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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Bridget started awake and felt the dry stiff lines along his cheeks which meant that he'd been crying, probably while still sleeping. Sitting up, he rubbed at his face and waited for the nurse to come pick him up.

He asked to be taken to the chapel. It seemed fitting that he say goodbye where he'd said hello. Ignoring the other person inside, he went to the front and went to his knees, crossing himself and bowing his head, trying not to cry.

Oh, Armand. I'm so sorry...

[Don't mind a very confused assassin? :D]

That hadn't been something he had planned on.

As soon as that... drama on the intercom shut off, it was suddenly morning and he was back in the room he had found himself in at night. No Alkaid, no Spock, no undead creatures; just sunlight peacefully filtering through that one window and a broken baseball bat in his hands to let him know it wasn't a dream (unless he was still dreaming, but that would just be silly). He rolled the shattered bat under the bed--from what Alkaid said, he wouldn't be able to use it for now. As it was, a woman made her way into the room with a clipboard and a smile, giving him no time to formulate a plan of escape right now.

"Good morning, Mr. Lant! It's nice to see you awake. I take it you slept well?" She was so... chipper. He could take her down without a bat, charge through the door while there were no undead creatures, and escape back to the Guild. Spock and Alkaid were no longer with him, meaning his obligations to them were over; he didn't need to worry about them. Just hit her, get the bat, and take out any guards in your way. They can't last against an assassin, even one with no magic on his side.

Sigh. He knew better than to try that (sadly). After questioning the nurse for fifteen minutes on just what this place was, its purpose, and why he was here, plus an extra ten about how, no, he didn't want to wear his hair up, he wasn't comfortable with that, and it held the same amount of stigma to him as it would to her if someone asked her to remove her shirt, the woman began her task of leading him through the hallways (and compromising for him to have at least half of his face visible) and eventually upstairs to the chapel.

It was funny how nothing in there pointed to any one religion, just a mash of pews, decorations, and a lone podium that didn't look like anyone was about to use. He let his eyes wander the area- Alkaid. So she was fine after all. Strangely enough, she didn't look worse for wear, which was fine by the assassin. If she was in good health this morning, Spock should be alright as well.

As his nurse was kind enough to take her leave once she had safely dragged him up here, he made sure to pull his hair back down and find somewhere to sit alone. It wasn't until he spotted a familiar face that he found himself abandoning his usual plans of solitude to confront the ~~girl~~ boy.

"You. You're that bounty hunter, aren't you?" Venom wasn't sure they ever exchanged names, but he was certain they had ran into one another a few times, though maybe not on the best of terms. Now wasn't the time to be holding a grudge, though. Besides, the child looked so... distraught. Was he okay? Considering the state of things, the answer was most likely a no. What was he even doing here? What use could they have for him? "How long have you been here?" He was terrible at comforting others. Maybe a change of subject would help?

[Free, no limit]

After having almost settled into a routine here, Steve was very surprised to wake up to a computerized voice over the intercom. Given a choice between the sun room and the chapel, Steve decided to head upstairs. It was a room he'd never been in before and he was curious to see it. After all, it was strange to have a chapel in a mental hospital. Not that the rest of what went on here was exactly normal, but as far as cover went.

It was also a surprisingly generic chapel, without crosses or other symbols decorating the area. Steve took a seat on one of the benches quietly. There were only two people in the room so far, so it seemed he'd been woken relatively early.

Okay, so food? For one of the few times in his life, just thinking about eating made his stomach turn all over again. Granted, he didn't have anything to puke up this time, but considering how he felt right now, he didn't want to risk it.

That bitch!

A lot of last night was fuzzy, but he remembered enough to remember that bitch giving the order to sedate him when he didn't friggen need it and then lights out in a big way. After that, it'd been a lot of blurs, sounds he couldn't put together into anything familiar, and this sudden realization Sam was there at his side and holding him over as he hurled. It wasn't the first time Sam had to hold him like that. Still didn't make it any more fun and while Dean hadn't exactly cared at the time if Sam saw him like that, it was just another thing he wished now Sam didn't have to deal with. Hell, the kid just came back from the dead and (barely) survived a demon attack. Having to babysit his older brother like that shouldn't have even been necessary.

