"RYUUZAKI" (L - Death Note) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ryuuzaki) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
damned_institute2009-09-30 05:12 pm
ryuuzaki) wrote in damned_institute2009-09-30 05:12 pm
Entry tags:
- abe sapien,
- alfred,
- allelujah,
- argilla,
- asch,
- brainiac 5,
- edward cullen,
- faize,
- harley,
- howl,
- l,
- leonard,
- lockdown,
- lunge,
- meche,
- mele,
- peter petrelli,
- pied piper,
- porky,
- rolo,
- scar (tlk),
- schuldig,
- sechs,
- sho,
- suzaku,
- sylar,
- tenpou,
- tenzen,
- teresa,
- the flash,
- the scarecrow,
- two-face,
- tyki,
- venom,
- yue,
- zex
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.]
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.]
no subject
"Tomorrow night,” he continued, “among other things, I'll be collecting equipment for gathering evidence at the scene." Scalpels, plastic bags, pliers- anything that could be used to take samples. The message, for example, needed more thorough investigation; the gully between 'looks like blood' and 'actually blood' was immense. "There very likely is someone here with at least rudimentary forensic skills. I’d like to know just how real the town is."
Had they the time, he would have gladly planned every detail of their expedition. But L was right. Out of the corner of his eye Lunge could see his regular nurse beginning to circle the room, like a buzzard waiting for her prey to give up the ghost and collapse. Still, if it bothered him at all he didn't let it show; he continued speaking in the usual calm, deliberate monotone as ever before. One got the distinct impression that, were the world about to end, fate would have to send the two of them a letter of notice two weeks beforehand just to let them finish their conversation.
"I think I may have already mentioned that the name was 'Otto Jung'. Currently, my room number is M50, although given the rate at which patients appear to go through roommates..." Unfortunately, Lunge got the distinct impression that he and Dent were in it for the long haul. How unfortunate for Dent. Hopefully, L's roommate was less troublesome.
But then, not much troubles you, does it, L? He let his mind wander over that for a moment, watching beadily as the man bit lightly on the tip of his finger. The focus on hands was, in a way, almost fetishistic. Freud would call it an extension of oral fixation but, even without the pitfalls inherent in that little theory, you don't seem particularly anxious. The contrary, in fact. How much of that is a smokescreen, I wond-
The thought was left half-formed as, on cue, his nurse descended. Wearing her day-glo smile and perfect uniform like a medal of honour, she epitomised everything wholesome and institutionalised. "I think the shift's almost up now, Mr. Jung. You'd better start packing everything away and say goodbye to Daniel." As she clucked him up out of his chair she picked up his 'art', positively beaming. "What a lovely painting! I didn't know you were a cat person."
'Mr. Jung' grimaced ruefully in L's direction, not even attempting to sell it as a smile.