http://damned-intercom.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] damned-intercom.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] damned_institute2010-04-22 02:00 am
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Day 49: Intercom, Noon

With such a small amount of patients actually out and about at the institute, the intercom announcements almost seemed unnecessary. Despite that, on it went, and it was the head nurse's voice that came out. "We'd like to apologize for the current conditions," she said softly, "but your fellow patients will be back in time for dinner.

"I'm the head nurse here. Due to the unexpected change in weather, Dr. Landel is out trying to clean the gutters. He'll be back to speak with you at the end of the next shift, which will be spent in the Game Room. The nurses will escort you there. As you all had a late breakfast, lunch will come later on." Strangely enough, the woman's tone was more sullen today; did it have something to do with the gloomy weather? Who could say?

It seemed that those were the only words she could muster for the new patients, however, as without further ado the speakers cut off and the nurses jumped to action.

[ ALL NEWLY ACCEPTED CHARACTERS MAY POST TO THIS SHIFT. All character introduction should be made in response to this post. Please have your character wake up in a random room, as we have not yet assigned them. Thank you! ]

[identity profile] selfrescuer.livejournal.com 2010-04-22 05:49 pm (UTC)(link)
"GUYBRUSH!"

Elaine was kicking herself mentally as she glared at her new fiancé. She really should have known better. Absence made the heart grow fonder—and the head duller, apparently. Of course Guybrush had taken something from the Zombie Pirate LeChuck's treasure hold without thinking. Of course he had given her the plundered item without telling her where he had gotten it. And of course, she had fallen for the same old lines again, hoping that maybe this time, the stint in whatever Hell he had been through had changed him for the better. She shouldn't have been surprised at all to hear the words "voodoo curse" when Wally commented on her engagement ring.

She hadn't thought better, however, and she was surprised. Stupid, brainless Guybrush and his stupid, brainless kleptomania! she thought, clenching her fist furiously. As she readied herself to clock her man square across the jaw, she could already feel the tingle of voodoo magic beginning its work. Her movement slowed as she reared her arm back. There was a bright flash, and for a moment, the world turned gold before Elaine's eyes.

-----

The punch swished through empty air as Elaine suddenly jolted upright in bed. Where did that mad fool go? she thought, head turning rapidly from side to side as her fist dropped by her side on the bed.

Wait. Why was she in bed?

Elaine forced herself to breathe, soothe the tension. Doing so was hard with Guybrush's irresponsible mug popping up in her mind continuously, but somehow, she was able to do it. She needed to focus and think. Had she been dreaming? It hadn't felt like she was dreaming. Elaine liked to think she knew the difference between sleep and wakefulness, and for the last several hours, she had been more or less certain about being awake. Then again, LeChuck's constant assaults had cut into her regular sleep patterns something fierce lately. Perhaps fatigue was finally catching up with her.

But no, something still wasn't right. This was most definitely not her fortress quarters, or even the fortress infirmary. Everything in the fort was tough stone and reinforced wood, neither of which was anywhere to be found here. No place there was painted so pristinely, either. And where was the sound of clucking chickens she had grown so used to? When she looked down, she found herself not in her own clothes, but in a hideous grey uniform featuring a smiling yellow face on the front.

The Governor's eyes narrowed. "All right—stay calm," she told herself out loud this time, breathing slow and steady now. Air flowed in and out of her lungs smoothly, cooling the hot ball of tension she felt in her chest. She shook her head, continuing to talk out the situation to herself. "This is probably just some part of the voodoo curse. Stay calm. Stay focused. You've found your way out of worse, Elaine." Although, as she surveyed the room, she had to wonder just how this curse was supposed to work. Wally had described it is disfiguring, hadn't he? That didn't fit with what was happening, though. Everything she could see or feel on her body was normal, and Wally hadn't said anything about sudden transportation. Perhaps she was waking up somewhere new after having had the curse lifted?

Elaine got to her feet. She found slippers on the ground to put on, then set about scouring the room for clues. If there was one thing that hanging around with Guybrush had reinforced in her, it was an instinct to look at anything and everything as potentially useful. The bedside drawer contained a roll of pens, a keyring, some small cylinders, a journal, and a small, ugly box of some sort. She took one of the pens and the journal for now; it might be useful to take notes if she was indeed trapped in some kind of cursed plane. God willing she didn't find herself in immediate danger, there would be important details to keep track of in such a case. Searching the closet revealed more grey clothes. It was worth noting that some of the outfits looked like heavier autumn or winter wear. Not exactly common in the Caribbean. Now that she noticed it, the daytime air did seem a fair bit cooler than she was used to. Where was this supposed to be?