Dean woke up feeling better, although not one hundred percent. His head still pounded, his mouth and throat scratchy and rough as he swung his legs over the bed. He stood up, only to have pain shoot up his leg. Not enough to send him on his ass again, but definitely enough to let him know something was up. Checking it out, Dean realized it was another injury he didn't remember getting, a big gash on his leg that had been stitched up. Demons again? Dean didn't think so. Not if that tattoo on him was working its mojo, which it should, 'cause Sammy hadn't left any breaks in the lines that one of those black-eyed bastards could use to worm into him. He turned around, feeling his hand touch something hard under the covers. While that could've been the start of a very bad, very awkward porno right there, he was relieved that when he flipped over the covers, it wasn't Angel popping outta the sheets at him but instead just a...knife sheath.

That was a new one.

Dean didn't remember getting one, although there was a lot about last night that was just a washed out blur. Picking it up, the knife handle suddenly dissolved on him, turning into a pile of dust that spilled out of the sheath and onto his bed. Dean could've bought it if the thing had been older than God, but that didn't explain what he was doing with the perfectly intact leather sheath - that should've been the first to go, not the blade itself. He hurriedly crossed the room, ignoring the jolts it sent up his injured leg, and tossed it into the closet, behind the black wifebeater that he remembered from yesterday, and glanced over at Angel's side. If he wasn't sneaking into his bed, then what -

Huh. Angel wasn't there.

The bed on his side of the room was perfectly made; it didn't look slept in. Dean wasn't sure what to make of it. Could just be that much of a neat-freak, the kinda guy who made his bed every morning despite having to jump right back in at the end of the night, the very same kinda guy who had to have his fork and knife all perfectly spaced or he'd flip out. That or there was the other, far worse options, like Angel getting outed a hunter and dragged off, for starters. Dean gazed at the bed. Now he didn't think much of Angel - he wasn't even an incompetent hunter, he was a soft one, which was maybe more dangerous - but that didn't mean he thought Angel deserved to get taken out or possessed or the hundreds of other outcomes out there. Dean pursed his lips, turning away from the bed and just in time for the door to open. Hello Nurse came in, this time with two orderlies.

Obviously his stunt last night and that whole mess with the Ice Queen doctor hadn't gone over too well, 'cause Hello Nurse didn't look all too jazzed at him today.

"Mr. Derringer," she said, curt, "I'll be leading you to the chapel today. Behave yourself."

Dean managed a shameless grin, even as he found himself getting ganged up on by the orderlies, a big dude on each side and towering over him, like he had two hulked out Sams on either shoulder. Dean wasn't sorry he'd had to start crap with "Indy" - it'd been necessary to get lighters - but he could've gone without it spiraling like it did. At least he wasn't getting herded to the cafeteria. He was pretty sure he couldn't hold down breakfast, not yet, at least. If there was anything Dean was proud of - aside from being a crack shot with a crossbow - it was having an iron stomach. He was sure give or take an hour, he'd be able to keep something down.

Even if just walking felt pretty funky. The chapel was upstairs, a part of the Institute that Dean hadn't really explored very much. The chapel itself wasn't weird...until you really took a look at it and realized it wasn't normal at all. Sure, he wasn't religious, and maybe he didn't memorize every weird supernatural fact like his brother, but Dean did know a thing or two about churches and the like. It was just part of the job, knowing what was holy ground, what inside a church might help you and what was just decorative. Dean scanned the room without seeming to: lots of pews, marble, but nothing that'd peg it as a normal, run of the mill chapel. Just from a first look, he couldn't see a single cross here. Not even a rosary. So much for that. Dean would've liked to get hold of one. He didn't have to be a Bible-thumper to know that, for some reason or another, rosaries did work to ward off evil and that was good enough for him. The stained glass was colorful but, again, there were no angels, no specific scenes displayed. Just a lot of abstract colors.

Dean was pretty sure Sam had noticed this too as he headed casually for his brother, forcing himself not to limp even a little with the injured leg. Maybe he'd been pegged as a hunter, maybe not. The last thing he wanted to do was paint himself as an easy target, 'cause there was nothing that said that like a limp. Dean slid into the back pew next to Sam, easing himself down. Sam had picked the best vantage point he could, reasonably close to the exit but not too close in case something came at them that way.

