damned_institute | Night 49: Mail Room

This wasn't the least dignified entrance Sam had ever had, but it was up there. He hit the floor on his hands and knees, and when Peter fell on top of him a split second later, he just collapsed altogether.

Great.

He rolled over, ignoring the slight pull of stitches. "Yeah, I'm fine. You?"

He pushed himself to his feet and ran a hand through his hair. The slots and burlap sacks gave some pretty clear signs about where they were. He tucked his gun behind his back to free up a hand and swept his flashlight over the room.

Letters. Interesting. If anyone got any letters, it had be fake. Didn't it? That seemed to be the theme. Anyway, it was less of a concern for Sam; he didn't have anyone who would write to him in the first place. Though he was curious about what a letter to him would look like. Say, if it came from his mysterious visitor or something. Jess? She was apparently alive in his little fabricated world, but Christ, he didn't want to think about that. He was just glad she wasn't the one they'd plucked to have visit him. There was nothing good about seeing a dead person again when it wasn't real.

Except he hadn't been able to stop himself from wondering sometimes. Maybe for once, it was better that he was so distracted by Dean's situation.

"I've never been here." He flipped open one of the mail boxes. Empty. What a surprise. He looked over his shoulder at Peter. "You ever hear of anyone mentioning letters?"

Edited 2010-05-21 14:34 (UTC)

"I'm okay," Peter returned with a nod. That was not an experience he particularly wanted to repeat, but they were out of the refrigerator and untangled from each other, so that was the important thing. Now that that was all taken care of, they had a chance to explore the room.

Moving to the middle table, Peter set down his bag and shovel onto it so that his hands were free as he searched around. He turned toward Sam, shaking his head in response to the question. "I don't remember any nurses mentioning it. Not Landel, either." Which either meant this was for show, or the staff was purposefully keeping their mail from them.

Peter moved toward the slots and realized that they were labeled with names and even room numbers. He couldn't help searching out the one for M24, but when he found it and jammed his hand into the slot, there was nothing to grab.

"Looks like no one loves us," he joked as he moved away from it, slightly defeated. It made sense, though. His mother and Nathan weren't exactly the letter-sending types. Nathan had sometimes sent him notes when he'd been serving in the military, but other than that, there had never been the need. It seemed like both of them would rather come see him in person to reprimand him rather than write him. It made him wonder, once again, at whether or not he'd be seeing one (or both) of them tomorrow, but that was something he could think about later.

He took note of yet another computer, but this one didn't even seem to be on, and they'd already determined that trying to finagle with them was pretty much a waste of time. Peter didn't want to suggest they leave just yet, though, since Sam probably wanted to look around, especially if he hadn't been here before. Peter had to wonder where in the building they even were at this point. He was long overdue for getting himself a set of maps.

Sam moved along the back wall, searching the slots as he went, but they were all empty. He guessed stumbling on a letter for one of the staff was too much to ask for. "Looks like no one loves anyone."

He wondered if they did get mail. The staff, that was. It was hard to get a read on the people who worked here. The nurses and orderlies were hardly cardboard cutouts, but they weren't...there was something off about them regardless. And the doctors—well, Sam's experience with them had been limited to the one. He remembered some of the patients had said their doctors seemed like good people, but even so.

The computer was turned off this time and when he hit the power, it remained as useful as a brick. Weird. At least the other one had switched on and the power obviously didn't go out at night. The refrigerators had been running, for one. It was only the lights that shut down. And selected pieces of equipment, apparently. So why was this one off and the other one on? Was it just arbitrary?

Printer didn't give up anything, either. Sometimes discarded pages gave a clue, but the papers were all crisp, blank sheets. Somebody must've cleaned the hell out of this room to leave it looking this pristine. He'd been in enough offices to know that when you were dealing with this much paper, things fluttered away, slipped into cracks, got lost. But even the freaking paper cutter was looking damn near unused.

