Manfred von Karma (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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damned_institute2010-03-07 11:32 am
lawful_perfect) wrote in damned_institute2010-03-07 11:32 am
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Day 48: Sun Room [Second Shift]
Hmph. While this Rude was the proverbial "man of few words," von Karma found more potential use from him than a number of the other patients he had met put together. He would still ask Franziska about the man... as well as the other people he had learned that she had been spending time around. Many of them were utter fools, especially that Kibitoshin.
He ignored the nurse as she insisted that he stay indoors, lest he "catch his death of pneumonia." Already having planned to meet his daughter in the Sun Room, the prosecutor had no intention of spending the cold, gloomy morning in the Courtyard anyway.
It appeared that he was the first to arrive in the spacious room. Gray light from the overcast sky filtered in through the glass windows high above, making it somewhat more difficult for von Karma to peruse the notes on the bulletin board as he awaited Franziska's arrival.
The lines in his forehead furrowed as he saw Kibitoshin's note to her, asking her whether she was "feeling better." What made that blasted oaf think that it was any of his business how she was doing or to worry about her?! She had been raised to take care of herself, damn it! ...Did Franziska say or do something that would lead the clumsy idiot to think otherwise? This, among other things, von Karma would ask her.
After removing his daughter's response to his original note from the board -- and noting that Ms. Taura had yet to reply to his other note -- he sat down at a table in a remote corner of the room, claiming this space that would afford him and his daughter the most privacy.
Mew?
What was that noise? And what was that tugging sensation at the leg of his pants? He peered down in the direction from which the irritating sound had come and was greeted by a tiny orange kitten that had the mistaken notion that his leg was a climbing post. Infernal creature! One glance at his face, and the furry little nuisance was suddenly at the other end of the room, having cleared it within several skittish bounds. Good riddance!
[Waiting for his Dear Daughter]
He ignored the nurse as she insisted that he stay indoors, lest he "catch his death of pneumonia." Already having planned to meet his daughter in the Sun Room, the prosecutor had no intention of spending the cold, gloomy morning in the Courtyard anyway.
It appeared that he was the first to arrive in the spacious room. Gray light from the overcast sky filtered in through the glass windows high above, making it somewhat more difficult for von Karma to peruse the notes on the bulletin board as he awaited Franziska's arrival.
The lines in his forehead furrowed as he saw Kibitoshin's note to her, asking her whether she was "feeling better." What made that blasted oaf think that it was any of his business how she was doing or to worry about her?! She had been raised to take care of herself, damn it! ...Did Franziska say or do something that would lead the clumsy idiot to think otherwise? This, among other things, von Karma would ask her.
After removing his daughter's response to his original note from the board -- and noting that Ms. Taura had yet to reply to his other note -- he sat down at a table in a remote corner of the room, claiming this space that would afford him and his daughter the most privacy.
Mew?
What was that noise? And what was that tugging sensation at the leg of his pants? He peered down in the direction from which the irritating sound had come and was greeted by a tiny orange kitten that had the mistaken notion that his leg was a climbing post. Infernal creature! One glance at his face, and the furry little nuisance was suddenly at the other end of the room, having cleared it within several skittish bounds. Good riddance!
[Waiting for his Dear Daughter]
no subject
And there went the other half of the couch, sold to yet another member of the Ridiculously Good-Looking Club for Men. Peter shifted and wondered if there was a place he could sit where he wouldn't just make some schmuck look better by comparison. God, this was frustrating. Always the Robin, never the Batman.
He followed his gaze over to a cat keeping a careful watch on them, flicking its tail. "What, that teeny one over there?" Peter raised an eyebrow. "I think I saw it on a Hallmark card once. The very picture of terror, it is."
Kabby stop making me lol. <3
"Hey, when you wake up and that little bastard's giving you the evil eye, I'm sure you'll be singing a different tune," Dean said with a grin.
Only if you do. :
The smile was enough to put him back at ease, at least for now. Weird how people here were less inclined to smack him one when he ran his motor mouth at them. Weird, but no less appreciated.
He could get not liking cats, but unless they were of the mangy alleyway or jungle variety he'd rarely heard of them being that spiteful. Seriously, look at them. The worst they could do was whatever that kitten was doing to Brainy's drawings over there. Bat at pencils and look more adorable than those Anne Geddes photos Aunt May was so fond of.
Peter shook his head and faced his sofa partner, growing a smile of his own. "How exactly does one earn the eternal wrath of a cat? They're like fluffy little mice-eating Buddhas. Don't declaw it and don't kick it and you should be fine."
no subject
"Little bastards are territorial or something," Dean said. He didn't hold out his hand, instead leaning back against the couch, "I'm Brian, by the way. What they got you in for?"
He left that one hanging. Some of the patients could still believe in those fake lives and while he didn't fault 'em for it, it was still a real possibility there. On the job, you found out real quick that someone's age didn't make them any less reliable as a witness or a source if they could corroborate on the story. He just liked to know if he was dealing with someone who was actively trying to get out or a kid who thought his worst problems were bullying in school.
no subject
Observing the way Brain leaned back into the couch clinched it: his name in Peter's head would forever be Greased Lightning. Cussing aside, he was one leather jacket and a tin full of pomade short of being John Travolta's back-up dancer. "Peter. And I have absolutely no clue why I'm here. You'd think with how they're packing in the sparkly wizards and freaky god things they wouldn't bother trolling high schools for patients, but whatever. Clearly they were lacking in the teenage boy department."
Which was why they lived in a sea of them. Where were all the girls, damn you!
"And you? Must've been an interesting life if you wound up here." The hint of deja-vu reminded him of yesterday's lunch. This was going in much the same direction, and it suddenly occurred to him how rude a question it was. Who went around and demanded backstory two minutes after meeting a guy? Sure he was curious, but he'd be kind of put off if the same was asked of him. Hastily he added, "Uh. Maybe that was a little personal or...something. Just...what did you do back home? For a living."
About as smooth a recovery as a Parker could get.
no subject
Dean broke into an easy-going grin. He wouldn't have minded if his life was a little less interesting right now; hunting evil was fine, it was the job, but all the stuff with a stupid number of hunts all in one place and the year ticking over his head he could've done without. Pretty sad when these days you missed the "easy" salt 'n burns. Sammy and him weren't sure of an exact pattern, since one day something would fit and the next, something would blow it out of the water. Wasn't exactly helping that they couldn't just pop on the Internet or into a real library where the big kid's books wasn't Cat in the Hat.
"I was a mechanic," Dean said, figuring he might as well fall back on whatever he remembered of being Rick Derringer. "Fixed up all rust buckets and stuff. Not as lame as it sounds, trust me. What about you?"
Aside from getting stuffed into lockers, this kid had to have some kinda hobby. He didn't see what got him selected, if anything. For all Dean knew, he could be like...he didn't know, some kinda control group or something with real Average Joes.
no subject
"I worked for a newspaper after school. Mostly web design, but sometimes they let me play photographer. I'm just happy I escaped flipping burgers."
It was that exact moment when a familiar ping sounded from above, and the nurses moved to collect the patients in one synchronized motion. Peter rolled his eyes as his own approached, growing a frown at the sight of his company. Was he forbidden from talking to any adults at all or was this one just a bad bad influence?
Whatever. The one thing he had learned by now was that the stick up her caboose was signed, bought, and paid for. No amount of wheedling would pry it out now.
"Gotta go." He flashed a parting smile at the man and pushed off the couch to greet his sour-faced nurse. "Nice to meet you, Brian."