damned_institute | Nightshift 41: Janitor's Closet

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Nightshift 41: Janitor's Closet

[From here]

Eureka!

This closet, small and cramped as it was, was a veritable data cache of supplies and materials! A practical Au mine! Industrial-strength chemical cleaners in non-Euclidean containers! Buckets of varying sizes, concentrically stacked! Cylindrical lights! Bulbed lights! A hand truck! Duct tape. Sho felt like a little boy in a slide-rule shop.

Pulling open a garbage bag from one of the shelves, he started loading it with all sorts of goodies: bleach, toilet paper, brushes, spray cans, doorstops - it all went in. Filling a bucket full of light bulbs, he duct-taped another bag over the top so they'd stay put. After filling a bag full of metal pipes and other sensational cylinders, he started loading it all onto the hand truck along with his sheet full of broken wooden furnishings from his room. Duct-tape was a key element in adding this lot together into a complex polynomial that didn't look like it would fit out the door.

He paused to take a breath and suddenly the room became a lot quieter. Sho came to acute realization that he'd been cackling madly the entire time.

After a few seconds, the cackling resumed.

Duct taping the toolbox to the bottom of the hand truck and slinging a roll of extension cords over one shoulder, Sho looked about for anything else he might need. After a moment's consideration, he filled another bag full of batteries, spare rolls of duct tape, a hand vacuum and a couple cans of paint, securing this new addition to the top of the scooter stool. He pushed it out into the hall to give himself more volume within which to maneuver. After judicious application of mass*acceleration, the over-loaded hand truck followed.

"Now, for the finishing touches," he said with a grin, adjusting the coils of cords on his shoulder. He looked around, several items catching his eyes.

A few minutes later, he had a flashlight taped to each arm and the roll of duct tape, now quite thin, over his wrist. There was a "Wet Floor" sign around his neck.

[To here]

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[From here.]

Some other patients had been entering the hall right as he got into the room, so Harvey was glad that he had made the effort to rush here. It was difficult for him to know whether or not whoever had broken down the door had taken anything, seeing how the place was a mess, but...

All he needed was something (or maybe more than one thing) that would work as a good enough weapon to deal with Batman and maybe also a monster, if he ever actually had to worry about that.

Using his flashlight, the man started to search around the room, rifling through the piles of random assorted materials. He found a few things that might work, but the brooms and the mops seemed too unwieldy, the plunger was just ridiculous, and the box cutters were small and probably useless when it really came down to it.

Finally, he found one of the metal pipes that Jason had specifically mentioned. It was about two feet long, meaning he would have to get close (but not too close) to hurt something. Not nearly as satisfying or as safe as a gun, but it would have to do.

Even though Harvey doubted he would ever need most of the other things stored here, he still tried to commit some of it to memory in case it came up. With the newly-found, sad excuse for a weapon in hand, Harvey moved back out into the hall.

[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/640052.html?thread=53952820#t53952820)]

Suzaku examined this room just as intently with his flashlight as he stepped through the door. Even though a couple patients had already been in here, you just never knew, and he wasn't planning on risking anything. There didn't seem to be any immediate danger, however, so he turned his attention to the actual contents of the room. And sighed a little -- it looked like it had been thoroughly looted. They didn't have the best chance of getting a decent inventory of what was here, but -- well, that was up to Lelouch.

As it turned out, Lelouch didn't have any objections, but the fact that Suzaku went in without letting him say as much almost made him wish he did. Idiot, was he going to keep dismissing him like that? Not that it was really a dismissal, but it was still irritating. Lelouch did nothing more than frown at the back of his knight's head as he followed him in, though, fully aware that this was hardly the time to harangue Suzaku over such a minor point. He'd probably feel better about it once he was out of this damn coat and didn't have to worry about lifting things anymore.

His irritation grew once he saw the state of the janitor's closet, and sorely wishing he had a hand free so that he could massage his temples again (maybe he should have grabbed some of the Tylenol he'd seen in the other room), he started examining the items resting on the narrow shelf. He wasn't sure why he was bothering when they'd probably have to return another night to get a more accurate account of what the closet usually contained, but recording what was left was better than nothing.

