damned_institute | Day 40: Lunch

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Day 40: Lunch

*hobble wobble*

"Damn that SCOURGE!" Starscream cried out, the slowly-filling cafeteria producing a jarring echo of his raspy voice. His limping, already bad enough from not knowing how to properly use his crutches, was now exacerbated from the injuries he'd received the shift prior. Despite the gauges in his non-casted leg so lovingly provided by the aforementioned 'patient', Starscream could still put some weight on it, but not so much that he could really stop and rest; relieving the soreness under his arms was out of the question. The nurse that walked behind him with his tray, already upset at having to deal with yet another troublesome inmate, was growing rather impatient as his charge slowly made his way down the food line.

"Just...give me a standard serving of the aquatic creature's flesh, some of those fried potato slices, two bananas, and three bottles of juice," Starscream sighed, his anger from just a moment ago assuaged by the physical exertion needed to move the way he did. "I'm going to sit down here...bring it to me when you're done."

He was hardly surprised to find that one of the bananas was completely bruised along its inner curve, or that the handful of 'chips' on his plate were all on the small side. Tired and frustrated as he was, however, he could barely muster a 'damned flesh-creature' before moving his fingers to the plate, picking one of the longer 'chips' and shoving it into his mouth listlessly.

There was an unusually high concentration of sodium chloride crystals on it. Of COURSE.

[For Tony Stark]

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Eating still wasn't high on Phoenix's list of priorities, despite his nurse's insistence that the fresh air should have helped his appetite. A nap after dinner and before night fell was already starting to sound like a good idea; he'd never known that having a headache could be this tiring. Then again, he'd never had both a migraine and uncontrollable hallucinations, so it wasn't as if he had much basis for comparison.

Pulling out the first available chair he found, he took a seat and sat back, picking at his bowl of fruit. He could only hope the constant headache wasn't a permanent side-effect of the treatment. He was planning on getting out of here sooner or later, and he wasn't too keen on the idea of spending the rest of his life in sunglasses, chugging painkillers.

"Afternoon," he greeted mildly, glancing at the woman beside him, who also seemed to be more interested in rearranging her food than eating it.

Instead of helping him clear his head, Godot's trip to the recreation field had left him hotter than a five-alarm fire. By the time he walked back through the doors, his hands were clenched so tight in his pockets that his knuckles were white. He went over each detail, thinking out the possibilities. What was true, and what wasn't? What had to have really happened, and what couldn't Trite do even in a thousand years?

Only one way to find out. If something was worth asking, ask the witness. That was one of Godot's rules.

He paused long enough to scribble out a little love note for Trite, not wanting to make his intentions quite so public. That Blondie could still tip off Pretty Boy if he wanted; Godot's temper should have made it clear that the name intended to make a move. But just in case Kristoph Gavin decided to sit this round out, it was better to leave his little invitation off the bulletin. This party had an exclusive guest list, and Frills McRufflepants wasn't welcome to join.

Signed, sealed, and soon to be delivered, Godot took the paper into the cafeteria with him. He ignored the food line and it's lack of refreshing beverages to instead search out a certain spiky-haired idiot in the crowd. Once he found Mr. Trite, Godot stalked over, ignoring the little lady with him in favor of taking aim. It wasn't a coffee mug, but there'd be at least a spark of satisfaction in watching the paper folded into the same shape bounce off Trite's empty skull.

Godot wouldn't have missed it for the world. So he lingered long enough to make sure his aim was true before he headed off.

As the cafeteria filled up it became inevitable that someone would join her, though the man who eventually sat next to Ayumu didn't seem like he was all that interested in conversation. In fact, he didn't seem like he was interested in much apart from possibly some rest, so perhaps it was still possible for her to continue watching Homura and Okita speak without having to pretend interest in conversation with the man.

Of course, that was until someone else decided to contribute to their lack of conversation. Ayumu noted the white-haired man's approach but didn't visibly react; she identified the projectile as not aimed at her, even if it had been a weapon, and pretended not to notice until it had almost reached its target.

She gave Phoenix a friendly smile in response to his greeting, but anything she might have said was cut off with a startled little squeak as she ducked a little, away from the flying paper that didn't have a chance of hitting her.

Even the little tap to his hair caused Phoenix to start, looking around quickly before his eyes settled on the item that had bounced from his head and landed next to his glass of juice. He stared at the folded paper in confusion for a second, until he noticed the impress of handwriting on it. Phoenix hadn't had a note thrown at him in years. At least this one wasn't a paper airplane. The novelty of those getting flown into the back of head and consequently stuck there had worn off by third grade.

