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.]

Comments

[idolism]

_{[free, no limits]}

What a night!

Maybe it should've been something of a reassurance, being able to anticipate his mood once he inevitably opened his eyes to his cell’s white walls and was met with the morning intercom announcement. But his growing string of nonsuccesses was growing more burdensome with each day gone, plaguing him like a burning brand in the back, always there, always just out of reach. This was starting to go beyond pathetic. Aidou had practically been living in a foul mood since his imprisonment, but always with the understanding that he would be able to go out and face down an obstacle however many tries it took.

Now, though, he was beginning to feel he needed to do something greater to get around nights ending too soon, and the genius, the miracle genius, couldn’t immediately think of what. The noble had spent almost a month warding off the feeling, but it was there in the cloudy blue of his eyes: dismay.

Crap! Hadn’t he come this far in order to go all the way? Outlast any enemy? The phantom witch, the shadow, Akatsuki, everything, he’d endured it because he wouldn’t--couldn’t--be subdued. And in so short a time, less than a month… It was a drop in the ocean of such long-lived creature like himself. But no amount of rationale was about to dampen the shadow that loomed over his thoughts, and the vampire mutely crossed the second floor to take a seat in a cool, quiet spot along one of the chapel’s pews. Not knowing the full extent of the problem, he couldn’t think up a solution.

He leaned forward, dropping his chin into his palm. You need blood, a part of him whispered. You’re starting to lose it.

[dreadofthegrave]

For once, Battler was actually glad for the disorienting style of awakening that the institute always provided. It may not have been any less jarring, suddenly waking up in a room with no recollection of ever sleeping or anything leading up to that point, but unlike that last bizarre jump, he could at least say that he wasn't cold and wet. Of course, the previous night had been pretty exhausting, so even though he was thankful to be dry, rolling out bed was still done with some reluctance.

It was hard to explain, but being offered the choice between the Chapel and the Sun Room, he found himself going with the former, the familiarity drawing him in despite the fact he knew that there was no connection to what he was thinking of. And while Battler had never been a particularly religious person, he'd always found the elegant design in those places kind of cool, so it would be worth checking out. The interior was nothing like the one on Rokkenjima, and not all the impressive, but that was probably to expected. There was no way there'd be anything extravagant in a place like this. But still, it wasn't at all that bad, and that fact that it didn't match his memories was probably a good thing, making it easier to find pleasant .... Maybe he could actually relax and take some time to think things through in a place like this.

He took a seat on one of the pews, leaning back and casting his gaze upwards. The night had been pretty complicated, hadn't it? First there was Erika, who seemed to be relying on petty tricks. If he were honest, Battler would say that he didn't want to deal with her at all, but there was no choice, was there? He didn't like her, but she seemed to be the only one who knew about what was happening back on the gameboard while he was gone. ... If she was even telling the truth. That was possible too, wasn't it? Maybe there was nothing wrong at all. She probably knew that was something he wouldn't be able to leave alone, so maybe she was working it to her advantage. ... It was seriously annoying. Even if that were the case, there was really no choice but to continue playing into it until he discovered what her real intentions were. As long as there was even a vague possibility that she was telling the truth, there was no choice but to call that ridiculous bluff of hers.

The jumps, too presented a problem. They'd been looking into them, but now that it was the morning, they were stuck with what minuscule information they had. They could safely say it wasn't the doors themselves that were the problem, and the places they'd been transported to didn't seem to have much relation. What if there was something else connecting them? Instead of the places themselves, the distances, or something like that. Of course, that would require a map of the institute and Doyleton drawn to scale, and it didn't seem very likely he could get his hands on something like that... It seemed like they needed more to go on, but there was no telling if any hints would be remaining the coming night. It would probably be best to ask around, to see if anyone else had gone through something similar, and if they had, if they'd noticed or thought of anything interesting.

... It was kind of weird, having to look into things using that style, with no indication of what he found was true or not. It was a lot different than his style of fighting against Beatrice. But still, in this world without red or blue, the method was going to be completely different. Rather than relying on old tricks, it was better to adapt to the current situation.


[for Anise!]

[tightsofmight]

The deck of cards had yet to be acquired, there was still web fluid to be made, and he hadn't even come close to looking for a way to the third floor.

Yet Peter woke up feeling a lot more accomplished than he had in a while. The other mornings he had rolled out of the wrong side of the bed because he'd spent the whole night meandering the halls like an aimless jerk, getting a sum total of diddly squat done in spite of his best efforts to beat the clock. But tonight, he had actually helped someone. The chances of that kid being able to fight off the shape-shifter were about as good as Keanu Reeves winning an Oscar: absolutely zip. Plus he now knew for certain that Terry and Kurt hadn't been picked off by monstrous cockroaches or something equally fiendish. This was always a good thing to know. It was far too difficult to keep track of people in the institute.

Peter rubbed his eyes, good spirits dissipating at the thought. When was the last time he had heard from Steve and Tony?

Last week?

The nurse strolled in to collect him for the daily cattle herd to the feeding trough. Peter contemplated asking her about the two men. It would get him to stop worrying, for one. He could stop leaving hopeful notes on the board.

They walked without uttering a word. He didn't want to hear about what a speedy recovery the two had made. Nobody kept silent for that long. Not here.

For the first time during the day, Peter was directed up a flight of stairs. He had nearly continued on to the cafeteria until a firm pair of hands whirled him around by the shoulder.

"It's Sunday, dear. To the Chapel this time."

"Huh?" Peter blinked. "But I don't go to church. Do I go to church? I mean - is Tyler...?"

