damned_institute | Day 44: breakfast

Entry tags:

Day 44: breakfast

Yuffie had died.

No, really. Seriously. She had actually died. Bleeding all over the place, making a horrid, sticky mess and scaring the hell out of Suzaku; she remembered it clearly. Kind of. Sort of. Through the blood loss, the pain, and the visions. Through Aerith's voice whispering in her ear, Cloud's stricken eyes, and her own panic. As bad nights went, it had been Bad, capital B and all the trimmings, and oh, god. She sat, trembling on the edge of her bed, eyes closed and hands pressed hard over her racing heart. The by-play between Landel—Landel!—and Lydia barely even sunk in. There was nothing in the whole world, any world, that could prepare you for something like…

Had it all been some kind of hallucination?

Had she imagined the whole thing?

No… She didn't think so. Nightmarish or not, Yuffie knew reality. But if it had been real, how was she alive now? That kind of pain wasn't something you could just cook up, was it? She thought about it all the way to the cafeteria, drifting behind her nurse without focus or intent. Maybe if she tried to stay clinical, tried to step back… But she'd never been good at that when things got personal. And every time she closed her eyes or blinked, she swore that the scenes played back to her, like an overused commercial on a crappy channel on a crappy TV, in a run-down dump of an inn that smelled like mothballs and yesterday's breakfast.

The scent of blood and damp, rotted wood clogged her nose. Disgusted, Yuffie shoved her bowl of cereal—handed to her by a clucking Plucky—off to the side so that she could melt into her chair, palm heels scrubbing against her eyes. Too much. This was… Too much. She couldn't even paste a plastic smile on her face to make herself feel better. Her usual shield, the white noise of inane babble that could filter out almost any crisis, was in tatters all around her. Five minutes, she gave herself.

Five minutes (not) to think, five minutes to get her act together, because there was no way she could let herself shatter here. No way…

[Closed to Sheena]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

All things considered, Peter should have been used to waking up from death by now. For the fourth time in about as many months, he found himself gasping awake, his head clouded and buzzing as his body came to life again. He ran his hand over his chest, where the gunshot wounds had been, and found nothing, not even dried blood or tears in his shirt from the "bullets."

Peter sat up slowly, continuing to check himself over. He felt fine, and that was what had bothered him. He had definitely died last night, as had Claire; had her power kicked in at the last minute to save them both?

He realized he should be grateful, but he was busier feeling guilty over Simone. He hadn't been willing to die the way she had if it had meant leaving his brother to deal with things on his own.

Nathan. Nathan and Claire. Peter needed to let them know that he was all right, and he focused on that as he pulled himself to his feet. Sam was still sleeping, but Peter was relieved to see that his roommate seemed to be fine. There was no way of telling if Sam had been through something similar last night, since even if he had, it wouldn't show now. Peter would just have to ask him about this later, since he had to wonder if other people had been affected...

Stopping by the bulletin to let his relatives know that he was all right answered that question for him pretty quickly. There were way more notes up than usual that just consisted of people checking in on each other, and even a few that outright said that people had died -- no, relived deaths.

Peter had long ago been convinced of the fact that Landel had unbelievable amounts of power (like him, like Sylar, he must have had a way of collecting abilities in large amounts), and he wished that they didn't have to be reminded of that every night. Then again, maybe it wasn't so much that the Head Doctor wanted to prove a point, but rather that he wanted to see him suffer for the hell of it. That seemed too simple, though, and Peter was too worn out to think much more on it.

He did realize, though, that it might not be the Head Doctor at all who had caused last night's events. The man had been missing, replaced by a computer program. It was pretty creepy when he thought too hard about it.

There was no sign of Nathan or Claire when he entered the cafeteria, so Peter just got himself some breakfast and took a seat by himself. He wasn't quite ready to socialize, and he found himself continuing to rub his hand over his chest as he stared down at his French toast.

