damned_institute | Nightshift 46: Patient Possessions Storage

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Nightshift 46: Patient Possessions Storage

[From here]

As von Karma set foot inside this room, he clicked his flashlight back on and waved it around to see whether any dangers were present. So far, all he could see were two long shelves on either side of him, containing small, flimsy boxes in apparent alphabetical order.

He scowled as he looked at the numerous boxes. Would the items in his even be worth all the trouble he and Ms. Taura had gone through just to get here? Would his box contain something that he could use against Martin Landel... or would it merely be full of worthless items designated for a fictitious college professor? It was certainly too much to hope that "Dr. Fuchs" had carried a stun gun.

There was only one way to find out what was in his, however. As the prosecutor commenced scanning the shelves for the letter "F," he said, "Ms. Taura, look for a box that is labeled 'Fuchs, Karl.'" He saw no need, however, to ask his companion to help him look for another box he sought, belonging to a "von Richter, Wilhelmina."

[OOC: Edited (the final time, hopefully!) to make the room's description more accurate, thanks to Court's response to my lounge post. <3 ]

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_{[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/789277.html?thread=64723997#t64723997), and pretending she came in at a different time for simplicity's sake.]}

If her main priority had been scavenging for things she might find a use for, her time might have been better spent in the storage room after her stint in the janitor’s closet.

Instead, Yomi stood in the threshold of the patient possessions room and pulled her flashlight out to illuminate the space within.

So this was where the hospital kept the “patient” belongings. Assumedly what they would’ve had on them when they’d arrived. What Yoshiko would have had. And there were rows and rows of such storage boxes, stored in a more orderly fashion than what’d been in the room she’d just left behind. For a moment, she didn’t move, merely kept letting her light drift amongst the shelves. There was no practical reason why she should be here. She’d taken her file with the partial desire to remove the copy from the records, but now wasn’t entirely sure if it hadn’t simply respawned in the filing cabinet the next night. No real assurance Yoshiko’s belongings wouldn’t do the same.

This, this didn’t make sense to the sesshouseki, and therefore didn’t to her. And yet she’d known where she’d wanted to go, what room had been at the end of this specific hall.

Here were pieces of Fujiwara Yoshiko’s life, fragments Yomi didn’t know, couldn’t dredge up from the dreamy memories she had. Real things that she could touch, even if she recognized their artificialness. Things that couldn’t be, in the same way that Yoshiko couldn’t be (at least before her birth in Yomi’s mind). The woman standing frozen in the doorway couldn’t name their value, only knew that they had some, had some pull over her. She wanted to see them for herself.

Her footsteps fell, muted notes in the dead silent room. It didn’t take long to discern that the boxes were stored alphabetically, the closest shelf to her full of surnames starting with As, followed by Bs… Once she’d found the F section, she stepped close, searching for one name amongst the rest. Fujiwara… And then there it was, caught in the light of her flashlight. Fujiwara, Yoshiko. It was just one box, one small, plain box, but such a gaping chasm opened in Yomi that it might as well have held the world inside. The sesshouseki was a hot flicker, hissing in her head. When she looked, however, her arms were already out, and she was pulling the box into them. Not too heavy. If she pulled the lid off, she could end the torture right here, see what was inside, what went along with the girl Yoshiko besides her intangible imprint. Artifacts of a life Yomi had never known.

A contrary urge kept her from doing it--not here, not safe--and with a strange sense of detachment, Yomi set down the flashlight, opened the top of the pillowcase, slipped off the box’s lid, and tipped the contents into the sack without seeing what was going in.

Yomi could look through her findings later, in her cell. Maybe her alter ego had some of interest, something she could use. Maybe…

[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/788068.html?thread=64803684#t64803684), also at a different time from everyone else]

The door had been kicked open. That was the first thing Kvothe noticed as they reached the room. It swung open easy at a touch of his hand and the flashlight beam bounced from the no longer so orderly rows of boxes within. "Well, I guess we don't have to worry about getting in," he muttered to Demyx under his breath. Each of the boxes was labeled with a name, and he started moving toward the 'K's. "How are they ordered?" He asked after a moment, looking toward Demyx. "Our real names, or the names they call us?"

"The names they call us, 'm pretty sure," Demyx replied, idly moving along the shelves and occasionally peeking into boxes that had interesting names on them. He couldn't actually help Kvothe much in the way of looking; he didn't know the name the institute called him. "I didn't really need to know for myself, 'cause my sitar was sitting out by itself; too big. But when I was here before with my roommate - I don't think the boxes had the real names of the people they were for on 'em." Too bad he hadn't remembered what those names were; maybe he could have found them and seen if there was anything useful he could bring back for Soubi or Ritsuka or Kio.

"How big's your lute?" he asked, as an afterthought. Maybe it wasn't in a box, either.

He held his hands apart approximately the length of the lute. "Probably too big for any of these boxes," he said. At least if you wanted to get the lid on, and anything else inside..." He shone the flashlight around again, the beam stopped after a moment on a dark shape that wasn't a box. "Like that, maybe." He rushed toward it, grinning as he recognized the shape. "It is!" He tucked the flashlight under his arm as he carefully pulled the lute from the shelf, the box next to it was neatly labeled "Keane, Charles," and he pulled that down, too.