After a moment, he turned back to Peter. There was nothing here, not even anything to take. Except maybe the staplers, but even he wouldn't ever get desperate enough to try stapling a spirit's forehead or something. Probably.

"Ready to try door number five?"

Edited 2010-05-22 04:15 (UTC)

It was pretty clear that there wasn't much that was helpful here as far as information went, but supplies were another story. Well, there was just one thing that stood out to Peter, and that was the pair of scissors. While he couldn't envision himself stabbing the monsters here with them, he could use them to cut lengths of bandages and things of that nature. They just seemed like a useful item to have, and so he snatched the pair of them off the table and moved back to his pillowcase, where he carefully placed them inside.

With that done, Peter was finished with the room. He'd have to keep this place in mind. While there was no mail here tonight, maybe there would be in the future. Either way, it was interesting enough to make a note of, even if he had no idea where it actually was.

"Sure thing," he said with a crooked smile. He slung the pillowcase over his shoulder, grabbed up his shovel in the other hand, and then headed back out the door with Sam.

So long as they didn't end up in another refrigerator, he'd be happy.

[warping here]

[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/898861.html?view=69475373#t69475373)]

"What the hell?" Indy burst out, staring around him. From the doorway, his flashlight beam hadn't extended far into the next room, but he could've sworn he saw-- But where they found themselves now was unmistakably--Indy had frequented plenty of these places over the course of his academic career--a mail room. Why the hell would they put the mail room right next to the food counter?

He fumbled for the map again. It didn't take him long to find the "mail room" label, and he didn't like what he saw. "This is supposed to be on the other side of the building," he griped to Dent. "Okay, I take it back. It's more than just a mislabeling." Whoever had made the map was either incompetent or deliberately trying to confuse people.

Well, at least there was only the one door. It wouldn't be hard to retrace their steps and either try one of the other doors in the last hall or try the lab area, where Indy knew where things were.

While Harvey had been glad that Jones had taken it upon himself to break the lock open (he didn't need to be bending his metal pipe even further out of shape for something so pointless), his mood swung around when they stepped not into a kitchen, but into some kind of mail room. He nodded to Jones, brow set in a deep, annoyed frown. At least both of them were in the same boat here. And why did he keep feeling this weird sense of vertigo whenever he walked through a door?

It seemed that their maps had been made by the same misguided (or malicious) person, since when Harvey checked his maps, he saw a similar labeling for the mail room. On that note, who even sent mail to this place? It looked like there were enough slots for each patient, but most of them appeared to be empty, which made the whole thing pointless. Another part of the charade, probably.

That wasn't the point, though. "Why the hell would some kind of counter for serving food lead into a place like this?" Harvey had made his way through a decent portion of the building, and while it was a pain having to move around through hallways and everything else, there had always been a certain amount of logic to it. This just didn't make sense.

Reflexively, Indy found his name and room number among the rows of mail slots. His was empty. No surprise there.

Dent's point was just what he'd been wondering, and he didn't have a good answer. "Your guess is as good as mine," was the best he could do. He formulated a few vague theories about the convenience of picking up mail on your way back to the office after lunch, but none of them did a satisfactory job of explaining why anyone would put a mail room where you'd expect a kitchen. He didn't bother to voice them.

"Ever heard of anyone getting mail?" Indy asked instead. Now that was an interesting question. Obviously his friends weren't going to be sending him postcards anytime soon (unless, like Dad, Landel got to them); a large number of the other prisoners were probably in the same boat, and the staff evidently hadn't made an effort to create fake mail since he'd arrived. Which begged the question of why they had a mail room at all. Indy paced around with the flashlight and took a closer look at the room, particularly the computer (it was off. He probably could've figured out how to turn it on with some trial and error, but Dent was right there). If they hid trap doors to the basement in the refrigerator...

