damned_institute | Nightshift 49: 2nd Floor Staff Lounge

Yue had hesitated for just an extra moment longer before moving through the door, making certain that his wings were folded as tightly as possible before he entered the storage closet. As he recalled there were quite a few shelves and the space between them was adequate for a single person walking through but his wings would be somewhat awkward in the situation. Not that he intended to dismiss them, of course; even if he would normally have done so when going inside this wasn't "normal" and he didn't want to be without them when he didn't have to.

As soon as he stepped through the door, however, the door closed behind him without being touched, and the guardian's wings half-spread again in surprise -- and found no resistance. Instead of the storage closet with rows of shelves they were in... what was this? It looked like some kind of lounge area, and it wasn't a room he could recall entering. He glanced around with a small frown, taking a cautious step farther into the room. "I don't know this room," he observed warily, forgetting the small fight he'd attempted to start in the hallway in favor of this somewhat baffling occurrence.

... That's weird. Either the institute had an extremely comfortable and open storage closet or they had entered some kind of lounge, and by Yue's reaction, it sounded like it was the latter. Maybe it was for the staff members? "Onii-chan, did we go through the wrong door?" asked Sakura, still looking around in amazement.

Although it definitely was easy for Sakura to make such a mistake, both Touya and Yue usually weren't as spacey as she was. Was something going on? Regardless of whether or not they had made a mistake though, they probably needed to backtrack a bit and make sure they knew where they were. It would be bad to get lost at night... and during a storm... and when monsters were about...

"I... don't think so," Touya mused, looking around the room. He could have sworn he'd entered the door marked 'Janitor's Closet', but it was dark and he was in a hurry to get where they were going. He blamed his nerves on the storm.

Touya walked further into the room, looking at the painting on the wall with a slight frown. Why would such a cushy room be next to a janitor's closet, though? It didn't make sense. Looking back at one of the tables, he spotted a pack of cigarettes behind a lamp and a half-full pack of gum under a chair. Hey, people were always asking for cigarettes on the board--it could be a good trade item.

"Must have taken a wrong turn," Touya said with a shrug, scooping up the pack of cigarettes and crawling down onto the floor to fetch the gum. "Let's find the right door."

None of them knew where they were, then. Yue was quite certain the door Touya opened had been the door to one of the closets, but this most certainly was not a closet. Nor did it fit the general "storage" theme of the other rooms in the hallway, so... what was it doing here? There'd been that brief moment of disorientation as he'd stepped through the door, which made him wonder if something odd was going on.

"Renovations" indeed.

He watched the corners of the room warily as Touya poked around, then gave a small nod and turned back to the door. Maybe if he opened it then it would go to the right place. But where exactly was the right place from here?

[to here]

Edited 2010-05-23 08:21 (UTC)

[From HERE]

This time he was a little more prepared. Instead of staggering, Dean just kind of made an awkward shift forward, catching himself on the wall before that sensation like he was going to tumble over a railing hit him full force.

Smell was gone. Dean sniffed again as he brought his flashlight up. Yep. They hadn't just left the kennels, they'd full on jumped somewhere else. Dean was still running through what could be causing it. Wasn't like he hadn't come up with a list but the problem was narrowing it down. None of this felt particularly douchey, so that cut out a Trickster. Felt more random. Dean reached up, adjusted the strap of his duffel bag as he checked the room out. Like the storage room, this just seemed like a regular...well, a regular room. His flashlight fell on a table, magazines scattered on it. Wandering over to check, he picked one up and - just like Sam said. The date was all wrong and they didn't even have a year. Even just flipping through it, checking for any celebrity gossip, it was all just kind of there. Nothing real specific. In fact, he didn't even recognize the hot chick splashed on page 30.

Great. So much for that. They'd have to keep looking. Dean dropped the magazine back on the table.

The place didn't have any other doors or windows as far as he could see, just the way they came in. Checking the cabinet and fridge didn't yield any salt. Place was pretty empty of anything they could use right off the bat.

Dean came back to the Doctor, shaking his head. "Dead end," he said, and paused. "You gonna be okay?"

The other patient hadn't flipped out at the boulders and a roadkill death. Seeing him look at the freaks back there in the cages? Guess some things just hit him differently, he guessed. Dean didn't think the Doctor was going to break down on him or nothin'. If he was that sorta guy, he would've been a mess already.

Edited 2010-05-26 02:03 (UTC)

[from here]

This room was larger than the previous, and the air about it was less stifling. He trod forward, bare feet on the thick carpeting, towards-- A misaligned strip of carpet caught on a shard of glass protruding from the underside of his foot, moving it backwards. The boy inhaled sharply, dropping into a crouch and carefully letting go of the shotgun. He pulled a foot into his lap, eying it. A bit... worse than he had thought. No matter.

(But was it? Wasn't it more and more delayed? Moments passed before regeneration started, moments and minutes and time. And how, then, would it be this time? How would--)

An expression of fear had settled on to Albedo's face without his knowing. The boy made no move, frozen where he was.

Another enclosed space, another dead end in appearance. At this rate, they would likely run around in circles, from room to room to room, until morning came or they stopped. Nigredo couldn't guess at which would come first. He couldn't even predict the amount of time that had passed, though his body felt as though it was running on its last limits for the day.

Still, he stepped back to continue their wanderings, to direct Albedo back to the door, when the variant noticed his brother sit awkwardly on the floor. Here, he realized a mistake the younger had forgotten. Albedo had walked on glass. Of course, he would be sitting.

Nigredo remained stationary but opted to speak, voice rising no more than subdued. "Are you all right?" he asked. "We can stop here." For a while, that is.

His brother's voice came as a shot in the dark, and Albedo started violently. He looked over his shoulder, eyes wide, before registering the who and where. Nigredo. Yes. If nothing else, he had to--

...Hm? And what was this? What an odd development! Wanting to move forward, only to make sure that the other was fine. His sibling was fragile, and when he acted what he was, this inclination grew. How opposite. The same reasoning had prompted violence before, saw Nigredo as prey to tear into and maim. And now, what? Something to protect? It seemed too laughable to be true. Should he search for a different reason, or--

Albedo swallowed once, then stared down again, reaching to pluck out a larger shard. Blood welled, and he watched it as it spilled over. "I'll be fine." Lie. "Sit down, then. We'll rest for a moment."

He had proclaimed to not argue the point, and thus, Nigredo said nothing to the obvious lie nor the command thereafter. There was no reason for it. The boy could not bring up such a sour element a second time. After a long minute, the boy stepped forward and around his brother. Rather than sitting down, however, he began the routine visual sweep of the area. Nothing struck out as unique to the variant, though he noted with no particular feeling that the place reminded him of the Sun Room in terms of furnishings.

Carefully, Nigredo set down the bottle to a nearby table. With no other reason than to wait, he began to walk around the room's perimeter, green eyes fixed on details the child might have missed in his first glance. Logic recognized this as a way for him to distract himself from Albedo's foot but also understood to act otherwise would lead to unpleasantness.

It didn't matter that they'd been close only moments before. That was then, and this was now.

Although the Doctor felt somewhat relieved by the change of location, he wouldn't forget the kennels so easily. Where they even part of the Institute's building, or had they been somewhere else entirely? It was a fair question, especially considering the out-of-place room with the boulders; where in the grounds would that have been hidden away? Given its walls, underground perhaps?

But as long as they were getting tossed from place to place, he had to see what, if anything, he could find out. Given the normalcy of their newest location, this might be a good place to start.

Dean had looked at one of the magazines from a table full of them, and the Doctor decided to check them out himself after the other man had moved on. Magazines should have dates, and a date was needed to know when they were dealing with instead of simple generalities and estimates. The Doctor checked the magazine Dean had looked at first, scanning the front and back for a date or any particular headlines. There was no date, and nothing specific on the cover to place it in less certain terms. Frowning, he checked the rest of the magazines, even flipping through one that had looked promising, but they were all vague. Generic. Dateless.

The Doctor looked up from the magazine table when Dean asked if he was okay. "I'm alright," he said simply. The kennels had bothered him, but there was nothing he could do about the creatures right now. He may not have liked it, but he recognized it; he would simply have to try to find them again and see if there was anything he could do to help them.

The magazines had been a bust, but maybe the television would prove more useful. He pointed his torch at it. "I wonder if that gets any news programs at this hour," he said, moving towards the counter where it stood.

"Right now? It's gotta be what, midnight? One in the morning?" Dean frowned, stepping away from the door to follow the Doctor to the middle of the room.

