damned_institute | Day 43: Chapel

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Day 43: Chapel

And just like that, the disorienting feeling of blacking out just to wake up in an unfamiliar bed came again. Alkaid had wondered if it would - everything about last night had been different, all the way from the zombies to the eerie emptiness of the Institute to the strange broadcast at the end of the night. Had the Head Doctor been shot? Damn, someone had gotten to it before her. And who was the voice at the end there? It was like she'd been allowed access to some kind of strange mystery that she could not understand, one that had been going on for a long time before she had arrived and would be going on for quite a while in the future, after she was gone. Had these strange sets of circumstances been bugs in this place's programming? Who could say?

The morning's intercom greeting was strange, as well. Federal training whatsit? It didn't seem like this happened very often, from the sound of it, but so much had happened since the last day she remembered that the former Demon Palace Emperor was ready to take pretty much anything at face value.

The room she woke up in was still empty. Wondering where to stick the half-cracked bat that she'd picked up last night, she shoved it under the mattress hastily when she heard footsteps in the hall.

The stupid nurse was the same as ever, though. Some things never changed. "Ahh, good morning, Eileen. It's so nice to see you awake."

Alkaid rolled her eyes at the nurse's chuckle, and shook her head. She didn't care that the NPC thought it was nice, she just wanted to see the rest of the institute already.. see what had changed! "Yeah, it's fantastic. Whatever! Just take me where I'm going and be done with it!"

It was just then that she realized that she was not wanting to devour the flesh of the nurse in front of her. And that the pain on her arm had kind of abated - she couldn't see through the thick bandages they had covered her arm with, but she wondered if her skin was still rotting off like a zombie. Had they somehow cured her infection overnight? Or was the nurse not human, like Alkaid had always thought?

There was only one thing for it: she had to go somewhere else.

"Chapel, sun room, or cafeteria, then?"

"Does it look like I care?"

The nurse sighed, then started walking Alkaid down the hall, up the stairs, and down another hall to the chapel. No one here yet, huh? That was weird. She couldn't imagine that no one else'd show up, but who could say? This place had been turned on its ass.

The chapel was empty so far, and kind of nondescript. She shooed the nurse away, and stood in the middle of the space between the pews, standing akimbo. What would happen today? What would she learn about herself... her situation? How long had she been sleeping? Was she really still going freaking undead, or had that been somehow taken care of?

All this would come to light really soon. She hoped. Geez, too many mysteries!!

[unwittingly awaiting Haseo]

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All right? All right, alright? The words echoed, mind hearing them muddled through the film. And yet, and so... Albedo's head hurt. It was so easier to focus on that. His head hurt. And his arm itched. There was something on it. Something... cloth. Wrap. Tape. Confused. Head. Where was he? Why was he--?

Sad. Okay. Start there. Why? No.

Introspection denied, Albedo returned his attention to something irritating. Arm itched, arm itched. Why was that? He shifted a hand to wipe his eyes, hand missing his face the first time. His fingers came away wet, and it was almost a surprise. But no tears. No. No family was near. No little girls to pile on. No tears. No crying. Not around strangers. Strangers? Where? Oh. "Meche." His voice came out thick and sad, sedation ruining any tones he might have played with. That's right. Her hand traced his hair, and his eyes half-closed, quietly leaning into it. Something familiar. Something unfamiliar. This was not for him.

Stubborn, he put his shaking hands on the bench between them, attempting to straighten. For once the touches weren't minded--he wasn't aware enough to remember that rule yet--only family. He just. Couldn't lean on anyone. Not here. Not like this. Where was Rubedo? What had happened? Nigredo? Why had they--?

Left him? Did they? His hand rose to his face again, heavily covering his eyes. Head hurt. This felt new. Not the same kind of sedation, maybe. Maybe something else. Can't think, can't--

Disjointed thoughts ceased as Albedo saw the bandage on his arm. A certain kind of clarity broke through. There was no need for bandages. Not on him. So why... (why? Why?) A cautious, trembling moment passed, and then Albedo reached to the wrap on his forearm, gently peeling a corner away. He was like that, sometimes; that kind of person. It hurts more the slower you go, but then it's not gone so fast. Then it doesn't disappear so quickly.