[identity profile] selfrescuer.livejournal.com 2010-04-22 05:49 pm (UTC)(link)
She didn't have much longer to look around. A woman not much older than her soon entered the room, and smiled at Elaine just a little too cheerfully. "Ah, good morning! And how are we doing today, Miss Turner?"

"Turner?" Elaine questioned, raising an eyebrow. Chalk up a point of evidence in favour of the curse theory. Stuck in a living dream, perhaps? That sounds like something the voodoo arts could conjure up. She paused, tilting her head. Or perhaps she's just got the wrong room.

In any case, that seemed like a minor thing to worry about. She didn't bother to let the woman answer her, instead interjecting with some of the more important questions that were coming to mind. "I don't mean to be abrupt, but where exactly are we right now? What's the name of this building, and where in the world is it?" She paused, then added, "And what's the date? That would be helpful as well."

"Oh silly, you're in Landel's Institute! You don't remember arriving last night? You were so happy to get here!" the woman answered in a sugar-sweet tone, noticeably ignoring the other questions.

This woman was already trying the Governor's patience. "No, as a matter of fact, I don't." At least she had a sliver of something to work with. An Institute, was it? She could go from there. "What sort of Institute is this, then? Clearly, I don't remember, so you'll have to refresh me."

A titter of laughter before the next reply. "Oh, don't worry too much about the 'what's and 'why's and 'where's just yet, Miss Turner. You'll spoil the fun of discovery for yourself! All you need to know is that you've been brought here to recover. You've been sick for a long time now, and Landel's is here to help you get better," the woman (a nurse, it seemed) replied.

She didn't mention 'who's now, did she? Elaine noted. "Who is this 'Landel', anyway? Is Landel the one in charge here, or is that just a namesake for the building?" she shot back, obviously not satisfied at all and growing visibly more irritated. And she was not at all pleased that the woman seemed insistent on calling her by the wrong name.

"Again, you shouldn't worry too much about things like that for now. Especially not when all you new patients have the whole place to yourselves today!" the nurse tutted, touching Elaine on the shoulder in an attempt to lead her to the door. Elaine jerked away instinctively, but did follow; she wasn't going to get much done if she stayed in one room, after all. Knowing now that she likely wouldn't get much more out of the woman, she opened her journal and started scribbling down notes while they walked.

[To here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/866023.html)]
Edited 2010-04-22 22:06 (UTC)

M --

[identity profile] livesbyinstinct.livejournal.com 2010-04-23 04:49 am (UTC)(link)
Kiba came to slowly, fighting off the strange, groggy sluggishness that seemed to plague his mind and body. His vision returned first, his eyes taking in the room’s uniform blandness—the white walls, the dresser, the other bed in the room that was identical to his own but seemingly undisturbed; however, Kiba was not quite yet lucid enough to mentally register the obvious implications of the situation.

His memories were steadily coming back to him, seeping in along with his growing awareness. The memories were a bit foggy, but they were there. Sakura being an idiot. Sai being… himself. (That damn untrustworthy bastard, just who did he think he was?) Next? A sound. Bomb going off. Smoke, but not just any kind of smoke. Not the kind meant to blind or harm, but incapacitate. That must have been where the damn drowsiness was coming from: he and Akamaru had been drugged, and now it was harder for them to come to. Slower. Their system needed a hard reset. All this slowness probably came with the package. Sakura wanted to make sure she could go and play hero, or whatever her stupid motivation was for doing what she did. Kiba’s black eyes made their round around the rest of the room. Kakashi-sensei would—

Wait. Shit.

A burst of adrenaline shot through Kiba’s veins. His movements were quick, as they were trained to be, though oddly uncoordinated, hindered by the bedsheets to the point that Kiba found his limbs becoming tangled within the sheets as his still-lethargic body tried to obey the teenager’s sudden and unexpected demands.