"What do you think it's for?" he muttered, gingerly nudging aside a few items on the shelf with his flashlight so that he could get a better look at what was behind. There wasn't much room in the closet to retreat if something suddenly attacked, but as he was fairly close to the exit, it shouldn't matter much. He hoped. "Don't tell me you actually like the clothes they've given us."

Suzaku shouldn't have been surprised that Lelouch was going to take matters of fashion into his own hands, not when these t-shirts were so far from the other boy's taste. Suzaku hid a smile, turning to keep watch on the shadowy corners of the closet. "Of course not. Are you going to make something for me, too?"

He'd say something about using their time more wisely, but Lelouch was such a genius with clothes that it probably wouldn't slow him down too much. And it wouldn't hurt to take a little time off from planning and investigating, either, not when they had to keep their strength up and their wits about them. A couple days ago Suzaku wouldn't have suffered Lelouch to take any time for himself, but things had changed. In ways Suzaku didn't particularly care to understand.

Turning his mind from that, Suzaku gazed around the Janitor's Closet consideringly. At least this wouldn't take long, if there wasn't much to look through. On the other hand, they'd probably have to come back. It was annoying, but Suzaku had to reserve his attention for watching Lelouch's back and couldn't spare much for annoyance, especially when Lelouch probably had enough for the both of them. "Hey. . . Those other people took most of the stuff in here. Should we maybe do inventory on one of the other rooms for tonight?" He didn't want Lelouch to get too tired, but he also didn't want to waste the time they had. And there hadn't been all that much of use in the first room they tried.

"If you like." Lelouch probably would have even if Suzaku hadn't asked, but it was nice to know that his knight was open to the idea. It was highly likely that Suzaku didn't actually care, of course, but Lelouch wasn't about to let that stop him. Between boring dinner shifts and the inevitable nights during which he'd have nothing to do, he'd have plenty of time to sew new clothes for both of them, and since he hated looking at these uniforms as much as wearing them, well. It was only natural.

He said none of this aloud, though, instead focusing once more on the contents of the shelf and the rest of the room and somehow resisting the urge to sigh. They weren't quite as bare as they could have been, but he still would have liked to get a good look at them when they were full far more than he had liked seeing the storage room unexplored for the night. They was a far wider variety of chemicals available so far from the janitor's closet than from general storage, and while the latter was appropriate for healing and the like, he'd always been more fond of going on the offensive than the defensive. If they could reach the janitor's closet first next time-- but there was no use in thinking of that now.

Suzaku had a point, though. Any inventory that could be made on what this room normally contained would be terribly incomplete (not that that was stopping him or was enough of a reason to give up for the night, but it was something to consider), and with how many other rooms there were to explore... hm. But-- "It's likely all the other rooms have been looted by now," he replied, glancing over. "It's late enough in the night. Besides, most of the rest of the useful rooms can only be reached through the central second floor halls, and from what I've observed, that's a popular area for the institute's more dangerous monsters."

He thought for a moment, then added, "We could see what the patient possessions room has to offer, though. There ought to be something in there that we can use." If one of the boxes had a laptop-- the chances of it having access to the internet were slim, but he'd still feel much more secure if he had something like that to keep his notes organized instead of only his journal. That alone would be worth the effort, as far as he was concerned.

One of the shadowy corners of the closet, unfortunately, contained more than just an ordinary shadow. The darkness shifted, seeming somehow to grow darker and thicker still, focusing on the light and warmth the two young men had brought into the small area.

The phantasm reached toward them, a tendril of blackest midnight stretching beneath the shelves and clutter toward the closest one, the taller one who seemed less alert to danger. All it intended was the lightest of brushes against an ankle: enough to encourage him to stay, to sit, to come within easier reach.

[tiassa - y halo thar ♥]

"Ah, that's a good idea," Suzaku replied, still scanning the room, almost half-heartedly now. There weren't as many places to hide in here as in General Storage, and it was becoming pretty clear that there wasn't anything in here either. That didn't mean he was going to completely slack off his duties, however.

