damned_institute | Nightshift 39: Janitor's Closet

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Nightshift 39: Janitor's Closet

[from here]

It took five solid kicks to damage the door enough to get it open, and that was only after Spider also spent some time hammering at the doorknob with his flashlight. By the end of it, he was thanking whatever stupidity had lead him to build up such tremendous foot callouses.

He wasn't too hopeful he'd find what he needed here. He wasn't confident enough in this distant past's technology to trust they'd developed it yet. And yet ... there it was! Resting on the shelf in front of him like angel spit! Spider grabbed the duct tape in his mostly-working hand and pranced around the room, hollering with joy.

"Alright, you're not all bad, past! Haha! You're not all bad after all!"

The next few minutes were a blur. This was partially because Spider was dashing around the room, thoroughly examining its contents. However, it was mostly due to the fact that Spider decided to sample the aroma of every chemical he identified. Paint thinner, paint stripper, paint, and toilet bowl cleaner all went into a pile in the center of the room, and were quickly joined by glass cleaner, carpet cleaner, a couple of spray bottles, and some air freshener. The room swirled and fractured, and the industrial-strength toys on display sprouted bold outlines. Spider reeled.

He affixed one, two, three flashlights to his torso, switching them all on at once, bathing the ransacked room in the holy glow of his righteousness. He made submarine noises, and around his neck he wore a sign that read, "Caution, Wet Floor." Over the emblem of the stylized falling man, Spider duct taped a stern No Smoking sign.

Garbage bags! Garbage bags! Just the thing to carry even more drugs than what the pillowcases could handle. One was taped to his chest, under the wet floor sign. He put his legs through the bottom of another, then taped the holes at the bottom and most of the top so he could wear it like a dress. And then ... he saw the hand truck.

In moments it was outfitted for his journey. His pile of chemicals, now with bleach and paintbrushes added, tied to the straining dolly with three extension chords. Beneath them rested the box of garbage bags, and beneath that was a red toolbox, full of useless caveman implements no doubt, but not without its vintage charm.

Was he forgetting anything? Besides his last name? Nothing! Except ...

Doing his best to hoot and holler around the box cutter clenched in his teeth, Spider wheeled into the hallway once more. This time, he was prepared.

[back to here]

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_{[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/588881.html?thread=48626001#t48626001)]}

Unfortunately, it was pretty damn dark in the enclosed space as it was everywhere else, only there was no light from bobbing flashlights at all to help his dulled senses. He could make do, though. The darkness didn’t make him blind.

As if it hadn’t been obvious before, the first five seconds of examining the room told him it’d already been ransacked, and ransacked well. Hmm. He did a quick scan of the shelves, but found no flashlights. Well, there went that plan. It was looking like he’d need to get one some other way, or come back the next night. The doll sighed. So much work for a flashlight that I don’t really need…?

There were batteries for flashlights, though, and he absently flicked one into the air and caught. These were nice to have. He took three sets, tucked them into the pillowcase he’d brought, and then put that away as well. It was too small a load to need to carry with his hands. When that was about all he could think of taking off the shelves, something occurred to him, and sent the doll backtracking into the corner. There were the metal pipes stacked against the wall. For personal use? Not something he was interested in. But all the same, he picked one that was about three feet in length, and idly tapped it against his shoulder as he left to rejoin Leon.

Exactly as he'd said he would, Leon parked himself in the doorway, one foot planted firmly on either side of the threshold. He kept his attention largely on the hallway outside, senses alert for anything or anyone coming; monsters weren't the only danger, after all--patients wanting whatever was left in the storage room might be willing to fight for scavenging rights, after all. It had nearly come to that once in Leon's memory, and he doubted the experience was unique to him.

Ren wasn't in there very long, though, and a glance at the wreckage of the room told Leon why--whoever was in here first had made off with probably almost everything of any use. Figured. "Done?"

“Yup!” he said, with more good cheer than was absolutely necessary in such a situation, but Ren didn’t need to pretend he was heart broken. “Ready when you are.”

Now, on to the patient possessions room. That area was a lot bigger, despite the rickety shelves stacked high with boxes, so if something was planning to drop down from the ceiling and eat them, it could do worse than a place like that. A metal pipe made for a good bludgeon, as he’d seen quite clearly in the past, but who knew, maybe he could get away with not having to butt heads with anything. He only had so much energy to spare using his powers, after all. Leon probably wouldn’t appreciate it if he overexerted his supernatural capacities and passed out, with a body that stood at over six feet.

