ryuuzaki: (gray shirt)
"RYUUZAKI" (L - Death Note) ([personal profile] ryuuzaki) wrote in [community profile] damned_institute2009-09-30 05:12 pm

Day 44: Arts and Crafts Room, 4th Shift

The day had been slow for L so far, slower than he required: the events of the previous night were traumatic, but they did not outweigh his need for information and a useful way in which to apply whatever he might learn.

When the nurse shepherded him from the cafeteria, through the Sun Room, and over towards the door of the Arts and Crafts Room, he experienced a small internal wince: this was the room where it had happened the night before. Unpleasant, yes, but likely to be irrelevant in terms of my own welfare, except in terms of what I can learn from it, he reminded himself.

He had the impression that he could avoid the room if he wanted to, but there were several convincing reasons to push past his reluctance: his meeting with Lunge was necessary, the opportunity to see the room in more usual circumstances might be valuable, and he did not want the staff to see that he had been affected. He wasn't sure how they were tied to the events of the previous night, but the buzz of information around the Institute suggested some kind of strong connection.

As he stepped into the room, feet feeling imprisoned in the slippers that the staff kept insisting that he wear, he avoided the area where he had collapsed. Instead, he turned to the right and proceeded as far into the room as he could, then left, then took a seat in the back corner.

If the nurses pressed him to be more creative, he would take up painting. However, he expected to express his creativity in other ways.

[For Lunge.]

[identity profile] hamelinschild.livejournal.com 2009-09-30 11:37 pm (UTC)(link)
Creative...how creative could you be when you had a timer over you head that counted down toward your death? (--or potential maiming. Some capes thought they were interchangeable.) But regardless of his figurative Doomsday Clock, Hartley still had a promise to keep.

Even if it was a ridiculous, glitter-covered one.

He was rather impressed with the selection of supplies provided. Most elementary schools would sacrifice their third grade class to Neron for this much crap. So after a quick look around, he grabbed up some construction paper and yarn and dropped it off at one of the middle tables (a place easily spotted), and returned for glitter and cheap paint.

As he set out with white paint smeared all over his fingers, he wondered that perhaps later he should come back (or just steal some supplies for himself) and make something for James. He was sure the other would have approved of nothing less than a glitter and macaroni portrait. Hart offered a quiet chuckle to the idea, wondering idly what the man would say if he could see his Piper now.

'Hey--watch out. You're going to smear that and mess up the sign! And what's this--? M-I-N-D...T-H-E...F-O-R...

Hey, Hart, how come
I don't have a sign from you, huh? I mean, I was only your best friend in the ENTIRE WORLD.'

At that, Hart paused, a paint-slicked finger hesitating over the crossing of a 'T'. He...he really missed James more than he'd like to admit. He really missed home more than he'd like to admit. And here it was only his first day. How was he going to survive anyway?

"--one day at a time..." he sighed, words soft on the exhale. "One at a time." With that, he returned his attentions to the project at hand.

[For Statesman]

[identity profile] zeus-incarnate.livejournal.com 2009-10-02 01:53 am (UTC)(link)
Marcus had managed to get a glimpse of who he assumed to be the Piper he was looking for putting a note on the bulletin board. What sort of villain name was Piper, anyway? After a moment's pause, Marcus made his way over to where the guy was making a sign in arts and crafts as though he were a kid. Given the behavior Marcus had seen so far, he wasn't expecting anyone capable of acting like a sane, mature adult. Especially given that it seemed as though he was talking to himself.

"Piper?" Marcus asked, standing over the table where the Piper was seated. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have right now. It was not going to go well, and he didn't have to be a Fortunata to know that. But this needed to be resolved before things got any sillier or even more out of control. It was also probably best for Piper's safety that this all came to an end.
ext_1140780: ([thinking ink])

[identity profile] otnemememento.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 12:11 am (UTC)(link)
It's like being in kindergarten again, Leonard thought as he was led into the room by his nurse. Markers, paper, even glitter. Macaroni pictures will be next. What is it they expect us to do here? He felt paper brush against his fingers in his pocket, and fished the scrap out:

MAP OUT YOUR SITUATION. WHO YOU CAN TRUST, WHERE YOU ARE, AND WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW.

Guess I won't be so bored in here after all. He checked his other pocket, shifting his camera strap around his shoulder: Pictures. Hm.

Finding himself a large piece of poster board and a thick marker, he got to work, drawing a rectangular box on the left side of the paper.

[Free]

[identity profile] ruthless-hunter.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 12:32 am (UTC)(link)
[This okay?]

"Arts and crafts"? What the slag did they mean by that?

Lockdown got his answer as he was led to one of the smaller rooms. His optics darted around the room, scoping it out. One thing was clear. Everything here was very... colorful.

The bounty hunter had never had a real interest in art, Cybertronian or not. Unless you counted HK's "zombie art" from that one night and the picture he'd drawn the next day that illistrated it.

He wanted to just park himself in a corner and sit there, but his nurse made him sit by some ordinary-looking human, saying that he "needed to be more social". Lockdown gave her a nasty look as she left him alone with the man.

Lockdown just glanced at what the fleshie was working on, just drawing on a big piece of paper, before quickly losing interest. Since he knew he was gonna be here a while, the bounty hunter idly took a regular-sized peice of paper and some colorful writing utensils and started to just idly draw little patterns on the paper. Mostly just Cybertronian writing and symbols.

[identity profile] number1smiley.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 01:00 am (UTC)(link)
[free, limit - 2]

The handlers came to the conclusion that the greatest hybrid warrior ever created by the Organization needed to sit in a room with paper, very thin string, beads, glue and a tube of tiny silver metallic bits. Teresa was almost amused when the handler told her to 'be creative' and 'make something for a friend', as her creative skills lay in slaughter on the battlefield and not in whatever the tiny metallic bits were for.

Picking up the tube, Teresa decided to open it only to find the cap came off way too easily, a bit of the metallic bits finding their way into the air and a bunch more on her hand. With the way the light reflected off of it and the apparent glue, she concluded that it was meant for adornment. Shaking her hand, as she assumed that would get the metallic bits off, she turned her attention to the beads.

Methodically, she started sliding beads into the thin string at random. No pattern was present at all in the order she chose her next bead. It was simply something to do that made the handler go away.

[identity profile] superdynamic.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 03:51 am (UTC)(link)
Suzaku sighed wearily and allowed himself to be dragged to the Arts and Crafts Room, too drained to protest. He didn't really want to go in there, though; it almost felt like Lelouch's cold, disapproving eyes would be lurking right around the corner. Suzaku couldn't wait to talk to him again, to erase the memories of their previous meeting, because he was sure he could bring Lelouch around if he were given one more chance. That didn't mean -- he still felt a bit nervous about facing him again, not that he was actively avoiding him, because he wasn't. But with all the times he'd misjudged Lelouch. . . He almost felt ashamed, which was the last thing he should feel around the other boy, but -- even so.

