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damned_institute2009-09-20 11:43 am
thatdamnedninja.livejournal.com) wrote in damned_institute2009-09-20 11:43 am
Entry tags:
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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]
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]
no subject
Well, he hadn't died as a result of the ghost, that was.
"I honestly have no idea," he admitted. At this point, he was just kinda at a loss in general. Maybe it'd be good to just let it go for now. They had other concerns, after all. Putting effort into something that had at least been resolved in the most superficial sense might not be worth the subsequent headache.
He laid down his fork. The why had been a question he'd been asking himself since day one. It was the one thing that simply didn't add up. How could be chalked up to a supernatural force beyond what they normally ran into, but why made no sense. What did they want? Why these particular patients, why now, why here? Why raise the dead and then create an illusion of the people closest to you dying?
Unless...that hadn't been the main point. That was a possibility, wasn't it? That everything that'd happened up until now simply didn't have the significance they'd been assuming it did? No significance in and of themselves, just somehow an offshoot of something bigger going on that they simply couldn't see at the moment.
"What if there is none?" he said, leaning forward, elbows on the table. "What if everything we've been witnessing over the past several nights—or hell, since we've got here—what if they're side effects?"
no subject
"I dunno, man," said Dean after a moment, not entirely sold on the idea. "Seems a bit too...planned for it to be all random side effects to me." He didn't whisper, dropping his voice so they weren't broadcasting the conversation to any casual listener. "What about all the people with those abilities, all in one place, all with no idea how they got there? That just reeks 'Yellow-Eyes' all over."
It looked like however much he wanted to argue the point, it was gonna have to wait. The intercom broke up breakfast, patients starting to get up and leave the cafeteria, and while he probably had a minute or so to discuss it some more with Sam, he wasn't really sure he wanted to: this was getting to close to talking about Cold Oak again, and while Dean knew he wanted, needed to tell Sam sooner than later (especially after last night's nightmare), he still needed time to go over what he wanted to say, the last painful way to break it to him that yeah, by the way, I'm kinda on a tight schedule here.
There was also the fact that he had no idea if Harry burned all the way last night. Considering the attack he wasn't sure if it'd even happened or not, Dean had to admit a part of him plain didn't want to go back and check, pussying out at the door at a place where he'd seen Sam kick the bucket with his own eyes.