damned_institute | Day 37: Men's Showers

I wouldn't really call this a locker room. More like a bathroom with lockers. The place was uncomfortably crowded, with almost every adult male patient being hustled into the showers at once, but Phoenix wasn't as annoyed by the claustrophobic, milling throng of bodies as he might have otherwise been. Every extra person was one more person who might end up standing between himself and Edgeworth.

He knew that the prosecutor would have a fit if he found out about this. He'd known since he'd tacked that first response up on the bulletin board. And in a way, he couldn't blame him. Phoenix knew that he jumped into things all-or-nothing more often than most people. At the same time, he had some kind of reality testing. He wasn't going to learn the basics of how to defend himself and suddenly decide that he was Rambo.

He found an unoccupied locker in the southwest corner and glanced around, trying to gauge how long he could possibly stall in a locker room, looking as if he was expecting something, before people started looking at him strangely. It would have been easier if he'd known something of the description of the man he was supposed to be meeting. As it was, all he had was handwriting and a military rank, neither of which guaranteed any particular appearance.

It's not as if there was a better way to plan this, though. "Yeah, meet me by the lockers. I'll be wearing gray and a smiley face, just like about a hundred other guys."

[for Hughes]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Had they let him sleep through breakfast? How generous! ...Except that now Matt was starving with a full shift to wait through until lunch. Bugger all.

And it was the showers as well. Things might be okay as long as his stomach didn't start growling in the middle of it and embarrass him - though it was unlikely anyone would be hearing it over all the various faucets running.

He picked out an available showerhead near a blond he didn't recognize and began checking over what minor damage he'd sustained from the night before. The bruise on his shoulder was hardly even visible. The healing in this place was incredible. Catching a glance at the man beside him, however, was a reminder that not everyone was so lucky. He whistled in admiration before he could help it. Most people didn't live through a wound like that.

Even the sound of rushing water flooding the showers, there wasn't any missing that whistle. Sanzo opened his eyes. His first thought that it was Homura, and that somehow his memory returned. That somehow his day was about to get much worse.

Except it wasn't Homura. It was some kid he'd seen around before, but other that, he didn't know much more about him, other than that he wasn't minding his own business.

Sanzo's shoulders relaxed a little anyway. Better the kid than the god. Although it still would've been better if he could shower in peace, without the gawking.

"What the hell are you staring at?"

"Ah! Sorry." Matt glanced away somewhat belatedly. He could certainly understand not wanting to be gawked at in the showers. He'd have been weirded out if someone had done the same to him. "Just, uh, noting the impressive scar." And he'd seen impressive scars. Well. Mostly Mello's. He still thought he was a fairly good judge of overall impressiveness.

Pressing on probably wasn't the best of ideas, but curiosity was winning out on this one. "So, did you get that here?"

'Impressive'. That definitely would be the word he'd use to describe it. More like sore, sensitive, a general pain in the ass. A reminder of how things had changed.

"I wouldn't call nearly being gutted impressive," the monk said dryly. Was this another one of those people who thought scarring 'gave character'. He'd always thought that particular idea stupid. Sanzo's body was covered with old and new scars, but he didn't think they were impressive. Just a testament to the life he'd lead so far.

At least he didn't try to bluster out of it or lie that he hadn't been looking. Then again, he'd been caught red-handed. Even Goku usually knew well enough to give up right then.

Sanzo rubbed at the hair on the back of his neck, working the lather in. He looked away from the kid.

"Yes. It was during one of the nightshifts." It was killing him that he didn't know how much time had passed. He hadn't seen Goku yet so far, or even that bitch Callisto.

Now the question was if he'd be satisfied with that and leave it alone.

"Well, I dunno. The fact that you're still alive is something, isn't it?" Matt shrugged. It didn't seem to be something the man wanted to talk about much, and again he could understand that. (Awkward shower time and all.) Really, he was surprised enough at himself for initiating conversation in the first place.

From the glimpse he'd gotten at it, he imagined it had to be a fairly recent injury, at least as far as how fast this place healed people. He still couldn't make a sure estimate, but it had really already been obvious that he'd received it here. It wasn't an older scar.

Sanzo didn't say anything for a moment. There was still that question of whether he'd really survived or not. If that numb feeling earlier had been anything to go by, Obi-Wan had severed his spine. If having his insides vaporized like that didn't do him in, then that and the spine should have.

To his credit, he managed to push down the faint taste of bile rising in his throat.

"...It is something," Sanzo admitted. It was a bad move, even dignifying that with a response, because it'd make the other patient think it was okay to keep on talking. Sanzo hadn't realized he'd even muttered that until it was out, exhaustion and pain making it hard to focus.

Shit, he needed to get his act together. Now. It didn't matter how tired he was, or how much it hurt, because an enemy wouldn't give a damn about it. Sanzo's face darkened into a scowl.

It was obvious that Sanzo wasn't interested in conversation, and Matt wasn't usually the sort to pursue it. Seemed wrong somehow to just leave things on that note, however. He was bothered by something, and there was a fifty-fifty chance that asking him about it would get him somewhere. (And if it didn't, heck - the guy wasn't in the best of moods already. It couldn't hurt much.) Mello'd been going on about him needing to make connections, and all.

"You okay there, mate?" Matt did his best to keep his gaze averted, as Sanzo had already gotten ticked off at him for staring. It was possible the injury was still bothering him if it was relatively new.

The obvious answer was no, he wasn't okay. Sanzo was far from it. But he'd bite his own tongue off before he ever admitted that out loud.

"I'll manage," Sanzo grumbled. Despite the fact that the monk was busy trying to cold-shoulder the patient, he was being surprisingly persistant. Why the hell did he always manage to attract people trying to talk to him?

Sanzo finally looked back him.

"Are you usually this nosy?"

How the hell did his look any different from the wounds the other patient's suffered?

Had he heard the complaint out loud, Matt would have made sure to point out that most wounds the other patients had looked as potentially fatal as his had and thus didn't draw as much attention.

"Actually no," he answered Sanzo's question with a short laugh. "I'm usually pretty good at minding my own business, so I'm very sorry for making you an exception." He wasn't, of course, counting any instances when he was spying on others. He didn't generally make conversation at that point.

He turned his attention elsewhere, then, finally catching sight of Mello standing with Near, of all people. Near, who seemed to have gotten himself pretty badly hurt that night before. That was new. He'd have to find out what had happened on that end.

Day 37: Men's Showers

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject