Day 50: Chapel

[full-score.livejournal.com]

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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[mitase.livejournal.com]

Was it somehow significant that the two of them had both ended up seeing a lot of offices? Or not, maybe everyone ended up there repeatedly. It wasn't as though Hanatarou knew all the places that had been possible to visit, so maybe he'd seen all of them during their travels. Including that last room with the door that he couldn't open but Tsukasa could.

That one wasn't a particularly good memory, though (even less than Dr. Venkman's office) so he shook his head slightly to dismiss it and moved on.

"I...." Hanatarou started to answer, then paused with a slightly puzzled frown. "Er. I'm... not sure. He didn't, well, get too specific." He paused for a moment longer, then perked up slightly. "But when we saw him last night he offered to send us to wherever we wanted to go? Except for... for, um, home." Or the other ideas he'd had, but Hanatarou didn't see any point in going into detail on that.

[deadlyjuliet.livejournal.com]

And again little Hanatan was getting a bit on the oh-look-I've-lost-my-spine side. As a death god, he could have demanded anything he wanted. Hanatan's group had found the man after all. They should have wrung everything they could from him, especially when there was no guarantee they'd ever get the chance again. This radio man was just like their captors though. He and his lot liked to give little clues that ended up being a big headache and nothing more, always stopping short of really helping. If the man had the technology and ability to bounce people about wherever they pleased, they he should have been doing something helpful - like working out how to give them back their powers so they could raze this place to the ground.

"Well, he sounds just as useless as his predecessors. How delightful." Grell sighed and leaned back in the pew, letting his head drop back slightly as he stared up at the ceiling. "Doesn't it frustrate you, Hanatan? To be stripped of all your power, all that greatness we once had? We're no better than the mortals around us and that certainly isn't how it's supposed to be. They're our customers, not our fellows."

[mitase.livejournal.com]

"W-well, he did... um. Get us to where I could find supplies...?" Maybe Marc hadn't been able to send everyone back home or get Hanatarou to wherever the people in charge had hidden Hisagomaru, but he had done something useful. Mostly. Even if he wasn't sure just what they'd managed to get there without asking Senna, but. He still wanted to defend the man anyway.

The rest of it, though... well, he'd never had that much "greatness" to begin with. Maybe Grell had, back where he was from, but an insignificant 4th Division healer? No, not really. But missing what power he had possessed was very frustrating indeed, so he agreed with the basic idea of what the other shinigami was saying.

He glanced down at his hands in his lap and frowned slightly. "I, er. Yes? I mean... I can't really do anything like I used to, and, and I miss my zanpakuto. But what can I do about it?"

[deadlyjuliet.livejournal.com]

So not entirely useless, just useless in the long run of things. Unless this radio man did the 'let me bounce you wherever you like' every night. That might not be so bad and could actually lead to discoveries worth some bit of merit. However, seeing that the Institute and its compatriots loved to pull the proverbial rug out from under everyone, Grell doubted things would be so nice. More than likely, it would be back to the clues and the annoyances that Grell had come to hate so much. He suspected that was why that rude man started yelling at him about "being first" in the shed a few nights past. Grell cared little for whatever the radio had to say, but apparently others were far too invested in this little rat race.

Glancing over, Grell noticed Hanatarou staring at his hands and he sat up, patting the boy on the head. "Now now, don't be so glum. I'm certain there is something we can do, hm? Nothing is ever hopeless until you're dead and we all know even that isn't the end." He smiled briefly and then pulled his hand back, crossing one arm over his chest to rest lightly on his elbow while he tapped a finger against his bottom lip. "What is this zanpakuto? Is it what you lot in the Orient call your scythes?"

[mitase.livejournal.com]

Hanatarou automatically flinched as Grell reached toward him, relaxing only slightly when the other shinigami just patted his head in what was apparently supposed to be an encouraging fashion. "Ah, I guess... you're right?" Grell might have some odd perspectives on things, and he was kind of scary, but he wasn't always wrong, was he?

Well. Anyway. He glanced up again at the question and shook his head. "Oh, no, it doesn't look like a scythe... well, maybe some of them might, but it's, it's a sword." He paused a moment, then hesitantly asked, "Do... where you're from, do shinigami use scythes?"

[deadlyjuliet.livejournal.com]

"Of course I'm right," Grell said with a flip of his hair over his shoulder. If he wasn't right that would only lead to despair and the last thing Grell wanted to do was despair right now. He'd been home only to see no one there and while it hadn't been what he wanted, he had been home with all his powers returned. It meant there was a chance this Landel person could send them back or at least return their powers here. If Grell could get his full powers back? Oh, the havoc he could wreak.

"A sword? How quaint!" And so appropriate for the Orient! Weren't they all about those ninja weapons or some such? Katanas or something to that effect. Grell smiled and shook his head, waving a hand to chase away the thought of his bureau using scythes. "Oh, hardly. We've all upgraded to the newest models and they take any shape we wish-" Within regulations. Stupid things. "-so now only the old gods use something as old and dreary as an actual scythe."