"Whether you go or not, it's a good time to relax and think. I thought you might need a little rest after this week." Her face settled into a frown. "You're going to keep confusing yourself, Tyler. Carrying on like that."

"Like what?"

She didn't answer. Just gave him one of those matronly looks and deposited him in a pew. Peter watched her leave, unsettled, then slowly turned back to the front. He didn't think he'd even been in a church before. Not even for a wedding. Were there supposed to be fountains at the front?

[Ange!]

[anemptydecapo]

The tombstone was completely illegible, its letters too soft or too blurred to be anything other than gibberish. The stone itself had been rocked out of its upright position by some unknown force, keeping the sun from properly displaying its shallow script. They were too shallow to even be deciphered by touch, its cold surface refusing to tell what it was there for. Without the words conveying its meaning, it now meant nothing at all. It was just there; a rock out of place and nothing else.

He turned his eyes away from the stone and to the deep red ocean it faced, quietly watching the figure standing on top of the waves. He wasn't going to ask why they were there, none the less how they were standing above the water that way (was it water? It moved like water, had the same consistency and thinness as water, but it was hardly clear. The sky wasn't nearly as red as to produce that unholy color). He wasn't going to say anything, really. He knew what would happen if he did. He knew what would happen if he tried to meet that figure. He wouldn't try to get close anymore. He wouldn't start the fight he knew would happen when he tried to be near. Even in dreams, he could only watch. Nothing ever came of wanting to be close.

So he sat on the sand, legs curled against his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, chin resting against his knees, and he watched the man from afar. It was peaceful, in a strange way. Just watching the wind comb through blond hair that was almost too far away to make out. Listening to the waves lap against the shore. Being able to see the ocean working with the sunlight to consume the shadows, to bury them under the water where they wouldn't harm anyone anymore.

Light glinted off the hand being extended to him, inviting him off the ground and away from the grave, but he wouldn't move. He couldn't, he knew that now. He wasn't going to hurt him any more, wouldn't be hurt by him anymore. He had to stay on the shore.

Suddenly, whatever had been holding the figure above the waves gave way and he plunged into the ocean--

Venom's body moved before he was even fully awake, pushing hm forcefully out of the bed to save an image that was already fading before a sharp pain literally met his forehead with a loud thump and it jolted him back onto the mattress. From the shrill gasp in his ear and the sound of heels backpedaling away from the bed, that unfortunate greeting was from Nurse.

"...What were you doing?" he managed between pulling himself back up and trying to rub the hurt away with his fingers (the pain in those had at least lessened from last night. As for his legs and stomach... Well, the bruises there were still cheerfully greeting him in the morning). When he finally opened his eyes, the woman's right hand was on her own head, mimicking his actions.

"You were having a nightmare, Vincent. I was just trying to wake you up." She gave her head a shake, like that would help it go away faster. Oddly enough, despite the pain she was obviously in, she was... smiling. Laughing, even. "Ow," she chuckled.

As per usual, Nurse soon went about her normal routine of pulling him out of his room and through the hallways. The trip up the stairs and through the second floor hallway was met with quiet paranoia, even in the morning, as memories from the night before last assaulted him, and it wasn't until they made it to the chapel that his shoulders stopped tensing. No blood fountain in the morning, then?

The assassin took a seat to himself, vaguely recalling that this had been where he had found Bridget his first day here. He sighed, elbows coming to rest on the pew in front of him as he put his head in his hands. He couldn't worry about where the boy had run off to now. He needed to concentrate on his plans and how they were going to get off the ground. Being some place quiet was supposed to help with that...

[Nataku? :|a]

[mitase.livejournal.com]

Hanatarou woke with a sense of lingering chagrin, remembering just how easily Tsukasa had opened the door that defied his attempts to do it. And Senna had seemed like she really wanted out of the room, too, so that was a particularly bad time for him to display just how very useless he really was. He sighed, absently ruffling his hair. Hopefully she was okay; he didn't want her to be upset.

The nurse arrived to shoo him out of bed and offered the choice of the Sun Room or the chapel, to which he responded with an apathetic shrug. Neither one was really appealing, to be honest, since no matter where he went he'd just be stuck sitting there until the nurses herded him off to the next activity. That's how it always went here, didn't he?

Once at the chapel he found an empty row and slumped down in the middle, leaning his head against the back of the pew and closing his eyes. Last night had been frustrating for many reasons, first and foremost the fact that he'd done basically nothing useful at all the entire time. Okay, well, they'd ended up getting some supplies, but he didn't know exactly what since Senna had the bag. But otherwise... even Marc hadn't let him try healing. Hanatarou was always kind of useless, but today it just felt even worse.

[for Grell]

[36-24-35.livejournal.com]

What woke her wasn't the chipper voice of the institutional nurses, but a pain that radiated from her nose and encased her whole head. Her eyes cracked open into thin slits, the brown of her irises practically matching the skin around her eye sockets. Experimentally, Tifa sniffed and regretted it immediately. Her nose was clogged with either gauze or dried blood and all her efforts had amounted to was making her eyesight waver. The young woman sat up in bed stiffly, trying her best not to jostle her equilibrium more than necessary.

"............" Fingers gingerly touched the side of her swollen nose and felt soft padding and a brace. When could they have possibly touched her? Tifa would have woken up... right? Well, obviously not, and the realization the staff had such power chilled her. Throwing off the covers, Tifa placed unsteady bare feet on the floor and shuffled toward her closet, too focused on other things to see if her roommate was still sleeping. The young woman expected to find all of her things to have disappeared, so it was quite an exhilarating shock to find her sweatshirt bulging with items and there was something else. Her hand enclosed over a dark orb which, when she held it close to her eyes, glinted a familiar green.