[Posted 'cause I felt like it and didn't know when Zalia was going to. 8D]

It was only after deliberating over it for a while longer that Harvey remembered what Landel had said over the intercom earlier. Something about reconstruction. Was it possible that...?

No, that was just ludicrous. Rooms couldn't be moved around on a whim like that. Even though part of Harvey knew that he'd already seen things even more impossible than that, he didn't want to entertain the thought until he was sure there was no other explanation. For now, he'd chalk it up to a bad design flaw and see how long that lasted.

As for Jones' question, Harvey just shook his head. "Nothing like that, no. Not that anyone would send me anything." Except for his mother, maybe, but he was going to continue to believe that she was unaware of his whereabouts. Which probably meant she thought he was dead, but that was better than knowing he was off the straight and narrow with a face wound to match.

"Anyway," he grumbled. "Looks like this is a dead end. Guess we'll have to head back." And go where? Jones had had some other ideas about where he could find a fire extinguisher, so they'd just have to try that instead.

[From here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/887737.html?thread=69415353#t69415353)]

Allelujah blinked in surprise as he wasn't immediately assaulted by rain and wind upon stepping outs-

This wasn't the rec field. This wasn't even outside. He wasn't entirely sure where he was except that it definitely wasn't where the door should have led. He might have yelped. He'd never admit it, because big bad scary Gundam Meisters didn't yelp at ending up in odd places unexpectedly, but a yelp may have occurred.

And there were other people here too. Oh dear. They were wearing the uniforms of patients at least, which suggested that they were still in the hospital but... "Ah... excuse me?"

With the computer inoperable, Indy tried a cursory inspection of the mail slots themselves, but none of them looked out of the ordinary. If there was anything hidden in here, seeking it out was going to take more time than he was willing to invest, at least for tonight.

"Me neither," he said to Dent, who went on to give a concise summary of their situation. Indy agreed with it. "We'll head for the labs." He readjusted his fedora and was halfway to the door when someone else walked through it and yelped--a younger guy, about Indy's own height, with long hair that fell across his face but didn't hide his surprised expression.

He was no one Indy knew, and Indy guessed he was no one Dent knew either, since the most obvious explanation for the yelp was that this was the first time he'd seen the ruined half of Dent's face. Or maybe he was just that mystified by the fact that they put the mail room right next to the damn food counter. "Yeah?" Indy asked, since there was no one else in the room the newcomer could be talking to but them.

The labs sounded good enough to him. Though they might end up going somewhere he'd already been, as a few of the rooms he'd checked out with Jason and Lana had been pretty close to labs in terms of their contents. He hadn't run into any chemicals (hadn't Jason wanted to find some?), but Harvey was more or less okay with that. The further he stayed from substances that could cause burns, the better.

Granted, that could be changing now, but he would manage. Besides, they had to rely on the maps actually being correct for this part, which was now a big if in his mind. Right as he was heading back for the door, though, someone else walked through.

The surprised noise the guy made would have made sense if Harvey had been facing him with his bad side, but that hadn't been the case. He did subsequently turn his head, though, showing the burn wounds as he regarded the stranger curiously. "What is it?" he said, almost in unison with Jones. He didn't really want to deal with someone's ignorant questions, but he knew they couldn't exactly ignore him, either.

He could practically feel the hostility radiating from the two men. Maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut. Maybe we should just knock them both out and and take their things if they aren't any use no there would be no knocking out random patients when they'd remember in the morning. Unless he really had to.

Allelujah just blinked, squinting a little into the light when one of the two men turned, giving the burn wounds a cursory glance because it wasn't often you saw quite so much damage worn openly, but really, he had more important things to be worried about. And he'd seen bodies charred and tortured beyond recognition before. "This room. It isn't supposed to be here. This is meant to be the Rec field. Is this the second floor?"

