damned_institute | Day 38: Patients' Library

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Day 38: Patients' Library

The intercom rang out, disrupting what had turned out to be a rather pointless breakfast conversation, at least in Brainiac 5's eyes. He couldn't wait to put more distance between himself and Scar's blather of how logic, of all things, might not work the same way in this dimension. It was almost enough to make him believe that the man may very well have been a lion originally after all, as he'd never heard anything so very... ignorant and uneducated.

He quickly finished up the fruit he'd been nibbling on - he was no longer as hungry as he had been - and looked around automatically to see where Clark was. Unfortunately with the press of people around, some being led off to the library and others to the mentioned 'therapy sessions' - if that was what they really were - he had lost sight of the Kryptonian. Still there wasn't many places he could go, so Brainiac 5 would be able to catch up with him eventually to check on his condition and try and learn more about what had happened last night. That the Chapel had healed him - admittedly by passing his injuries to another - was interesting, but far more important in his eyes was what had happened to Clark and his powers. They hadn't been working correctly and that worried the Coluan boy more than he would normally have admitted. Without Clark's abilities... he wasn't sure what they would have to rely on in order to escape.

Another problem he would have to deal with was Grell... or, if he was to believe the notes on the bulletin board, the person pretending to be Grell. But that was going to require more careful planning before he made a move. Come to think of it, he had agreed to meet another in the library today on that same post that had sparked this whole mess. At least then he would have something of interest to look forward to, as he doubted any of the 21st century books were likely to be worthwhile to someone of his advanced intellect.

Following the nurses led him to what must have been the library; a reasonably large room filled with a range of archaic books on tall shelves, a few tables and chairs interspersed around the room. The Coluan boy couldn't refrain from wrinkling his nose in distaste as he entered the room, not liking the cumbersome books and the dust that he knew would have gathered on them; he much preferred the clean arrangement of his C.O.M.P.U.T.O. systems back in the Legion headquarters. It was much more practical then shelves and shelves of books on fictional worlds and dated information.

Trying to avoid as much of the room as possible, Brainiac 5 settled himself down on a chair to wait, keeping an eye out for a tall, dark-haired man with a red... something on his forehead.

[for Homura]

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Tony finished with the line he was midway through copying before looking up from the map, glancing first at the closed book, then at the man across the table. The corners of his mouth twitched, and his eyebrows rose in amused question. "They didn't have The Count of Monte Cristo. I take it you're not a fan?" he replied. Though given the book was sitting closed beside him rather than actually being actively read, one might guess he wasn't the biggest fan of Dumas himself.

He rolled his pen between his fingers, eyebrows twitching just a tad higher as he noted the other man's selection. "Conrad. Cheerful."

"Not exactly," Bruce said, noting the man's sarcasm without surprise. The sharp words were not hostile, though, and judging from how diligently he had been copying the map, this could be a man worth speaking to. Dark brown hair, brown eyes...seemed to be around Bruce's age. American.

...well, at the very least, this could be interesting. Not that Bruce really needed any more "interesting" conversations, but he had an escape route if he needed one.

"Nothing like close encounters with cannibalism to lighten the heart," he said, the mock-serious tone betrayed by a slight smile.

"Then again, you're probably right. With how things are going around here...I like my fiction a little further from the truth, thanks."

Tony didn't quite smile, but the corners of his mouth curved just a little further upward. So the other man had a sense of humor. That alone might make him interesting to talk to, or at least to annoy. "So you figured out the mystery behind Friday night's mystery meat already, huh?" The question was delivered solemnly, though the amused glint in Tony's eyes betrayed him.

He was very careful not to seriously consider whether or not it was possible the kitchen staff really had added a few of the vanished patients to the cookpot.

"It explains the experimentation. And the cholesterol content in my breakfast."

Despite the non-content of their conversation, from the way this man carried himself Bruce would venture a guess that he was one of the more careful ones here at the Institute. Though Bruce did not comment on the map the stranger was copying, he made a mental note that whoever this guy was, he had friends or allies here to help him out.

"And if we're going to be trapped here forever, I'd rather it be for some useful purpose. Rather than say...reality TV."

"Reality shows are useful," Tony replied. "They provide a brief, shining window in which a large percentage of the country's idiots are off the street."

He ran his left hand through his hair, the right still fiddling with the pen in the absent manner of someone who was used to having his hands occupied, with one thing or another. His expression went faintly abstracted as he realized the gesture only sparked a slight twinge. He glanced curiously at the bandages as he lowered his hand back to the table. One more strange thing in an ocean of oddities.

"I doubt they're planning to keep us here forever," he continued. "Not with the rate they seem to be bringing people in."

Bruce caught the man's strange reaction. The almost puzzled look at the bandages seemed to indicate some kind of surprise...but what for? Considering the monsters around at night, it wasn't surprising that most of the people here were injured in one way or another. Did something about the injury bother the stranger? Or...

...jumping to conclusions was useless this early in the game. Just because there were people with supernatural abilities here didn't mean that everyone had them.

"Oh?" Bruce said, looking up again.

"How frequently do new patients get admitted, then?"

"There've been two sizable groups admitted within the last five days," Tony replied. So the man was new, then, or at least had not likely been there any longer than Tony himself. "And no indication that this is anything out of the ordinary. They don't seem to be running out of room in a hurry, either."

Considering the number of death notices he'd seen go up on the bulletin board, the faint inkling that the rate of admission was dangerously close to the replacement rate had been a hard one to banish.