“Akamaru?” His head whipped around, eyes widening, almost in panic. Where was he? His voice rose into a sharp hiss. “Akamaru?” Nothing. His voice rose another level. “Dammit!” With another near-growl of frustration, he finally managed to toss the covers off him. His feet touched ground, and he nearly sunk to all fours out of habit as his body geared up for a fight, muscles coiling, chakra gathering.

But there was no one to fight. And his chakra wasn’t responding to the call of his body properly. The chakra was there, but seemed… blocked somehow, and he found he was only able to channel a small amount into his nose to sharpen his sense of smell. The heck?

Everything was quiet—quiet enough to make him uneasy, and the smells that came to his nose were dull and domestic. Clean. Human, too. There was an edge of familiarity to some of the scents. Maybe, anyway. The smells were so dull that he couldn’t quite tell for sure, and they were all mixed together, not like oil and water like they’re supposed to be: easily separated and distinct. Smells had never been just smells: they were like a dynamic fingerprint to the Inuzuka—but here, it was more like a painting, with the colors all mixed and melded together to form a greater whole. Was this another effect of Sakura’s bomb, too? Why he couldn’t access his chakra. Just damn it all to hell. Why did she even have to do that? She could have at least taken them out like any self-respecting shinobi would: by fighting. Geez. Women. No, not women. Sakura. Was all that why he was here? If this was some sort of bizarre medical or rehabilitation center, maybe things would start to make sense. Just maybe.

Re: M --

[identity profile] livesbyinstinct.livejournal.com 2010-04-23 04:59 am (UTC)(link)
Straightening and resting his back against the wall, Kiba did a rapid visual search of the room, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon if the need called for it (the radio seemed like an excellent candidate) as he forced himself to calm down. Breathe. And this was definitely not something that came naturally to him. Kiba’s first instinct was to attack first, ask questions later, not just “calm down.” But he made himself do it anyway, biting his lip, as if the pain might bring with it a better sense of reality, as if it would still the metaphorical lightning-storm that was going on in his brain. His sense of smell might be off, chakra blocked, and while it didn’t make things better, he’d deal. He was perfectly able to defend himself, and could probably kick the ass of anyone in this place if things went south. He reminded himself that wasn’t chained down. Wasn’t restrained. There was nothing here to suggest enemy interrogation or imprisonment yet. And Akamaru was fine. Fine. Had to be. Things were a bit off, but… everything was going to be—

"Is everything all right in there?”

Kiba froze, then relaxed as the door opened to reveal a woman about the same height as he was. She was orderly looking, and reeked of perfume. Professional, he supposed, except for that damn smiley face on her shirt. On his shirt, come to think of it.

“Oh, wonderful!” She beamed. “You’re awake."

“Obviously.” Though he had seen (and fought against) many women in his time, Kiba was sure this skinny stick of a woman couldn’t fight herself out of a paper bag. He could take her out if he had to—he was confident of that. Not like she was a threat. Even so, he kept his eyes trained on her anyway. “Where is he?”

“Pardon?”

Where is he?” Another confused look. “My dog.”

“Oh, your…” she paused, glancing at her clipboard. “Ah, he’s at home with your mother and sister until you recover. I’m afraid we don’t allow patients to bring their animals with them to Landel’s.”

He snorted, feeling an irrational surge of anger at the sentiment. Akamaru wasn’t just a dog; he was more than that. But her explanation checked out, as there were buildings even ninken weren't allowed to enter, though they were few and far in between. Maybe some villagers found he and the others passed out after Kakashi had left them, and maybe there was more to the bomb in terms of effects than he thought.

“Wonderful.” His apparent attitude, however, seemed wasted (or perhaps went unnoticed) by the nurse in question, and his bad mood did nothing to dispel the sunshine-and-bubbles-tone that made up the nurse’s voice. Made it sound fake an insincere as all get out, and annoying, too, though Sai (that sneaky bastard) could probably stand to take a few lessons.

“Well,” she started again, “did you hear the announcement?”

He shook his head, eyes meeting hers. “No. And I don’t—“

She cut him off. “Well, now that you’re awake, I need to escort you to the Game Ro—“

“Why?”

She moved over to where he was standing. “So you can start making friends, of course. Most of the patients are over in Doyleton today, but they’ll be back this evening. You don’t want to be alone all the time during your stay, do you? Come now, we don’t want to be late.”

He snorted, took a step back. “I don’t need to ‘make friends.’ I’m fine.