"What do you mean, 'isn't meant to be here'?" Indy asked. Even making allowances for the mistakes in the map, he couldn't figure out how anyone could've come down that hallway thinking it would take him to the field--except, he remembered, that that patio that they were supposed to have gone through was depicted as overlooking it. But didn't the guy remember climbing the stairs?

"Look," he said more tolerantly, since they were dealing with the same problem, "the maps are mislabeled in this section; I don't know if there's a way out there from this floor. If you're trying to get to the field, I'd go back out through the--food counter room, or whatever it is; the room you just came from, and then down the stairs. You can get out through the back door on the first floor." He aimed the light at his second-floor map and traced the route slowly with his index finger so the stranger could follow it.

New, probably. Indy wondered if he should mention that you couldn't escape just by running, since he wasn't sure why else anyone would want to get out to the rec field in a storm like this, but he decided the kid could figure it out for himself. Getting out of the compound and wandering around in the woods for a night or two practically seemed to be a rite of passage here. Indy shot a glance at Dent and then the door, indicating that he was ready to keep moving if the younger guy didn't need anything else from them.

Was the patient on something? It was a good thing that Jones had taken the initiative to explain, and he was even being patient, which Harvey wasn't sure he had the energy for anymore. While the stranger wasn't doing anything particularly offensive, how could he honestly think that he could make it to the field from here? Unless he'd also been looking for that patio with the intention of jumping down, but even so, that was the most indirect way to get there that he could think of. The field was a straight shot from their rooms.

Shoving his own maps back into the elastic of his pants, Harvey pointed his flashlight to the door the stranger had just come out of, more than ready to keep moving. Jones had stepped up to do his good deed for the night, and Harvey was more than willing to take credit for it, too.

He moved toward the door, figuring that they'd done all they were expected to and could keep going. Jones seemed ready for that too, so he was glad they were in agreement.

Perhaps knocking them out and taking their stuff might be incredibly satisfying but it was still terribly unethical. He just had to weight up which was more important. Satisfaction was winning out after that little condescension. Did they think that he was a child.

"I know the maps off by heart, I have a perfect memory and I've been here for over two weeks," he said, a little more dangerously. "I was on the corridor which led up to the field because I want to explore the lake in the mountains again. I didn't come through any food counter room, or up any stairs for that matter." He wondered if it would be worth trying to take them both at once.

Now Indy was irritated. With a finite amount of time in which to search and no idea how long it was, he wasn't in the mood to be lectured to by a petulant kid his students' age. "Well, there's an easy way to solve this," he replied, resisting the urge to clench his teeth, and strode through the door.

[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/897180.html?thread=69707676#t69707676)]

[From here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/920364.html?thread=69896748#t69896748)]

Floor - 3, Yuffie - big fat horrible 0. This was not her lucky day.

Actually, it was the opposite! It sucked. It sucked balls. On a scale of suckitude, it was right up there with Omega. Yup. Tonight Omegasucked, and Yuffie wanted nothing more to do with it. At all. And when she was done being a spluttering, retching-but-not-quite-upchucking pile of miserable super ninja on the floor, she was going to show it who was boss. Somehow. Hadn't quite worked that part out yet.

Yuffie didn't even have the presence of mind to check where they'd ended up. It was warmer; that much she picked up on. The rain was a dull pounding, the thunder was less up close and personal. Sounded like they were back in the institute itself, then.

Edited 2010-06-04 13:15 (UTC)

The good news was that they were back in the building, if that could be considered good news. At least there weren't any zombies here. The bad news was that they weren't any closer to making sense of this mess than before. That and the fact that the door hopping was really starting to make Cloud nauseous.

He placed his back to the nearest wall and slid down it until he was sitting. Turning around and going right back through another door was not high on the list of things he wanted to do next. "What do we got, Zack?" the blond asked as he ran a hand through his hair. He'd look around the room himself in a second, once he was sure the contents of his stomach were going to remain there.

Yuffie seemed to be in worse shape than he was, still, so the best idea was probably just to sit for a while. They weren't getting anywhere just walking through doors. Well, no. They were getting everywhere, but no place that could help them.