My materia...

It was her ice materia! What luck! But remembering her situation, Tifa hastily dropped the materia into her sweatshirt and closed the doors to her closet. Just in time too, for her door unlocked and the florescent lights flickered to life.

"Oh, Rachel... you are already up? Was it from the pain? Did your pain reliever wear off?" She had a look of genuine concern, or she was a damn good actress.

"Uh... y-yeah..."

"Well, come with me, we'll get you some medication. You can rest in the chapel this morning, I think that'd be nice for you. Would you like to wear a sweatshirt again--?"

"No! N-No, I'm fine. I'm actually a little hot..." Tifa feigned tugging on her shirt as if she were having a hot flash.

"Oh dear... I wonder if you're catching a cold..." A cool palm pressed against her forehead. "Mmm no, you seem fine... Alright, Rachel, let's get you something to take away that headache..."

They made a quick detour to the nurse's station to grab a cup and two pills, which Tifa readily threw back. Anything to get ride of this constant pain. Her nurse then took her upstairs and passed what she knew to be the sun room below. The large doors of this chapel were opened quietly, the only noise the shuffling steps of Tifa and her attendant and a few quiet whispers coming from other patients. "Sit right here, dear. I'll come back in a bit..."

And with that, Tifa was left alone in a pew close to the back with only thoughts of last night to keep her company.

[For Cloud ]

[boyking]

Before he'd had the chance to turn around, the world went black and he was back on his bed. God, that'd been a screwed up night. Not as bad as it could've been, but trying to figure out what it could all mean and why? Yeah, he could feel the headache already.

But there'd be time for that later. Right now, he could feel the gun digging into his back, letting him know that he was in possession a bunch of stuff a patient at a mental institute really shouldn't be. He got off the bed and quickly put everything away, knife and lighter included. He'd let Ruby know about it later, maybe drop her a note if he couldn't catch her alone. He knew she'd want it back and technically, Sam didn't need it. He could take his butterfly knife back from her in that case. Had Dean gotten his hands on anything useful? He had to admit, the whirlwind of teleporting had landed him in far more locations in a single night than any amount of running around the institute could've.

Anyway. He'd find out soon enough. He had every intention of talking to Dean this morning. They'd spent a full night with no communication and that kind of put him on edge. Of course, today just happened to be the one day out of the week where Dean had the potential of being in more than one place. Still, they'd met in the chapel last Sunday. Sam had a feeling that that was where Dean would look first before checking elsewhere. When his nurse showed up, he didn't even think about it before picking the chapel.

He followed her up the stairs and down the hall. The rows of pews greeted him as he entered-but a quick scan led to no Dean. It was early and there weren't too many people here yet, though. Dean would probably be here soon.

Sam settled in one of the pews near the back, off to the side. He didn't know how much (not very much) he believed in a higher power anymore, but he'd always liked being in a church. He never went often at all, but maybe that was why. It remained relatively unattached to bad memories. He remembered he'd minded less Dad leaving them for extended hunting trips during the times when they'd be dropped off at Pastor Jim's.

While he waited, he chewed absently on a thumbnail, carefully making a list of what he should bring up to Dean. There was Peter. Obviously, that was a given. How much about the trip back "home" should he tell? He figured it'd be believable enough that he exorcised a demon the old-fashioned way so maybe he wouldn't have to dodge the details too much. Though the location would seem pretty random to his brother, he knew. Pontiac meant nothing to Dean. Neither did New Harmony.

Jesus, he should really find a way to tell his brother, shouldn't he? But the more time passed, the less he felt like he had another choice. Less like it wasn't too late. As if it'd ever been anything but.

[for Dean]

[swornandbroken.livejournal.com]

Mello woke up roaringly pissed off, the head doctor's voice over the intercom blending together with the last thing he remembered from the insanity of the night: Matt's snarkiness as Mello had followed him out of the cafeteria. They'd landed in the game room, he thought, but everything after that graded into grey, then black. Except for his anger, which still burned red-hot. Fuck you, Matt, he thought, all the more vehemently for having been cheated out of saying it to the prat's face.

Maybe you've lost your touch - but I sure haven't, the prat had said. The worst part was that he'd intuited something was wrong almost immediately. So will L, next time you see him, Mello thought. Probably, everyone knows. Especially the people who knew the other one.

He needed to do more, was all. That had always quelled that whisper in the back of his mind before, and it would do it now, if he could do enough. It would. He forced himself to sit up, already tired of fighting a battle with his own mind on top of everything else. The opportunities last night had afforded, squandered or not, were past now. No sense dwelling on them. A small light cut through his gloom when he realized that everything he'd managed to collect was still here. Even the gun, thank god. Two bullets were better than none.

A glance at the other bed to see if the insufferable roommate was still asleep, and Mello secured everything under the mattress--and there, right where he never would have expected it, was the pipe he'd upended the mattress in his old room looking for. It would've been funny if it weren't so stupid.

Another day, another round of idiocy from Landel's. The visitors would obviously be fakes of some sort, and as for the suggestions, were they fucking kidding with that? He considered scribbling, Drop the damn act, and let us fight it out with you, and actually chuckled, right as the door opened, and the perky bane of his daytime existence came in.

"It's nice to see you smiling, Michael," she chirped, so of course, Mello immediately scowled. It didn't derail her cheer. "You'll have a lovely brunch later, but right now, you get to choose!" She said this as if he ought to have thought it was Christmas and his birthday rolled into one. He let the frown settle in for the long haul. "Would you like to go to the chapel, or to the sun room?"

