damned_institute | Day 40: Greenhouse [Fourth Shift]

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Day 40: Greenhouse [Fourth Shift]

Most days, fish and chips (and a cold beer or three) was pretty goddamned high on S.T.'s list of perfect expense-account lunches. Today, the idea of picking at greasy hunks of unidentified bottom-feeder odds-and-ends (politely known as scrod, to the delight of teenagers all across the Northeast) didn't appeal.

He begged off and collapsed into his bed, after using his damp shirt as an excuse to surreptiously check the contents of his closet. Bingo. His nurse watched his little show, unimpressed but (more importantly) unsuspicious. Not that his hairy chest was much of a catch today, pale and sweating from fever. At least she didn't tuck him in.

The intercom woke up up right on schedule, and pulling the sheets back over his head almost won. But a handful of unanswered missives and a vague sense of duty dragged him out to the bulletin, and from there it was easier to stagger over to the greenhouse.

It was warm inside -- a deep, humid warmth that actually penetrated to the aches in more joints and muscles than he could remember the names of. Like a sauna, without the hassle of finding someplace to look that wasn't a mound of pasty middle-management cellulite. Or a sweat lodge, without the opposite hassle of being conscious that he was the only white guy in the room. In fact, besides the nurses in holding patterns, he was the only person in the room.

He located a tray of tomato seedlings going rootbound in their tiny six-packs, and a potting bench whose location was a quick-and-dirty approximation of equidistantly far from anything blooming. He assured his nurse he knew what he was doing, and after a couple of successful repottings, gently sliding the little seedlings out and loosening the tangled roots, she seemed to agree and backed off. It was, by far, the most fucking theraputic thing he'd found in this hellhole so far, and he let himself sink into the rhythm of the task.

[Free!]

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[excellent!]

It didn't seem to take long before Van found himself with company. Thankfully, it was a young, unfamiliar man instead of someone that was likely to recognize him and would try to pry into the source of his injuries. The missing fingers didn't go unnoticed either, but he wouldn't ask about that. If he asked nothing of the younger man, then there would be nothing asked of him.

Returning his gaze to the pots and plants before him, he continued to replant the seedlings. Some sort of vegetable would be his best guess as to what they were. "Have you done much gardening before?" Van asked, mostly to start conversation. The plants and the young man would serve as a suitable distraction for now.

Leon was definitely content to leave injuries out of the discussion entirely, yes. He was not at all inclined to pry, and more than happy to keep his own matters to himself. That the conversation wasn't starting with 'so how long have you been here' or 'what the hell happened to your hand' was a huge relief to him--it got so old, so fast, and he'd been here a long time.

Shaking his head and smiling ruefully, Leon packed a little more soil in around the first seedling he'd managed to wrangle into a new, larger pot. "None to speak of. Not an occupation that went with soldiery, where I come from."

Van chuckled softly. "Of course. Not many soldiers have much need to learn how to plant flowers." Not that it was an entirely useless skill as some knowledge of plant life would be useful in simply knowing which plants to use and which avoid if one was somehow separated from his platoon, however planting flowers and vegetables offered little aid on the battlefield.

"You were a soldier before you arrived here?" A young one, from the looks of him. The young man couldn't have been much older than his sister, perhaps even younger than her. Not that that was much to judge the young man's abilities on, as Tear was a formidable soldier in her own right.

Supply trains were a terrible pain to organise, but on the other hand they were extremely useful for keeping troops in things like vegetables. Living off the land wasn't a situation that had ever come up for Leon, though he had been prepared for the possibility just in case. Hugo was always one for covering every conceivable angle.

"Yes, a Knight Captain of my kingdom." The youngest ever, but Leon saw no reason to mention that--he hated being judged by his age or size.

"A Knight Captain?" It took a moment for Van to think of an equivalent rank for it within the Order, and he wasn't sure if his guess was correct. But if it was, being a Knight Captain at the young man's age was quite impressive. "I see, you must have worked hard to earn that rank. Do you mind if I ask what kingdom you come from?"

Placing the now potted seedling on the rack, he paused a moment and gave the young man a polite smile. "I don't believe I've introduced myself, forgive me. My name is Van Grants." He had considered using his 'given' name, but there would be no point in it if men like Luxord and Teisel already knew his real name and were likely to make sure others knew of it.