Of course it was a good idea to go to Patient Possessions, because it was one of Lelouch's ideas. It'd be irritating as hell if Suzaku didn't know it was just the way of the universe. He didn't know what they'd be able to find, however. He hadn't had much on him at the time he'd been kidnapped, and he was pretty sure Landel wasn't going to let them find their weapons. Maybe his clothes, but that wasn't too useful, and even the key of the Lancelot Albion would be useless if he couldn't find the machine itself. Unless the possessions were what they supposedly had in their "real" lives before they'd needed to be institutionalized, but even then he couldn't imagine anything especially useful being there. He supposed Lelouch was talking about looting through other people's stuff, too, and he wasn't so foolish as to protest out of some pretension to morals. Maybe there'd be something to justify their excursion tonight.

Suzaku turned a little to ask Lelouch his opinion, but the words died in his throat as his eyes, trained to be attentive to the minutest details in the middle of a lightning-fast fight, picked out something strange in the darkness. Was it just his imagination, or was that shadow -- okay, now he was going crazy. All his carefully maintained paranoia must finally be getting to him. Nevertheless, Suzaku shone his flashlight in the direction of the shadow that had seemed to move of its own volition. And -- he shook the flashlight a little, not sure if it was malfunctioning. Again, it might just be his imagination, but it hadn't seemed to penetrate that area of shadow. "That's weird," he muttered to himself, and walked a little closer to investigate.

Lelouch, as it turned out, was preoccupied enough with inspecting the items on the shelf in the off chance that he spotted something that couldn't wait until their next visit that he completely missed the shadow reaching out towards him. He did glance over when Suzaku shook his flashlight, though, a small frown creasing his brow as he watched his knight draw closer, but before he could ask what was wrong, something cold touched his ankle.

The steady beam of Lelouch's flashlight wavered for a second with his shiver, then lowered to the floor as his grip grew lax and he pulled away from the shelf. He felt so tired-- it was nothing new, of course, not when he'd been forcing himself to keep going despite his exhaustion for most of his stay here, but suddenly he couldn't seem to bring himself to do it anymore. Why was he pushing himself so hard, anyway? Wouldn't it be better to stop, to rest? There was nothing to be gained here, not when the closet had practically been cleaned out by everyone who'd come before them. The same could be said for the patient possessions room, probably, so why would he even want to go there?

He took another step back and pressed a hand to his face, head bowed, eyes closed, and shoulders hunched as he continued to shiver. It all seemed so pointless now, this struggle. It was a familiar feeling, but even his recognition of that and remembering how he had gotten rid of the emotion in the past failed to diminish it. Nothing would change, no matter what he did, so why even bother?

The beam of light was most unwelcome and unpleasant, and the phantasm drew away from it and farther into the darkness unbanished by the flashlight's beam. It followed the seeking tendril that had drifted over by Lelouch, settling into a pool of deepest shadow around the young man's feet.

He'd already been affected by the first touch, but there was still life and warmth left in him, and that was what the phantasm craved. Let the other come nearer as well, for he would only get the same treatment.

Suzaku was still frowning at the weird -- patch of space, really, and he must just be seeing things, as he drew near Lelouch. And then he stopped, looking up, distracted from the probably-nothing in the darkness. "Lelouch?" he whispered, feeling a twinge of deja vu as he did. "Are you alright?" He could just be tired, which would be understandable. He'd been pushing himself, they'd just been doing something physical, and Lelouch had been injured several times in the last few days. And yet -- he was shivering too, even though he was wearing that coat, despite shifting those boxes around. Did he have a fever? Those wounds couldn't have gotten infected, could they? No, whatever else this place was, it was still a hospital, and the patients' wounds were dressed every morning. They would have done it properly. The alternative wasn't something Suzaku was willing to contemplate.

