damned_institute | Day 41: Intercom, Evening

Ugh. Dahlia was thankful for small miracles. It had been a long day, she was tired of sobbing hysterically on Junpei's shoulder, and dinner by herself (shortly followed by sleeping and not being hanged) sounded wonderful. She played the normal innocent game until her nurse was out of the room, then went to eating her fish with gusto. Much better than prison food. All she needed now was some more lackeys to do what she wanted them to and everything would be perfectly fine with her.

That little 'pen-pal' route sounded like it had some promise, at least with helping in the 'suckering people to her side' department. As long as that stupid, nosy attorney was around, she needed all the help she could get to paint him as the villain he was. What was he thinking, getting in her way again?! Didn't he learn his lesson the first time? Obviously not, the moron.

...She was halfway through with her fish when she finally noticed the second bed in the room. Great. And just when would this cellmate decide to grace her with their company? Hopefully later. She didn't feel like dealing with anyone right now.

Eileen wasn't entirely certain what to expect when she was led back to an entirely different room than the one she'd left that morning. Why did they keep changing rooms? Or was it just standard when new patients were brought in?

She understood it all meant that she wasn't rooming with Renamon anymore. The girl had been nice - and helpful. They hadn't been terribly close, but Eileen liked her. And it was nice, having one stable person she saw and talked with every day.

She was escorted to F34, and she made note of the number. She was ushered in, and gave the red haired woman already inside a friendly nod and a little wave. Obviously, this was her new roommate.

That stretch of silence in the shower lasted far longer than X would have liked. He did, occasionally, turn his attention to Grell and doing as such lifted his spirits a bit (was it considered leering if they looked back?), but so long as he was trapped in that room with that steam and water irritating his burn, he was not alright. Needless to say, he was quick to leave the instant it seemed IX would say no more.

It appeared that Mr. Grants was not in the quarters at the moment, which was fine with Luxord. He took to slowly eating his dinner and planning the events for both the night and the next day in his head. To think, last night was such a fine experience! Now he was having to take care of an injured II, "Tim" was plotting his demise, dearest Brainiac was trying to place a wedge between him and Celes, Celes had every right to be suspicious of his actions, and Grell was... well, Grell was Grell and Luxord appreciated that. What a mess this was all becoming...

As von Karma started in on his meal in his new room, he reflected on what had happened during the previous shift. Despite the promise of a potential new minion, his mood had gone from marginally pleasant to grumpy (although the latter was hardly new for him) just in the space of what was apparently only a couple of hours. His attempt to control the high amount of worthless nonsense on the bulletin board was foiled by reminders that he was merely adding to the "noise to signal ratio." Very well. If they were uninterested in using it to share more practical information, such as what his student and this "Lelouch" were doing, so be it. He would just have to continue to seek out more rational people to talk to in person, such as Javert.

The conversation with his former roommate had brought about more questions than answers. Other people had disappeared and returned but without memories of this place? Why had this not been the case for him? But before they could solve this bizarre riddle, the blasted nurse had dragged him to the shower, thus abruptly ending their talk. Unfortunately, he would not get to talk to Javert again for the rest of the day; they both had been assigned new roommates.

von Karma was not particularly eager to meet this person, especially since the nurse had said that he was new to the Institute. The last thing he felt up to doing was answering questions from an ignorant patient -- especially when he himself had a number of them that were as yet unanswered. Hopefully, someone else had already filled this man in on the oddities of this chaotic hellhole.

Megatron’s female human, as inevitably as always, had returned. The voice over the intercom was odd, and horrifically cheery – obviously, the Quintessons had brainwashed a few dozen humans into performing their bidding, along with a few figureheads to keep the masses in line.

The human had let him stop at the bathroom, which turned out to be a wholly traumatizing experience unto itself. What had truly shocked him, even more than this body’s natural biological processes, was the discovery of his reflection in one of the mirrors. It had been rather surreal, watching a human face, a human form, copy his movements. Megatron’s facial components were as lined as he had assumed, and he was unfortunately in possession of more hair than what should be possible.

Any denial of his humanity, his mortality, to that point was quickly nullified. He was not only organic, but also a clearly aged organic. Age wasn’t a concept that was necessarily a predominant worry for Cybertronians, as they could be upgraded to a point. This was not something he could upgrade from. The lone relief came in the form of his eyes. Even though optics had now become human, they were identical no matter what form he was in – a dark, familiar red.