Assuming they'd get something and it wasn't gonna be some weird cockblock like the magazines. Man, that was just dedication right there. Dean was just surprised all over again at the eye for detail - these magazines couldn't be real, not when this kind of stuff should have more tells for the date. Gossip wasn't exactly timeless. But the magazine he'd picked up had been so damn generic that it'd stood out, and he couldn't have been the only one to notice that. The Doctor had picked them up too, and Sam had noticed the lack of date on the newspapers before that. Still, seeding all these magazines and literally wiping out anything that could narrow down the year was way too funky to just be an accident here and there; had to be coordinated somehow.

Dean idled about the room. He'd rather get a move on, but the Doctor wanted answers too. It'd only take a few seconds to check the TV anyway and it wasn't like he had a date or something to rush off to.

He stood off to the side to give the Doctor some breathing room, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned his hip against the mini-fridge.

Edited 2010-05-26 11:07 (UTC)

And here again, came silence. The muscles in his hand tensed, hovered over the glass shards. Would this continue? Brief affection to be misplaced by their absence? Nigredo had been more than... nice... tonight, but in the pauses between, Albedo's heart hurt. What was he looking for here? What was it that he desired so fiercely? (Something no longer there.)

Beneath his fingers, the telltale glow had started, one wound closing as the other seeped blood. He swallowed, then moved to work the rest out, making a pile of glass next to him. In the minutes that passed, the regeneration would start, slower, and more tolling, than he would have preferred. His head throbbed, and the room tilted on its axis, causing him to put a hand to his eyes. Logic would tell one to eat, give the body back what it had just used, but even with the granola bars in his pocket, Albedo didn't think of it. He merely sat there, then after a minute, started to slowly get to his feet.

Closer inspection brought about a few oddities in their surroundings, strange knickknacks of the distant past now present. Nigredo only watched them, memorized their features, and moved on to another. He did not want to deal with them more than necessary; the child was only waiting, after all. For what couldn't be said.

Albedo shifted as though to rise, and the younger turned back immediately. Unlike moments before, he appeared unmoved, stoic. As though a sibling pulling glass out of his feet was normal. The thought slid through his mind in discomfort, but what else could Nigredo say? This could not be helped.

"You should be the one sitting down," he stated.

"Sure, right now," the Doctor said, giving the television set a quick once-over to find the controls on it. Locating and pressing the power button, he turned the television on, pleased to see it was in working order. "There are twenty-four hour news programmes, aren't there? Whether or not it'll pick one up, well... I'd be happy for anything that might tell us the date."

He started fiddling with the channel controls, but channel after channel all the television was showing was static. If he'd had his sonic screwdriver, tuning the set to pick up a station it wouldn't normally would have taken no time at all, but without it... He could start tinkering with the set, but that would take time they might not have. The night was already wearing on, and morning always seemed to sneak up quickly.

The Doctor frowned, trying more channels, but they were just the same as the first few. Fruitless though it was, it had been worth the look. No reception on the television, nothing that he could use to place the date—or even the decaded—in the magazines... They seemed unusually determined to keep the date out of sight, and that alone was worth noting.

He turned off the set and glanced at Dean, first joining the man and then heading for the door. "Or not, I suppose. Ready to move on?"

He opened the door and went through.

[To here]

Edited 2010-05-27 20:37 (UTC)

A pause gave one to think what they shouldn't. A brother's voice got a grin in return, amused but not cruel. The boy straightened, shifting his weight from one side to the other. "Should you be telling me that?" he wondered. "You should be resting more, if you're not feeling well."

A reminder of that had the child considering the thought from the past two rooms. Something not to eat, then. "I'll sit if you drink something, hm?" Again, there was the question, the strange concern rising and the questions with it. But he passed over it, leaving nothing to thought this time.

The grin was ignored. "Maybe so," replied Nigredo, who crossed his good arm over to grasp at the broken, "but I can say the same for you. Besides--" He glanced away, his voice carrying throughout the room. "--throwing up helped." Not really, but the child could pretend.

Until Albedo mentioned drinking, that is. This brought honest confusion to the surface, and instantly, Nigredo glanced at the bottle resting on the table. "I don't think I should drink that again." He'd heard that had risks. And now that the child considered it, the fog from two rooms over had grown exponentially. He was having difficulty focusing on the objects in front of him.

The response came habitual. "I'm--" Fine, he had meant to say. I'm fine. But the denial of that rose quick as an absence of a heartbeat, of a throbbing of the soles of his feet. Albedo's gaze dropped, staring at the carpeting. "...not fine," he whispered to himself.