Suzaku was too busy looking at Lelouch's face as he stepped even closer to notice the strangely condensed darkness at their feet. He was still on the alert for anything about to attack them, but his mind was drawing up images of giant things with claws rather than the possibility of something -- well, more subtle. Suzaku didn't do subtle. Except when it came to changes in Lelouch's countenance. Maybe, maybe he was still being too overbearing, but when Lelouch was injured he had the right to be sensitive to the slightest sign that something was wrong.

"I don't--" Lelouch started, then stopped, his arm twitching reflexively as though about to tug his coat more tightly around himself before it stilled again. It was far too cold in the cramped closet, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do anything about it. That was yet another thing to add to the growing list of things that were horribly wrong with how he was feeling at the moment, in fact, but as hard as it was to summon the will necessary to think instead of simply wallowing in his sudden hopelessness, he was slow (far slower than he should have been, some distant corner of his mind supplied absently) to piece things together. That touch on his ankle-- it couldn't have been his imagination, which meant...

He took a deep breath and dragged his eyes open, seeking out Suzaku's gaze and fighting to maintain his hold on this lucidity before apathy took root once more. "There's something in here," he whispered, his head drooping a little lower. Standing seemed like a monumental effort and entirely unnecessary effort, now that he thought about it, but he knew there had to be a monster of some sort in the room (actually remembering which was a little harder, but he'd think of it in a second) and he couldn't-- did it matter? The thing would probably touch him again soon and he was far from being able to drag himself out of the closet right now.

Slowly, gradually, the light cast by the flashlights they carried grew dimmer, as though the room was filling with smoke or dark mists. In the meantime the pool of darkness about the feet of the two men seemed to writhe and thicken, growing in strength and size as it drew the very warmth from the air.

And then a portion of the near-tangible shadow shifted, coiling about Lelouch's calf before slowly starting to contract again. If he possessed enough presence of mind to realize what was about to happen before the phantasm made contact with his skin, all the better to savor that emotion as it was leeched out once more.

Edited 2009-06-15 09:52 (UTC)

Suzaku stared, definitely alarmed now. Lelouch was -- there was something in here? Heart starting to pound a little, Suzaku cast frantically about, but he still didn't see anything. And yet it made sense, because something was doing something to Lelouch -- he wasn't supposed to look like that, he wasn't even -- goddamn, Suzaku couldn't fight something he couldn't see! What the hell was. . . could it have been that thing he noticed earlier? He knew, trying to think rationally now, that there were supposedly some monsters here that had psychological effects and less-than-physical presences, but he didn't recall these exact symptoms. Whatever these symptoms were. Lelouch could barely even communicate -- no, he couldn't afford to panic.

Suzaku waved the flashlight around in the general area that the strange phenomena had first occurred (at the same time that Lelouch had started to act weird, he realized), and. . . The shadows were darker at Lelouch's feet. He was not imagining that, he had excellent vision, and shadows were not supposed to behave that way. They were just the absence of light, so why -- ? Whether that was the cause or not, the best solution he could think of was to get Lelouch out of here, before it got worse, or before it started affecting him, too. But Lelouch looked completely out of it, and Suzaku wasn't sure how well he would be able to move. Wasn't sure at all, because he still had no idea what was happening to him, just that something was, and he hated not understanding what was happening. It reminded him of the SAZ, when everything had been so incomprehensible that the only thing he could think was to find -- why was he thinking about that now?

Forcing himself to stay calm (something he'd never been good at), Suzaku took hold of Lelouch's arm and started to tug gently, mindful of the wounds on Lelouch's shoulders. "Come on, we're leaving. We'll count this stuff later." He tried to make sure his voice was just as calm as his movements, not wanting to scare Lelouch. For all he knew, it was fear that was paralyzing him. Still, he pulled a little more firmly on the other's arm, practically dragging him to the door.

[switching up posting order by request]

The reaching coil closed on nothing as Lelouch was pulled away, but the phantasm would not go un-fed after all. As the young man moved, each step stirred the black mist that was the creature's self, seeming to make the room even dimmer yet until the lights they held could barely pierce the darkness.

Though Lelouch was moving away from the main body of the shadowy creature each movement brushed against it, each movement little by little drawing more life and warmth from him.