"Chapel." Less chance of running into Matt, or, come to think of it, L, there.

Mello hadn't been a believer in a long time. He was still faintly annoyed, a wavelet in the tossing sea of annoyance, by the chapel here, everything watered down to the point of being meaningless. He sat in one of the pews, consciously sprawling, and thumbed idly, discontentedly, through one of the insipid hymnals.

[for Kagura! <3]

[girlsandgadgets]

His eyes opening slowly, Edgar put a hand to his head, fighting back a world of soreness. For a moment, he thought he'd fainted from blood loss- it would have been embarrassing, but not entirely unexpected. However, he found himself in his bed; an end to the night had finally arrived.

He rose carefully, his hand immediately trailing to his injured shoulder. He felt thick bandaging through his clean shirt, his wound wrapped far better than his improvised job during the night. It seemed Landel showed some charity to the injuries sustained on the patient population during the night. Edgar couldn't help but feel that the false concern shown for the patients was even more of a slap in the face given what they faced during the twilight hours. He next inspected his leg- also bandaged, though lighter than his shoulder. Moving to his desk quietly, he opened the drawer to see if his finds had returned to the room with him. Surely enough, atop the parts of his radio and Luxord's was the silver knife, as ornate as he remembered. He moved his journal from atop his desk to the drawer, hiding the contents beneath it. He could investigate them later.

The night had been so long: Celes was gone, and Edgar's attitude toward her during their final meeting surely hadn't helped her in the slightest. It was likely she'd finally given in to Landel's brainwashing- it was a testament of his power to see a once-strong general so defeated. Worse was that she'd been right all along: there truly were beasts roaming the halls that were far more vicious than they seemed. All he could do now was take her warnings to heart and not allow himself to give in. Allowing Landel to win so easily wasn't an option.

Edgar straightened the fabric on his arm sling as his nurse knocked on the door and announced she'd be escorting him to the first shift. After a brief stop to the message board in the Sun Room and a few minutes spent looking out the windows, she led him upstairs and into the chapel. He headed for a middle pew and took a seat, turning and giving her a pleasant smile for now; he had to bide his time and act carefully, but he was through playing nice.

[Natalia]

[hes-deadjim.livejournal.com]

McCoy opened his eyes, to find himself once again lying in a bed that wasn't too familiar, in quarters that were cramped and the wrong color and layout. He was back in the institute, as disoriented as the first time they'd gone through that door-transporter. For a second, he thought he might have woken up sick. It took a few more moments to get his stomach back in order. If he thought seemingly appearing somewhere completely wrong was bad enough, waking up that way was much worse.

Had that all been a dream? It felt completely real, and yet, it could very well have been a dream. He knew Spock well enough to probably do a good job playing him out. Lord knew why he'd want to do that, the real thing was bad enough at times. The only way to verify it was to ask Spock, see if he'd done the same. McCoy didn't think Vulcans dreamed, and if he provided the exact same details, then it was highly likely that it wasn't some figment.

McCoy followed the nurse, taking in the new room. The chapel was pleasant enough, a few pews, some books, looked more like something you'd seen on Earth than a starship. There wasn't any room for decorations or windows like this, just benches and a podium.

The doctor took a seat, inspecting one of the books.

[fuzzy-diablo.livejournal.com]

Kurt's eyes opened, focusing on his four-fingered hand. Well, that was a short night, he thought with mild irritation. Nevertheless, his irritation was a little short-lived, as the teenager rolled over onto his back and tried to catch a few more minutes of rest.

He rolled back onto his stomach to get more comfortable, cracking his eyes open briefly. Though once he caught sight of the other half of the room, his eyes were open and he was upright.

Terry's bed was empty. Untouched. Like he hadn't slept in it last night. Like he was gone.

Kurt was out of bed and over to Terry's in a flash. "No no no no, this can't be happening again...!" he muttered, tearing the bed apart. Not a wrinkle in the sheets. Kurt went over to the desk and started rifling through it. Nothing. He opened the closet.

There was Terry's suit, but nothing else. Not a coat or a pair of slippers, just the suit. Kurt put a hand against the opposite door of the closet and hung his head. Gone. Another friend gone, and he couldn't do anything. Except for one thing.

"He's not getting this," Kurt said, almost as though he were talking to Terry. He furrowed his brow and ripped the hanger off the closet rod and stalked over to his own closet, stuffing the suit inside. It was the least he could do, keep Terry's secret even if he wasn't there anymore.

His nurse came to get him and took him to the chapel without asking if Kurt wanted to go elsewhere. It was nice she remembered, at least.

He took a seat and folded his hands. Even in this terrible, horrible place, God must have been watching them, right? Kurt had had several crises of faith in his youth, but he'd always come out faithful again. Now though, he was beginning to doubt that God could even see this place. Otherwise why would the patients still be struggling without any sign of hope? He didn't expect anything flashy, or a miracle... but he did want a friend that didn't vanish a week after they'd met.

Wherever Terry and Kon are now... look after them, please.

[For Minako]

[hasnomeaning]

Morning broke in waves. Ayanami couldn't be sure what had been real or illusion. (A lie. This was a lie. She knew the truth when faced with it, like the rushing pound of waves at the shore.) The only fact of truth that any of the night happened in undeniable evidence was her plug suit hanging calmly in the closet. The girl stared at it a moment, then shut the door carefully. And if that had been real. Should she accept the rest as fact? Everything. This place was more than what it appeared.

A moment before the nurse came, her hand crept under her mattress, touching cool metal and taking some strange reassurance from that. Everything had changed, in parcel and part, and so she would continue as she had, with a new understanding.

