damned_institute | Day 50: Chapel

The last thing Claude heard was the Head Doctor's voice faintly filtering into the corridors of the ship before he found himself tucked beneath the sheets of his bed. It took a moment to register he'd even changed locations, but then he he abruptly sat up, fought the wave of nausea that washed over him, and felt the blankets beneath his fingers. The room. He was back in his room now. Under different circumstances, he might have wondered if last night had been some horrid dream, but the sharp pain in his eyes gave him a rude awakening. Hissing through his teeth, Claude buried the heels of his palms against his lids, only to discover two cold compresses had been taped over them.

"Good morning, Thomas," he heard the nurse's cheerful voice from beside his bed. Her sudden presence nearly made him jump out of his skin, and he sharply turned toward the source of the greeting, heart beating rapidly in his chest. "I'm sorry you're not feeling well today, but hopefully you can still enjoy some of the activities we have planned."

'Not feeling well' was a bit of an understatement. His hand hurt, his stomach kept turning with every movement, and it felt like someone had dumped a bunch of sand into both eye sockets. Right now, Claude just wanted the nurse to leave him be, but it didn't look like that was an option. Taking his uninjured hand, she gently tugged him out of bed, despite his protests that, no, really, he just wanted to stay in and sleep, please.

"I think getting out of your room a little bit will do you good," she told him. "I'm sorry your eyes are probably hurting, though. If you're ever feeling uncomfortable, don't hesitate to ask one of us for some pills."

"What about eye drops?" Claude asked tightly.

"Oh, no, too much of that could damage your eyes," she cautioned, and the sheer irony of the situation hit Claude so hard that it would have been laughable if he didn't already feel like crying right then. The nurse was as oblivious to it as always, however. "I know you usually go into the chapel during this shift. Would you like to go there again?" Claude didn't answered immediately, but that didn't deter the nurse. "Yes, I think that sounds best..."

In truth, he probably should have requested the sun room -- it was closer, for one, which meant the nurse didn't have to lead him as far of a distance. For another, lying down on one of their sofas sounded like a good option. But by the time Claude came to that conclusion, he was too stubborn to say anything, and he made his way up to the second floor, his footing slow, but steady.

The nurse deposited him on one of the central pews, next to the aisle, before leaving him to himself. Thankfully, it was still early in the shift. As he paused to listen, the room was mostly silent, save for the footsteps and hushed voices of the occasional staff member or patient who trickled in. But it was probably only a matter of time before others came. For some reason, the thought of being stuck in a crowded room made him tense, not necessarily because he thought anyone would pay him any mind, but because he simply didn't want it right then.

Somehow, the full implications of what happened last night hadn't sunken in: experiments, healing himself, the issue of whether he could actually go home after this, not being able to see, the ship, father. Instead, he just felt saturated with all of it, paralyzed by the horror of what they'd done to him, and the uncertainty of what it all meant beyond this moment. Claude took a shuddering breath, uninjured hand balling into a fist in his lap.

[For Guy.]

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Truth be told, Nataku was no expert at this social thing either. He obeyed orders and, when he wasn't being a brat, he said what was expected of him or nothing at all. Before Goku had managed to whirlwind into his life, his only consistent conversation partner had been Shien, and that didn't often stray into friendly territory. They both had roles to fulfil after all. Shien wasn't the sort of man who spent a great deal of time on frivolous conversation.

Come to think of it, Venom was just like him when it came to enduring Nataku's teasing. He swallowed it and let it slide... but he still wasn't much of a conversation partner. Was that just the way he was? Or did it have something to do with his mood?

Nataku let him change the topic again, frowning silently for a moment before he answered. "Ten...Maybe eleven days if you count the one I slept though. Have you been here a long time?"

He was going along with it. Good. If the boy could be steered to a more important discussion, Venom couldn't claim annoyance, at least not without a stronger reason. "Just over a week," he answered back, shifting one leg over the other and crossing his arms over his chest (every one of those limbs gave various degrees of protest at the movements. They were swiftly ignored) as he spoke. "Or only a week, discounting the day I slept through."