Sakura? Sakura. A miraculously cruel coincidence, but Nigredo wasn't sure. He could not dismiss the possibility in this setting, even if... The child pulled his forehead an inch away from the ice pack.

And promptly slumped back as fragments akin to glass filled the entirety of his sinuses. Nigredo fidgeted and sighed in defeat. This was apparently fate's way of telling him she wasn't the same. "Nice to meet you, too," he muttered instead. Hopefully, Sakura remained oblivious to that hesitation.

"Not long," he continued, secretly glad for the subject change. "Only a few days. How about you?"

Jason blinked down at Nataku, waiting for some indication that the kid was joking. It was hard to say which part was the hardest to believe - that he worked for gods, came from heaven or that he was an assassin. He'd seen a lot of unbelievable things, and done even more, but this was pushing the limits.

"You're telling me you're a hired killer for a bunch of real live gods?" he asked incredulously. Sure, Wonder Woman was supposed to have something to do with a bunch of old gods but he didn't buy that they were real, honest to, well, god gods. The same could be true for Nataku's gods but the kid sure seemed to believe it.

Edited 2009-08-13 02:49 (UTC)

Claude jerked awake in bed to the sound of a canned, automated female voice. By now, he'd grown accustomed to hearing the Head Doctor's obnoxiously cheerful greetings -- under normal circumstances, Claude would have wondered where it was he'd gone off to. Last night had been far from usual, however, and Claude's head was too busy buzzing from everything that had happened last night to even really give the weird message much consideration.

Instead, he was left to wrestle with the cold realization that he'd turned into some kind of monster. Worse yet, he'd passed the infection onto his friend in one of the most horrific ways possible.

Sure, his injuries were bandaged and cleaned up now, but what would happen once night came again?

He'd barely managed to collect himself enough to hide the headlamp he'd taken from the hardware store. Thankfully, he'd stuffed it into his closet by the time his nurse came to pick him up. Although she made an attempt at a light, cheery conversation, Claude couldn't be bothered to maintain pleasantries. His patience for this horrible facade was beginning to wear thin, and, quite frankly, he didn't even trust himself to speak right now.

"Maybe sitting in the chapel will help you relax, Thomas," she suggested. "That's where you usually go on Sundays, isn't it?"

That was true, although every time he'd gone, he'd wound up having to discuss some heavy stuff with someone. Claude was pretty sure he just wanted to be left alone right now, even though he knew he'd have to talk to Guy at some point today. Still, he didn't really have it in him to protest as the nurse led him upstairs and through the chapel doors, and he silently allowed her to show him to an empty pew that was situated on one side of the room.

Without thinking, Claude scooted over to where his uninjured shoulder was pressed against the wall. He hoped he could be left in peace while he focused on taking breaths that weren't all shuddering and uneven, and controlling the uncomfortable aching sensation that lingered in the back of his throat.

The last thing he wanted was for anyone to see him like this.

[Closed so he can clear his head a little.]

This was definitely a nice change of pace from most of the prosecutors Phoenix was used to. He wasn't about to believe that charm or friendliness guaranteed trustworthiness - past a certain point he was inclined to think the opposite, actually - but right now it was easier to deal with than yet more enigmatic maybe-I-like-you-maybe-I-don't.

"Right. Early February of that year. The month makes a difference, obviously." The month, nothing. The day made a difference. The hour and the minute made a difference - Godot's appearance had been reminder enough of that, if he could've even imagined he'd forget after having so many verdicts depend on simple timing. It was a funny thing to ponder, in a place where time was so palpably wrong. "What about you? 2025 seems to be the popular year for people from the future."

Guy honestly hadn't even been wondering about whether or not Celes could cure them. This didn't seem like something that would have an easy fix -- it was a way bigger deal than getting poisoned, for one thing. Still, hearing that any help from her was basically not an option didn't do very much for his morale. He did have to wonder, though, if death was preferable to living with that kind of disease for the rest of his life.