"Hm, yes, I was answerable directly to the Generals." And occasionally the King himself, but that was because of Hugo's influence and Leon's own reputation as a swordsman, not because of the rank itself. Of course, the fact that he got special treatment made it even worse dealing with the soldiers assigned to his unit--they seldom had the slightest respect for him until he beat it into them. "I'm from Seinegald. I'm sure you've never heard of it, no one here has."

The name didn't sound at all familiar to Leon, and if this Grants was a soldier and was from Seinegald, then it should have. So that confirmed Leon's assumption that this man was not from his own home--maybe one of the other kingdoms, at the most--and therefore shouldn't have any preconceived ideas about the name Leon Magnus. "I'm Leon Magnus."

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with Seinegald, it's not a nation of my world." Which suited him just fine. Leon knowing less about him was preferable, just in case he ever found himself speaking with Luke or his friends. Or even Teisel. "You must be an excellent asset during the nights here if you've been able to command a military force back home."

Brushing as much dirt off his hands as he could, he reached his hand over for a handshake, curious to see if Leon was the type to accept it or not. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Leon snorted disdainfully and put down the plant he'd been working with, not wanting to take his frustration out on the poor thing. "The clubs here don't seem to consider past experience or skills when they make their assignments, only how long one has known the club leader." Leon had stopped working with them partly because of that, and partly because of the way they changed groups around every night--not being able to get used to any one companion's abilities or fighting style was no way to form a group truly capable of working together to their best potential.

At the offer of a handshake Leon hesitated for a moment, largely because his right hand was the one that was mangled and he didn't really like letting other people touch it. But showing weakness by refusing was also unacceptable, so Leon brushed the dirt off his hands and shook Van's hand. Despite the missing fingers, his grip was reasonably firm--it was only holding things steady that he found difficult, or keeping a grip under extreme force.

Van frowned deeply as he listened. Of course, it shouldn't have been a surprise that there would be many patients here that were incapable of organizing a proper group, but with the number of men he met with military experience he was still a bit shocked. "The 'clubs' are are, ineffectual then?" If so, it would likely be better for him not to waste his time with any of them.

The missing fingers made the hand shake a bit awkward, but Leon did not refuse and was still capable of a firm grip. Van would still need to see him under pressure of course, but all ready the young soldier seemed like a useful ally.

After giving him a firm shake, he pulled his hand back to continue working with the plants. "Perhaps, it would be beneficial for you to create your own club instead of relying on others to lead. I imagine with your military experience and a group of good men, you'd be able to accomplish a great deal."

"Certainly the Arts and Crafts club was, when I worked with it. I believe the leader met his end a few nights ago and it's now under new leadership, but I can't say whether it's gotten any better. I never worked with the History Club. The Cooking Club's new leadership seems to be decent, but they have very specific goals of course." Leon was happy with the sword they'd made him, but that meant that his interest in their services was now over and done with.

Leon withdrew his hand as well, flexing the remaining fingers and making a quiet, pleased noise when there was no lingering pain from the handshake. It seemed he was fully healed. Well, it had been two weeks, which in this place was a long time.

Returning to the plant he'd been potting before the handshake, Leon smiled wryly and commented, "I can't say I haven't thought of it. Starting another club, though, with so many different groups already working independently..." He sighed and shook his head. "Dividing the patient population even further, I'm not sure it's for the best."

There seemed to be more 'clubs' than he had thought. Van would need to look into them further, just to learn their purpose. Though he already knew of the 'Cooking Club' and its purpose, the other clubs may have some uses. "A poor leader will always meet his end in due time." Even good leaders sometimes die simply doing their duty, but Leon likely already knew that.

"Perhaps it would be mistake to divide things further," Van said thoughtfully, giving the tomato plant a closer look. Frowning slightly, he pulled off a brown withered leaf before potting it. "However, it would impossible to unify all the patients under one club. There would be far too many differences and conflicts, and there would be few here that would be able to lead such a large group effectively." He paused a moment, considering his next choice of words. "Several smaller groups would get more accomplished. If each club has a specific purpose, then all that would be needed would be an exchange of information and materials between clubs. An alliance, of sorts."

Not that he expected such a grand vision to be fulfilled or even wanted it to. All Van needed was to find one small group capable of leaving this place, the rest of the patients were none of his concern.

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Day 40: Greenhouse [Fourth Shift]

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