So he wasn't alone on that. Maybe it was a phase everyone found themselves going through when placed here. Prisoners of the Guild usually displayed disrupted sleeping habits when held for too long - it could have been the same thing: the mind desperately searching for escape from the constant stresses of imprisonment.

But the information given also meant he couldn't pull seniority on Nataku. Why was it that everyone had either been here the same length of time as him or longer? Alkaid, Spock, Sora, Kagura, Brainiac 5, Edward, now Nataku... It may have been another onset of homesickness, but the Guild and its practices just kept flashing in front of his mind. This was back to being at the bottom of the totem pole and he had to admit, he hadn't enjoyed it then. Now was no different.

Not that that was going to stop him from getting all the information he could out of these people. If Nataku proved useful, he could ask for his assistance. But only if then.

"And how much progress would you say you've made here?"

"It feels like it's been longer, doesn't it?" Nataku replied, shifting restlessly. He glanced sideways, noting people and faces without really seeing them, then turned back to Venom. He looked uncomfortable.

"It's all business with you, huh? You're going to give yourself wrinkles even your hair can't hide. To answer your question - some, but not enough." Though some of the playfulness melted out of his his tone between one statement and the next, his expression was neutral, voice even as if he was delivering a report. "It depends on what you mean by progress. We might not have the same goals. Are you one of the people who only want to go back home?"

It was as truthful as he could really be without going into detail. All of his progress here had been personal and, despite his friendliness, not something he wanted to share with a relative stranger who wouldn't have much interest in it anyway. Most likely, the kind of progress Venom wanted to know about was the the kind Nataku favoured least.

It was strange. He wouldn't have blinked at Nataku's mannerisms and uncomfortable air a week ago - that was all he was ever used to, all the experience he had with younger Guild members. But in the short span of being here, every child he met so far prided themselves on being a blundering optimist and while Nataku was half-way there, something was off with it. The comparison made it easier for him to notice it, really.

Nataku was used to being spoken to this way. Child of a military family, maybe. Maybe something worse, something Venom was more familiar with. It didn't matter. He didn't have room to care about it right now. So long as he wasn't talking to a wall, it was fine.

He wasn't going to bother with that comment about his priorities either (the mission was all that mattered. It was all that would ever matter). Instead, the Guild Head focused on that answer, disappointed but not entirely surprised. It was the same answer everyone else had. "There is no 'only' going back home," he answered in kind, fingers trying to rub away the sudden cold in his arms to no avail. "Martin Landel brought us here and can take us back should we manage to get out. I don't plan on leaving until it's made sure he can't.

"Is that relevant to your goals?"

Venom had a fair point. Landel had influence over the institute and much of the area around it, not to mention the worlds he'd stolen them from, so any escape that didn't begin with his death would only be temporary at best. Nataku had no real interest in going back home, and to say he had another goal would be a bit of a stretch, but he couldn't imagine the sum of his life being the movement from one prison to another. They did have a little bit in common.

"I don't plan on returning to my world." He replied. "So in a way, I'm thankful that he brought me here. But I think getting rid of Landel and no longer being confined is relevant to everyone's goals. What he's doing here goes way beyond arrogant. It might even impress the gods." If anything, it sounded more like disdain than irritation, and a little bit of black humour edged the words.

In a way, he was still avoiding the question of what he really wanted. A part of him rebelled against the idea of destroying the place entirely, but only because he knew Homura's reasons for needing it in tact. Either way, one of his friends was going to lose something valuable, but personally... Nataku sighed. "Beyond that, I'm not sure what I want to accomplish here. I've been working for the History Club and some others, but you're better off asking about their progress as a whole... Unless you've made more progress your own way?" It was a real question. Venom seemed intelligent, and he didn't know the man well enough to know how resourceful he might be.

Day 50: Chapel

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