Not that he was going to start getting any irrational ideas just yet. The fact of the matter was that they were all assuming the worst, when it was quite possible the infection was already gone and there was nothing left to worry about. Like Celes said, they would just have to deal with what happened when it happened.

"Being locked up would probably be the best option," he agreed. He wasn't sure if their strength was enhanced by their condition, but he didn't think there was any reason that it should be. If anything, they should get weaker as they continued to rot.

He'd rather stop thinking about it, though.

He would warn Okita about what had happened and then his roommate could deal with him if something went wrong. Guy trusted him to do that.

"So," he said, aware that he was making a sudden subject change and not really caring (Celes would probably understand his desire to do so), "how did you and Dias meet?"

Haseo paused a moment longer, not quite sure what to do next. At Alkaid's assurances however, he finally broke from the spiral of close thoughts, looking up and breathing out slowly.

"Don't worry about it," he said, and tried to force himself to act like normal-- even if "normal" for now involved blatantly dismissing what was dragging him down. "Heh, if something happened to her, I probably wouldn't have... huh?" Without warning he cut off, feeling his brow draw together as he examined her expression. What was with the not noticing something she'd said until it was a bit too late this morning?

"Shino... isn't my girlfriend," he responded, and though it sounded steady, directly afterward he seemed uneasy, shifting and clearing his throat. Just a friend... probably. Er, a really close friend. Not that he was going to be making assumptions without her say, that is.

So far he hadn't been inclined to think that in these cases people weren't really taken from another time period or something- just that they didn't remember the the stuff between the present and what "future people" thought happened. After all, it had happened to him before, although it had been nearly seven years... maybe he should inform the nurses about his history of memory issues, haha.

He was tempted to ask how long she thought it had been from when he'd defeated Taihaku and Sakaki at the Sage Palace Tournament, but he also wasn't sure he even wanted to know. Instead he diverted his eyes once more to their surroundings, soon catching sight of Kibitoshin. Well, he seemed alright, which was... good.

"Wait, so were you in town last night?" he asked then, though he didn't look back. He should probably be more worried... dumb hags and their preemptive sedation.

Heh. 'People from the future.' Klavier had been intending to avoid ridiculous phrases like that in favor for things more in favor of memory loss. It was still an absurd notion to try and honestly believe there was some kind of time distortion at play here. Just because he was being forced to accept things like alternate dimensions and powers didn't mean he had to swallow everything, right?

Speaking of which, that was an interesting little comment there, wasn't it? If he was referring to just Klavier and his brother, that wouldn't count enough for a 'popular year' to pull people from. ...Did that mean he knew Forehead was here as well? Maybe it should have been expected, what with that big mouth of his. He could only hope that was what it meant, and not that there were even more people here he wasn't aware of.

"That does seem to be the case. A bit unsettling when you stop to think about it, ja?" he agreed, not sounding very unsettled at all. He placed the elbow closest to Wright onto the back of their pew, leaving the rest of his arm to dangle down the front between them. "In other words, you're 'from' about two months before we first met. ...I myself last remember August of 2025. Late August, specifically."

He had to wonder... was there some kind if significance to the time Wright's memory was last placed? After all, Edgeworth had said something about him disappearing and returning with altered memories. What people last remembered must have posed some kind of importance. Somehow.

Edited 2009-08-12 23:50 (UTC)

Celes understood quite well, and was thankful for it; the former subject paired with her mood was enough to make a lesser woman fall into doldrums. Celes kept her displeasure to herself, however, hiding it under her usual chilly expression. She raised an eyebrow at him, "Yesterday? I met again with him after taking care of some business." And they fought. Of course they fought, he was annoyed and she was already at a point where fighting would've proved cathartic. Which it hadn't, but, that was easily fixed when the monsters had appeared. "And then again during the night, we happened to be fighting the monsters on the same street." And he'd saved her. Twice.

Ooooh! The rankle! The nerve! The horrible shame!

She shrugged, and hoped she had answered his question the way he wanted. Perhaps some clarification was in order, "Unless you're speaking of some other instance?"

