Day 43: Chapel

[constellates.livejournal.com]

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]

Comments

[purgatio]

There was warmth next to him, and he was too warm, much too warm. He felt nauseous. His head hurt. Everything was just... Too far away. But everything hurt. Everything kept hurting. He was so... so tired of this. It was the third time he had gotten sedated in five days, and Albedo tried to underline the point in his murky brain. Sedation? Equals no. No no no. Not fun, not good at all. It made things difficult.

A rumble above him and his own name made his wavering head try to look upwards, miotic eyes unfocused, answering Meche's question without her needing to ask. The child's memory, excellent as it was, dropped; short-term receding as with what the other times. She was familiar, yes. She had helped him with something--gave him something? He couldn't know. His gaze fell without his consent; it took far too much effort for a head to remain raised. As Albedo's eyes lowered, they caught her hand on his. Huh. He hadn't felt it, hadn't--

There.

Like most emotional triggers, Albedo's was basic, touch being his primary one. In the instant he tried to focus on what she was doing, in the moment he actually felt the light pressure of her hand on his, a jumble of things rushed to become clear all at once--their timeline ever-so-skewed. A comforting hug on a couch just like this, on the grass with bodies pressed, wet forehead pressing into damp shoulder, wrestling back when it was almost home, light touches in the evening once the fighting for the day had stopped, a hand pulling him upwards from the grass--a hand wrenching away in the dim. A beloved hand, pulling out of his grip, slick fingers slipping from his sweaty palm. Inches by inches, and then--

Everything stopped. Unaware, Albedo's body lightly shook. Unknowing, familiar tears trailed down his face.

[sheisthecause.livejournal.com]

"Oh, hey there, hey, it's all right," Meche said. "We'll just be sad for a little while." It occurred to her that that was a pretty silly thing to say, because it obviously wasn't all right, and Albedo was just as obviously going to be sad whether he had her permission or not. She wasn't sure he was even tracking on what she was saying anyway. Still, making soft, encouraging noises had usually helped her comfort crying children in the past, so maybe it didn't matter what she said at all--just that she was there. As gently as she could, she freed the arm he was leaning on and put it around him.

He was a lot bigger than Pugsy and Bibi, but the small, warm body and the quiet snuffling sounds still struck a chord somewhere in her chest. How long had it been since she'd seen them...nine, ten days? They'd never been apart that long since they'd met, even when Domino locked her in the vault. Every mother--even if she wasn't their real mother--probably felt like this the first time she was separated from her children, Meche thought. But at least if they went off to summer camp or a relative's house, you knew they were safe. You knew you'd see them again. It terrified her that she had no way of knowing whether they were in the Land of Eternal Rest or not. And if they were, did they miss her? Did they even remember her? Did they feel anything at all? Maybe their real parents were there, and they didn't even think about her or Manny at all.

It shouldn't matter, she told herself. The most important thing was that they were happy and safe. Since she and Manny were the only ones who'd been taken here, and since she had no way of getting in touch with the angelitos or even finding out anything about them, she'd just have to believe that they were until she could get out and see them for herself. Besides, she really had her work cut out for her here. She didn't have a plan for getting rid of this place yet, but at least she could be a little useful. Even if it was just sitting with a crying child.

Albedo really wasn't a bad kid, Meche thought as she reached to stroke his hair away from his face. It might be the kids who acted out who needed the most support, especially at Landel's.

[purgatio]

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.

[sheisthecause.livejournal.com]

"That's right," she answered when he said her name, "I'm here." He seemed to be getting some more control of himself now, at least for the moment. Meche loosened her hold on Albedo's shoulders and let him shift away. Had he been sedated? He was moving really sluggishly, and she didn't think it was just from crying. Why would they sedate him? If he'd been out of control somehow that morning--but then again, the nurses didn't have to have a good reason. Not here.

She watched to see if he was going to start crying again, but instead Albedo got interested in the bandage on his arm. That was fine, until he began peeling it off. Meche reached for his hand to try to stop him. "Albedo, try not to mess with your bandages, okay? It's important to leave them on so you'll heal. If it's too tight, we can ask a nurse to redo it." They might be slinging tranquilizers around like water on a hot day, but otherwise the staff did seem to know what they were doing.