The idea of Landel and Hojo making some happy couple as they vacationed with a trio of kids was actually more nausea-inducing for him than moving between the doors. Zack was just glad that they'd decided to go somewhere new instead of standing around and discussing that subject at length.

Unfortunately, it looked like his two companions for the night were having a tough time of things. Even in the darkness of the room, he could see how they were becoming progressively greener in the face. It looked like they'd be taking a moment to rest here, then.

As he was the only one who seemed to be steady on his feet for the moment, Zack went ahead and started to walk through the small room. Noticing the slots that were up against the walls, he realized that they were meant to hold letters and whatever other kind of mail might come in. "Looks like this is a place for receiving mail that comes for the patients," he said. "And maybe some staff, too."

He hadn't heard of anyone getting mail, though. It'd be kind of weird, seeing how they didn't actually know anyone from this world. Maybe it was just for show, then? Most of these slots were empty, after all, but that could also be because the mail had already been delivered to the people it was meant for.

"I've never had mail," Yuffie groaned. "Is there anythin'—urp—in the s-slots?"

She'd been there almost a whole twenty days running now, and not once had she seen even a single scrap of a letter. Thinking about it now, the only way that made sense was if the dudes at the wheel were intentionally jamming up the system.

The young ninja decided that, for now at least, keeping a lid on dinner also meant keeping a lid on her theory. Her every motion exuding misery and longsuffering, Yuffie hauled herself and her shuriken over to join Cloud at his spot against the wall. He didn't look like he was ready to stay down for long, so instead of trying her luck by falling against him in a puddly pile of icky-grossness feeling ninja, she just barely brushed his arm. They could figure it out. She could do her part by hanging out right where she was and not blowing chunks.

Sounded like a pretty sweet deal to her.

"I doubt anyone has. Even if they can reach our home worlds, why would they allow us to communicate between them? If anything, they'd be letters from our fake families here." And even then, that could get complicated. Fake families or not, there was always the chance that correspondence could be used in favor of the patients, whether it was getting information out to resistance cells (if those were even possible) or somehow turning those other people to their cause, it was just more than Landel was probably willing to allow. Of course, with the grip he appeared to have over everything here, none of that might make any difference.

When Yuffie sat next to him, Cloud watched her out of the corner of his eye. Raising an arm, he pat her gently on the shoulder just once. It was a friendly gesture, so he didn't think it counted as treating her like a child. Then he stood, slowly, and went to join Zack at the mail slots. "Are they named?"

The blond ran his hand along the inside of a couple, hoping he might be able to feel the raised letters of a label or a place where a card with a name could be slipped in. "This is a long way to go just to make this place look legit."

The idea of getting a letter from a pair of fake parents definitely rubbed Zack the wrong way, but he kept that thought to himself. Maybe it was just because he'd actually made a habit of writing home, but he didn't need this place making fun of that. He was perfectly happy to be devoid of mail, with all of that in mind.

When he noticed that Cloud had managed to get himself to his feet and head over, Zack nodded to him and then pointed his flashlight to illuminate some of the names printed over the slots. "Yeah, looks like it's by name and room number, but these names all look pretty ordinary. They're probably the ones that the staff use." That made sense, since it wasn't like they were suddenly going to start being inconsistent here.

Cloud had a good point, though. Why go to so much trouble when they didn't really have the chance to come up here in the first place? Was this place even accessible at night, or had they just lucked out by landing here?

Not that there was much that was lucky about this place, since there was nothing of interest to take, and it really only brought up further questions. "Yeah," he agreed with a shrug and a shake of his head. "Who knows why they went to all that trouble." Trying to puzzle out the head doctor's logic seemed like a futile effort, at this point.