"Got any mouthwash on you?" Dean asked, cracking a small crooked grin at Sam as if he hadn't spent half the night useless 'cause Kisugi pumped him full of drugs. "Ice cream, beer and burgers don't make a great mix. Just thought you should know."

[Sam]

Edited 2009-08-10 00:21 (UTC)

The statue was not there again. Was this all she had came for? A petty reason, she thought, if that was the reason. Was there something comforting in this place? No, that wasn't it. It was something else.

The Digimon had opened her eyes to the room she called hers at the Institute, the long knife still in her grasp. Automatically she moved to hide it, in the process sending tremors through her body. Perhaps she had pushed herself a bit too much last night. The bindings stayed around her ribs, left thigh, and right arm, and a new cast decorated the lower part of the latter. Renamon frowned at it momentarily, then sighed to herself. Perhaps she would have to learn to work with the limitations given to her, instead of trying to abuse them. Lately, it seemed....

That she'd been having trouble. Last night left a bad taste in her mouth. And the intercom this morning, suspiciously reminiscent of Mello's theories, along with the transcripts of the night before, added to the feeling. Something was shifting at this place, and it wasn't anything good. Anything militarized had a habit of ruining what it touched, and creating something worse. From what she had seen, the same was true for here. And she did not like any of it. Tours? In a place like this? The Digimon watched warily for any that seemed out of place. What was going on here?

And so, notebook under her arm, Renamon had arrived at the chapel, for reasons seemingly unknown. Another glance at the empty space in the front, and she started to circuit the room, casting glances over the people that had decided to seat themselves within. She passed near a large man, and nodded politely, settling herself a few seats down. Her bruised body did not like her motion this morning, and she humored it, feigning peace and stillness instead.

Anise awakened slowly, feeling too tired to tear herself away from the bed she was in. She reached out to clutch Tokunaga, but instead her fingers brushed thin curls of hair. Hair? The girl opened her eyes to see the porcelain doll from the previous day lying beside her. So it had gotten through the attack without breaking...

The attack...

The lingering feelings of grogginess vanished in an instant, and Anise snapped awake, fully alert now. The attack! What happened? She'd tried to flee the town with that Leonard guy, and... well, it hadn't worked, obviously. As though not quite believing she'd survived the ordeal, the girl checked her arms and legs for injuries. Aside from some bruises and general soreness, nothing. It looked like the night had come to an abrupt end, like it always did.

As she did every morning, Anise collected her belongings and started putting them away. The new doll went up on her dresser, next to the felt doll she kept there. It was starting to look a little more like a girl's room, she noted somewhat proudly. She found the meat tenderizer she'd grabbed from the kitchenware store, and stuffed it under her mattress with her metal pipe. The carving knife she'd grabbed from the same store was nowhere to be seen, though. Weird.

The intercom came on as she was organizing her things, and she kept working as she often did, but the unnatural voice that boomed through the speakers made her freeze.

... "Federal training sponsorship"? She didn't really get what that meant. What was going on? She didn't have much time to wonder, as her nurse soon came to escort her like always. Something was different, but apparently not everything was.

The girl spent a few minutes in the Sun Room, trying to catch up on what was going on, before finally heading to the chapel, as she did every week. As much as the place made her homesick a lot of the time, it still felt like the most appropriate place for her to go. She sat down on a pew in the front row, and just stared at the altar blankly as she tried to sort things out in her head. There was a lot to process at once.

[free!]

[for Phoenix!]

There was a sudden touch on Klavier's shoulder, and he instinctively shot arm out defensively, whirling around to push the assailant away from him. ...Only it seemed he was no longer standing, but was lying on his back. And his would be attacker was an extremely startled-looking nurse who'd narrowly escaped getting slapped in the face. With a face mirroring that of his nurse, Klavier blinked in confusion.

His nurse exhaled patiently, but was obviously still wary at this sudden shift in behavior. Putting on a gentle voice, she tried to coax him into a calmer state, but his borderline panic was slow to fade. The woman seemed convinced he'd had some kind of nightmare. It was bewildering. Did she really not know anything? Even thought it had happened beyond this one building? That didn't seem believable....