So apparently, Landel didn't want her getting anywhere at night. This was starting to become a major irritation. If he was going to be that way, he could at least just come right out and tell her so that she could stop trying.

Okay, so it was doubtful she'd actually stop, but at least then she'd have a better idea of his intentions.

It looked like she'd just need to start out solo again. She always got the furthest that way. Any time she tried to stop and talk to some random passerby, she got screwed over. Wasn't it wrong of the head doctor to keep a poor girl from her fun?

Breakfast was the same old thing. She'd eat it because it was there. The company didn't seem all that interesting either, and there was no sign of the man she'd come across the night before. A pity. He'd been a source of entertainment, at least. For now, she sat herself down across from someone who looked rather familiar, but not familiar enough. Someone who'd spent a fair amount of time in the Institute, in other words.

"Good morning. Something bothering you? I'd love to hear about it." If it was interesting, which it probably wouldn't be. She could always tune out the crap and the whining.

The stranger fell into the other chair and addressed him so suddenly that Peter had to fight not to jerk forward in his seat. He usually wouldn't have been so jumpy, but he didn't think he could be blamed after just recovering from a bloody death. It wasn't quite as bad as blowing up, but he was pretty sure it ranked worse than the shard of glass in his head. That death had been pretty instantaneous, at least.

There was something in this woman's tone that was familiar, and that nagged at him. He wasn't entirely sure he could put his finger on it right now (not when he was still so disoriented), but he wasn't never one to prejudge. He was out of sorts right now, so he didn't want to jump to any conclusions about the people he talked to. (He could admit that he'd rather be talking to his brother or his niece right now, though.)

He dropped his hand from his chest and then grasped for his knife and fork, starting to cut up the French toast as he tried to decide what to say.

Usually he wasn't too closed-off to people, even people he barely knew, but this would be a lot to explain and he had no why this woman wanted the information in the first place.

"Have you checked out the bulletin this morning?" he asked, seeming genuinely curious. She shouldn't have had to ask if she'd even skimmed over some of the messages, though he knew that some people just never bothered to use the board.

"Hmm... can't say I did." It had been too crowded, and Callisto couldn't be bothered. Something had happened last night, at least. Now it was simply a matter of getting it out of her friendly breakfast companion. "My night was woefully short. Perhaps you could fill me in?"

What could she have missed that had affected so many others? It was disappointing. The messages over the intercom had been odd enough, and she never would understand why the night would last longer for some than others. Of course at this point she believed that Landel actually did enjoy toying with her, and was making certain that she specifically didn't reach any of her goals, no matter how minor. As soon as she finally gained an audience with him, she was going to drill him about it.

It was still hard to tell if this woman was being honest or not, but Peter could at least empathize with what she said about nights getting cut short. It had definitely happened to him a few times, usually when he was with Sylar. He had to wonder if there was some kind of connection there, but he knew that the killer couldn't be behind it. Maybe the institute didn't want them interacting for some reason?

"Maybe," he said with a shrug as he took a bite of his food. "Your night may have been short, but did you see anything weird or off before it ended? Seeing stuff out of the corner of your eye that wasn't there, for instance?" It would be easier to explain what had happened if the woman had been exposed to the first portion of it. Then again, who would have thought that harmless flashes of phantoms doors or pipes would evolve into something so much worse?

He took a deep breath just to test his lungs. They expanded without a problem, not clogged up with any blood. He hadn't actually felt himself heal this time, so it was pretty strange, being alive again like this. He would have been grateful if he hadn't known that he'd probably just been put through that emotional meat grinder on purpose.

Good. They were getting somewhere. Her choice of seating hadn't been a bad one, or at least it didn't seem so yet. He wasn't questioning her and he wasn't being difficult. That was two pluses.

"Now that you mention it, I might have..." Callisto tilted her head to one side, mouth twisted into half a smirk though she was clearly interested in what else he had to say. "I'd assumed it was the product of a tired mind," a lie, "but if you experienced it too it must have been because of something going on the with the Institute." Definitely, if it was leading in to that mess on the board. No amount of blinking walls, odd as that was, could cause a mess like that. There had to be something else she was missing, and she was very intent on finding out what that was and why she hadn't been involved.