“I’m sure you don’t mean that.” She took a hold of his arm, trying to guide him towards the door, though Kiba tore his arm out of her grasp.

“I can walk on my own, thanks.”

She smiled thinly and moved towards the door. Kiba, rolling his eyes, followed along behind her, keeping his eyes, ears, and nose open nonetheless. Something still felt off about this place, and he was going to find out what. And the only way to find out would be to see this "Landel's" for himself.

[To here. (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/866023.html?thread=68438247#t68438247)]
Edited 2010-04-24 00:50 (UTC)

[identity profile] bodhiandspirit.livejournal.com 2010-04-23 10:20 am (UTC)(link)
Waking up in unfamiliar places wasn't too strange for Rita. During her travels, she was sleeping in a different inn every night. So it wasn't that odd to awaken in a bed she wasn't used to, in a room she wasn't used to.

What was strange was that her clothes had changed. Rita didn't normally bother with sleepwear - it just gave her one extra chore to do in the morning. Yet for some reason, she was dressed in loose, gray clothing. Upon sitting up in bed and examining the outfit, she noticed the tacky-looking smiley face emblazoned on the front. Was somebody playing a prank on her?

Where was everybody, anyway? It looked like she was in a two-person room, and whoever had been there with her already left. Which inn was this, anyway? Still groggy from only just waking up, Rita tried to remember... but then her mind sharpened in alarm when she realized she couldn't. She didn't remember coming to this room. It didn't even look like an inn room. And she was alone.

The young mage shot up out of bed, and immediately ripped all the covers off. She then opened all the drawers and closets in the room and tossed their contents onto the floor, finding nothing but junk. Where were her clothes? Her weapons? Her notes!?

Somebody was responsible, she decided, and whoever it was, they were about to pay. Angrily, Rita marched over to the door to the room, only to find it wouldn't open. Rita wasn't going to accept that, however, and so she gave it a few kicks, then took a few steps back and charged at the door, slamming her body against it. She managed to give herself a sore arm, but other than that, no result.

It wasn't long, however, until she heard the rattling of a key in the door, and a woman dressed in white poked her head into the room. "Paige, sweetie, are you all right?" the stranger asked in a gentle voice. "Oh, dear! What happened here?"

Rita supposed she was asking about the mess, but she wasn't going to bother discussing something as unimportant as that. "That's what I want to know. What's the big idea, locking me up in here!?"

"I'm sorry, Paige. We aren't allowed to let patients wander around unsupervised, so we need to keep the doors locked while you're in your room," the woman patiently explained to her. It wasn't until she said it a second time that Rita realized that when she said 'Paige,' she was actually referring to her. Was there some kind of mix-up here? What the hell kind of hospital had staff this incompetent?

[identity profile] bodhiandspirit.livejournal.com 2010-04-23 10:25 am (UTC)(link)
"It's not my room, and I'm not your patient!" Rita snapped back at her. She didn't have the patience for this. "Ugh, forget it. I'm getting out of here!" She raised a hand and focused on conjuring a Fireball spell; one that she used so often that casting it was like second nature for her. Using the spell came so naturally to Rita, in fact, that it wasn't until after a few seconds of standing in that position that she realized nothing was happening.

The nurse watched her with a bewildered look, which soon faded. With a sigh, she walked closer to Rita and placed a hand gently on her arm. "Please calm down. I know this is all new for you, and it must be difficult to adjust to it all, but just remember that as soon as you're better, you'll be back home with your family before you know it!"

"Don't touch me!" Scowling, Rita slapped the hand away, then felt her own neck with her fingers. Her bodhi blastia was gone. The one she never took off. The one she needed for magic. They took it.

"Are you all right?" the woman asked cautiously as Rita seethed with frustration and spite. "You've been cooped up in this room since arriving here, so maybe you'll feel better after playing some games and meeting some of the other patients." She didn't reach for Rita again, but instead she gestured toward the open door.

Rita had half a mind to make a run for it, but she could see another person in uniform in the hallway outside. It was a larger man, and he was watching them from out there. It seemed that he had heard Rita's shouting and was ready to jump in if things escalated. In other words, running for it before she got her magic sorted out was out of the question. Punching out the nurse would also make things worse, as tempting as it was.