After taking the few moments the woman offered to collect himself, Klavier quietly got up, took his notebook, and followed the nurse to the Chapel. 'So he could relax,' she said. Honestly, he couldn't see himself relaxing any time very soon, but he decided against arguing the choice.

He pulled himself from his nurse once they'd arrived and quickly took the first available seat he could find. He was far too distraught to do nothing. At times like these, he needed to distract himself with something - anything. He opened his notebook and started to write down what he could remember about the night before. Any and all detail, no matter how insignificant. Now while it was still fresh in his mind. It would, strangely enough, help his nerves if he kept it up.

Teresa slowly opened her eyes to find herself just as she had the last time she'd opened her eyes - laying on a bed in that facility. The fact that it was lit was the only real difference. She wasn't used to laying down at all as hybrids only needed a few hours of rest against their sword and they were perfectly refreshed.

The door to the room opened and a woman wearing white entered. A human. The hybrid's lip twitched in something that could have been a sneer before it disappeared. She was being kept in this place by humans? This made no sense to her. In fact, this human didn't even seem to know what the Organization was or what a 'Claymore' was. She even so much as insisted that Teresa's name was really Nina.

Unlike some of the other warriors Teresa knew, she did not lash out at this human and the situation she was in. She'd observe and then see what to do. So, when she was lead into a room dedicated to the ridiculous human obsession with gods, the hybrid did not sit down. She stood against the back wall and watched the room with silver eyes.

Did they expect her to pray to a god that required its chosen people to create monsters like her?

[free!]

When the young woman sat near him, Steve waited for a few moments before looking over to say hello. "Good morning," He said, giving her a friendly smile. It didn't seem like she was having a good morning. Not many people here ever did.

That was all the more reason for him to talk to her, though. This place was clearly taking a very strong approach to breaking the will of the people trapped here. If they lost the will to fight back then it was all over. "I'm Steve Rogers," He added, offering his hand to her as he introduced himself.

Celes had woken up in fight mode, the knife in her hands still clenched tightly. She noted with some vague amusement that she'd been well-cleaned before waking and the bite on her arm had been bandaged neatly. Celes only wished she had a moment to check on it. Her arm ached when she pushed the covers off and hid the knife in her closet next to her clothing. The new voice on the intercom was strange and disturbing.

Before she deigned to eat, her first stop was the chapel. Celes paid little mind to the others, and sat down at a pew to start her prayers. It wasn't, she reminded herself, that she'd been terribly religious before, and she wasn't now, either, it was only that it was familiar, and a familiarity that she approved of.

O Triad, do I now put before thee...

It was unbelievable that after everything that happened the previous night, all the cuts and bites she'd taken, that Falis did not require a wheeled chair or even crutches. Oh, she was in pain, looking like she'd gotten into a fight with a blade golem, but she could still walk on her own. The worst part about it all was the hangover she had from forcing herself to get drunk at the end of the night once Hokuto had gotten her out of the park. She'd manage, but she was not looking forward to the day.

If she'd been aware of what religion really was, Falis would have found the nurse's choice to bring her to the chapel oddly appropriate, as if the woman had known she'd killed an innocent man in the midst of her rampage and wanted her to repent. Falis was upset that she's ended his life when she'd tried so hard to save him, but she had killed enough people over the course of her life since it had made its presence known to not agonize over it.

Sitting down on a pew, Falis closed her eyes to the light and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She didn't even know what that man's name had been. Falis had no intention of looking for it. She did not wish to bring attention to herself. Not today when her head felt like it was going to split open if she looked at the light funny.

[for Sechs]

Edgeworth woke with a start, half-expecting to find that he'd been knocked out and had the undead swarming over him. What he didn't expect at all was a recording, and a strange one at that. What was that? Consoles? Welcome bags? It honestly sounded like a facility tour.

He made some mental notes on that, then headed upstairs. It had become something of a custom to go up to the chapel on Sunday mornings, since the Head Doctor's first speech. He had stopped thinking that the man's appearance was likely, but regardless, it was better to be there and able to report on it than not.

On the way up, he remembered that he was supposed to be meeting Javert there. Well, that just made the meeting easier. He settled into one of the pews near the back, and waited.

[closed to Javert.]