"Only what I saw on the board. They're brainwashed, or trained clones, or something? And there was something about files." She'd only skimmed the note -- most of it was the same as the one posted the day she arrived, but she'd gotten the highlights. "You think they're not just actors -- that they're prisoners as well?" Prisoner, trustee, jailer; humans liked freedom, even relative freedom, even if it was on the backs of what had been their fellows. Whole industries had thrived on that currency of flesh on Jackson's whole; it was a pleasant surprise not to have found it here. Antagonism, squabbling, sure, but no organized betrayal. Unless that was what the visitors were, but then why only once a week? Maybe she'd see for herself; at least it would be something to do while waiting for nightfall.

"And what did you mean, healed? I'm trying to keep off it, but if something's cracked all that will help is time. Probably is." She shrugged. Her pain tolerance was remarkable, as it had been designed be, but it didn't mean she couldn't feel the pain, and this was bone-deep.

"Mm," Kurt agreed with a nod. "I think that even if you aren't Christian or whatever, a church should be a place where anyone can come for reflection or guidance. I mean... I guess this place isn't really a church or anything, but it's a place where everyone can come together in quiet thought and just... hope together."

The young mutant laughed awkwardly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to get all sappy there. But it does seem to be the quietest room in the building, doesn't it?"

Apparently, Dean wasn't too sold on the idea of grabbing those files. He hadn't said anything, but Sam knew his brother too well not to have caught what he was thinking, and if he had to guess further, he suspected Dean's reluctance had to do with what only ever had Dean reluctant recently—the deal. Since when did it not come down to that single thing? He felt a little guilty that Dean kept worrying over that when Sam already knew, had the whole story and then some.

Dean wasn't protesting, though, at least. Sam would've just taken the files on his own if Dean hadn't agreed, but he didn't really want to go behind his brother's back. He'd done enough last year. He was doing it enough right now.

Glad for the change of topic, Sam scratched the back of his head as he tried to decide where to start. It probably said something about him that he was relieved to be talking about how they almost got eaten or set on fire by a bunch of living corpses.

"We almost didn't make it," he said finally. "We owe a couple of people."

One of whom he could see sitting in the chapel, actually. He looked fine, all things considered; Sam didn't know if that meant Peter was fine, as well, but it was a good sign, at least, small though it was. He really needed to find his roommate. Peter hadn't been there when he'd woken up this morning. Even if Peter was okay, he had to talk to him. There hadn't been much time last night for Sam to thank either of them, though he knew he owed them both a lot more than just that, too.

"Once I got you into one of the houses, it was just a case of waiting it out." And taking down a couple of zombie kids and making sure Dean was stable despite the drugs, but Sam didn't add that part. He didn't want to see that guilty look on Dean's face, that I should've been there to take care of it expression that Sam had learned to spot a long time ago no matter how well Dean hid it. As if it somehow upset the natural order whenever Sam ended up shouldering whatever crap went down.

Lately, though, he was wondering if Dean might be right. If maybe he wasn't cut out to keep his brother safe because it'd been twice now in about as many days that Dean had almost slipped through his fingers again.

"He says he ran into you once." Sam glanced over, curious. "His name's Peter."

Edited 2009-08-13 01:41 (UTC)

"Don't be," the hybrid replied. "I have to be somewhere. This is just not the ideal place to be."

Teresa listened and nodded, that faint smile touching her lips again. Perhaps she'd meet some old acquaintances. Still, insanely strong, or some variation thereof, was a term she was used to hearing in reference to herself. It made her curious, to say the least.

"Is that so? In all my years of service, I have never run from a battle. In fact, I've never felt the desire to," she replied with an underlying arrogance. "I don't intend on starting the habit now." Once a coward, always a coward.

As Nigredo tried to move away from the ice pack and returned in pain, Sakura extended her arms out in an attempt to help Nigredo reposition himself by the ice pack. "Are you okay? You shouldn't try and move too much in your state," she said by reflex in her sweet, caring voice.