Remembering his own flashlight, finally, Cloud checked over some of the names. He didn't recognize most of them, but then he hadn't gone around asking anyone about the names the Institute used for them anyway. What if these weren't even patient names at all? They could just as easily belong to the staff. "Recognize any names?"

His should be on there somewhere. What was it again? Alfred? Alfred and something having to do with clouds. Cirrus. No... Stratus. Alfred Stratus. If the names were in any sort of order, then it would probably be alphabetical by last name. Cloud searched the rows for the S's, eventually getting down on his knees on the other side of the room. There it was. Funny how close Stratus was to Strife alphabetically.

"Found mine." Not that it was a particularly great accomplishment, seeing as it was empty. Nodding to Zack, he gave a quick look over his shoulder at Yuffie just to check up on her. She'd be fine, of course. They'd been through worse. That didn't mean he didn't hate the idea of shoving her back through the door, though.

Edited 2010-06-09 04:43 (UTC)

It was only through remembering that his room number that Zack found his own slot, since his nurse usually only called him Lance, as opposed to using his fake last name. M57, marked with "Lance Findlay" and a name he didn't know, but it had to belong to his new roommate. Provided these labels were up to date, seeing how he was going through roommates like candy.

"Same here," he said with a shrug. "It's empty." While Cloud was busy checking on the ninja, Zack slid over and took a look at the names above his friend's slot. "...Alfred? Really?" It was the sort of thing that was just begging to be used for teasing material. Man, the people behind all of this were mean, giving Cloud a name like that. At least Cloud was unique. Alfred was just dorky.

In any case, it looked like this room was pretty pointless. There were some office supplies laid out, but none of them stood out to Zack as useful. He was ready to keep moving, but that all depended on whether or not Yuffie could actually stand. "What's your status?" he asked the girl as he leaned against the wall of mail slots and eyed her curiously.

Yuffie had spent the past few minutes with her head between her knees, only peripherally taking in what her companions were saying.

When Zack spoke directly to her, she glanced up. Status — sheesh. So military. "As much as I'd love to, and I mean, seriously, I'd love to, I won't hold us up," Yuffie said, pulling a face. Blech. She scramble-hop-slid back to her feet, one hand against the wall for extra balance. She didn't feel so bad anymore that she actually needed it, but already her mind was racing onwards through the next portal. And the next, and the next. That was enough to keep her poor abused stomach tumble-turning in the background.

It'd been a while since she'd gotten this motion sick. Usually she was so in the zone during fieldwork that it just slipped her mind that she was supposed to be puking her guts out, but this… this was kinda different, she figured. Had to be. It felt different.

She was getting too used to Landel's.

And it totally didn't help that they were going from stopping to starting to stopping to starting. Nope. Not at all. Yuffie shook her head at herself, then aimed a small, almost apologetic grin at Cloud. "I'll do better next time, Sparkleboy McLeaderpants," she told him. I hope.

Didn't look like there was anything else to poke around at in this section of Boringsville, at any rate. Yuffie stuck her tongue out at it, inwardly bemoaning that it'd lacked anything to grab her interest and her focus, and headed for the door. No point hanging around any longer.

[To here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/910012.html?view=70040252#t70040252)]

Edited 2010-06-09 20:01 (UTC)

[From here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/916669.html?thread=69964221#t69964221).]

The next room was weird, and Remy didn't understand it. The numerous supplies -- things he was familiar with, like scissors and pens, and weird things like the platform with the handle at one end -- made it clear that it was some kind of work area, but he wasn't sure what kind. From the smell, though, it was obvious they were still in the Institute.

He turned to the Scarecrow and Kibitoshin. "This is better, but not much."

If he kept feeling sick from walking through doors, it wouldn't matter if they ever found a kitchen anyway. He thought he might not be able to stomach food. That would just be perfect -- finally finding the kitchen and not eating a thing.