At the change, Phoenix wasn't even sure that he woke, it happened so quickly. One moment he was watching Senna, ready to tell her not to worry, which wasn't an answer at all but at least wouldn't get him chained to a chair. He clenched his fist tighter, told himself he wouldn't move if he didn't let himself, his hand wouldn't reach out and grab Edgeworth's sleeve or Ken's collar, it wouldn't jerk them close in a moment of surprise and no no no his jaws wouldn't open and bite and bury and tear-

And then, like a bubble popping, everything was gone but fabric and light and a bright plane of white paint in front of his eyes. He heard himself panting tensely, breaths shuddering out of him off-balance and only gradually slowing. His arm was prickling pins and needles, afterimage of the pain that had been making it impossible to even think a second ago, and even that began to fade as he rolled off of that same shoulder. For what seemed like a very long time, he stared at the ceiling, listening numbly as the foreign announcement clicked on and off again. It took his nurse several tries to convince him to look at her, and a few more before he was sure that they really would lock him away with the doctors if he just kept lying there, mute.

The chapel was the only natural choice, though only because even the smell of food would've made Phoenix sick right now. He was definitely sure that he wanted an hour or so to collect himself before he even tried to look at bacon. Maybe it would be better to put me away in the infirmary for a day. If that - whatever that was - if it comes back again tonight . . . He felt along the edges of his bandaged elbow with his similarly-bandaged hand, half-hearing his nurse as she chided him not to start picking at it. He shook his head, closing his eyes tightly a second, then opening them again. If that happened to him again tonight, then he could deal with it tonight. For now, he had a day that he couldn't afford to waste drifting around in a haze. He needed to meet with Franziska, more than anything. And if he had a visitor, he'd need to be on his toes for that, too.

That was what he told himself, at least. Honestly, he still felt woozy, and it was like slogging through cold mud every time he had to pull himself out of recollections of going crazy smelling fresh blood, of taking that bat into both hands and thinking of nothing but a frenzied loop of they're going to die if you don't do something and swinging and-

He blinked, hard, and found himself in the chapel. Already. Huh. Without really looking, he scooted into a seat near the back. Too late, he spotted a figure a few feet away in his peripheral vision, pale blonde hair pulled over one shoulder, and had halfway worked himself into a state of hell I do not need to deal with Kristoph right now when he turned his head and saw that he'd been mistaken. Mostly, at least - the man just over an arm's length away was similar-looking, but not the same. That brother he'd heard about, then?

Well, he seemed busy writing, and Phoenix, for once in his life, decided he could wait until he looked up.

Javert awoke to a veritable cacophony of aches and pains, all of them, he discovered as he moved his arms and legs experimentally, having been tended to sometime in the night. He wasn't entirely sure he was comfortable with that. Nor was he entirely comfortable with the alien voice coming from the intercom. He might be a century and a half behind the times, but even he could tell that something was wrong with the woman's voice.

The gloves he had taken from the hardware store were gone, but the axe was still here, lying on the floor as if it had fallen from his hand during the night. Javert's eyes narrowed at the sight; as if he needed any other signs that they were merely toying with the patients here.

The axe went into his closet, next to his saber. Then it was slowly up the stairs under the watchful eye of his nurse and into the chapel. Edgeworth was seated near the back, and Javert made his way over as quickly as his injuries would allow.

"Morning, M. Edgeworth," he said, dropping into the pew beside the younger man. "How did you fare last night?"

Ever since she had first found herself in this place Ayumu had continually encountered stranger and stranger situations. Last night, however, had gone far beyond anything she'd ever seen, or even imagined, and apparently this bizarre new twist hadn't ended even with the morning light.

At least she was back in the building, and no longer surrounded by hordes of foul-smelling walking corpses. She'd never thought she would find that a relief, but the relative safety was nice, even if the events of the night previous had only made her even more determined to return home as soon as possible. Not that Kyoto would be safe, not by any stretch of the imagination, but at least there the dangers were familiar ones that she knew how to deal with. There she had things she needed to accomplish, which couldn't be done if she fell in battle here against some bizarre nightmare creature made flesh.

Some of what she'd picked up in town had made it back with her, though it seemed rather odd to her exactly what had. All of the pieces of candy she'd stolen from the toy store were still there, but only one of the packets of skewers from the kitchen store? Odd, how that happened, though the fact that they, whoever they were, had let her keep any of it was likewise odd.