She considered asking if the young man was feeling all right, but decided against it. The sentiment wouldn't have sounded sincere. (Mostly because it wouldn't have been.)

That made sense. If someone had only been exposed to that first part -- the benign stuff -- then it would have been easy for them to brush it off as their eyes playing tricks on them. Apparently this woman had never had someone die on her, had never felt the guilt and seen the wounds that took that person's life. Peter got the feeling that if she had, she would have been victim to it just as he and Claire had.

"For some people, that's only how it started," he reported, forgetting about his meal for the moment. If he kept the specific details of his own experience out of this, then maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He wasn't even sure why he was bothering to tell this stranger about what had happened, but she was likely to find out one way or another, so it seemed pointless to dig his heels in over it.

"Those harmless hallucinations moved on to images of dead loved ones," Peter continued, his tone somewhat drawn out. "And some people even ended up with the same wounds that that loved one died from. As far as I know, everyone survived in the end, so I guess the point was just to make us squirm." In a way, that was the worst part. He'd gone through all of that turmoil just so someone could watch and laugh. That was how he imagined it, anyway.

Oh but she had. Callisto and her armies had taken the lives of hundreds of men, women, and children. There wasn't a single death among those that she regretted, however. Everyone she killed had died in homage to the woman that had made her who she was. She hadn't been responsible for the deaths of her loved ones. Her village had burned by Xena's hand. She had seen her family die, and she was unaware that is was only the early end of night that had saved her from reliving that.

What would it have felt like to burn slowly to death, she wondered. Trapped amidst the flames, surrounded by the cries of her mother and father with no escape... Why had she been denied that experience? She deserved to know how it had been!

Her plastic spoon snapped between her fingers as she stared off somewhere over Peter's shoulder at nothing. "I see. That sounds like a trip and a half."

While she didn't say much in response to his explanation, her actions spoke loud and clear. Peter watched as the top half of the spoon fell down onto the table, and he could practically feel the frustration coming off of the stranger.

He wasn't sure why she would be upset about something like this, unless she was angry on behalf of all the people who had been forced to suffer through last night. Still, he doubted that was the case, considering her flippant attitude up until now. On the other hand, maybe that had all been a front?

It was hard to know either way, but the important point was that she was upset about something now, and he was in some way responsible for that. Peter shifted in his chair and watched the woman closely. "Are you all right?"

"Oh yes. Just peachy." Callisto willed herself to settle down. She didn't know the full details of what had happened, and therefore there was no reason to throw a fit over having missed the experience. (She could tell herself this now, but she knew she'd be angry again later.)

For now, she tossed the remaining half of the spoon aside and picked up her fork, stabbing it into an unsuspecting piece of french toast. This man was probably the friendly, heroic type. There were a good many of those in this place. So she shook her head and smirked at him. "Don't mind me. What about you? Did you fare the same?"

While it was obvious that things weren't fine with the woman, Peter knew better than to try and drill her for more information. She didn't seem like the type who would hesitate to yell at him or maybe even worse. Then again, Peter didn't want to assume too much. Maybe she had just had a bad couple of days. (On the other hand, who hadn't?)

He thought it was kind of strange that she was asking him questions when she was unwilling to say anything about herself, but he realized that it wouldn't really do any harm to reply. It would have reflected worse on him if he refused to own up to the fact that he'd been involved in a guilty death, wouldn't it?

Besides, he liked to be honest. His family got too caught up in secrets, and he did his best to be open whenever he could. He didn't have to go into the gory details.

"Yeah, I did," he said after a fairly long pause, wondering if it would surprise her. "Can't say it was the funnest night of my life." He didn't want to make light of what had happened, necessarily, but how else was he supposed to handle this topic with a stranger?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Day 44: breakfast

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject