damned_institute | 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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When the older man responded, he seemed to have no concern for having been observed. Well, maybe it wasn't rude where he came from--there were so many cultures and worlds represented here that Frey had little hope of learning the etiquette of each. It made his diplomat side quite unhappy to realise that, but at the same time all he could do was move on past the faux-pas and try to reclaim some sort of dignity. "Ah, no. Nothing of concern. I apologise for disturbing you. I was not intending to go anywhere in particular--I've no familiarity with anything in this library, so no real goal, either."

Painfully polite. The kid's manners were straight out of some PBS drama. And his nurse was poking her head down the aisle with a sickening smile and little go-ahead shooing motions. Painfully polite conversation it was. "No problem."

"I've seen most of it before. But this," he held up the book in his hand, "claims to be from the future." Sure, anyone with a printing press could fake a date -- but the book looked freakishly normal. Just another pot-boiler from the future. At least it was another data point towards him not being crazy. The more evidence he had that took real work to fake, the better. Like this kid, whose posture shouted obsessively-well-educated but didn't recognize any books.

"Not a single one?" About half the books in here were crap like the one he'd found, but there were some classics in there. Heart of Darkness was a shelf down. His peripatetic high school career had made him read three times in different schools.

Frey looked again at the shelf, as though somehow a book from his world could have slipped in among the unfamiliar titles, but of course no such thing had happened and he shook his head. "No, I'm not from here. I take it you are? Though from a different point in time..." The vagaries of this place took quite a bit of getting used to, and even after more than a week here it continued to take Frey by surprise at times. "That must be terribly unsettling--it's one thing to recognise nothing, but..." Frey trailed off, his limited experience with small talk leaving him unsure of how to phrase his thought.

"Yeah." The word dropped into the air and hung, like a soda bottle bobbing along some once-scenic river. In a holding pattern before being swept out to sea. Hell, that wasn't a bad metaphor. Flotsam and jetsam, that's what they all were, from all times and places. Together on one shore waiting to make some far-future archeologist's life miserable.

S.T. cast around for something to say -- and since there was still a shelf of fiction in front of him, he prodded the topic again. "D'you like to read?" Fiction wasn't his first choice -- or even his second, third, or fourth -- when it came to non-pharmaceutical ways to relax. Maybe television really did rot the brain. But he had read most of what was on the shelves (time paradoxes excepted) at some point or another.

"I rarely had the leisure time to read for pleasure." During the war, of course, he had been terribly busy with recruiting, trading to build up their finances, and the actual fighting. Before the war he hadn't been nearly so legitimately busy, but if he was home at the palace Lym and others always wanted his attention and if he was off on a diplomatic visit, well, the villagers or townspeople kept him quite occupied as well. "But when I did get the chance, yes, I quite enjoyed it."

What kind of teenager doesn't have leisure time? Fuck, who would even say "leisure time"? His eyebrows creased in thought for a second, but he said nothing on the subject. Different strokes.

"All of the older stuff is classic -- stuff that's stood the test of time." The volumes on the shelves stood out, dull bindings next to the lurid contemporary -- well, contemporary to some time -- books all screaming for attention in large (and sometimes embossed) font. "You can't go wrong with, say," he said, setting the paperback he was holding sideways on a shelf and running one hand along the shelf. Whoever stocked the library did have a sense of irony. He pulled down a copy of Alice in Wonderland and held it out. "This one."

Day 38: Patients' Library

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