She slipped her newly-obtained prizes into their usual hiding place before the nurse arrived to collect her, then picked up her journal and headed off with the woman for the morning shift. Given the options, she decided to go with the "chapel" - not from any sudden need for western religion, but merely because it was a place she'd never been. It meant she would only have time for a very brief stop at the bulletin board before heading upstairs, but she could deal with that; everyone else seemed to be congregating there anyway, which made it difficult for her to leave her own note where she needed to.

Once she reached the chapel she found the faces were entirely unfamiliar. For once not in the mood to strike up a conversation with a stranger, Ayumu found a seat in an unoccupied row and there settled down. With her attention seemingly directed upwards in an absent, unfocused contemplation of the room's decor as she kept an eye on those around her, she allowed her thoughts to drift, mentally sorting and filtering through what she'd seen and learned. Every now and then as she thought, her fingertips brushed lightly against the cover of her journal, as though reminding herself of what it contained.

[free~]

"Morning, M. Javert," Edgeworth replied, with a nod. "I suppose I fared as well as anyone could hope to, given the chaos of last night. Frankly, I'm just glad to have all my arms and legs still attached," he added, giving a wry grin. "How did you fare? Just from the bulletin board, I take it there were a number of casualties. I sincerely hope that the number doesn't include any friends."

He sat back just a bit, pulling out his notebook and flipping to a clean page. "I would ask your opinion of the intercom announcement, but I suspect it's the same as mine: it shouldn't have been a voice like that, and it should have been followed by a clarification of some sort if it was unintentionally played."

That could wait, though. "But before I digress further, what was it you wanted to discuss with me?"

Once seated, Renamon's notebook was opened to the page she had copied before coming here. The contents of the night's intercom stared up at her, and she started to analyze the lines. There wasn't much there, but perhaps....

The man spoke, and she blinked, almond eyes glancing to him. "Good morning," she responded lowly, taking in the smile. Another day, and perhaps she could have found social pleasantries within her. As it was, she slid back into her normal self--composed and calm. The emotionless warrior. Trying to find the answers that were not there. Today was Sunday. Would Rika appear to visit her again? Or something else? A past patient? Orihime? Or--

The slight fracture in her mind was quickly smoothed over and didn't make it to her face. Her eyes blinked once more, and then she cocked her head at the man's outstretched arm. American, then, she reasoned, unless he was from somewhere else altogether. With one forearm in a cast and the other flipping through notes, there was a pause. Renamon was not fond of touch as it was; as a human, it was almost intolerable to all but a few. The casual welcome was unwanted. She fell back onto culture as an excuse instead, and bowed her head and shoulders. The bruises complained, but it was preferable. "I am Renamon." Straightening, she wondered, "Have you been here long?"

Even after feeling the pew shift slightly at the weight of someone sitting nearby, Klavier didn't pull his attention up from the book. Even so, he kept finding himself getting easily distracted from his thoughts and pausing his progress. After it happened about four times, he finally glanced away from the page and up at the room around him.

It was this room... That was what was bothering him. Or more, it was that resounding quiet that only belonged to big empty rooms like this. It was hard to think in places like this, where one was naturally compelled to speak softly. He needed some kind of background noise. Even the distant hum of traffic would have been better than this.

He glanced briefly at the man who'd taken a seat a little further down the pew. Then he paused and glanced at him again, a little longer this time. It only struck him now that the face was familiar, and it took a few moments more to realize exactly why. Despite hearing the man was here several times, he still looked surprised for just moment when he finally recognized Wright. It was... really astonishing the difference a change in wardrobe made.

It could have been because he wasn't in much of a mood to put up friendly pretenses or it could have been because he hadn't cared to speak to the man in over seven years... but he couldn't muster up much more than a small smile in the other's direction.

"Wright. Good morning," he said simply in greeting. Yes, he knew there was nothing good about it, but it was nice to go along with familiar ground. He sat himself a little straighter as if offering his full attention. Though that made it seem more like a business meeting than a civil one. "It's been a while. You made it through the evening... relatively unharmed, I trust?"