Rei didn't particularly care for this place. She would be content to leave it, even if she returned back home, to death and nothing. It was an endless circle, after all. This was some disjointed symmetry in her own actions. This was considered as she was led quietly to a place she hadn't been before and sat in the back. A chapel. A place that housed some kind of god. She wondered, then. Why it seemed so empty.

[for the opposite one.]

[diamondstorm]

Here again was morning to rise in the midst of actions. Renamon supposed she should be happy. With morning, there was no threat to any in her party, Nunnally especially. And here, too, were ministrations to the injuries now claimed as her own. The Digimon's hands were lightly wrapped and light gauze was placed over her right eye. She was gently scolded for scratching at her eye, but reassured that it would heal with time. A blessing, that, if nothing else. She would be a limited fighter with a higher blind spot.

Nevertheless she was prompted to the place that she had visited the week before. An argument of checking the bulletin board was ignored in favor of later, and quietly sullen, Renamon followed the woman to the chapel. There were not many in the room, and Renamon moved to a seat on the end of an aisle, sitting delicately. If she was not allowed to check in with the others just yet, she would consider just what exactly she needed to do. If anything else, she needed to get back to... everything. It had been far too long that she had researched anything. The loss of partners was truly unsettling.

[free]

[livesbyinstinct.livejournal.com]

It was too quiet here.

Kiba slid into one of the pews located on the left-most side of the chapel, choosing a row as near to the back as he could possibly manage. He kept to its edge while his nurse hovered just to the side of him, as if debating whether or not it would be prudent sit down and keep him company, which earned her a withering glare in return. Kiba was all ready beginning to regret his coming here, though he hadn't initially given a damn which one place he went to--and perhaps it still wouldn't have made much of a difference, anyway. There were all ready a fair number of people here, more filtering by the minute, but most of the Chapel's attendants were currently on their own, sitting in a sort of hushed contemplation. None of them were intimately familiar, to either his nose or his eyes.

It wasn't that Kiba couldn't deal with the quiet atmosphere. He worked with perhaps two of the most nonverbal teammates on the face of the planet. Shino was monosyllabic and adhered to the belief that most things could be answered with a simple 'yes' or 'no', while Hinata tended to stutter herself into nervous silence--though she was a lot better about that these days. Time had done its work, though Kiba had hardly noticed, and didn't tend to unless he really thought about it--which, of course, didn't usually happen. Kiba wasn't one for meditation. He wasn't one for the kind of deep thought that some people reveled in. He did better keeping an active presence, allowing the energy of things to drive him forward. Moving. He liked feeling like he was actually doing something, not sitting back and thinking up strategic plans and possibilities.

Which was why this place bugged him. Sitting around here staring at rows of benches wasn't going to do a freakin' thing. But what could he do? Last night he hadn't gotten much of anywhere. He had met with Naruto and that one other guy, but hadn't found Akamaru, or at least determined whether he really was here or not. Kiba could all ready feel the loss of the canine's presence slowly eating away at him, and he didn't like it. He hadn't found a way out of Landel's either, and he'd be damned if he couldn't recall going back into his shared room. One minute, he had been talking to Naruto, the next, he had woken up disoriented with no idea how he got back to his room or why.

Kiba sighed, leaning back against the hard pew, and the nurse finally decided it was better to leave him, saying she'd check on him in another twenty minutes or so. Good riddance.

[For Sai.]

[threepwood]

Guybrush stuffed his possessions under his mattress haphazardly, his irritation from the previous night already showing. LeChuck was here. LeChuck! He already had to deal with this Landel guy, who he suspected was De Singe back from the dead, and just adding to the mountain of problems he had yet to solve was that LeChuck was here, human, and Voodoo-less, and as badly as he wanted to believe the dread pirate was probably just trying to pull the wool over his eyes, Guybrush couldn't help but think that he was being serious. That made things complicated.

What else made things complicated? Morgan showing up alive and well. Morgan! She'd been dead- definitely dead, not in one of those states where one might make a sudden and miraculous recovery from death- and had somehow shown up alive and kicking. He was happy to see her, but her appearance was another brick in a mounting wall of evidence that he really had died, and that the institute really did bring people back from the grave for some unknown reason. Figuring out why was going to be tricky.

Another wrench in the cogs? The special guest appearance by Elaine. Elaine! Not Poxy Elaine or Sexy Swimsuit Elaine, but the Elaine that hadn't yet said her I Do's and could therefore take them back at any time. Or what if LeChuck put on his nice guy act and wooed her? No, that could never happen. Could it? Why was she taken from the past, while Mo and LeChuck and himself were brought to the institution from vaguely the same time frame? It was as if De Singe/Landel had his heart set on screwing up Guybrush's life.

His panicky thoughts were interrupted by his nurse, who wordlessly nodded her head for him to follow her. Sliding into his slippers (he had two, thankfully), the mighty pirate did as he was told for the moment. He had to find Elaine and talk to her, get back on her good side, let her know he was still the same sweet, handsome, charming pirate she'd agreed to marry years ago. ... Yeah, this could be a lot harder than he thought.

His nurse left him in a chapel, so he took a seat toward the end of a lonely pew, picking up one of the hymnals along the way. He'd not been in a church in some time, but they were all pretty similar, aside from the depictions in the stained glass windows. And this one had a fountain! Classy.