Suzaku had to cut himself off mentally before he continued to think in panicked, incoherent circles. He'd see Lelouch tonight, and that was that. No sense in worrying prematurely over the whole thing. It was all he could do to focus on the day's (mockingly mundane) events, to keep functioning and keep moving. He owed that much to everyone, to keep going and not let himself fall into despair and apathy. Even if he felt useless, there was always something that could be done. And admittedly he felt a bit better after talking to that guy at lunch.

With another sigh, Suzaku collapsed into a seat near a tall, blonde woman and began picking disconsolately at some of the craft supplies. Yes, he would keep going, which clearly meant playing with glitter and construction paper. On another day he might almost have enjoyed this, but. . .

He gave up, absently twisting a piece of paper as he glanced over at the woman again. She looked familiar; hadn't she been talking to Euphie the day before? He'd been distracted by trying to find Lelouch, but he had still noticed. He should probably sound her out, make sure she was safe. As he should do with everyone Euphie had been talking to, dammit. "Making a necklace for someone?" he asked, for lack of anything better to say. He didn't have the energy to come up with a better opening line.

[identity profile] jokers-wildcard.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 02:01 am (UTC)(link)
[for Schuldig, I believe?]

Wow. The room looked so... normal compared to last night. Everything had been cleaned up and put away like nothing had happened at all. Harley found herself staring at the floor where Porky had dropped dead, somewhat amazed. There was nothing there! Not hint or a stain. These people were good. ...Not that she wanted to give any of them a compliment or anything for it, but wow.

She also had to wonder if they had filled in the taken fingerpaint colors, but her nurse directed her away before she could head over there again. It looked like the nurses weren't up for a repeat of yesterday's paint mess and decided it would be better to leave her at a table with a box of crayons instead. It didn't look like any arguing was going to change any of their minds.

Harley sat down and stared, irritated and pouting, at the crayons. She liked them, but they weren't as fun as the paint, and when you knew there was something better, you didn't feel like settling for second best. What, they really thought she was going to cause less trouble if she was put somewhere more boring? Great reasoning there. Maybe she should start eating the crayons just to tick them off. Or break one, shove the end up her nose, and act like she'd just punctured something. She started fiddling with the orange one with two fingers, bored and weighing her options.
Edited 2009-10-01 02:01 (UTC)

[identity profile] k4t4str0ph4l.livejournal.com 2009-10-02 07:40 am (UTC)(link)
Schuldig honestly didn't have anything he cared to do in arts and crafts; he wasn't even certain why he hadn't made the nurse take him to the sun room instead, except that he scarcely ever came in here. He wasn't the creative type; he was much more the destroy-everything-and-laugh-while-it-burns type. The fun type, not to put too fine a point on it.

Still, while he couldn't really manage any great mischief during the day - or at least, not without getting sedated, which was always unpleasant - there was always the less dramatic kind of trouble to get into. The girl scowling at the crayons, for example; there was someone with rebellious intent. All she needed were some interesting directions.

"Since we lack any heat to melt them all down and make a record-setting adult's crayon," he remarked, sitting down across from her, "you could try gluing a bunch of them together. Or, if you're set on inserting them somewhere, why use your own orifices to begin with? You've got plenty of other people's to choose from."

[identity profile] piggy-king.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 02:22 am (UTC)(link)
So first there had been the shower. Annoying, but it made sense. After all, they were in a hospital. The nurses needed to make sure everyone was clean and all. Porky could live with that. The part of the equation Porky didn't get, however, was that the nurses had also decided that arts & crafts were a necessary part of a mental patient's rehabilitation. For a kid, Porky could understand. For a 10,000-year-old man? Not so much.

With a sigh, Porky sat down at one of the tables and grabbed a thing of red finger paint. He stuck his right index finger into it unceremoniously and began swirling it around on a piece of black construction paper, not really paying attention to what he was drawing. There was only so much to look at in such a dull room, though, and Porky eventually had to look back down at what he was painting.

"Augh!" Porky yelped, almost falling over in his chair, "What the hell?!"

Porky had inadvertently managed to draw an almost perfect picture of Giygas with his paint. Perhaps red wasn't the best choice of color after all. He hastily crumpled up the sheet that the drawing was on and began focusing on another drawing.

[free]

[identity profile] sheisthecause.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 02:41 am (UTC)(link)
Meche wondered how she'd never made it to this room before. There was something a little comforting about the big round tables and the collection of supplies--like an elementary school classroom, except that the chairs were all the right height. She found herself particularly drawn to the sewing supplies; finally, a way to get decent clothes, if only she could find the fabric. She should really get up to the patient possessions room one of these nights.

Knitting might be a start, though. Meche rummaged through the cabinets and came up with a pair of needles (plastic, of course) and a skein of dark blue yarn, then sat down and tried to remember how to do this. After a few false starts, she managed to get a reasonable approximation of a cast-on and started knitting idly. She was paying more attention to the door than to what she was doing. The younger patients would all be in the showers this shift, but maybe someone else she knew would come in.

Manny? Somehow Meche couldn't picture him bent over a glitter collage. She found herself grinning a little as she wondered how his first day back was going.

[for Senna!]

[identity profile] windstwilight.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 05:50 pm (UTC)(link)
[from here] (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/725136.html?thread=59737744#t59737744)

--"Well she should never have let you participate in that contest," the nurse was saying, obviously different from her regular one. Senna had the look of someone long-suffered, wet, bedraggled hair to her shoulders completing the picture, and was currently glancing about the room desperately for an escape route. Oh, hey. Hadn't she been here already once? No use telling this nurse that. At least this wasn't Nursey McAsshole. Then she'd never hear the end of it. Well, more than she was.

"So you shouldn't whine about it," the nurse continued her lecture, the reference to Senna's whining a small complaint about her stomach. "It doesn't do anyone any good."

Person, person, person, Meche--Oh god, Meche, thank anything that was listening. "Hey, yeah, really interesting and all, but I gotta--" And that was the end of Senna's verbal genius as she darted away from the nurse, stomach protesting, towards her friend. Per usual, sitting down was more like falling with style onto the couch and Senna leaned against Meche thankfully, seeming not to notice her own damp hair. "Thank you for appearing from nowhere. They were going to kill me with lectures."

[identity profile] number-crunch.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 03:11 am (UTC)(link)
Finally, something to look forwards to!