_{[free, no limits]}

The girl woke from her unconscious state still in the high of a fight, which translated to a short, gasped breath and fists clenched in the bed sheets. So out of sorts was Yomi that for a moment, there was a beat of white noise, sheer silence in the maelstrom of her head, before her mind began to process what she was doing, seeing, feeling. Lying on her back with her hair undone beneath her, a whitewashed ceiling above her, and sterile sheets around her.

Back. Night had ended, and she was back. The bar, the lesser Category Ds, the one she’d been battling… they were gone, and…

Although a part of her was still struggling with the transition, Yomi forced her body to calm and begin adjusting to the new situation--that she was, once again, rolling out of bed in her pjs like an invalid after a vivid nightmare. Only in addition to the injuries on her left arm, Fujiwara Yoshiko now had a fresh bandage wrapped around her right. The twinge of pain told Yomi that in protecting the upper half of her body, the D had raked her arm just enough to be a bother.

That, she could ignore, but it was testament to just how jarring it was for sesshouseki and girl to be so soundly whisked away from last night’s ’situation’ that it took her another second to realize the usual intercom announcement was different. Very different. Forgoing all pretence, Yomi jerked her head up sharply, a frown marring her features. “Today, we will be showing what a normal schedule for one of our patients will be like by putting you in their shoes.” What was that? She struggled all the more to fill in the gaps, fully alert now. Iris. Iris? Something about a personal console…

She hadn’t been listening closely enough, and something in Yomi came to a hotter burn, infuriated at being treated like a puppet on strings over and over. One step forward, three steps back, that was what it felt like. She spent the rest of the time before her door unlocked readying herself until the unorganized mess of her waking reaction felt as sharp as a knife, tucked behind the usual benign smile she reserved for the Institute’s staff. And when someone finally did come to collect her, Yomi made her choice without a blip in her façade. She hadn’t seen this ‘chapel’ yet.

It wasn’t much to look at in all honesty, but the layout and design of the Institute was less of a concern for her that morning, considering everything there was to mull over after a brief stop at the bulletin board. Hair back up its ponytail, Yomi slowly padded up the main aisle, the tail of it swinging behind her. Were any of the others praying? Wishing for answers, or for what had happened to never happen again?

Taking the aisle seat at the front of the chapel, Yomi sat. If she were the praying type, she’d only want back what’d been taken from her--she’d take care of the rest.

A slight upward twitch of Javert's mouth. "Relatively well, all things considered." He let Edgeworth's comment about friends among the casualty list slide. The Saint-Just boy had been his erstwhile ally for a time, but he'd been far too kind for this place and far too idealistic for France. It was with a feeling of dull resignation that Javert realized that he had been half-expecting something to happen to him.

"I suppose I was right in my assumption that the voice was a strange one, then, even with the level of technology involved." He paused, thinking. "I'm also inclined to assume that something has happened to the Head Nurse as well; it wouldn't have been the first time she'd substituted for Landel or announced his sudden departure."

There were more important topics at hand, though. The intercom announcement was a simpler topic of conversation in some respects than its predecessor, but it wasn't the reason why he was here. "I spoke to an associate of yours by the name of Franziska von Karma yesterday. She said my name was on a list of witnesses given her regarding an attempt on your life a week ago." He raised an eyebrow. "I don't suppose you would happen to know anything about that."

While he'd never have dreamed of calling himself an artist, Phoenix had enough of an eye for lines and shapes that he could absorb himself studying the stained glass windows, picking out recurring motifs between panels, seeing where they mirrored in the architecture. It was something to keep himself busy with, at least, until the face in the corner of his eye turned toward him and spoke his name. Responding to that was still a little eerie. He didn't think he'd ever get used to the instant familiarity or turns of phrase, but every time it got easier to not falter.

"Relatively," he echoed in reply, doing his best to match the expression - enough of a smile to be pleasant, not quite enough to fool anyone into thinking he was happy. It was a very true answer, when there had been people who hadn't survived the night. Some white gauze and lightheadedness weren't much, compared to that. He eased his way into the questions, even though they'd been nagging at the back of his mind for days now. They were easy to push back - they weren't part of the puzzle people's lives depended on solving - and at the same time impossible to get rid of altogether. "You?"