Edited 2009-06-16 04:31 (UTC)

A distant sense of relief glimmered at the edge of Lelouch's consciousness when Suzaku began to pull, but aside from the halting steps he took after his knight, he couldn't offer much in the way of assistance. It just didn't seem important anymore, and it was so cold-- couldn't they stop for just a little while? It wasn't like getting out of the closet would do them any favors in the end. Lelouch couldn't even tell why he'd cared earlier, and as even more of his strength was sapped by that thing hidden somewhere by his feet (he'd look, but there didn't seem to be much point in that, either), it was increasingly difficult for him to move. Why was Suzaku insisting on it, anyway?

Lelouch's eyes slid shut again, his already sluggish movements ceasing altogether. His flashlight fell from nerveless fingers, landing on the floor with a loud clatter that completely failed to rouse him from his stupor. The tugging on his arm didn't stop, though, and as the last of his strength left him, he collapsed, falling against Suzaku as if in a dead faint.

Suzaku barely noticed that their lights had been flickering until they nearly went out. He couldn't feel anything himself, but there was definitely something weird about this darkness, and it was getting worse. Lelouch was still aware of his surroundings, still able to respond to him, but his distance and his stumbling movements were already frightening enough. Especially because, other than to say that there was something in here, he hadn't told Suzaku what was wrong. It could be anything, and Suzaku didn't have any idea what to do for him. The only thing he could do was get him out of here, and then try to get a better diagnosis so maybe he could do something useful.

Suzaku groped through the darkness toward the door, but jumped and whipped around at the sound of Lelouch's flashlight falling. He barely had time to register that Lelouch was actually collapsing before the sudden addition of weight made him stumble. He managed to catch the other boy, a muttered curse escaping his lips as he completely lost the battle against panic. Arms under Lelouch's shoulders, he half-dragged, half-carried his Prince through the door, slamming it behind him as they finally escaped the nearly-corporeal shadows.

[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/640052.html?thread=54175540#t54175540)]

[from here--at a different time]

The closet was a mess. A mess and somehow more empty than she had seen it. The Digimon frowned, glancing over the remains. There wasn't much to see. A few smaller things, a few stranger things, and what looked like nothing useful. She sighed, and leaned down carefully to shift through what remained on the floor. Some sharp bolt of pain laced her shoulder, and Renamon carefully froze the limb as not to make it worse.

Her opposite hand caught on something, and she pulled it free. At least something good would come from this. "Not a sword, but perhaps something that you can find useful," she said, holding up the three-foot pipe. A smaller one, by about a foot, was near where she had plucked the other.

Utena bent down a little over Renamon when she noticed the girl freeze up, watching to make certain that she was going to be all right. She let out a silent sigh of relief when the girl started moving again with no problems, but still kept a wary eye out all the same.

"That's way better than nothing for now, that's for sure," said Utena, nodding toward Renamon as she took the pipe. She turned away from the girl and held the pipe out in front of her, testing its weight. She swung it down through the air a few times before turning back. "Yeah, that'll work fine. Not too heavy, but not too flimsy." She cocked her head toward the smaller pipe and reached down. "Maybe I should grab that one too just in case. I'm going to need metal at some point once they get around to making a sword for me. Unless you want it for something?"

She shook her head once. "I have no need," she responded, holding up her left hand to show the clawed knuckle on it. Renamon smiled. "Feel free to take what you need."

As for her, Renamon glanced around a final time. No... There was nothing she could use in here tonight. That cut her agenda down a bit. She had no need to stop at the lab right now--anyone that needed scalpels that she knew had them, and she herself still had a partial box. She hadn't planned out this night, and like much else today, that wasn't like her. She was allowing herself to be far too shaken by this. She needed movement, progress--some kind of purpose or goal to work towards at this moment.

Her jaw tightened for a moment as she remembered something, then the Digimon spoke. "Did you have other things you'd like to check on tonight? We're close to the possessions room, if you haven't been there. There may be something...." Renamon trailed off, then started talking again, a bit quieter than she had been. "If possible, I'd like to check the file room next door. Afterwards, I would accompany you wherever you need." She looked at Utena, unblinkingly. "If that's alright."