She waited until Nigredo had resettled before continuing the conversation. "I just arrived two days ago on Friday," she answered, looking away in thought. "And so much has happened in those two days. I've never seen so many monsters and terrors before..." The nurse sitting on the other side of Nigredo frowned, causing Sakura to change the direction of the conversation. "But I'm sure we'll be all right."

It's not unsettling. It makes sense. They weren't picked randomly - he was more sure of that by the day. They were all part of some great chain of events, stretching backward and forward, and he kept finding his name etched on the links. He wanted to ignore this, and in truth, some of his reasons for doing so were ones he wasn't proud of. But he couldn't. There was a vast, dark unknown in the future, and more frightening than knowing that everything he'd heard was the truth - that he lost his badge, that in time he became someone virtually unrecognizable - was knowing nothing more than that his name was out there, floating somewhere in the black.

Apollo was from the last available date. He'd question him first - if his hunch was right, the younger man was just as tangled up in this as any of the rest of them, and he'd have at least some of the answers. More than that, he had something else. It wasn't the kind of trust in Phoenix that he would've liked from someone who presumably knew him, maybe, but Apollo had thought that he'd been canny enough to track him down out in the wilds of definitely-not-L.A., and more than that, that he'd been willing to. That was all the faith he needed, right now. The rest could sit on basics, until then.

Phoenix released a deep breath after a long silence, aware of the bright humming fallen to a lower frequency inside his skull, the way the rest of the room became dimmer if he tried to focus on the place where illusions should have been. It was the same as ever: he'd use what he had.

"Here's how it is." When he spoke, his voice was frank, eyes regarding the other attorney levelly. "I'm worried about these events that haven't happened yet, but I'm worried about getting out of this place more. Still, I still need to know one thing, Mr. Gavin, because it's like you said - this place is getting less safe by the day, and we all need to know who our allies are." He regarded him seriously, and though his voice didn't rise in volume, it seemed bolder all the same. "Would you or your brother have any reason to harbor some kind of ill will towards me?"

Otacon listened attentively as Kaworu spoke, glad to have a moment where conversation wasn't somewhat overshadowed by the dead coming back to life, either in a rejuvenated form like Fox and Snake, or... well. However, it definitely hadn't been his imagination that thought the young man seemed worryingly subdued. What kind of sadistic person was Martin Landel, to put children into such a dangerous, alienating situation? What possible justification could a man have for a place like this? Even if it was a nuclear apocalypse, global war, "federal training"... why did children always have to get caught up in it?

Even Neon Genesis Evangelion hadn't answered that question.

"Shinji Ikari," repeated Otacon. "Yes, I know of him." Something else occurred to him, an explanation for Kaworu's mood. "He... he isn't here now, is he?" He'd heard that new patients had come in last night, and couldn't imagine a worse time for Shinji to be introduced to Landel's Institute. Not that any time would be a good time for Shinji, probably...

Sen didn't seem surprised or make a big deal when he told her how old he was, which was a plus in his book. She was sweet and encouraging and it make him feel a bit more confident in his decision.

"Ah! This is my best friend Takashi!" Honey started to introduce his rather tall friend now that he was near enough to join their conversation. He would've said more, but yet another host popped in. Hikaru, looking no worse for the wear in spite of last night, sat down with all of them, joking and laughing as usual. Worrisome as last night had been, he was glad that Hikaru was alright and even more important, that he was well enough to be joking around.

"And this is Hika-chan!" he continued, sending the boy a bright smile. "This is my friend, Sen-nee. We met a few days ago. So it doesn't count as hosting if we're friends, right?"

This was... very surprising. Both Wright and Edgeworth's discussions had turned out far different than he would have imagined. Honestly, though Klavier knew much about Wright from second hand information (rumors mostly), he only really knew him from that one case way back when. And though he couldn't say he had ever held much of a high opinion of the man, he was being thoroughly reasonable at the moment. Klavier could agree. Concentrating on getting out was more important than nitpicking at details regarding past and future (even though he had to have been curious).