Ren wouldn't much like what would happen if he passed out, either--Leon would have to drag him to get him to safety, so he'd end up with floor burn on top of whatever injuries he got from the fight. "Let's go, then. Looks like this place got hit by a real piece of work. You might want to try contacting that person who's been offering things for trade, instead."

_{[and back out to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/588881.html?thread=48691537#t48691537)]}

This room was an absolute wreck, but nevertheless, B went immediately to searching not only for useful things, but for any sort of beneficial clues or information. After all, this wasn't really the sort of place fitting in with the day-time facade- "patients" would not have been allowed there.

Dropping to his knees and switching on his flashlight, he began shuffling through a pile of fallen objects, painfully careful to avoid getting any substances on his skin or clothing despite sitting there on all fours.

Endrance couldn't think of a response to that immediately. He wrinkled his nose again; the chemical smell was overwhelming, and he had to stifle a few coughs. It wasn't terribly dignified, but one did what one must in a place like this. He didn't know how his companion was handling it, being on all fours in a a place like this.

As he thought over how to respond, he took one of the longer pieces of pipe, then a second smaller one. If the larger one wasn't enough for a sword of the type he preferred, then the two together should be. He also took a set of extra batteries, to be on the safe side.

When he was done, he stepped outside, leaning against the wall. "I suppose you could say that, about life being a game. But...in such an immersive environment, such as the game was...it's easy to let the game become one's life. And a more pleasant one than reality can be."

B gave no indication, but of course he took careful stock of Endrance's actions, noting with interest that he seemed troubled by the smell of chemicals. B recognized that he too should be careful, to avoid fogging his own mind even though he was already exercising caution. But he thought that had he not been so low to the floor, he likely would not have noticed the trash bag he found, seemingly lost under a number of other things when whoever had been there before had taken the rest of them. He began filling it with the wipes intended for surfaces and hands alike- all of them that he could find.

"You think so? Maybe you're right. Hmm..." Finding an extension cord, he shook it out and shoved that in his bag too, then turned to look at the dark shape of the doorway with a rare, slightly mischievous smile. "But that is over with now. And this is the new 'game' we're playing, like it or not... a second chance, correct?"

He didn't reply immediately, instead turning away and walking a few steps forward. Endrance was thinking of what everyone else would have done in this situation. Of course, Haseo's voice was the first that came to mind, a sharp 'Screw that. We're not playing a game here.' The same for Kite, years ago, only with less harsh language and more earnest determination. It would be Mia - the real one - who would reply with a question or a cryptic remark; one that years ago he might not have understood, but would now.

Finally, he took a deep breath, sighed, and muttered, "...this isn't what my second chance was supposed to be." He settled on that; there wasn't any need to explain it more than that. He took a few more steps forward and out into the hallway proper, waiting for either steps following him or turning out the other way. Either way, it didn't particularly matter.

[and out to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/588881.html)]

Edited 2009-03-17 02:48 (UTC)

[from here]

As soon as he stepped inside, Klavier could smell that immediate reek of chemicals. He clamped a hand to his mouth and almost, almost, stepped back out again. Not due to disgust, but because one of the first things he smelled was bleach. If some absentminded halfwit had been sitting in here mixing bleach with certain detergents, it would have turned the room into a death trap. That particular gas, however, would have caused an immediate reaction as soon as he stepped inside rather than just a 'bad smell.'

Still he kept his hand to his mouth and hesitated a few moments before venturing too far into the room. Some slow-acting poison gases could still be produced with the same chemicals. He wasn't feeling any of the beginning side effects of any he was aware of... for now.

That aside, the place was an absolute mess. Obviously, people had ransacked the place. A good twelve people by the looks of things. Kristoph wasn't kidding when he said it was popular. His free hand directed the flashlight toward the shelves. It was probably a good idea to not spend too much time in that room, even if the chemicals were harmless. The task of looking for a blunt object was pushed from his mind. Useful supplies should play priority. If any were left.

Even without a single foot inside the closet, Kristoph caught the overwhelming stench flowing out from the center of the tiny room. One sweep of the flashlight revealed the source: a pile of industrial-strength cleaners, sloppily thrown open and dropped onto the floor. Someone had had a bit of fun.

He lightly touched a finger to his nose, as if testing the air. In truth, the man was flashing a warning. His companion likely did not know what those mix of fumes could cause. Oh, they may have no effect now, but if something went dreadfully wrong...