Edited 2009-06-14 06:25 (UTC)

"Thanks," said Utena, smiling back a little when shown the knuckle. Different people had different styles of fighting, and if close quarters worked best for Renamon, then Utena was glad that the girl had a weapon suited to that already.

It was a little tricky keeping the three items together. For the time being, she kept the longer pipe ready in her right hand, her flashlight in her left, and the shorter pipe under her left arm supported by her thumb. Taking another look around the room, she spotted a nearly empty box of garbage bags. Grabbing one with her right hand and stuffing it into her pocket as best she should, she answered, "I didn't have anything in mind after getting a weapon, no. We can go wherever you want." She wondered why Renamon had become quieter when speaking about the file room. "What do you need to check in there?"

[I am so sorry. T_T]

Renamon watched the girl momentarily, and contemplated not answering as Utena pocketed the bag nearby. Certainly, so far, she didn't owe the girl anything yet, but....

With the slightest of glances around, Renamon turned, and left the room.

[to here]

In and out, as quick as possible. That was the plan, anyway. All Depth Charge needed to do was find a flashlight so he could get a better look at those cabinets- though he couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment at the prospect. Records were for the archivists, not the fighters.

The room was a slagging mess when he opened the door, something that became painfully apparent the nanoklik he stepped in and stubbed his toes on something heavy on the floor. Someone had already given the room a real going over, no mistaking that. He couldn't help but feel it was all to make his job just that little bit more difficult. After a thorough rummage through what was left (no mean feat in the dark) he managed to pick out a flashlight that worked. Small miracles, huh?

_{[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/638739.html?thread=53664019#t53664019)]}

That the door was hanging open wasn’t a surprise, and even seeing that the room in shambles wasn’t much of one, either.

He’d already been to this area enough times to be able to find his way around without providing himself with a little light, and the mess didn’t change that. After all, most of the stuff had already been ripped off, so there wasn’t a lot to trip over. He had to wonder what someone would do with half the stuff that was missing, though. Like the hand truck. Not too many places to hide a thing like that if the intention was to keep it. Were the staff manipulated that badly that they wouldn’t notice it in someone’s room?

… Probably.

Maybe all these storage room raids was helping out some kind of science geek, and not an unproductive packrat with a fetish for custodial crap. Either way, there was only so much toilet paper could be used for.

The doll stepped further into the room, considering his options. The storage room leading off of this one hadn’t been unlocked yet by the looks of it, which meant it hadn’t been ransacked yet--but as far as he knew, what he wanted wasn’t stocked back there. The shelves looked awfully bare… What if he went another night without acquainting himself with a new flashlight? Was he seriously that guy? The guy who had two good legs but couldn’t seem to get a thing accomplished no matter how long he was around in Landel’s? He’d seen a few during his stay like that. He didn’t want to be that guy. He had enough experience in being ineffective to drive a person mad, but overall, it was just kind of a knock to his pride. How hard was it to get himself a flashlight without needing to make a jail trade for one?

He poked around the first few shelves for a bit, pushing aside disturbed boxes and containers. Nope, nope… Crossing the cramped room with a sigh, he cocked his head at a top shelf before reaching up to see what all was left. Eventually his hand met something cold, smooth, and circular. A roll of tape? Felt like it. He shot a glance at the door. Waste of time to try and search through the whole closet, small or not. When he pulled his arm back, though, he knocked something, which he heard roll across the shelf.

“Hey,” he cheered to himself as he pulled whatever it was down to look and discovered a very familiar appliance in his hand. Lucky me. Because he reluctantly had to admit that it hadn’t been his own flashlight-getting skills that’d landed him it two days ago when he’d still been interested in replacing his lost flashlight.

Next time he misplaced it helping someone fend off a giant, man-eating bird, he was letting it stay lost. Way too much trouble.

_{[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/640052.html?thread=54273076#t54273076)]}

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Nightshift 41: Janitor's Closet

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