[Laineykins]

[replicatedorder.livejournal.com]

Old habits started to resurface while back at home. Little glimpses of his behavior from before started to shine through, taking over as he realized he couldn't be completely honest back home. Anise hadn't been aware, hadn't understood that he was dying, and that when she returned home, she would have to watch him die and know it was coming. Maybe once Landel was done with all of them, he would decide to erase all their memories. He couldn't help but feel it might be better that way. It might be better if Anise forgot about this place, and had no idea her friend was dying. Luke never wanted any of them to sit and be uncomfortable about his impending death. He wanted it to all go easily.

Strange that it was impending. For what seemed like far too long now, his death and its inevitable consequences had always been a thought on his mind. From his haircut in Yulia City to those final moments when he left his friends in Eldrant, he knew death was a necessary part of his existence. Being here didn't change that. As much as the others wanted to believe he was coming home, seeing Baticul a year following his death hammered it home. He was dead. Nothing could change that.

It didn't make returning to Baticul any easier. Every step they too through the familiar city twisted Luke's stomach into knots, and he remembered vividly the sound of the people's shoes as they clanked against the metal steps, and the screeching halt of the carts as it would carry them across the city. Every aspect of the city resonated with familiarity, and even if he saw very little of it growing up, Luke couldn't deny that he loved being home.

Baticul was the place where they titled him Viscount. Baticul was the place he returned to time and time again to see his mother, regardless of whether it was to check on her health or give her a massage to acquire some new tactic. It was where he knew Guy explored growing up, disgruntled and dissatisfied with his existence, but somehow still knowledgeable enough about the area to provide them with information. Not all the memories of the place were good. Luke realized that he still felt uncomfortable as his eyes traced the steps of their escape the time Asch gave them an opening to leave, but the good outweighed the bad.

It was home. Sprawling and somewhat metallic in its interesting structure, he was glad they ended up there instead of the light feeling setting of Grand Chokmah, or even Belkend or Sheridan. Each place would have their share of the good and the bad, but he preferred being able to see his family again. If he could never see his home again, he would favor the chance provided by Landel's antics. It didn't matter if it was a trick designed by Landel to give them false hope. What hope did he have? At least he could look upon this final opportunity as closure before he helped his friends escape.

These thoughts wouldn't have a place in the institute. Just as he behaved before, Luke knew he couldn't show that he lost all hope of returning home. Eventually, his friends might notice, but their safety and their return far outweighed his own concerns. He would do everything in his power to ensure that was possible. If it meant sharing information or organizing meet ups, he would do it. They followed him to every part of Auldrant before. They could follow him here until he got them home, couldn't they? He hoped they trusted him enough, even with his lack of experience with the setting.

Luke mustered every bit of strength to roll himself out of bed, and he continued to keep drawing his blankets up as he considered everything. Some part of him favored grabbing his journal and skipping the opening activity of the day, but he knew this was unwise. So, instead, he finally dragged himself out of bed, and moved toward his desk. His journal was as he left it, and he imagined that a cursory glance of the closet would reveal that his sword was right where it belonged. It was too bad they acquired nothing in Auldrant, but he hoped the information would be enough.

[screwthegods]

The center of town was an unfortunately familiar area, but Homura had spent scant moments in the rain before the Head Doctor's voice resounded through the area. Was it possible that the intercom reached so far? Homura hadn't heard it during the night of the zombies, but then, how hard had he been listening? Or perhaps it was another effect of his brand of teleportation. Regardless, Homura opened his eyes shortly thereafter, finding himself in bed, as expected.

The items he'd taken were hidden away, a faint smile crossing Homura's lips as he hid the ones for Kenren in particular. That task done, he simply waited for the nurse, who showed up in accordance to the routine well established over the course of his stay.

His choice was to head upstairs, after a brief stop at the bulletin--again, all in line with the routine. Claiming one of the empty pews, Homura relaxed, enjoying the quiet of the room. Unlike other places where patients spoke openly, here voices were hushed out of respect for those praying to the gods. While he held no love for the citizens of Heaven, the atmosphere humans created in their worship places was a pleasant one, if misguided. He would enjoy it until Himura arrived, hopefully soon; the matter involving Hattori was one he wanted to resolve quickly.

[For Kenshin]

[oftemptation.livejournal.com]

"I'm not feeling well. I...I want to sleep longer, please...I was having such a pleasant dream..."

"Peyton. You can't stay in bed all day. It's not very healthy. Besides, there's a great big wide world out there. You can't simply live in a dream."

That made Endrance sit bolt-upright in bed, and he clenched his hands into tight fists as he tried not to raise his voice. Instead he turned away, taking a look at the closet.

"If you're feeling chilly, you can get a sweater, but I'm going to have to insist you get up and out of bed."

With a heavy sigh, Endrance stood, took a sweatshirt from the closet - and then he noticed it. The sword - the 'Lost Weapon' Haseo had talked about. It was there, and that was enough for the moment. Everything else could wait.

"Why don't you take a few moments in the chapel? I know you usually favor the sun room, but a change of pace might do you good."

Before Endrance had a chance to argue, the nurse had taken him by the arm and begun marching him up the stairs.

"I..."

"You're going to be fine. Now, have a good morning, dear."

She left, and the Blade Brandier stared up at the ceiling, remembering the night the walls had turned to blood. He could only hope the same thing wouldn't happen during daylight.

[free.]

[bitpartgod.livejournal.com]

What a relief! It was a small consolation that they'd managed to end the night on a peaceful note in that messed-up room. That none of them had been injured after so much craziness was nothing short of a miracle, in Kibitoshin's eyes, especially when they'd spent half of the night barely twenty feet from those awful zombie monsters. He'd even woken up with that spanner-wrench in his hands, though hiding it from his nurse before she turned up had proved to be trickier than he thought it would be- he'd only just managed to ram it into his desk drawer before she'd appeared in the doorway, bright and early as ever, like an alarm clock in a clean white dress only without a snooze button. Or something like that.