Not that this wasn't complete child's play and totally beneath his level, but even if they weren't about to let him craft polygonal outcroppings out of metal and scrap, at least the nurses would leave him some creative freedom.

This time found Sho gluing together popsicle sticks into planks and using pipe-cleaners to set them at obtuse and acute angles to each other.

[For Wonka]
Edited 2009-10-01 03:11 (UTC)

[identity profile] demon-beast.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 04:30 am (UTC)(link)
The nurses definitely were getting tired of her holing up in the Sun room most days, if their insistence that she go somewhere else to be 'creative' be any indication. They'd left her at this table with a sheet of paper and glitter and glue and pencils in front of her, lined up in neat little rows.

She stared at them blankly, looking between them and the white paper and wondering what she was supposed to do with such things. She hadn't even seen things like them until she'd arrived here. The only sort of design that she could even imagine was the marks of their atma. Instead of bothering, she leaned forward, resting her head on her folded arms and staring grumpily at the pot of glitter.

[identity profile] idontregret.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 06:13 am (UTC)(link)
The last conversation had ended on an interesting but rather unresolved note. Heat had not at all been pleased to be separated from the boy before their conversation had ended, and now he was going to have to find him later to hear what he was talking about. What power?

His nurse was busy explaining his next activity as she led him into a different room. It smelled odd, like too much wet paper and something else he didn't recognize. Earthy. All he got out of it was that there might be paint involved. That, at least, could be promising.

He spotted a familiar head of pink hair almost instantly and veered in the woman's direction. It was about time he actually saw Argilla in this place. The demon took the seat across from her with a smug sort of smile, holding up a recently acquired jar of orange finger paint. "There you are," he said by way of greeting.
Edited 2009-10-01 06:42 (UTC)

(no subject)

[identity profile] demon-beast.livejournal.com - 2009-10-02 00:48 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[identity profile] idontregret.livejournal.com - 2009-10-02 01:10 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[identity profile] demon-beast.livejournal.com - 2009-10-03 00:47 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[identity profile] idontregret.livejournal.com - 2009-10-03 04:38 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[identity profile] demon-beast.livejournal.com - 2009-10-04 04:52 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[identity profile] idontregret.livejournal.com - 2009-10-06 06:13 (UTC) - Expand

[identity profile] human-sponge.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 05:13 am (UTC)(link)
Man, was Peter glad he had found Nathan at lunch. The fact that he'd let his brother even go that long believing he was dead (again) was bad enough. Still, they had ironed everything out, and while it didn't make it any easier to bear what had happened last night, Peter felt a tiny bit of relief.

They had also talked more about plans for how they were going to tackle the problem of the institute in general, but now Peter was left feeling exhausted rather than invigorated. He was definitely the sort of person who latched onto a plan or an idea and didn't let go, but it wasn't working so well in this case.

Probably had something to do with being forced to relive one of his most traumatizing moments last night. It wasn't something a person got over that easily, and he was feeling the effects in subtle ways.

Hence, the drained feeling and the urge to just forget about plans and strategies and do something mindless. That was what got Peter to grab a piece of scratch paper so that he could start doodling a series of stick figures.

If only he could still predict the future -- maybe it would have given him a clue for how to fix all this.

[identity profile] scarletspeedstr.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 01:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Dates, Wally decided, were an awesome way to kick back and relax. One that he should definitely do more often. Just spending a bit of time with Dahlia had really helped him relax a bit after everything else so far; so much so that he'd suddenly realised that he'd been a lot tenser than he'd thought.

It made sense though. What with what had happened to Bart and Bats, the zombies, people dying... just thinking about it a little was enough to start getting depressed again. It was no wonder just a little time to take his mind off things helped.

He wasn't sure at first if Arts and Crafts was really going to help with that one either, but when he spotted a familiar face he hadn't seen in a while, Wally figured maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all. A moment later and he had a sheet of paper, some paints, and one of the only tubs of glitter that hadn't been commandeered for weird bulletin posts and was at Peter's table.

"Hey, long time no see," he said cheerfully. "You mind if I join you?"
prodigalson: (5)

[personal profile] prodigalson 2009-10-01 05:24 am (UTC)(link)
[from here.]

"I've already acquainted you with the Sun Room," his nurse began, admiring her work on the gauze surrounding his arm and wrapping around his face to situate a bandage over his burned cheek, "so how about a new environment?" She led him to an apparent craft room, sitting him slowly at a table with a plethora of colored paper and pencils spread haphazardly.

Edward looked up at her expectantly.

The nurse frowned down at him. "Draw."

She walked away, leaving the vampire sighing down at the yellow, smiling face of his shirt staring up at him. A small plastic cup of glitter sat ominously at the top corner of the closest bit of paper, mocking him with its optimistic, showy shine. He turned the jar over on the paper, spilling its shimmery guts on the paper, arranging the little star-shaped paper cut-outs to spell out, "I loathe glitter".

Maybe he could find some glue and make his distaste permanent.

[Free.]
dualistic: (case open case shut.)

[personal profile] dualistic 2009-10-01 05:36 am (UTC)(link)
In the end, Harvey's talk with Edgar had been more or less benign from his perspective, and that was exactly what he'd been hoping for. The man was interesting (if missing a few marbles) and not annoying, so that already gave him a few points in Harvey's book.

Not that his somewhat good mood could last, since he was being forced into the Arts and Crafts room. He wanted to ask his nurse if she was the mad one for thinking that a grown man would enjoy making bead necklaces, but he had quickly learned that sarcasm and a "bad attitude" would only make his life harder.

As it was, the nurses already tended to eye him with suspicion and a shred of pity. The bandages; that's what it was always about.

The man had been passing between the different tables and then just happened to catch a glimpse of one patient's project. Once he'd read the words, Harvey found himself making a painful smirk. This seemed like someone he could get along with.

Or it was just a punk kid. Either way, he was about to find out. He took a nearby seat and motioned to the glitter. "You're never going to end up Patient of the Week if you do stuff like that," he joked darkly.

(no subject)

[personal profile] prodigalson - 2009-10-01 20:12 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] dualistic - 2009-10-01 22:37 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] prodigalson - 2009-10-02 19:10 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] dualistic - 2009-10-02 19:35 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] prodigalson - 2009-10-03 20:49 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] dualistic - 2009-10-04 01:52 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] prodigalson - 2009-10-04 06:43 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] dualistic - 2009-10-04 08:01 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] prodigalson - 2009-10-05 03:35 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] dualistic - 2009-10-05 04:15 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] prodigalson - 2009-10-06 03:26 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] dualistic - 2009-10-07 06:18 (UTC) - Expand
winged_moon: (annoyed yue)

[personal profile] winged_moon 2009-10-01 07:07 am (UTC)(link)
This? Was most certainly not where Yue wanted to be right now.