From the dimming light of his flashlight, the Scarecrow couldn't see far into the room, but what he could see through his spinning vision didn't seem dangerous: papers and writing utensils, walls with various shelves and slots, a carpeted floor that looked more and more inviting by the second. Rubbing his eyes again, he took a seat a few steps from the door, taking a moment to let his head settle.

"I'm starting to think all this magic we're going through can't be good for us," he said tiredly. It was a lot easier to deal with enchantments when made of straw.

Kibitoshin wasn't sure he wanted to leave those cabinets without knowing what kind kind of files were in them, but it was as if the Great Portal God heard his hesitation, because the very next room they walked into was absolutely full of paper and cabinets.

Unfortunately, Kibitoshin didn't really feel like exploring anymore. "Urgh. It really isn't nice," he agreed, leaning against the doorframe and rubbing his head anxiously. "Maybe we should rest for a while. Or- or try and find a room with chairs to rest in. Where are we trying to get to, anyway? The kitchen, still?"

"I thought so," Remy grumbled. "I'm not even sure the kitchen really exists. Honey baked a cake there, but some of the people here are supposed to be crazy, so that might not mean anything. Maybe they bring in the food from somewhere else and just lie to us about it."

He sighed, then shrugged. "I think Kibitoshin is right. Any room that has a place to rest would be fine with me."

A few moments of silence passed, and the Scarecrow found that as his head settled, his thoughts cleared and his optimism returned. Yes, the outlook looked bleak- they were wandering from room to room with no idea where they could be or where they were headed next due to the enchantment on the doors; it was true that the magic seemed to be wearing on all of them, the spinning getting worse as they crossed each new threshold. Still, he'd set out to accomplish something, no matter what it was. They had agreed to try to find the kitchen, so that's what they were going to do.

The Scarecrow got to his feet, finding them a little unsteady despite his enthusiasm. "We can't just give up now," he said to Remy encouragingly. "I'm sure that kitchen has got to be somewhere around here. If these doors weren't under some sort of a spell and I had my map, we'd be able to find it for sure. It's the Wizard Landel who's keeping us from getting there, but we can't quit. That'd be no better than letting him win."

He headed for the door, opening it for his friends. "We're going to find that kitchen whether there's anything there or not. Come on."

[The Return of Bill's Hardware]

Edited 2010-06-08 08:46 (UTC)

[From here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/910477.html?thread=69696141#t69696141)]

That they hadn't ended up in the rain counted toward the positive, but a quick survey of the room didn't reveal much of use, either. The few letters that were visible made it clear that this room served as some sort of postal office, but Mihai wasn't exactly expecting any mail. Sure, the last letter he'd gotten had changed his life, sometimes for better, sometimes for worst. But given how things had gone lately, Mihai was good with a lack of upheaval.

"The mediocre luck returns." Mihai turned to Reeve, and also to the door. "Unless you're expecting a package, I doubt there's any good staying here." Still, it never hurt to check. And speaking of, Mihai patted the outside of his pocket. Now he had a reason to be in good spirits--and later, to indulge in them. The minibottles were still there, safe and sound. Clearly the night wouldn't be a complete waste.

Reeve had never been much of a gambling man. Or to the least, it was what he had always told others, as well as himself. He preferred odds that he could see, control and predict. This was allowed him to plan, and gave him a probably result he could lean on. Facts, figures and physics made up his world. It was more practical than tossing caution to the wind and hoping that it all worked out somehow.

And yet, Reeve's life had involved increasingly slimmer odds as time went on. He would never have admitted it, but there was often more feel and believe to his engineering than calculation. Maybe there was a part of him that enjoyed it, a part that felt the adrenaline from a good risk or gamble. And if there was, it had surely been passed on to Cait Sith.

"No, there's nothing useful here," he agreed, and gave Mihai a smile that was more relaxed than before. He hoped he would be as lucky as his creation was with all his fortunes and dice. "Let's roll again."

[To here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/912667.html?thread=70076955#t70076955).]

Night 49: Mail Room

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