He wasn't thinking very clearly this morning, anyway. After all. Even if last night had been confusing and dangerous and worrying in more ways than he could count, he'd at least managed to forget his troubles for a little while. It was hard to think about the people he hadn't found when you were busy falling through doors and hiding from zombies--

- but that wasn't the issue, was it? It wasn't even that he hadn't found them- the real problem came with the distinct, sinking feeling that he was the one who'd lost them in the first place. Trunks, Dahlia... and before them Apollo, too, the list just kept growing: they'd all vanished. And knowing that he'd seen the signs in Trunks, what with how much he'd been sleeping, that was what really stung; why hadn't he gone to find him, or wake him up, or... or done anything? What kind of a Kaioshin couldn't even keep three people safe?

The Chapel seemed like the appropriate place to spend the morning even if Kibitoshin still didn't fully understand what it was for, sitting in quiet thought in the middle row and focusing his mind. That was what his Ancestor would have suggested he do now, wasn't it? Mental training? He clenched his fists and stared down into his lap determinedly, willing himself into discipline. He had to do something. Anything.

[noifsandsorbubs.livejournal.com]

Maybe there was something you could do, thought Logan as he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, to get Doc Strange's attention from anywhere in the universe. Write his name in chicken blood on the night of a full moon, or something. Maybe Reed Richards could get e-mails from across dimensions.

There were no easy solutions. The institute was a twenty thousand piece puzzle, and Logan hadn't even found all the pieces.

When a nurse came to get him he followed her without comment. He had a few people to find at breakfast: Pete and Kurt and his roommate, to see if anything unusually bizarre had happened to them, and Tifa - her broken nose was at least a little bit his fault, and he needed to find out where to drop off her prize from the auto shop.

"Maybe you'd like to visit the chapel?" the nurse said suddenly. Logan frowned at her, not following, and she added, "It's Sunday."

Oh. "This a religious asylum?" he asked, but when she glanced back to give his rhetorical question what would no doubt be a stupid answer, he waved it away. "Forget it, I'll go."

Kurt would have been there. Kurt probably was, Logan reminded himself, but it wasn't the same. There he was, suddenly: the unfamiliar but recognizable back of a thin kid with long hair, sitting next to some girl. An abstract sense of displacement drove Logan to the empty end of the last pew; that seat for people who wanted to be able to leave without anybody noticing, or didn't really know what they were doing there. If he'd been wearing a hat, he might've taken it off; might not have. He'd talk to Kurt later, he decided, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees - just not here.

[she-is-ruin.livejournal.com]

_{[free and limitless]}

Had she blacked out a few moments before their departure from wherever the ghost town was, Yomi might not have minded overly much. But the last things she remembered were the modernized streets, the giant sword in the other female’s hand, the distant sound of Landel‘s voice. And the rain pounding down on her body, for which she was unprepared.

A second later, she was in her cell, dry, with a frown etched deep on her features.

The memory of cold water soaking her annoyed Yomi, among other parts of her misadventure. Their arrival in the heart of Doyleton, however, was like a last laugh in her face, and she was coldly unresponsive to the nurse’s greetings as she pulled her hair up and prepared for another day. The line between being dominated and being strategic sometimes felt like it were thinning, even when objectively she knew it wasn‘t. Already a creature of vengeance, she still had room to grow more so if crossed, it seemed. Part of her receding humanity or part of the sesshouseki’s infinite depth of inhumanity?

She did stop to investigate the suggestion box, but when that failed to be of little note, she opted to carry out her shift upstairs. The sound of her scudding slippers echoing out into space heralded Yomi’s arrival into the chapel, where here and there faces she recognized sat around the room. She ignored the pews, though, and instead made her way to the fountain. Perhaps it was a childish ghost from her past, her choice to sit on its edge, but Yomi didn’t ponder it as one nurse cast her a wary look.

Yomi smiled at nothing in particular. It faded a little after she looked past her shoulder at the angelic figure rising high above her. Thoughtfully, she traced its form with her eyes.

What a silly thing, religion in a place of utterly faithless anarchy.

[hajike-tobiume.livejournal.com]

Momo had stayed in her room, waiting to hear something from the radio so she could investigate, but had ended up falling asleep. How embarrassing. At least she hadn't made plans with anyone. She was also a bit wary about leaving the room before Raine. There was something about the look in the healer's eye when she looked at Laevatein that made her nervous. The broadsword meant a lot to Momo and she'd been charged, in a way, with its safety. That was something she wasn't sure she could guarantee with Raine.

At least she was refreshed come morning. Now, the missing presence of Hitsugaya didn't bother her, at least not as much as it used to. Now it was just another void in the back of her mind. It was sad that all she could feel anymore was Senna, Hanatarou and that one shinigami from another world. There used to be all sorts of reiatsu swirling around her. Now she just felt... alone.

Sitting down at a pew, the vice captain contemplated this. Why were so many shinigami gone? How many had truly died? And was there an order or method to which ones remained and which disappeared?

[free]

[guns-and-coffee.livejournal.com]

Ianto stood off to the side, oblivious to the chatter around him as he contemplated his situation. He wasn't much closer to finding out the true nature of this place than he had been yesterday. He'd been unable to get anything useful out of the one patient he'd talked to in any depth, which wasn't particularly surprising. Junior researchers were not trained in interrogation. The nurses, who he'd chosen to focus the rest of his efforts on, had been even worse. They were more likely to both be sane and possess answers worth knowing, yes, but all they wanted to do was tell him how confused he was. He could only hope he hadn't managed to raise too much suspicion. If word got back to Jack that his retcon plan had failed--

If that was in fact what had happened to him.