Demyx felt as though a weight was lifted as he saw Kvothe lift the lute into his arms with that wide smile. Responsibility, maybe, since he'd been the one who'd promised to help him get it back; maybe some sort of sympathetic stress, too, since he knew himself the feeling of a musician without his instrument. Either way, he found himself grinning right along with his bandmate.

"Mission accomplished," he announced, holding up a clenched fist in victory. "You'll have to play it for me sometime." A thought struck him. "Or hey, maybe we could even do a duet!" Actually, he wasn't sure if he'd ever actually heard a lute, so he didn't quite know if its music would blend well with a sitar, but - well, they'd find a way. He'd used to think humans would never accept a Nobody, either, and he'd been proven wrong more times than he'd ever have believed since he'd arrived at the institute.

"I will," he said as he examined the case, opened it to run a hand over the smooth wood with affectionate reverence. "And we should play together sometime, I'd like that." He firmly fastens the case closed again his shoulder before turning to the box so that he could shove anything inside into pockets or the lute case so that it would be easier to carry. It was mostly oddes and ends that he'd look more closely at later, a rectangle of stiff paper that he didn't recognize was carefully put in with the lute, he couldn't see what it was in the darkness and he figured he'd take a closer look later. Photographs like that didn't exist where he was from. As he finished he asked Demyx, "Is there anything else that you want to look for while we're up here?"

Before looking at any of the boxes, Taura did a second scan of the spaces between. Nothing but shelves and boxes, though there was no guarantee it would stay that way. When she finished her scan, she was, apparently, in front of the Ms. March, Marsh, May, Michaels, Morales. That gave her direction and location. She stepped one long step to the left and looked again. A-ha! At the front of that row was Fuchs, Keane, which meant...there. She lifted the last box from the back of the row and set it down near von Karma before returning to the row she'd passed over.

Jackson, Katherine was exactly where it belonged. Something shifted inside as she picked it up and reread the nameplate. It wasn't like her to be indecisive, and it was just more lies, but she still hesitated to open it up.

She turned fully away from von Karma and his box -- there was something private about seeing pieces of a life laid out like this, like possessions boxed up before a funeral.

Edited 2010-01-26 03:15 (UTC)

Thump. The aging prosecutor gave a start as the abrupt sound jolted him back into full consciousness. He peered in the direction from which the noise originated and found a box at his feet. Fuchs, Karl was written upon it in large letters. This was the one, no doubt. But how had it materialized on the floor like that?

There was only one valid explanation: Ms. Taura must have found it first and set it down before him. But how had he missed seeing it? It was then that he found himself standing in front of the "L" row. He had completely overshot his target by several letters.

Damn you, Landel! I refuse to fall victim to this induced senility.

Attempting to control his internal rage, von Karma looked up at Taura. Her back was turned towards him, but he could see that she had already retrieved her own box. Was she facing away from him for her own privacy -- or for his? It truly mattered little in the end. In a weary yet still dignified tone of voice, he said, "Thank you, Ms. Taura," although his gratitude was more for the respect she had given him here than for locating his box.

Unlike his companion, von Karma did not hesitate in opening the container. The sooner one unearthed potentially vital evidence, the sooner one could prevail in a case.

His expression was impassive as he surveyed the contents of the box, but frustration boiled inside him. He had traversed the equivalent of two building lengths, had barely escaped getting shredded into sauerkraut by that bladed demon, and had risked displaying stark weakness a number of times tonight... only to find that his "vital evidence" consisted of a gold wedding band, a pair of bifocal reading glasses, a wallet full of false identification and worthless mementos... and a collapsible cane that would likely break if he used a minimum of force on it?!

Somewhere in the Institute, the Head Lunatic was laughing at him. Oh, the insufferable charlatan would pay.

Edited 2010-01-26 06:04 (UTC)

When he was done scowling at his "own" box, or was alerted by the rhythmic sound, the sight that would meet his eyes was an odd one. Taura had slid the top off the box, and was holding a basketball over her head. It bounced off her fingertips, grazed the ceiling in a slow arc as she rocked forwards, and met her hands only to bounce off again as she leaned back. Her brows were knitted in concentration, and the rest of the box had been briefly abandoned by her feet, her flashlight propped up inside it.

Each time it came down, she adjusted the splay of her fingers and the angle of her arms -- what started out as a stiff motion gradually relaxed, until her shoulder blades had settled back into place, and her hands met rubber like a caress.

Edited 2010-01-27 19:41 (UTC)

To ensure that he had not overlooked anything important or useful, von Karma examined "Dr. Fuchs'" belongings again. Aside from the perfect custom fit on his ring finger, the plain gold wedding band was unremarkable. The wire-framed reading glasses also fit just right, though he was loath to admit that he would ever need them in his practice. It was the fault of printers and publishers for making text such an infinitesimal size that one had to strain his eyes to read it!

Unlike his own cross-handled mahogany cane, the one neatly folded in the box was made of aluminum, painted black and sporting a silver knob at the top. Flimsy material, indeed, that would likely break if the elderly prosecutor tried to use it as a weapon. Still, though far inferior to his own walking stick, this one could at least aid him in travel throughout this hellhole... and was certainly better than fashioning a cane out of that mop handle.

Now he scrutinized the contents of the leather wallet. Hn. False identification. Perhaps these documents could serve as evidence for identity theft and fraud. Certainly, these would be the cherries on top of the Black Forest cake of medical malpractice and false imprisonment charges that von Karma intended to personally serve the Head Lunatic.

Inside the wallet were four small photos encased in plastic holders. The first one was a wedding photo. Though his medical chart insisted that this was a different woman, the bride looked identical to the prosecutor's late wife in her earlier years. The second was a photo of "Fuchs," his wife, and his elder daughter. He glanced at it briefly, his face showing no emotion. The third was... "Dr. Kant," a broad grin beaming through his bearded face, and a scowling "Dr. Fuchs"... with two black-gloved fingers waggling over his head. The prosecutor frowned and shook his head. No matter what they call you, you are still the same childish buffoon as always... Detective.

Still scoffing over the previous photo, von Karma was taken aback as he gazed at the final one. An impassive, finely-dressed gray-haired college professor handing a trophy to a blue-haired young woman, a self-confident smile on her face. The familiar-looking trophy was comprised of a knife crossing a shield, though both were whole. Engraved on the plaque were the words, "Perfect Performance of the Year." ...What was this mockery?! What was this sheer forgery?! No such trophy existed! And that knowing smirk on his daugh-- on Ms. von Richter's face!

As he held the wallet, his hands shook, his bony knuckles blanching from the tension. It was all he could do to keep himself from pulling that last picture out and shredding it to bits... especially in front of--

Ka-TUNK!

What in blazes was that sound?

Ka-TUNK!

There it was again! It sounded like a ball ricocheting off the ceiling. Composing himself, the older man looked up at Taura, whose presence he had nearly forgotten about in this room. She was staring up towards the ceiling, concentrating on bouncing basketball off it.

He snapped his fingers, a sound almost as loud as the ball's constant rebounding. "Ms. Taura. What the devil are you doing?! Trying out for the Martin Landel Athletic Scholarship for a full year of Special Counseling sessions? That racket will alert every creature in the Institute!"

Edited 2010-01-30 07:57 (UTC)

It hadn't been that loud, had it? She caught it on the rebound, and pulled it down. Not nearly as loud as the door had been -- not that much louder than his harsh breathing had been at times. Anything up here had already heard them. She glared back, her face expressionless, until it sunk in.

She could understand fear. Unarmed, untrained, deep behind enemy lines...if he wasn't scared, he was an idiot, and von Karma was no idiot. "Sorry," she whispered, her voice barely more than a puff of air. She tucked the ball back into the box. She didn't want it -- she didn't want anything that reminded her that a young woman might still be caught in limbo somewhere, waiting to go back to a home that missed her. Back to a life that seemed more alien than a hundred different worlds around a hundred different suns, but had been hers.

Katherine had packed it as a good-luck charm; as charms went, it was pretty unwieldy, but maybe there was something else. She could look later; right now, von Karma had a point. This wasn't the place to dawdle. Her voice was still just loud enough to be audible. "C'mon. You ready?"

His arms folded tightly, von Karma continued to glare at Taura. Though he spoke no words, the look on his face was unmistakable; he would tolerate no more foolishness tonight. He gripped the shoulder of his left sleeve, his fingers digging through the thick fabric of his coat. Finally, the young woman apologized, her voice contrite. He nodded in response, somewhat mollified but still rather stern.

Watching as she placed the ball back in the box, he remembered that he needed to collect his items. An entire box would be unwieldy, but there was more than enough room in his pockets to carry his -- or rather, Dr. Fuchs' -- belongings. He slipped the wallet and ring into one coat pocket, and the glasses into his pants pocket. Then he expanded the cane to its full length, the segments making a soft clacking sound as he unfolded them. The material felt cheap compared to the mahogany to which he was accustomed, but it would still do. Grasping the knob in his right hand, he set the end of the cane to the floor. At least it was exactly the right height for him.

"Yes, I am ready, Ms. Taura," he agreed. "Let's move. Now."

Edited 2010-01-31 04:03 (UTC)

Taura did grab her entire box -- her arms were long enough she could tuck it between elbow and hip and still have a free hand. Then she just watched as he kitted up.

No-one had seen fit to give her back her uniform; she'd have to ask him where he'd found the clothes. From the practiced way he tucked things into pockets, they had to be his own. But now was not the time; not unless she wanted a lecture on stealth and silence, delivered in tones louder than her own voice. Civilians. Hmph. She tilted her face into shadow so he wouldn't see the way the corners of her lips twitched upwards.

Once he had finished speaking, she answered only by swinging the half-shattered door open wide. They walked through in silence, broken only by the soft tap of von Karma's cane, and then she pulled it shut behind them.

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Nightshift 46: Patient Possessions Storage

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