[purgatio]

"Meche," he repeated, thick tone almost a question. "'Mechanical?'" Or maybe that was her name, strange as it may be. Did he have room to talk? And why was he fixating in this direction? His gaze rested on her hand where it was lightly pressing on his own, stopping his process. Fixations. Funny things. They consume, you know. Keep your mind occupied until the fixation dispersed. Why was his psyche so fond of them?

Regardless, the bandages gave his mind a stable point to hold onto, even if memory and habitual behaviors were still missing. Irony, however, wasn't. A finger traced one edge of the wrapping lightly, head tilting to the side as he watched. "Heal?" Almost confusion there. "I don't need to heal."

[sheisthecause.livejournal.com]

"Meche," she confirmed. "It's short for Mercedes." Which was a machine, and a car was the first thing a lot of people thought of when she introduced herself. Probably not Albedo, if he really was from the future, but she pronounced it in Spanish anyway, just to be clear. Mercedes--mercies. Even her name was good. She wondered idly if it still suited her.

Albedo was still playing with the wrapping, but at least he'd stopped trying to get it off for the moment. Meche let his hand go. What did he mean, he didn't need to heal? Maybe it was just the sedative talking. It might make sense in his own mind, but she didn't know what he meant.

But kids made illogical statements all the time, and she thought it was best to try to give them a reasonable answer if she could. She gave him a smile. "Don't you? If the places you got hurt heal, they won't cause you any pain, and it'll be easier to move around. And leaving them alone will help you make sure they don't get any worse. Those all sound like good things to me, don't you think?"

[purgatio]

Mercedes. Something in his brain leaked forward to translate--forbidden knowledge slipping magenta inside his mind. His eyes closed, lips tugged in something like a smile. "You're in the right place, then," he said, only tripping over the last word. "Mary, Mary, quite contrary." How does your garden grow?

Distracted but unfulfilled, loneliness churning in his stomach even as pain pounded a refrain in his skull--for this moment, Albedo wanted to sleep. The benches weren't comfortable, but he had rested in worse places. The Song itself was metal everywhere, but his resting spots were hidden corners and high beams. Softness was a luxury he didn't need. Like the fact of healing itself. His eyes opened, catching her smile. She didn't understand. It was alright. She didn't need to. She probably couldn't. His voice had lowered without him noticing; no threat thickened it, merely a pain of its own. "This pain doesn't matter," he stated, clear as fact. "This pain doesn't count."

He remained silent for a second, the haze in his eyes shifting to reflect a deeper pain, making him look older than he was. A minute passed, then the moment as well.

He blinked, dragging a finger to his mouth. Opening, he bit down on the side of it hard, sharp teeth tearing through the thin flesh. Albedo removed it, looking at it almost intently through his sedated gaze. There was a pause as a line of blood trailed to drip downward. One drop, two... More slid then, and then light softly glowed on the wound, shifting it away centimeter by centimeter. Albedo sighed, chest tight for a minute. He leaned his head back against the bench. So tired. "See?" he said slowly. "I don't need to heal."

[sheisthecause.livejournal.com]

Meche wondered if Albedo knew that Mercedes really referred to Santa Maria de la Mercedes--the Virgin Mary--or if he was just playing with the similar sounds of the names. He kept surprising her, this kid. Especially when he pronounced that this pain didn't count, and she was hit again by how unsettlingly grown-up he sounded--

"Oh!" she cried as he bit his finger, but even though she reached out instinctively, it was already too late to stop him. Blood was welling up and sliding down the finger. Meche looked around for something absorbent to press against it, but when she looked back, the little cut was glowing--and then disappearing. She stared with her mouth open, completely taken aback.

Well, that certainly put the lid on her argument about bandages. Meche closed her mouth. But then again, she thought she could still see that wound by his collarbone, plus whatever was under the wrappings. If his powers were limited here like Senna's, he might not be able to fix it all. It would be safer to leave the bandages on, if that was the case.

"That's very impressive," she said sincerely. "But it looks like you still have other injuries. You might be better off to leave those wrappings on and wait until you can fix yourself all up. If you take them off now, the nurses will probably just come over and fix them and you'll have to do it all over again."