But the question... caused him to pause. Had it been anything else but 'ill will,' he would have been able to answer without a second's doubt. Klavier wasn't exactly resolved on how to feel about Wright, especially after his brother's case. He could act civil, certainly, even laugh and work with him if need be. But that wouldn't mean he necessarily liked him.

What about Kristoph? How did his brother feel about the friend who went free while he was sent to prison in his stead? No. That's not right. He shouldn't think that way. Kristoph was guilty, wasn't he? He was held accountable for his own actions. Nothing more. In that case, would he harbor any ill feelings toward Wright or Justice? ...Did Klavier himself? That was too complicated to give a yes or no for.

The point of the question was to determine whether or not he and Kristoph were enemies. That was all. There could be bad feelings between friends, enemies, and everything in between. That was how people were, unfortunately. That he could answer easily without technically lying. He knew he would never hurt Wright or anyone else here. And his brother wouldn't either.

...Actually, Klavier had to admit there was a little doubt there. He truly believed from the bottom of his heart that whatever had happened with his brother, it wasn't supposed to happen. His brother was not a killer. He had been pushed by a circumstance he didn't want to share with anyone. It was not something that would repeat again. Ever. But it did prove what Kristoph was capable of if pushed to that one-in-a-million breaking point. However, this time, Klavier was here. And no matter what, he would never allow that happen. While he was here, nothing would touch his brother. ...And vice versa.

Klavier exhaled as though exasperated, even though the smile stayed in place. It painted the illusion that he thought it was a ridiculous question. "I'll have you know, Wright, I don't like speaking for my bro. And I don't like him speaking for me either. Personally speaking, however, I can't say you and I are best friends. Or friends at all, really. ...Truth be told, this is only my second time talking to you." He let out a small chuckle and smiled at him. "But as for 'sides,' I'll take the liberty of speaking for both Kristoph and myself. I don't think you have anything to worry about from either of us. We all want to get out just as much as you and Herr Edgeworth. ...With as few scars as possible, of course."

Maybe this had been a good chance meeting after all. Edgeworth was so vindictive and paranoid, he might have gotten to Wright's opinion of the brothers eventually. This way, maybe Wright could see there was nothing to worry about and could talk some sense into Herr 'Demon Prosecutor' before he started picking fights some more.

Edited 2009-08-13 04:00 (UTC)

It would be difficult to kill for a bunch of dead gods, but he was pretty sure that wasn't what Will was implying. He didn't know why the notion of gods should be surprising at all, unless there were gods in Will's world who hid their actions more thoroughly.

"An appointed killer, but close enough." He replied evenly, though not without a hint of bitterness. "The gods aren't that amazing to behold. They just think they are and people get stupid ideas."

"They keep files on the patients, past and present." Homura focused on what was easier to say at first. The files were proven to be real not only by his own efforts, but by those of others. That evidence didn't exist when it came to the idea of the visitors being the actual people. Certainly some had been the patients who vanished from this place. But what actual foundation did Homura have for his determination? Nothing more than the hope that it truly was Rinrei out there--that somehow, this time, he'd be able to save her.

Yet he didn't let any of this doubt come through his words, or even linger in his mind. Doubt didn't win wars, or create new worlds, after all. That woman who came to him truly was Rinrei. She had been made even more of a prisoner than he. "And yes. I do think that the visitors are the actual people from our own worlds. They've been brainwashed to believe the lies the Institute tells us during the day. And they can somehow be saved."

He'd been too young before, too naive. Now he had five centuries as the Toushin Taishi to guide him. This time, Rinrei wouldn't die before he could reach her.

Taura's cynicism in the face of what to Homura was commonplace was a welcome change of topic. That lack of understanding only meant one thing, and the demi-god didn't hide his amusement as he looked to the woman. "I mean, my dear, that you will not be a liability once a certain person has his way with you. Consider it something like accelerating the healing time to a few minutes. Or haven't you also read that there are those of us who have supernatural powers in this place?"

"It was clear that von Karma didn't believe what the nurses fed him about his condition, either." Javert had taken out his own journal by now and was also taking notes, the pen fairly flying across the paper as he listened. "However, I'm still not sure if he was actually aware of what occurred during that week, or if he was indeed unconscious as he claimed to be. I suppose it's a matter that requires further investigation."