"Klavier," Kristoph said, softly. "Please take care to stay near the open door. I would like you breathing properly." A pause. "We may move in when we've located our prize."

That was advice Klavier planned to listen to. Poison or no, too much exposure to those cleaners would probably cause a pounding headache and some dizziness at the very least, both of which could prove fatal in a dangerous environment like this. And so, venturing only a few steps into the room, he carefully ran his flashlight over the shelves.

From what he could see, there wasn't much in the way of very useful supplies here. There was little point in taking paper towels, restroom signs, or a hand vacuum. If there had been anything worth taking, it looked like it was gone. Great. That left the task of... looking for a weapon of some kind. How did one even go about something like that?

He refrained from sighing. It was just something to make a potential foe back off. That's all it was. Self-defense in a place that clearly required it to some degree. And it wasn't as though they were looking at guns here. His flashlight went over a broom and mop set, a bucket, some pipes, fluorescent tubes... He kept the light on these items in consideration.

Well, he knew from case experience any of these items would make a plenty decent weapon in the right (or wrong) hands. But he wasn't in a rush to hurry over there and grab one with such intent. He still wished there was a way to avoid this... It took a moment before he could make himself finally say something. "Ah. These. They... might. Perhaps."

The eyebrow just above Kristoph's blue eyes raised about half-an-inch. Honestly, there was nothing wrong with the suggestion; those items would make suitable weapons in a pinch. Only... He had not thought Klavier would be the first to point them out. His brother dealt with the highly unconventional, true, but in regards to his own safety, Kristoph had expected something more orthodox.

"They will be fine," he said after a slight pause, as though assessing the younger man's choice. "The pipes, especially. I would wager they are the more durable choice." He, too, let his flashlight linger over the row of items.

Klavier would never admit he had actually been holding his breath waiting for his brother's answer. Not that he was much more relieved when he finally got it, though he nodded in agreement. ...It would probably also be easiest if he didn't think too hard or too deeply about this. It was a necessity, after all. There was no sense in letting some insecurity affect their decisions, especially if it was going to waste time.

Almost distractedly, he brought the pillowcase to his mouth as a weak excuse for a filter. Personally, he didn't think the fumes could cause anything beyond a headache at this point, but better safe than sorry. He moved further into the room without checking to see if his brother was following him in or not. Just best to get this over with.

He picked up two of the pipes on the ground, each somewhere between one and two feet. It was hard to tell how much exactly. He had no plans to test them out or whatever it was people did when choosing potential weapons. In fact, he held them almost loosely, like something he was merely collecting. And that's all he was doing for now. He turned back to find Kristoph still by the door, waiting patiently as usual. Klavier hurried back like he was more focused on getting back to the open door.

[From here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/588881.html?thread=49057617#t49057617), arriving after Kristoph and Klavier leave.]

The first thing Kurt noticed when he approached the door was the cocktail of chemicals on the floor, combined with the state of mess that the room was in. The mutant immediately raised his sheet to cover his nose, making a noise of disgust and coughing.

"Ugh... it's everywhere..." he moaned, realizing his sheet was drenched in the stuff on the floor. And considering he was barefoot, and he had no idea what the toxic substance was (was it eating through the floor...?) he was a little nervous. Frowning, Kurt abandoned his sheet and dropped it over the chemical spill. He wasn't planning on walking over it, but it should mop up some of the schlock on the floor.

Kurt started looking at the room, trying to take stock of what was in it. There were strips of duct tape, boxes, and various supplies strewn all over the floor. What in the world had happened here?

"Right... tool kit," Kurt started moving some boxes around, flicking his tail nervously. There was another door, too. Maybe there was something behind there?

Tony's lungs protested at the chemical reek cast off by the soup of solvents and other, less identifiable things on the floor. Even if it wasn't toxic, it was certainly revolting, and he struggled to keep from choking on sheer principle. He narrowed his watering eyes, and peered over the disaster zone of a janitor's closet.

It looked like the room had been hit by either a tornado or a particularly malevolent two-year-old. With so many things strewn around so badly, he couldn't begin to guess at what had gone into the chemical cocktail brewing beneath the sheet Kurt had dropped. He couldn't even tell if the chaos had been deliberate or the effects of a vicious fight in close quarters. Either seemed equally likely, considering the temperaments of the institute's inhabitants, human and otherwise.

"We're going to have to be quick," he muttered, stepping carefully wide around the chemical spill to rifle through scattered implements on the other side.

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Nightshift 39: Janitor's Closet

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