly like a prison. Stripped away of medical trappings, there was no difference between this place and any prison back home in Central.

"I'm supposed to meet with one of the other club leaders today, I think. Maybe we'll figure something out, I dunno. You wanna come?"

Celes had, without intending to Hughes imagined, somehow managed to get Hughes thinking of her as his own second in command.

Celes mulled it over for only a few moments before replying, "I would be glad to." She nodded slightly, and meticulously cleaned her hands with a napkin, hoping knowing that a shower was soon on the way.

"Perhaps we can start unifying the groups together," the general had lived entirely too long to put all her eggs in one basket. What if this other club leader was as stubborn as an ox?

"I appreciate it."

And Hughes did. He felt better having someone to...well, watch his back, he supposed. And bounce ideas off of.

"It's a nice thought, but we'll see. Some of them are big, the group leaders don't really know me the way they knew Roy...." They'd have to see how it went. "Hey, but who knows? Doesn't hurt to throw the suggestion out there."

Day 37: Breakfast

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