What exactly they expected him to do with a pile of assorted craft supplies was far beyond his comprehension. He didn't want to make anything, especially not with supplies clearly designed for primary students - if not younger. It was an even worse waste of time than anything they'd concocted here so far, and he almost wished Ururu were still here only for the reason that she could save him from the necessity of looking like he cared so that the nurses would leave him alone.

He sighed, folding his arms across his chest as he stared at the far wall, very clearly ignoring the pile of trash sitting on the table in front of him. He would've much preferred to spend the time in the library, or outside, or somewhere that wasn't here. But no, of course they wouldn't allow him that. That was something he might enjoy.

[free]

[identity profile] slipperymagic.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 02:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Howl swept into the room as if there was nothing wrong. As if he had not found a dead body in this room, then proceeded to nearly killed himself, and finally watched someone spontaneously bleed out on the floor. His gait was slightly more stiff, and he was fussing with his clothing and hair with greater frequency, but his face was passive and calm. He spared a glance at the door, which was clean and unmarked, despite the fact that he had drawn all over it the night before.

He sighed, long and suffering, and chose a table just as a nurse attempted to pick a spot and a conversation partner for him. It wouldn't have mattered if she had directed him or not; Howl simply didn't like the decision being made for him. But now he found himself at a table alongside a younger man with light hair, which made him faintly jealous. However, this man's hair was extremely pale. Far beyond blond.

"Not the creative sort, I take it?" Howl asked him, feeling obligated to say something. The silence surrounding this man was a bit oppressive. Howl himself had accepted several sheets of paper and a crayon, which he began to use to outline the workings of a spell. The more complex the magic, the better. Simply for practice, of course. Howl would throw himself to the monsters if he ever forgot his education, which he might very well with disuse. Howl did his best to hide the beginnings of his work, as he suspected magical gibberish was not an acceptable art form to the staff.

(no subject)

[personal profile] winged_moon - 2009-10-01 20:46 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] winged_moon - 2009-10-02 02:06 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] winged_moon - 2009-10-02 07:10 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] winged_moon - 2009-10-02 20:16 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] winged_moon - 2009-10-03 00:30 (UTC) - Expand

[identity profile] should-be-dead.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 10:40 am (UTC)(link)
He didn't do sculpting, origami or painting. There was little use to mess around with various materials if one did not feel the need to develop his creativity in arts and crafts. So what in the name of the retired Shogun he was supposed to even do here, Tenzen had no idea. Yet, for some reason the nurse had decided it'd be a wonderful to bring him here nonetheless.

The reasoning of this woman simply did not make any sense to the ninja.

He was left at a table with painting materials and tubes with glittery material (he supposed this was where the ones painting the bulletin full with it acquired it from). The ninja scowled at them, instead glancing around for anything else that might be of use.

[Free!]

[identity profile] deadlyjuliet.livejournal.com 2009-10-02 02:32 pm (UTC)(link)
[Have a spazbat?]

Lunch was unappealing like usual and Grell was happy to be out of the cafeteria, away from the uncouth rabble. Lately, Grell had found he was getting bored more and more often. After that flop with the so-called "Evil Club" which turned out to be the Collection of Idiots Club, Grell was having a harder and harder time just staying awake here. He needed action or death or...something. That so-called vigilante didn't seem bothered with him anymore and the Waffle Knight had been quiet today. Then again, he was starting to get tired of bothering Brainy everyday anyway.

Maybe he should start going after Ciel. At least then he'd have a chance at getting to see his sexy butler again. It wasn't like Will or any other shinigami were here to keep him in order, right? So why shouldn't he play? The justice types weren't adept enough to keep up with him, and he had his replacement darling, so... Why indeed?

"--nett? Mr. Burnett? Hello?" Grell hadn't realized he'd been following his nurse when she suddenly grabbed his shoulder, waving a hand in front of his face. Snapping back to reality, he almost slapped that hand away when he remembered he was supposed to be playing the dimwitted butler. Augh, he was tiring of that role faster now that he didn't have anyone keeping him to it.

"A-ah, yes? Yes? I'm sorry. I'm listening!" The hand disappeared and Grell found himself standing in front of a rather stern looking man. With glitter pens. And paints. Glittery paints. The nurse's hand found its way to his shoulder and before he knew it, he was sitting in the chair across from Mr. Glitter-Grump with flushed cheeks.

"I'm sure you two will get along just fine," the nurse said before skipping town like a woman with the mafia after her. Grell looked after her pathetically and then turned his attention back to his unlikely partner for the shift. He had...something off about him, too. Why was it the nurse always found these types for him? Dropping his gaze quickly, Grell inspected the table and found himself with his own set of glitter pens and paints, and a big white sheet of paper. "I...ah...apologize, sir. My nursemaid seems rather set on me finding new friends. I hope...er, you don't...mind...?"
darwinism: (caged)

[personal profile] darwinism 2009-10-01 12:17 pm (UTC)(link)
The conversation with Brian had been just that: a conversation. Just a new stranger who'd posed a new puzzle... if that puzzle was even worth solving. As far as Sylar could tell, the guy was incredibly relaxed about this whole situation – probably too relaxed – and though there might have been something deeper under that pig-out facade, Sylar wasn't entirely convinced if it was anything that could play into his plans as they stood now. Maybe. He'd have to wait and see, but right now, he'd just keep this 'Brian Johnson' as a mental note.

Still, it had been... a nice change of pace; the rest of the day and the night before had been one unending roller coaster of conflict followed by memory followed by trying to block it all out. He'd had a lot of things to think about, some more difficult to keep in mind than others, and Brian had been a good distraction.

You're always looking for distractions.

Sylar frowned and moved his hand to gingerly press it against the large bandage on his brow. He winced, recalling the pain of it all, and the humiliation. No, he wasn't looking for distractions: he wasn't a coward, and Tyki Mikk would pay for what he'd done – hell, Martin Landel would have his head cut open in more ways than he could count by the time Sylar was through with him.

Soon. Soon. But when?

It wasn't that Sylar was bad at biding his time. In fact, he was great at it. But it'd been almost two weeks now and he was getting impatient. He could feel his blood nearing its boiling point, but in this state, he couldn't afford to be careless. Right now, he'd meet Faize, focus on the whole alchemy-symbology angle, and make sure he wasn't useless.

Another distraction.

Sylar's lip curled and he reached for a paper and a pencil his nurse had gotten him after rolling him to one of the corner tables. After a few tries at drawing circles and keeping the paper down at the same time (he needed his other hand back soon, dammit), he managed to get down those same symbols he'd seen on that man – Kimbley's – hands. He still remembered them, vividly: he knew they were involved in the power he'd picked up and he had known the moment he'd first laid eyes on them. Yet, the details were still lost on him, like notes on a page whose function he could recognize, but not read.