Running out of room...thinking of the number of disappeared and deaths, Bruce was even less inclined to pursue that train of thought. But if the patients were admitted based on cyclically enough so that other patients could begin to predict when new patients would arrive and post up information posts for them...well, that could be something to work with. No one seemed to be aware of any exceptions to that rule, either; strange, for a mental institution.

Bruce looked up, realizing he had been a bit quiet--too quiet, maybe, considering the persona he was supposedly adopting. Despite his sarcasm, this man didn't seem to be the malicious sort; even if he was, he didn't seem to be the kind who would react too dramatically even if he was familiar with Bruce's name.

"I'm sorry, I didn't get your name. I'm Bruce--Bruce Wayne."

A check of the name against his mental database turned up nothing. This didn't surprise Tony; he'd never been terribly good with names unless he'd either had a pressing need to remember them or the person had made some sort of impact. He knew he hadn't met Bruce before, and was relatively sure no one had mentioned the man. Or, if they had, it hadn't stuck.

"Tony Stark," he replied. He finally dropped the pen in order to offer a hand. It was almost reflexive, boardroom behavior become ingrained habit, and slightly out of place against the hospital grays. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce took the hand automatically, responding smoothly to the proffered handshake despite the widening of his eyes when the man said "Tony Stark."

Bruce never forgot a name--never mind one he'd learned less than 24 hours ago. Tony Stark: Wally West's roommate, sarcastic CEO and member of his own superhero group at home, and more importantly, one of the two--no, including ZEX, that was three--people who knew the Flash's secret identity. Bruce doubted he had the wrong man; the sarcasm was there, sure enough, and the one he'd just offered up his hand was reminiscent of the way corporate America introduced itself in the boardroom. There was another thing Bruce remembered about Stark as well, something that hadn't bothered him before but was definitely food for thought now.

Kinda like you...you guys have a lot in common...

Ending the handshake on a firm but carefully timed shake, Bruce focused all his attention on Stark now, plans to get to the Sunroom cast aside. Although Wally found cause to trust Stark, judging from the man's subsequent judgment in trusting the less-than-subtle ZEX, Bruce had every reason to be cautious. At least the man didn't have superpowers--just technology and more cash to burn than most people knew what to do with a lifetime. Fortunately for Stark, it seemed he and Bruce really did have something in common, by that account.

"Tony Stark? Really? What a surprise."

He smiled, politely engaged in the conversation, but not much more than that.

"Wally was just telling me about you yesterday. I didn't expect to meet you so soon."

It was telling, though of precisely what Tony was not quite sure, that his initial reaction to Bruce's recognition was to wonder if this man was also supposed to know him in some other dimension. He'd have to get over that quickly once he got back home. (And he would get back. The alternative was unacceptable.) It was almost a relief to hear that no, he'd simply been mentioned.

This sort of recognition, he knew how to deal with.

Still, it raised the question of why Wally would have mentioned him in the first place. His roommate was a little free with information, but there had to have been some cause. Which abruptly made Bruce interesting for reasons unrelated to brief indulgence in gallows humor.

"Small world," Tony replied. His slight smile and lofted brow revealed nothing more than faintly amused interest. "Nothing too embarrassing, I hope. So, you guys are friends?"

"Yes, friends," Bruce answered, though he couldn't help the slight pause at the end of "friends." He felt a strange sort of guilt using the term; friendships with Bruce Wayne were never easy, as he'd learned the hard way. Especially not close ones--the kind that involved unconditional trust from both parties, given to the other. Even so...the way in which Wally had given Bruce his trust was, for lack of a better term...easy. As if he was so completely sure that no matter what version of Bruce he was talking to, Bruce Wayne was someone to be counted upon and relied on. It was a difficult feeling--one that Bruce had yet to adjust to.

Tony finally smiled, and Bruce couldn't help but wonder if Stark kept up fronts as well. The viciousness with which he jabbed at the Institute, however, seemed perfectly genuine.

"Though, how 'embarrassing' the content of our conversation was would have to depend entirely upon your impression of me."

The polite expression turned into something more like a smirk. "Wally said we're a lot 'alike,' after all."

"He's a good kid," Tony remarked. It was meant to be offhand, but he surprised himself by genuinely meaning it. Something not to dwell on, lest he be accused of becoming sentimental in his old age.

Well, uh, kinda. More along the lines of what you said you do though.

There were other possibilities still, but it was seeming more and more likely that Bruce was the friend Wally had mentioned, if only briefly. His gaze sharpened with keen interest, kept firmly in check by the very public nature of their surroundings and the likely implications of just how cagey his roommate had been when mentioning the man. Despite accusations to the contrary, Tony was well aware of the merits of discretion. He just had little interest in the normal conventions surrounding when and how to apply it.

The slight smile became a smirk of his own, with just a hint of self-mockery to it. "I knew I never should've mentioned that night in Dubai," he replied, sighing heavily. It was virtually meaningless, save as acknowledgment.

The "good kid" comment gave Bruce pause; the smirk disappeared, replaced by a more thoughtful, considering look.

Bruce caught the change in Stark's attitude, as well as the hint in his acknowledgment. It seemed Wally had, for once, picked someone to trust that could keep secrets. This was but their first meeting, and yet Bruce was already starting to get a sense of Tony Stark as a person. The way Stark could observe and focus was in itself indicative of a persistent nature. He was evidently cautious, but either trusted Wally enough to tell him about his "second job," or had enough of a sense of fairness to tell Wally one of his secrets having found out Wally's own.

All that would have to be good enough. For now.

"Paris," replied Bruce, equally meaninglessly.

"In my defense, it was going fine until she called me her 'petit maquereau.'"

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Day 38: Patients' Library

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