He nodded slightly at Edgeworth's line of reasoning; there was little else to say to that. "Precisely. This would be the first time I've heard of anything going wrong during an experiment. It seems far too convenient for me."

Intravenous lines were completely foreign to him, but Javert tried to think back nonetheless, tapping his pen on his journal as he tried to remember. At last he shook his head with a touch of resignation. "I've gone so long in this place, bandages no longer stand out to me. I wouldn't have thought to look at his arms anyway; I was focusing on the stroke. Even if a bandage had been there once, I rather doubt it is now."

She knew that look. It had been on Miles' face after Marilac -- hundreds of lives saved and all he could see was the few that had slipped through his fingers. She'd grinned and hugged him and reminded him, thoroughly, of the success he'd made in rescuing her, but it had been a band-aid, not a panacea. There was someone at the heart of Homura's warning -- someone he hadn't saved. An impossible second chance. This place gave strange gifts; returned the dead to life, and then threatened to slaughter them all again.

"I don't believe everything I see on the board. But I'm willing to try it. Let him 'have his way with me'." A lopsided smile filed the double-entendre to a point. "And then you can see what I'm good for."

Sakura, much like the Sakura he once knew, was kind. This fact filled and stretched his chest with an odd form of unease. It was really too bad Nigredo couldn't spare a look, if only to confirm a separate identity. "Yeah, I'm fine," came the assurance. "Sorry if I'm worrying you."

A stretch of silence passed between them as Nigredo processed the girl's answer. He figured she had more to talk about on the matter, if not for the caretaker beside them. As usual, the boy went along with the hint. "Hopefully. At least it is peaceful in the daytime."

This had to have been the first time here, in the Institute, that Phoenix had been wholeheartedly glad to see a psyche-lock. For a second, the metal glinting through the air between them wasn't anything but validation. Edgeworth wasn't being paranoid. Phoenix wasn't imagining things. There was something under the surface here, and neither of them knew it, but there had to be a way to dig it up.

He would've felt even more excited, if he hadn't felt like he'd just been dragged behind a truck, but maybe being a little subdued was a good thing. This was a delicate problem, by the looks of it. Jumping up, shouting triumphantly, and pointing fingers probably would've gotten the same response it gained all of the other loonies: being dragged off by a nurse, sedated, and put in his room. (Now that he thought about it, the arguments of, 'but you don't understand, I can see lies' probably would've fallen under the same jurisdiction.)

As it stood, the relieved little laugh that Phoenix gave was entirely genuine, as was the look of frank thankfulness. He didn't have to tools to break the lock; they were out of his reach in more ways than one. But even that little clue - that he'd found some doubt, or equivocation, or little thought-to-be-harmless lie - was something to go on. "Friend or not, you're being awfully helpful, so thanks." Phoenix looked up at the front of the room, slouching into a slightly more relaxed posture. Propping his elbows over the edge of the bench was more difficult than he'd anticipated, stretching muscles through his back and shoulders that last night had tied into unassailable knots, but it felt nice.

The rueful look on his face came naturally as breathing, along with the quip, acerbic but frank, lacking any kind of bitterness. "Anyway, I wasn't holding my breath and hoping you'd be my new best friend. The 'becomes my eventual ruin' thing would make that kind of awkward."

Edited 2009-08-13 04:52 (UTC)

So now she was with a fighter who looked younger than he was, a dark-haired fighter who seemed a man of very few words, and they'd just been joined by a loud redhead. It was almost like being home again, except for the fact that they weren't pleading to be fed.

Ayumu had no time to spare to miss her familiar surroundings, though, and thus dismissed the comparisons with a shy smile and nod to the two newcomers. "It's nice to meet both of you," she offered, before her expression turned to a mildly puzzled frown. "'Hosting'...?"

Honey had mentioned something of the sort, when he'd talked about how he and his friends liked to dress up as members of the Shinsengumi. Were these two of those friends, then?

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Day 43: Chapel

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