Faize was right, and Sylar knew it: trying to find a connection between two different types of learned abilities might be impossible, but if that were the case... well, Sylar could just use whatever he learned about symbology to use... symbology.

After all, while Faize was combat capable, his instincts obviously weren't quite as good.

Sylar smirked.

[ For Faize; limit: 2. ]

[identity profile] faile.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 10:18 pm (UTC)(link)
Faize had kept to himself for most of the day. Not for any particular reason, though; he simply didn't go out of his way to interact with others. He knew it would be better if he didn't keep to himself so much, but it was too late to be thinking about that.

It was a great relief to learn that Kratos was alive and well. The man's wounds had appeared fatal, and Faize had been fearing the worst. But it seemed it was all some strange trick of the institute in the end. Again, Faize had to wonder what the purpose of such a cruel act could be. Perhaps this all was some grand experiment in human psychology... or perhaps, as some suggested, it was a twisted game of sorts.

There was little use in dwelling on that subject, however. Zach had asked to meet with him today, and so once the fourth shift began, Faize made his way to the Arts and Crafts room. Immediately, the Eldarian spotted the man drawing at a table, and approached him.

"Good afternoon, Zach."

Faize stood by a chair, waiting to be acknowledged before sitting. He regarded the man's injuries with a concerned look, but he made no comment on them yet.

(no subject)

[personal profile] darwinism - 2009-10-03 05:13 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[identity profile] faile.livejournal.com - 2009-10-03 21:16 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] darwinism - 2009-10-04 12:02 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[identity profile] faile.livejournal.com - 2009-10-04 19:17 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] darwinism - 2009-10-05 12:05 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[identity profile] faile.livejournal.com - 2009-10-05 23:11 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] darwinism - 2009-10-07 11:54 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[identity profile] faile.livejournal.com - 2009-10-10 08:35 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] darwinism - 2009-10-12 08:24 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[identity profile] faile.livejournal.com - 2009-10-16 05:23 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] darwinism - 2009-10-18 07:08 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[identity profile] faile.livejournal.com - 2009-10-20 17:27 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] darwinism - 2009-10-23 12:54 (UTC) - Expand

[identity profile] tyki-pon.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 12:47 pm (UTC)(link)
Tyki had wanted to lounge in the sun room, but it looked like the nurse had other plans for him; the arts and crafts. His creativity mostly existed out of blood-spilling (sadism and killing was an art form) or robbing people's pockets empty by either card games or other ways, so messing around with markers or the like wasn't exactly something he happened to be all that familiar with. But the nurse would have none of that; she believed it'd only add to her charge's well-being if he'd try something more creative.

With that he was herded into the arts and crafts room only to be left with a lump of clay. His luck he had never been to school, so at least he didn't feel too much like some kid when he began kneading it. Not that he had any sculpting skills whatsoever, so the fate of this shapeless lump of clay was to become...another shapeless lump of clay. Only different.

[Free!]

[identity profile] remnantsofflame.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 10:34 pm (UTC)(link)
[Hope this is okay!]

Asch wasn't even aware that there was an Arts and Crafts room. Or, well, not consciously. Sure, it was on the map, but he hadn't thought about it much in the few days he'd been here. Why bother? He wasn't exactly the creative type.

The nurse, of course, thought otherwise. Or pretended to think otherwise; Asch wasn't sure.

She led him over to a table and got him some clay. He'd never done anything like this before. Even as a child, the only artistic things he'd done were music or painting. He'd never been incredibly interested in them, but as heir to the throne, there was some crap about being well-rounded. Van had told him something similar, but none of that mattered now.

He started at the clay, then picked it up. That seemed to satisfy the nurse enough, and she wandered off. As soon as he was convinced that she wasn't going to watch over him, he put the clay down again and sighed.

He glanced over at the man next to him; he hadn't previously been paying attention, but it seemed like the man wasn't any more talented with clay than he was.

"Not your thing either, huh?" he asked.

(no subject)

[identity profile] tyki-pon.livejournal.com - 2009-10-02 16:41 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[identity profile] tyki-pon.livejournal.com - 2009-10-03 21:16 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[identity profile] tyki-pon.livejournal.com - 2009-10-04 12:10 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[identity profile] tyki-pon.livejournal.com - 2009-10-05 10:34 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[identity profile] tyki-pon.livejournal.com - 2009-10-06 15:07 (UTC) - Expand

[identity profile] herr-inspektor.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 03:30 pm (UTC)(link)


Lunge couldn't decide what irritated him more- the fact that Wayne was potentially perfectly trustworthy and that he was possibly (god forbid) over-analysing the situation, or the fact that there was an equal chance of him being a better liar than he was. He had never been the competitive sort, that much was true, but the idea that the man had the potential to outwit him while he was still working out just where the two of them stood...

There was something curiously troubling about a roomful of adults offset by that faint yet unmistakable children's-play-house smell of poster paints and clay. Fortunately, it didn't take long to spot L, distinctive as he was, seated in the far corner. Provided his night had been as... eventful... as his own had been, they wouldn't be short on conversation.

He took a seat opposite, resting his elbows neatly between colourful sheets of paper and packets of glitter with his fingers bridged together. "Interesting night?" he asked casually, substituting the usual 'good' for something rather less redundant.

[identity profile] timeseal.livejournal.com 2009-10-01 08:32 pm (UTC)(link)
[ from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/724485.html?thread=59744773#t59744773) ]

Rolo wasn't sure why he came back to the Arts and Crafts room. Maybe he was hoping to run into Euphemia again, and this time get a proper explanation from her. Logically, he should have stayed in the Sun Room and maybe looked at that bulletin board, but at the same time...

It turned out his intuition was sort of on the mark: no Euphemia, but Teresa and what looked like... Suzaku? Rolo watched them for a moment before picking a corner of the room to sit in, trying to stay out of sight for the most part.

Just... he hated this. Being thrown in the middle of some random place, with no information of warning, and there were about a million threats that he had to keep his eye on. Euphemia. Teresa. Now Suzaku was talking to her (was he in on this too? He had to be, he was the one who betrayed Lelouch in the first place.), and Rolo still had that person from the bulletin board to contend with.

Looking thoroughly miserable, Rolo took out the sheets of paper he stole from the board and looked them over, as if trying to divine who was trying to contact him just from the writing.