The nurses called him by a name he didn't know, made references to a life he'd never lived. The cover story Jack had provided, the life Ianto was supposed to lead should he ever recover from his "amnesia"? Yeah, maybe. That was the easiest thing to believe.

Or maybe he was crazy. Maybe he hadn't actually been saved from an army of and cyborgs and giant pepper pots by an alien who travelled through time and space in a police box. Maybe there was no such thing as aliens at all. Maybe he hadn't actually betrayed his girlfriend and then watched her die, because maybe his girlfriend had never existed.

He'd had nightmares last night. Maybe that was all Torchwood was, another nightmare. Maybe that was the easiest thing to believe.

[nobleman]

As it turned out, it was a good thing that Guy had warned Luke that their time at home was most likely temporary. As the servant woke up to the sound of the head doctor's voice over the intercom, he forced his eyes open and sat up in bed, immediately feeling like he was almost too awake.

Even though their presence at Baticul had been only a partial one, he had still gotten to see some part of Auldrant again. While it was important to wonder at if it had been real or not for a variety of reasons, there were other ways in which it didn't really matter. It had still looked exactly as he'd remembered, and even if they hadn't been able to interact with everything and touch it all to assure themselves that it was real, they'd still been able to take the lifts and see everything again. Reasserting Kimlasca's capital in his memory was something Guy considered meaningful enough that he was willing to take the unfortunate implications that came with it.

Their friends and family might be missing them, and the two kingdoms might end up at odds again if they were gone for too long, for instance. While Guy was sure that the intention had been to discourage them, he really only saw it as further motivation to get back.

Regardless of what was or wasn't true about their home, there was a lot to check in on. Guy had been set on getting to the bulletin, but then his nurse had given him the option of heading to the chapel, and he hadn't been able to pass up the chance. Especially since he'd just seen Baticul, he couldn't help thinking of the chapel at Daath.

Taking in both the warm and hollow feelings that came with nostalgia, Guy entered the institute's chapel with a sad smile on his face. It didn't compare to Daath's chapel, but it was the best he could get now that the night was over. Having to face the familiar rooms of the institute after last night was tougher than expected, but Guy was going to do his best not to dwell on it.

He spotted Luke and Anise almost immediately, but both of them were already busy. There would be time to talk with them later, and so Guy looked for the next person who came to his mind when it came to his list of friends in the institute. It didn't take long to find the back of Claude's head, and it looked like he was alone. Perfect.

Moving over to the pew his friend was in, Guy slid in, ready to greet the other blond. However, before even one word made it out of his mouth, he saw the strange material that was pulled over his friend's eyes and startled. "Claude," he said, trying to keep his tone level nonetheless, "what happened?" He reached out to put a hand on Claude's shoulder, to show him that he was right there next to him.

Seeing how he had been home all night (as odd as that thought was), there hadn't even been the chance for a monster attack. With that in mind, what had Claude gone through to end up with his eyes covered like this? Guy tried not to jump to any hasty conclusions, but that was asking a lot of himself.

[fangirlfatale.livejournal.com]

Morgan LeFlay, Mighty Pirate Hunter™, was not happy.

One minute they'd been outside--okay, covered in mud and completely unprotected in a thunderstorm, but at least they were free--and suddenly she found herself back here, in the same room and the same terrible clothes as yesterday. How the heck had that happened? She didn't remember coming back here or even anything that would've made her pass out. And even weirder, she definitely didn't remember drying off or changing into clean clothes. Someone else had tucked her (and the closet rod) into bed. Just the thought made her skin crawl.

Well, fine. One minor setback didn't matter. She didn't know how she'd ended up back here, but if they'd gotten out once, they could do it again. Even if they actually had to use the doors this time.

Just as she decided that, S.P. waltzed in, right on cue. Ugh. Morgan just had time to shove the closet rod underneath the covers. "Well, I hope you'll have a better day today than yesterday, Miss Faye," S.P. said. Morgan was gratified at the scent of fear that was rolling off the woman like the smell of vomit at a grog-guzzling contest. Pathetic. "Where would you like to start the morning?"

Morgan folded her arms and offered up her best challenging stare. "The armory."

"Why don't you go to the chapel, Miss Faye," S.P. said. She was pretending to be friendly about it, but Morgan knew an order when she heard one. She considered trying to take S.P. again now that she had a better idea of what her plan of attack should be, but the two jerks hovering outside the door made her think twice about it. She'd need something better than a closet rod to take down those guys.

"Fine," Morgan answered grudgingly, stalking past S.P. and out of the room. She'd play their stupid game just for today, to give herself a better chance at getting out tonight. It took a couple of minutes to walk up there, which gave her a chance to see the location of the staircase and some more of the building's layout for herself. What the heck did anyone need so many rooms for?!

Guybrush and Elaiiine were sitting a ways of her when she entered the chapel, talking together like they were the only people in the room. Good for them, Morgan thought, turning toward another pew before her teeth started to rot. She couldn't help but admit it was sweet how he was still so devoted to his wife, even if she wasn't technically his wife anymore (was she?) and definitely didn't act much like she returned the affection (maybe Elaine was like a manatee too). Still, that didn't mean Morgan wanted to watch it. She found a seat by herself off to one side of the room and drifted into tallying her kidnapping-related financial losses and mentally reviewing her footwork at Club 41 the other night (three months ago?). She also kept one eye on the door in case LeChuck came in.

[for Bucciarati]