http://sixtyeighth.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
sixtyeighth.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
damned_institute2009-08-30 01:33 am
sixtyeighth.livejournal.com) wrote in damned_institute2009-08-30 01:33 am
Entry tags:
night 43: men's bathrooms (M81-M120)
[from here]
As Giovanni neared the bathrooms, he covered the entirety of the flashlight's bulb with his hand, so that there was only a soft reddish glow where the light shined through his flesh. He stepped quietly, carefully, and when he reached the door, he leaned in close to discern if there were any sounds emanating from inside. There weren't. Just in case, though, he uncovered his flashlight and then lifted his leg to kick open the door, hoping to surprise anything that might be lurking inside. Nothing jumped out at him, but after letting the door close behind him, he shined the flashlight around every corner of the room. The coast was clear. Didn't that man he'd spoken to earlier tell him monsters roamed the halls during night shifts? Giovanni was sorely disappointed.
Still, he had only exited his room and gone down the hallway; there was still plenty more of the institute to explore, and pressing onwards without a weapon would be idiotic. A quick glance at the bottoms of the sinks gave him his solution. He set down his flashlight, placing it so that the bulk of its light shone onto the pipes beneath the sink, and knelt down to inspect the bolts. It wouldn't be easy to dislodge a piece of the pipe, but it could certainly be accomplished: what he needed to do was loosen the screws holding the sections of pipe together. Another glance around the bathroom proved that nothing besides useless objects were contained in it, and thus he'd have to loosen the screws himself. It would take a while, but it was the only solution available, and so he steeled himself and prepared to make do.
It took him longer than he would have liked, and by the last two screws, his hands were raw and aching. Right before taking off the last screw, he sat back and let his hands rest, because he knew as soon as he had the pipe he would take it in hand and set out again. It had taken him long enough already, though, and so after a few seconds, he leaned back in and worked to undo the last screw. As soon as he felt it loosen, he wrapped his hands around the pipe and then scooted backwards as he pulled, avoiding most of the torrent of water that began to rush from the two disconnected sections. He stood up, then, and grabbed his flashlight from the quickly-flooding floor, holding the flashlight in one hand and the pipe in the other. He didn't care to have the legs of his pants soaked - even if they were hideous pants - and so he quickly made an exit before the flooding got too bad.
[to here]
As Giovanni neared the bathrooms, he covered the entirety of the flashlight's bulb with his hand, so that there was only a soft reddish glow where the light shined through his flesh. He stepped quietly, carefully, and when he reached the door, he leaned in close to discern if there were any sounds emanating from inside. There weren't. Just in case, though, he uncovered his flashlight and then lifted his leg to kick open the door, hoping to surprise anything that might be lurking inside. Nothing jumped out at him, but after letting the door close behind him, he shined the flashlight around every corner of the room. The coast was clear. Didn't that man he'd spoken to earlier tell him monsters roamed the halls during night shifts? Giovanni was sorely disappointed.
Still, he had only exited his room and gone down the hallway; there was still plenty more of the institute to explore, and pressing onwards without a weapon would be idiotic. A quick glance at the bottoms of the sinks gave him his solution. He set down his flashlight, placing it so that the bulk of its light shone onto the pipes beneath the sink, and knelt down to inspect the bolts. It wouldn't be easy to dislodge a piece of the pipe, but it could certainly be accomplished: what he needed to do was loosen the screws holding the sections of pipe together. Another glance around the bathroom proved that nothing besides useless objects were contained in it, and thus he'd have to loosen the screws himself. It would take a while, but it was the only solution available, and so he steeled himself and prepared to make do.
It took him longer than he would have liked, and by the last two screws, his hands were raw and aching. Right before taking off the last screw, he sat back and let his hands rest, because he knew as soon as he had the pipe he would take it in hand and set out again. It had taken him long enough already, though, and so after a few seconds, he leaned back in and worked to undo the last screw. As soon as he felt it loosen, he wrapped his hands around the pipe and then scooted backwards as he pulled, avoiding most of the torrent of water that began to rush from the two disconnected sections. He stood up, then, and grabbed his flashlight from the quickly-flooding floor, holding the flashlight in one hand and the pipe in the other. He didn't care to have the legs of his pants soaked - even if they were hideous pants - and so he quickly made an exit before the flooding got too bad.
[to here]
no subject
Even in the dark, bathroom doors are almost impossible to miss. So with the promise of a mirror, Hartley's dead sprint with arms outstretched at the end, pushed him though the the door with ease. However, luck was not with him tonight.
Already panicked--lost and disoriented, startled by the sights of blood and the lack of human bodies, alive or otherwise--he screamed, voice a broken shout as his bare feet skidded across the wet tiled floor. The whole room shuddered with the echo of his impact against a stall door and from his new vantage on the wet floor, Hartley--with the wind effectively knocked out of him, quickly found a new reason to settle down, take a deep breath, and to try it all again.
"I-Irons Heights--" he murmured, his own voice sounding far too quiet to his ears. "--s-subsidiary." There had to be a reason behind this place somewhere. Only the prison was so carelessly messy. And they had a track record of trying to depower metahumans, didn't they? Hart's implants were on his records...if they'd done something to his implants...
It would explain why he couldn't hear to the range he was used to...
"Deep breath..." he coached himself--the water seeped up all across the back of his clothes now, chilling his skin. "One...two..." On the push of an exhale, Hart tried to force out the clench in his shoulders and the shake in his hands. It only partially worked. Regardless...
"--has to be affiliated to Wolfe's hell hole..." When he couldn't hear what he was supposed to, the sound of his own voice came as a small reassurance that he wasn't fully deaf. "They transferred me to here from the station. Tapered with my implants. Stuck me in with the dangerous ones. Metahumans. Nut jobs."
Convinced he was calm enough to stand, Hart righted himself and stood, padding through the water gushing from the sink's missing pipe. There were mirrors there, alright--though the darkness did nothing to help his plight.
And done with his near-hyperventilation, Hart gave a try at breathing through his nose...only to find he couldn't. He reached up and pushed a nostril closed and -blew-. Something wet spattered against the bowl of the sink, and Hart leaned in to get a closer look at the mirror.
He'd earned himself a bloody nose from is crash into stall door, though he knew full well it still hurt, he couldn't tell if it was broken or not yet. Rounding up some paper towels, he attempts to clean himself off before heading back out again.
--after all, he'd never really find out what had befallen the Pied Piper unless he -asked-.
no subject
no subject
As he swung the door open, Minato quietly regretted his decision to check out the room. Water spilled out, slapping against his shoes; he could already feel the water drenching his socks. Great.
Also bombarding his senses were sounds and smells that didn’t take long to place. The sound was an uncontrolled spray of water; he could see the source—a broken pipe underneath a bathroom sink—if he stepped further into the flooded room. The smell was coming directly from the water, which (upon closer inspection) was clouded over and smelled … polluted. He couldn’t place the smell off the top of his head. …And he really didn't want to, at this point.
Shaking his head, he quickly shut the door and stepped away before shaking out his poor shoes. Maybe he should have grabbed those boots instead.
no subject