[ OK I THINK I GOT IT RIGHT THIS TIME LMAO. COME GET HIM, KIO. ♥ ]

[identity profile] subtlethreat.livejournal.com 2009-10-02 12:54 am (UTC)(link)
The one advantage Tenpou had in Landel's, at least this early in his stay here, was that everything was relatively new and exciting to him. He had wanted to make it to the Lower World and, he supposed, he got his wish in a sense. While he would have liked to have searched for Kenren again, when he was herded into the Arts & Crafts room, his concern for his companion seemed momentarily forgotten, or at least pushed back to a manageable place.

His eyes darted around the room, taking in the myriad craft supplies. So much to do, so much to play with and learn just what it did...and then his eyes alighted on shiny, sparkly tubes. Interest immediately captured, Tenpou made his way over to said tubes, picking up a few of them (one silver, one a myriad of colors, and one red), seating himself at one of the circular tables to examine his new find more closely. First he swirled the glitter in its tubes, watching how the shiny foil pieces shifted and caught the light. Finally, he unscrewed the cap on the glitter containing the silver glitter, sprinkling some in his hand. The texture was a little rougher than he would have liked, but he was pleased by how it shifted in his hand, sparkling as each plane of each individual piece of foil caught the light.

Tenpou considered the glitter in his hand for a moment, then unceremoniously threw it up into the air, laughing as it rained back down onto him, like a shower of glittering snow. He tipped the tube over, pouring more into his hand, and repeated this action, apparently unfazed by how it clung to his dark hair and sweatshirt. A nurse was approaching him, and Tenpou paused where he had been pouring more out into his hand.

"Marvin, that's not an appropriate use of the glitter," she admonished. She drew a sheet of black construction paper and a glue stick to where he was seated, placing them in front of him. "Why don't you try using it to make a picture, hm?"

Tenpou smiled pleasantly, but insincerely, at the nurse. "Ah, I see. Thank you," he said, waiting until she stepped away from his table to draw the glue to him and examine it carefully. He pulled off the cap with his teeth and examined the solid, supposedly adhesive substance inside, testing it experimentally with his fingers. It didn't seem very sticky. But giving it the benefit of a doubt, he began to rub it liberally on the black paper, before depositing the glitter still in his hand onto the now-hopefully sticky spot on the paper.

[For Homura.]
screwthegods: (Evil son of a bitch)

[personal profile] screwthegods 2009-10-02 01:19 am (UTC)(link)
Homura followed his nurse into the Arts and Crafts room, putting his thoughts from lunch out of his mind. His last appointment of the day had been the one he was looking forward to most, simply based on reputation. Tenpou Gensui had long been noted as one of the shrewdest and most unpredictable minds of the Heavens, and the idea of speaking to this man certainly was enough to gain Homura's interest. What he saw when he first walked in didn't disappoint; Tenpou had gotten hold of the glitter, and from the looks of it, managed to dump a fair bit of the vial on himself. Homura was fortunate to already know the man's reputation; anyone else might have thought Tenpou a fool.

In certain ways, the description almost fit. And that made the man dangerous.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Pulling out a chair that had nearly escaped the rain of sparkles, Homura grinned to the gensui. Normally he might have gone ahead and sat, but he didn't want to make a bad impression so early on. "You certainly look like you're enjoying yourself."

(no subject)

[personal profile] screwthegods - 2009-10-04 01:55 (UTC) - Expand

[identity profile] mugenreppa.livejournal.com 2009-10-02 01:29 am (UTC)(link)
Mele supposed markers were useful. Drawing the symbol of Rinju Den perfectly with the marker, however, was proving to be difficult. Somehow, drawing the lines of the symbol caused her to daydream or space out or something, and one or other of the lines would skew, or go where it wasn't supposed to or just look stupid.

Frowning at the three attempts she'd already gone through, Mele drew it in the air with her finger. She could envision it perfectly in her mind, but she'd never drawn it before—when she'd had to make the mark, she'd done it with rinki.

Mele leaned her head on her palm and stared at the paper a minute, sticking the symbol in her mind and imagining it on the paper, as if she could make it appear through pure willpower alone. She picked up the marker again, and slowly made marks on the page, as if tracing the imprint of the symbol that only she could see.
longlivetheking: (Better than thou!)

[personal profile] longlivetheking 2009-10-02 04:50 pm (UTC)(link)
[Do you mind?]

Oh, splendid. Scar was familiar with the institute's daily activities by now, so when he was led to the arts and crafts room, he knew it was 'draw symbols on paper'-shift. Keeping up the trend of the previous shift, the King once again found himself dragged to another patient. A familiar one at that. He noticed the symbols drawn upon the discarded paper, but said nothing of it. Not that he could the nurse only seemed to be satisfied to leave when the king clumsily picked up a marker.

"So we meet again," he said, dropping the marker as soon as the nurse had left. "Mele, was it?"

(no subject)

[identity profile] mugenreppa.livejournal.com - 2009-10-03 03:07 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] longlivetheking - 2009-10-03 18:39 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[identity profile] mugenreppa.livejournal.com - 2009-10-03 22:52 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] longlivetheking - 2009-10-04 12:33 (UTC) - Expand

[identity profile] sixth-attack.livejournal.com 2009-10-02 06:01 am (UTC)(link)
Ah hah! Another personal victory for Sechs to relish! With one inner demon spurred by his doppelganger exorcised and his reluctant promise to find Kibitoshin's friend finished, Sechs felt like he was on the roll! He even had a good, fulfilling lunch without any interruptions! Sechs was in a pretty good mood - or at least the best mood he could be in while imprisoned within Landel's institute...

Although there was Kibitoshin's rather... flashy... display of gratitude on the board... Sechs had tried to rub off the embarrassing amount of glitter that adorned the message but ended up getting most of the blasted stuff on his fingers instead. When he tried to wipe the mortifying sparkles off his hands, they only seemed to increase in numbers all over his clothes! Damn, if the glitter multiplied like nanomachines they'd be far worse than Grey Goo! They'd be... Glitter Goo! Hoo boy... better not give any ideas like that to Desty Nova...

Another thing that tested Sechs' short amount of patience was the nurse escorting him off from the cafeteria. "You sure you weren't a Deckman before or at least related to one?!" Sechs growled after receiving a lecture over his "inappropriate" behavior in the showers. The way the nurse who chased after him earlier certainly reminded him of Deckman #100. The only difference was that she didn't have that irritating lisp...

After receiving the usual patronizing response from his nurse, Sechs was far from pleased to find himself in the "arts and crafts" room. The only sort of "art" Sechs could do was the art of destruction! Not... pencil crayons, play-doh and... more of that awful glitter. Elf and Zwölf would have been quite happy in such a room, but not Sechs! Why couldn't he have been let outside like yesterday? He hated being cooped up in this stupid building...