Megatron, of course, was quickly retrieved from his musings. The nurse lead him down corridors until they came to a halt in front of an anonymous door, as identical as all the others that lined the hallways. The female calmly handed him his dinner tray, before leaving him to his own devices.

Surprisingly, there was another human settled with his own food. An older man, aged to point not unlike Megatron’s own human form, and reasonably impressive in stature – especially in comparison to those he had met throughout the day. Judging by the nature of which the facility was run, Megatron was reasonably suspicious that the Quintessons were setting them all up for a one-on-one death match. They were allowing their human captives to refuel to their fullest potential before fighting, and the victor would move on to verse the creatures that were kept within the halls.

"Evening," Megatron dryly acknowledged, quirking both brows. It was an odd turn of phrase that Sumdac had often used, and it would serve Megatron’s purposes just fine.

The room was sparse, and extremely sterile. Needless to say, quite appealing to Cybertronian tastes. There were two recharging berths, a table with additional storage, and two containment units. Leaving his dinner on the table, he pushed the journal to the side with a snort, and roughly tugged open the drawers.

Miniature locking devices – no doubt to the room itself - they would be of use. Two sets of small, human-sized batteries were an oddity, as he could see nothing that they would be placed in. He rummaged for a moment more, and - ah Writing utensils. Useless in theory, but with enough force, should surely be able to penetrate a primary organic artery. He knew they would have little bearing against the creatures he was suspecting to find within these walls, but they would suffice until he could find a weapon of greater value.

He pocketed three pens, before turning his attentions to the containment units, not remotely worried by how odd he would appear to his human associate. His searching proved fruitless. Nothing but human coverings, all with that infernal insignia. The realisation was enough to make him pause. The symbol was rather distinctive. Colourful. Happy. From what little he could recall of the Quintesson insignia, it was also emotive in nature. However, that symbol had always been a sign of aggression. For creatures that were so debatable in their own emotional nature, they certainly defined themselves rather expressively.

Who knew Quintessons could have senses of humour? Their primary embellishment one of furious power, whilst the symbol of the containment facility – supposedly Landel’s - was endlessly and irritatingly joyful.

...it further condensed Megatron’s belief that they were being used for infantile entertainment.

Done with his searching, Megatron sat back down at his table. He eyed his fuel with distaste, before turning to the human.

"I do not suppose yours is any more appetizing."

For once, Lockdown didn't grumble as he was led back to his room for evening refuelling. After the events of last night and today, he had a feeling that he and HK-47 were going to have some very interesting conversations tonight.

HK wasn't here yet, so Lockdown just sat quietly on his bed until his fuel was brought to him. "Well, let's see what I'm suppossed to intake today,"

The bounty hunter looked down at his food. Today it was some sort of pink meat (salmon, he suppossed), a lump of white stuff, possibly the 'potatoes', and some sort of vegetation in the form of small green stalks. Lockdown started on his meal, taking his usual tiny bites, since he had nothing better to do until HK got here.

HK should have been distinctly miffed at the whole world at this particular moment. His hair was still wet, every once in a while releasing a few drops of water down the back of his neck in small skirmish attacks on the dryness of the rest of him. The shower that had gotten him wet in the first place was another reason he should be miffed. After all, he'd had to deal with the terror that was meatbag-kind, unclothed in all their squishiness.

But HK was not miffed, because he was having a delightful time confusing the fek out of his nurse. She always kept saying how he shouldn't talk about such morbid subjects, but now that he was cheerfully spouting off phrases like "Statement: I just adore all meatbags." And only subvocalizing the rest of the statement so that it could be true, the nurse now suspected he was up to something.

He was still talking almost without stopping for breath as he was lead into his cell. That unfortunately meant that the other inorganic would hear him, and that might absolutely ruin his blood-stained reputation, but... Kriff it. HK decided he would test out this new psychological weapon on everyone within range.

His nurse almost fled as he called "Valediction: Good night, meatbag!" Droid-kind triumphs again!

F34

Re: F34

M16

M62

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no subject

no subject

M101

M3

Re: M3

M98

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M41

Re: M41