But hadn't that been known, in and of itself? He had always been the one who--

Heat moved behind his eyes and he didn't know if it was from anger or sorrow. He didn't know if they had become the same in truth. The boy bit his lip distractedly, raising his voice slightly. "Not that. Something else." His mind recognized the fridge for what it was before self caught up. "There might be water in there," he added, pointing.

And there lay the truth of it all. Nigredo watched him for a long minute, bright green fixed on the form across the way. He opted to drop the first subject--nothing could be addressed with that--and moved to consider the second. Literally. With lagging steps, the child walked to the object that was pointed out, considered its make, and held out a hand to open its door.

The contents were nothing particularly eye-catching, though the names came off as alien. None of the transparent bottles contained water, and the cans... Nigredo couldn't tell what they consisted of. After reading a few of the labels, he chose a tall, black-colored can with green lettering.

"Well?" he began as he returned to his brother. "I'm keeping my end. How about you?"

There was a beat, brief as it was heavy. Albedo put out his hands, palm up, in a 'what can I do' gesture, and wandered to one of the couches plopping down. His gaze stayed on his brother, the intention obvious. If one sat, the other should, too. However, it remained.

The boy drummed his fingers once on the material of the couch. "Sitting is counter-productive to what you wanted, isn't it?"

Nigredo more than understood the intent and promptly sighed in resignation. How could he not? It seemed strange enough to stand while the other sat. Plus, opening a can would have its difficulties when one hand was practically useless. He closed the remaining distance and climbed in on his brother's left. The can went between the child's thighs for stability reasons, before he worked at its opening.

He talked as he did so, figuring a filled space was better than an empty silence. "What is needed is usually counter-productive to what I want." There was a sharp snap, indicating success. "But I don't mind."

Here, again, was relief as a sibling moved closer. Moreso as Nigredo listened to him, opening the unknown drink and speaking. His words mirrored those said on the bulletin the day before, and again, Albedo was prompted to react without knowing why. The boy pulled a knee up, curling an arm around it before leaning slightly on his brother. "I mind," he gave softly.

And what, now? What should he say--do--to move from here? He had given himself away as he hadn't the first few times, and now he didn't... particularly mind. There was nothing to be lost in this place that hadn't already been lost. He had said as much to his roommate. All that Albedo had left was next to him. His head tilted, resting slightly on Nigredo's shoulder. "I don't know why," he admitted quietly, half lie and half truth. "But I don't want to see you sad."

What could he say to that? Albedo claiming something so significant as wanting a sibling's happiness required a form of disbelief. It wasn't to say Nigredo thought he was lying; it just sounded ridiculous. The child stared down at the can for a long moment, words failing to produce, pressure at his right giving way to an odd sensation.

Eventually, he lifted the can to his lips and took a tentative sip. An acidic sweetness filled the boy's mouth, a fact Nigredo expressed with a blank face. "This tastes weird," he stated.

Here was another kind of relief, a silence instead of words (and when had that become something wanted?). Perhaps only because this touched too close to a chance of rejection, perhaps simply because he had said what had been shifting within his mind, perhaps that was why he could take the subject shifting as something impossible before.

He sighed, cause unknown, and glanced to the can in question. A moment, and he reached over to snag the drink to try for himself. Agreement came in the form of an expression similar to the one he had made earlier in the night; he made a face and handed it back. "Really weird," he answered in kind.

Despite the statement and the subsequent agreement, Nigredo took the drink back and continued his slow sips, each portion growing subsequently larger than the last. When he spoke again, half of the can was gone. It was an accomplishment for someone who typically disliked sweet things.

"Albedo," he started, sounding slightly disoriented, "if we're still here tomorrow, do you want my things? I don't care what you do with them." It would keep a section of last night from occurring a second time.

...From apparent calm to the opposite. Albedo straightened, staring at Nigredo. If they were still here. Did he want his things? Both pieces of the statement came as something to reject; something to push against fiercely. Something that caused the wound in his chest to spread further.

His hand moved with knowledge to Nigredo's thigh, fingertips pressing. "I don't need things," he answered somewhat harshly. And he hadn't. Ever and always. Despite dolls to play with (break and throw away), Albedo had never been materialistic. What was important was simply... All there was was only.... It caught in his throat, unable to be voiced. Too easily seen were the weakness of bonds. "If we're still here tomorrow," he started again. "I just want you where I can see you."

Nightshift 49: 2nd Floor Staff Lounge

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