The piece of origami was actually surprisingly skillful, and Phoenix didn't have any trouble discerning the form of a tiny, white mug. He'd already been turning in his seat to see who'd thrown it, but that one detail made it that much easier to zero on on a glimpse of white hair and red-tinted glasses before the crowd swallowed it up. Sighing, he turned around in his seat again, glancing to the woman beside him. He didn't blame her for being startled. She'd obviously been injured at some point - a rough night or two here was enough to make anyone gunshy of things flying at them.

"I'm sorry about him," he apologized, corner of his mouth curling in an apologetic half-smile. He took it as granted anymore that he was going to have crazy people sniping at him over grudges, but he still felt bad when bystanders got caught up in it. "He must be bored today."

Well, at least it wasn't going to be entirely boring at lunch today. The two of them clearly had some kind of feud going on, judging from both the throwing of the projectile and her table companion's somewhat exasperated-looking reaction to it. Not quite so dangerous a one as the kind with which she was familiar, at least, but Ayumu still found herself curious about the whole situation.

She blinked once at the man, still looking mildly startled, then after a second seemed to collect herself and gave a quiet laugh. "It's all right," she replied, with perhaps the faintest hint of a blush, as though embarassed at how startled she'd acted. "There was no harm done." Especially since the thrower seemed to have left once done with that one thing, so hopefully there'd be no more projectiles in the near future.

Ayumu turned back to the food she'd been pushing around on her tray, giving the man beside her a sidelong glance. "Does that sort of thing...happen often?"

"Not often, necessarily. But this is the first mug he's thrown at my head that hasn't been ceramic, if that tells you anything." He picked apart the paper gingerly, speaking as the message unfolded itself from the little symbol. If he was as prone to poetic metaphor as the man who'd lobbed the item in question, he would've found something very profound in that.

Trite:

Time to have a talk, man to "man." Meet me in M50 after the lights go out, and make sure to leave your boyfriend at home.

But try to remember my flashlight. Not all of us like playing the fool stumbling about in the dark.

Godot

The letter received a quick scan (man to "man"? what does he think I actually am, a fish?) before he tucked it facedown under his tray. A 'talk.' He tried to interpret the words as charitably as possible - maybe he did just want to get on the same page - but at the same time he knew that there was no way he was going to M50 tonight unarmed. He remembered very well how the last nocturnal, secret meeting Godot had been involved in had turned out, and while he wanted to believe it could never come to that . . .

Well. He couldn't really afford to take those risks, right now.

"It's just - he has this grudge against me for something that's not actually my fault. You know how it is." For all the confidence in his words, his face didn't match, shifting through a broad spectrum of uncertainty. "I think he'll come around, though."

Holding grudges? Oh, no. Ayumu wouldn't know anything about that.

She'd automatically tried to read the note as it was unfolded, but it was small enough and at the wrong angle; since it wasn't likely to be important to her at all it wasn't worth it to make any more than just a small effort. "I suppose so," she replied, sounding a little dubious about the whole thing. It was a rather odd situation to be in, after all - it wasn't every day she ended up a bystander in an origami war. (At least, not when Okita wasn't around.)

"Well." Ayumu cleared her throat quietly and smiled, apparently deciding to let that go for now and change the subject. "It's nice to make your acquaintance. I'm Sen."

"Phoenix. It's nice to meet you." He was a little relieved by the change of topic, to be honest. Going any deeper into the whys and wherefores of that grudge meant a long story of murder, murder, poorly-conceived romantic choices, and more murder. Sen seemed like a nice young woman. There was no need to bother her with all of that.

He offered his hand to shake, automatically, and hadn't even finished extending his arm when he remembered that she might not be able to reciprocate. The retraction was a little clumsy, salvaged only by an embarrassed "-ah, sorry." Smooth. Very smooth.

"I didn't - yeah." He scratched at the back of his head, if only because just dropping his hand to the table again seemed even more awkward. "Is your arm okay?"

The awkwardness of the gesture was noted, but Ayumu took it in the sense that it was meant - it appeared that this 'Phoenix' was polite enough, and seemed to be genuinely friendly. Despite the fact that he'd somehow annoyed the white-haired man enough to want to throw paper projectiles at him, of course, but sometimes nice people just attracted enemies.

She smiled at him and shook her head a little to indicate that she realized the reason for the apology but didn't feel it was necessary, and just moved on. "Oh, it'll be fine, I'm sure. It's hardly injured at all." It was the truth, after all, even if she did say it in a 'I'm trying to be brave' sort of tone. "A...friend and I ran into a little trouble last night."

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Day 40: Lunch

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