Once he was left on his own to do some art "therapy", Sechs gave out a weary sigh and plunked himself down by a table with a pile of multi-colored markers. Well, he might as well kill some time by drawing scenes of violence, firearms and annihilation. Sechs wasn't too bad at scribbling decent stick-figures, but he'd rather partake in the actual carnage than just draw about it... Boring...!

After scribbling doodles of himself impaling what he imagined to be Dr. Landel with his Titan Blade, the Replica found himself feeling homesick for his past possessions. This wasn't helping him feel better at all! Letting his black marker roll off his fingers, Sechs gave out a loud, rude sigh. This damn place took everything away from him... If only there were something he could get back in the mean time while he found a way to escape...

Then Sechs' eyes rested on the small six that he drew on his stick figure self's forehead. Hmm...

In an instant Sechs abandoned his messy drawings and scrambled for his black marker before it rolled off the table. Next he searched for the most reflective thing he could find and ended up with a blunt edged scissor. Using the reflective blade as a mirror, Sechs went straight to clumsily drawing a large six on his forehead. Hah! One step closer to being back to my normal self again!

Yet despite seeing his trademark number through the make-shift mirror, the tenacious android was unaware that his six was actually coming out backwards....

[identity profile] damned-nurses.livejournal.com 2009-10-07 07:40 am (UTC)(link)
At first the nurses had been content to let Cody draw in peace, seeing how they were blissfully unaware of what he was drawing. They didn't usually offer up that amount of supervision, though it was possible they would have come across the sketch later and been forced to wonder at who had drawn it.

However, there was now a more pressing matter. Cody was handling scissors in a possibly dangerous way (he could poke his eye out!) and vandalizing his own face! It just wouldn't do.

One of the nurses walked over, not imagining that this would be a difficult job. "Now, now, Cody," she said with a small sigh, "we don't allow our patients to draw on themselves like that!" She didn't know what the symbol meant, but she didn't hesitate to reach out to take the marker and the scissors away from him.

[identity profile] wantsyourzex.livejournal.com 2009-10-02 07:59 am (UTC)(link)
Well, lunch at the least had been rather uneventful. His stomach didn't hurt as much as it usually did... maybe he was on to something with this pain=hunger thing. Human bodies were designed so strangely after all. It wouldn't surprise him too much that two totally unrelated feelings were connected.

When he walked into the room, he scanned the humans inside to look for his Captain before remembering, painfully, that he was no longer there. They'd spent time here once... and underneath the loss and sense of numbness there was a tinge of resentment. His Captain had told him that they'd get out of here together... and now it was just him and the Shofixti.

Of course, it wasn't like his Captain had WANTED to die the other night, but still... why did it have to be him? Such a tragedy... they'd barely spent any real time together. All that time waiting for him for only a few days, and then...

ZEX sat down and sighed. He had to stop thinking about this... it'd do nothing to improve his mood any, and being depressed made it hard to think clearly. Writing materials were writing materials... ZEX picked up a crayon and pressed it to the paper, trying to draw out a VUX to the best of his limited ability. It more resembled a mass of squiggly lines than anything else, but he was trying and it sort of worked if he squinted.


[free~]

[identity profile] poolcuemurder.livejournal.com 2009-10-02 12:05 pm (UTC)(link)
[y halo thar. :)]

By the time lunch had ended, Nurse had taken pity on her patient and untied the ribbon in his hair, letting the thick strands fall back into the assassin's face with a plea to at least keep some of it out of the way. It wasn't to please her so much as it was to diffuse another oncoming migraine that Venom actually pulled some of his hair away to show at least an eye, and even then he didn't like it. He never liked being seen.

He couldn't even claim he was feeling better about the situation with Alkaid and the faked photographs, but he had at least reigned in his emotions enough to not be stomping after Nurse when she led him to the... arts and- what? "Arts and Crafts"? Wasn't that something children did in schools (he could never remember going to an actual school when he was younger, so he was at a loss when it came to what, exactly, they did) or the elderly focused their dying energy on in homes? He was neither one of those. Why was the head of the Assassin's Guild being forced into making hideous clay models and macaroni necklaces, aside for the sake of irony?

Nnnngh, if it wasn't one thing, it was another. He barely registered that his hands found their way to his face as the migraine he tried to thwart earlier by not tempting fate (and Nurse's whining) wormed its way into into his head and rolled around in the front of his skull. No, no. This wouldn't beat him. It was annoying and demeaning, but he could handle it.

After taking a slow, practiced breath, he moved off to find somewhere he wouldn't be bothered. There was a blond man nearby, who looked... very ill. Tired, he supposed.

He didn't know whether it was a comfort or not to know that there were those worse off than himself.

Venom didn't say anything to interrupt the man, only sat down silently across from him in the faintest of hopes that he'd go unnoticed and Nurse would leave him be (neither one of those felt like they were going to happen any time soon. Was there a point in trying?). For lack of anything else, he just stared at the table. They could force him into this mess, but that didn't mean he had to play along.

[identity profile] aperfectbloom.livejournal.com 2009-10-02 08:59 am (UTC)(link)
True to her promise, the attendant in white had brought Yuyuko to the now-empty cafeteria and allowed her to take some food from the meal she'd missed before escorting her off for 'artistic activities'. As first impressions went it was about the best you could make on Yuyuko, and she felt a little sorry for this servant of her captors, who would probably be caught up in some kind of colorful and fun but quite deadly barrage of curtain fire some day for her troubles. She was a bit fuzzy on the exact details of her present circumstances, but she was quite certain that this poor creature stood between whoever had given her this false life and... well, her, and apparently quite a few in similar straits, which was from the ghost's point of view a rather tenuous position to occupy.

The ghost took a seat at a table and started to eat from her tray, watching the others work at their 'art' with varying degrees of enthusiasm as she ate. Ideas for art projects of her own flitted through her mind, fighting for a piece of that very limited territory.

[[Free]]

[identity profile] toadally4boobs.livejournal.com 2009-10-02 11:46 am (UTC)(link)
Jiraiya was bustled into the Arts & Crafts room despite his protest. His nurse insisted he needed more creative outlets than just writing--he needed to do something physical. She tried to get him into clay; he told her no (because he wasn't a clay person). She tried to get him into making a necklace; he told her no (because Ren didn't care for jewelry). She tried to get him to do fingerpaints; he told her hell no (because he wasn't a little kid!).

He looked around the room in exasperation, his eyes finally settling on the paint brushes. Now there was something. Jiraiya looked at his nurse and told her pointedly that he wanted to work on his calligraphy. He wanted to show Naruto how to make a few more, and he should make sure he did them right before doing so.