After much hesitation, Rita slowly walked out of the room, allowing the nurse to follow closely as her escort. She'd play along for now. Once she had enough time to formulate a proper plan of escape, she was out of here.

[identity profile] nobleobliged.livejournal.com 2010-04-24 12:07 pm (UTC)(link)
There was a story like this, was there not? A test of some kind, involving a plethora of mattresses and a vegetable. Not entirely like this: Natalia had never, in fact, displayed much sensitivity when it came to sleeping conditions. She had adapted swiftly to travel, from inn to inn and the not rare night on the ground. (No, no, it was like this, because that was the point of the story, was it not? The true princess--)

Natalia opened her eyes, stirred more by words than the not yet realized strangeness of her surroundings. It took her a moment still, once the announcement finished and she sat up, rubbing her wrist over her eyes, to comprehend what had been said. Late breakfast? Lunch? The groggy feeling was unusual for the princess; ever an early riser, of the type to be uncannily bright with the sun. It made it harder to shake.

But, not for long, not when white walls, close walls and a clinical smell different so dramatically from her room within the castle. And Natalia had gone to sleep in her own bed the night before, not set to visit Sheridan for another two days. She hardly had time to wonder at the discrepancy between the broadcast and the usual routine of the maids before her hands clasped over her chest, her breath caught, and her eyes widened.

Nothing about this room was familiar. For all that it should have, could have looked like any hospital room, it did not. It called to mind no place in Kimlasca, not in Belkend, not in Sheridan. Not Daath, Malkuth, Chesedonia. Her eyes dropped to her hands, to the drab gray of her sleeves. Having been changed out of her nightclothes did not disturb her, at least not the process--Natalia had, after all, been assisted in bathing and dressing by maids for all her life.

No, not the act, but lacking the memory. Slowly, with care that looked near calm, as if acting it would make it real, Natalia pushed back the covers. Bracing her hands on the mattress, she turned, dropping her feet to the floor. Spotting a pair of slippers arranged neatly at the bedside, she put them on, one then the other.

For a prolonged minute, then two, she sat rigid on the edge of the bed. A small movement followed: her right hand shifting, fingers pinching the skin on her left wrist.

[identity profile] nobleobliged.livejournal.com 2010-04-24 12:08 pm (UTC)(link)
Calm, Natalia thought. There is certainly no need to panic--perhaps every reason to, but no need, for she must behave with appropriate dignity. Folding her hands together, she stood, looking with uncertainty toward the door. She had little hope that she would receive the expected response, but she had to try, and clearing her throat, called:

"Ellene? Would you please--"

The door swung open, giving the princess such a start that she nearly sat back down. But, standing in the doorway was not Ellene, her main maid attendant. This woman wore a different sort of uniform, like that of one in the medical profession, and she smiled at Natalia with an emotion the young woman had difficulty recognizing. Was that pity?

"Dear, you've finally woken up! Well--coming as late as you did, it's no wonder. You must be starved, but I'm afraid you'll have to wait a little longer for lunch. Wouldn't you like to play a game in the meantime?"

Not knowing quite where to start, Natalia gazed at the nurse without immediately responding, her fingers curled together under her chin. Finally:

"No, I-- that is, where am I?"

"Sarah, honey, this is Landel's Institutite. Remember?" The nurse's look magnified. Natalia became certain of at least one thing, and she was glad of one thing: she positively disliked having such eyes, such an expression, set on her. It stirred a familiar, welcome indignation. Emboldened by it, she stood even straighter, dropping one hand to her waist and putting the other out in front of her.

"Not at all. I am afraid that you have much to explain, and you had better do it well. Are you unaware of who it is that I am? If you honestly believe it possible to abduct Kimlasca's princess without--"

"Sarah," the interruption came firmly, accompanied by the nurse's hand coming down on her extended one, gripping it with enough force to render her instinctive pull-back useless. "No more of that, all right? You're sick, Sarah, but we're here to help. Let's find you someone nice to play with; you'll both be new. Equal footing, honey."

As the nurse escorted her into the hallway, Natalia protested, made meek by confusion: "But--but, I don't feel ill--"

Indeed, she had always been a picture of health, periods of sickness few and extremely far between. The nurse smiled, with definite pity, and patted her hand as they walked.

[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/866023.html?thread=68458727#t68458727)~]
Edited 2010-04-24 12:44 (UTC)