Edited 2009-08-10 03:39 (UTC)

Waking up feeling like crap was really becoming the norm, insofar as the norm applied to him in the first place. The first thing Sam registered was that there was something digging into his back. He reached behind him, fingers closing around the familiar grip of a pistol, somehow weirdly comforting after not having a firearm on him for a few days now. He hadn't gone that long without his gun since Stanford. He sat up and heard something clatter to the floor. The lighter.

Sam leaned down to pick it up at the same time quiet footsteps approached the door. He had about two seconds to shove the gun and lighter inside the drawer, and slam it shut.

The nurse poked her head in cheerfully, lectured him on the perils of teasing the dogs (I know it was just a puppy, but nevertheless), and shuffled him off down the hall. What was up with the announcements, too? He wasn't exactly mourning the loss of the grating cheer of the so-called Head Doctor, but under the circumstances, an abrupt break in routine was never a good sign. Point in case: last night.

Sam made his way upstairs toward the chapel, feeling stiff all over. His side had been stitched up again, and there was a bandage around the bite and cuts on his arm and hand. It hurt a little to flex his fingers, but the limb was otherwise fine. As long as he could still hold onto stuff, he wouldn't complain.

Though it'd be useful to check out the chapel, he would've preferred if they'd all been herded to the cafeteria as usual. He wanted—needed—to see that Peter was okay. Split up in separate locations like this, finding his roommate was a lot harder.

The chapel was quiet, not too many people. More than that, it was bare. Devoid of any religious symbolism, no roods, not even a single painting or rosary. It made a Protestant church look elaborate. In fact, if it weren't for the rows of pews, it would've just been another room. Still, the quiet was a welcome change from the usual buzz of the cafeteria.

He found a seat near the back and off to the side and just sat, arms resting on his legs and hands dangling between his knees as he picked at a hangnail. He ignored the way the cuts were starting to itch as they healed. They'd both gotten off lucky, Sam knew. With last night—yeah, they'd been damn lucky. He couldn't help feeling...One death report had already filtered in. While he knew he couldn't assume he would've been able to stop it even if he'd been there, the fact that he hadn't—

But he felt guiltier about knowing that he wouldn't have done anything different, wouldn't have left Dean under any circumstances to go after Peter or any of the other patients, despite being fully aware of what it would mean for those people.

He glanced over as Dean sat down beside him, huffing out a short laugh in return. "Yeah, I'll keep it in mind."

Dean looked okay, better now that the sedatives had worn off and the older injuries were starting to heal a bit. Last night had gotten him only the cut on his leg, maybe a couple of bruises. Sam knew it'd bother him, but it wouldn't be a big deal.

"What do you remember?" He kept his voice down, but didn't bother whispering or anything. There was enough low chatter in here that no one would overhear unless anyone was deliberately eavesdropping and he didn't think that was happening.

Edited 2009-08-10 04:21 (UTC)

"Heh. I'm fine. All things considering." It was true. Aside from bruised fingertips and the slight cuts from his nails digging into his palm, he was unharmed. Of course, he wasn't so naive as to not realize how lucky he'd been thus far. But that didn't mean he was unscathed. Close calls were even more unnerving than actual injury sometimes.

"It's getting more dangerous every night. I'm somewhat worried as to where this is leading. Even Herr Doktor didn't grace us with his presence this morning." Of course, having been here longer and been through more, Wright was the last person who needed to be told any of that. ...Speaking of which.

His smile spread a little into a bit more of a playful smirk. That's right... He'd only been told several times. "Ah. I suppose I should introduce myself again, ja?" He didn't stop to consider if that knowledge came across as creepy or not. Although considering Edgeworth, perhaps Wright knew already. "...Klavier Gavin."

Chise woke up to the smell of new bedsheets and fire-free air. For once she was glad to be back inside the institute, away from the horror-stricken-zombie-infested-nightmare town. Thank god for that!

Speaking of gods, she never seen the chapel before(or knew they had one). Back home she occasionally found herself visiting the nearest church whenever the battle was over. Did she feel the need to pray to god to repent all the sins she've done? Or did she go there to ease her soul? Whatever the reason was, she didn't know.

Inside the chapel had a very simple design, complete with pews and an alter. Sitting down in an empty pew, she let herself be taken away by the peaceful atmosphere.

[Fai-mama!]

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Day 43: Chapel

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