His nurse huffed, saying something along the lines of "that's only pretty writing", but she relented and got him the supplies. Jiraiya found himself guided to the tab, the supplies placed in front of him. He sighed with relief as she finally left him to his own devices. As pretty as his nurse was, she still wasn't the type of woman he was looking for.

Now that he was by himself, Jiraiya picked up the brush and began to work on his kanji. It was paint instead of ink that he was using, but it would have to do. There was no room to be picky in this place...

And working on this kept him from thinking about other things.
diamondstorm: (contemplation)

[personal profile] diamondstorm 2009-10-02 11:14 pm (UTC)(link)
That she was sent to the arts and crafts room instead of her normal default of the sun room was irksome. New experiences, with a cheerful smile, was the only explanation, and Renamon picked her battles--this, not being one of them. So instead, she resigned herself. Her notes had already been gone over multiple times, but perhaps she'd place something new if she went through them again. There was also the subject of Dairine's computer to consider--though that, by herself, seemed close to useful.

The day had been something interesting, she thought absently. Though it left little room for actual hope. Creating a new piece of a theory and helping someone new find their way was something becoming habit to the Digimon, but it was marred instead by the facts of Toph being gone, and Dairine having little luck. Things were becoming daunting, and Renamon wasn't quite sure what fact to focus on. In all truths, her mind was on her friends here instead of business as it should be. She hadn't seen Yukari in a few days now, and even though the girl claimed that she was fine, Renamon would rather see her. Yukari had said that after her brainwashing, after all--and after the thing that had happened in her room. And Jiraiya still occupied a nice corner of her mind--a part that was unsure how to approach an adult male on something that was possibly traumatic. She hadn't even known how to approach Yukari, but lecturing and worrying seemed simple there. For some reason, here, it wasn't the same.

As she entered the room, it was a mass of white hair that alerted her that the subject of one of her musings was in the same room. Something in her was glad at this, and she moved across the room silently, glancing at what he was doing before sitting herself across from him. She reached over to procure another sheet of paper, and then borrowed one of Jiraiya's extra brushes before dipping it in paint. The Digimon looked up finally, offered a rare, actual smile, and then dropped her gaze to her paper. The memory was clear, pure still within her, and Renamon started forming the first few lines of one of her talisman spells. It was in kanji, she thought with a touch of amusement, precisely what Jiraiya was working on. Perhaps they had more in common, after all.

(no subject)

[personal profile] diamondstorm - 2009-10-05 00:21 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] diamondstorm - 2009-10-05 03:57 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] diamondstorm - 2009-10-06 06:40 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] diamondstorm - 2009-10-09 02:51 (UTC) - Expand

[identity profile] caninevisionary.livejournal.com 2009-10-02 02:27 pm (UTC)(link)
The concept of 'Arts and Crafts' was a foreign one to Exile. Though he was used to being humanoid, art had never really entered into his experience as a Road Rover. But he went along anyway, allowing himself to be sat down by his nurse and presented with construction paper. He frowned at it. What was he supposed to do with this? Write on it?

"Comrade Nurse," he said, "is there a special thing I am supposed to be doing with this paper?"

She smiled indulgently at him. "Whatever you like, Mr. Ovechkin. Be creative!"

"In such case, I need scissors."

"Please be careful with them, Mr. Ovechkin," she said, and handed him some kiddy safety scissors.

"Da, thank you," he said distractedly, and began to cut the paper into no particular shape. He was really interested in the scissors, though, and when she was far enough away, he glared at the blades, trying to use his heat vision. Nothing happened. "Bolshoi."

[for a certain Scarecrow!]
scarefaux: ([company])

[personal profile] scarefaux 2009-10-03 05:00 am (UTC)(link)
The Scarecrow had a seat at a table with only one other person, setting down the construction paper his nurse had collected for him. He had no idea what he was going to do with the paper or the marker he'd been handed by his nurse, but the chance to have a little creative freedom was enticing. He was still getting used to writing with his flesh-and-blood hands.

Taking the cap off the thick marker, he decided to introduce himself. It couldn't hurt to make more acquaintances, after all.

"Hello there," he said to the other man pleasantly.
ext_201929: (Blush)

[identity profile] tender-cruelty.livejournal.com 2009-10-03 12:53 am (UTC)(link)
He felt oddly relieved when he entered the Arts and Crafts room later on, like a weight had been taken off his shoulders. He hadn't realised how worried he'd been about Badou's friends, his adopted family, not accepting him or wanting him around. it was stupid, especially since he'd known Badou for only a short time, and he had his own people here now, but, well, they knew more about him than Lockon and Setsuna and Feldt. Badou had chosen to spend time with him, rather than the two of them being forced to work together. It was a subtle but important distinction.

He wondered how Setsuna was doing, whether the drugs had worn off yet. It was a harsh introduction to the Institute.

He was led to a seat, the nurse pushing paper and glue and glitter towards him, telling him to be creative. He reached for the glitter pot with a touch of amusement quirking his lips.

[For Badou!]
strayfag: (calmly smoking)

[personal profile] strayfag 2009-10-03 03:53 am (UTC)(link)
"Dibs." Badou reached over Alle's shoulder to liberate the glitter pot. He'd broken away from the Rammsteiner Bunch (Brothers? Pair? Couple?) for the last shift mostly because he figured he should talk to Alle sooner than later about divorce papers and shit like that. It just happened to be a stroke of luck that Alle was already here when he'd come to replenish his glitter supplies.

He straddled one of the chairs beside the man and barely remembered to put the glitter back down before some unfortunate hand gesture turned them into shimmering creatures of the night...shift. "I've been all out since you broke up with me, so technically you owe me," He added. "What's going on?"

(no subject)

[personal profile] strayfag - 2009-10-03 14:51 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] strayfag - 2009-10-06 13:10 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] strayfag - 2009-10-07 23:36 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] strayfag - 2009-10-09 03:33 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] strayfag - 2009-10-10 05:33 (UTC) - Expand

[identity profile] not-rly-fai.livejournal.com 2009-10-03 02:05 am (UTC)(link)
It was a relief when meal time was over and he could escape to one of the smaller rooms. He was half-tempted to ask for a sedative himself, but he didn't want the nurses thinking he was behaving abnormally. He had to be on his best behavior. Even if that meant staying away from the bulletin.

He appeared excited at the idea of arts and crafts and chatted with his nurse as she walked him there. Idle conversation, nothing more. When he arrived, there were already more people than he'd thought, but he managed to find an empty table. He looked at the supplies and eventually settled on a piece of plain white paper and the children's scissors. Folding the paper carefully, he started cutting out delicate shapes and swirling edges. There was no call to hurry and if he seemed busy, well... maybe no one would yell at him and squish his head into the table this shift.

[Free, no limit]

Page 1 of 2