damned_institute | Day 50: Cafeteria (Brunch)

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Day 50: Cafeteria (Brunch)

Somehow, after their talk in the chapel, Elaine felt simultaneously more accepting of and more irritated by her future husband. On the one hand, seven years had clearly been good to him. He seemed more sincere and thoughtful than he had been before his disappearance, and he had a more mature (dare she say, handsome?) look to him. On the other hand, there were clearly some things that made even time throw up its hands in vain and say, "To hell with this!" Guybrush was still inexorably prone to disastrous accidents if the story about the Pox of LeChuck was anything to go by, and he was so obviously keeping something important from her that any passing dolt in the Institute would have been able to tell. In the end, that eternal underlying sweetness of his that won out, keeping her from punching him again, at least. That was only by a hairs width, though. Her snugglecakes was going to have to stay on his best behaviour if he knew what was good for him.

She left the Mighty Pirate™ alone for the time being when the announcement of the next shift went off. He would want some time to catch up with Morgan next, presumably. As much as the woman's attitude bothered her, she was a friend of Guybrush's, as she had claimed. Elaine could be strict, but she wasn't the kind of shrewish future wife/past fiancé who would keep her man from seeing his friends. Besides, she needed some more time to catch up on the goings-on of the Institute. Patients filled the building to the brim, now, it seemed; there would be a lot to investigate.

After a few quick trips back and forth to the bulletin and a few new leads to follow up on, the governor gave in to her nurse's persistent nagging and headed to the cafeteria for brunch. After the relatively light fare of the day before, Elaine took advantage of the Institute's admittedly scrumptious offerings and loaded up a full, balanced brunchfast of eggs, sausage links, waffles, and vegetable soup. As expected, the selection of drinks did not offer either root beer or grog. Grog she could live without, at least, she thought while making a face. Eugh. For now, she settled for a tall glass of water.

Elaine settled into a seat in the cafeteria and tucked into her meal. Her eyes didn't stay on her food, though, instead gazing around restlessly; she hadn't seen LeChuck so far this morning, and god forbid he wanted to invite himself to brunch with her if he chose now to show up. A certain horribly unpleasant dinner on Mêlée Island came to mind. She was prepared to either move at the first sign of the dread pirate or signal a random stranger to sit with her before he could.

[For Dean]

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The opening-and-closing display was underwhelming, to say the least. "Uh-huh. What happened to my grappling hook?" She'd bet they'd taken it from him just like everything else sharp or stylish they'd had on them when they'd been kidnapped, but it was worth asking anyway. Morgan wondered quickly if he still owed her a new one, or if they were technically square after everything that had happened since then.

And he'd just given her the perfect opening to ask. There were some things they needed to discuss, and Morgan was glad they were on the same page about that. She nodded, seriously. "Yeah. I thought maybe we should talk t--" And before she could even finish the sentence, there he went, going off about Elaine again. Uuuggff, you'd think she'd learn! You could practically set your clock by him.

"I didn't tell her anything," she said, making a real effort not to clench her teeth. "Except that you haven't been hitting yourself in the face as much lately. What have you told her?" Hopefully not anything about how he'd lost that hand. Or how they'd met. Or why Elaine had gone utterly crazy and tried to kill her. In fact, it might be better if he just hadn't said anything about her period.

"Running is not usually my favorite choice of tactics," replied the Royal, leaving only one option. Still, the smile faded from her face when the topic of her issue with zombies came up.

"Not all undead," Hime clarified. "Ghouls, ghosts and mummies certainly can be problematic, and of course, vampires are their own issue altogether, but zombies... they're more akin to a natural disaster than a kind of monster." Her face was solemn as she recalled that night, the faces of those loyal blood warriors who she would never see alive again. Because of that man..! "It seems Landel is using a weaker strain of zombie - probably for his own good, I imagine. In my world, a zombie bite is as good as a death sentence - the infection rate is 100%. Every person they attack just becomes yet another zombie added to the horde. They become an nigh unstoppable force, infecting whoever they come in contact with. And even if they are dealt with, if so much as a single zombie manages to escape, it can infect a new population and start the process all over again. It is for this reason that the use of zombies is taboo, strictly forbidden even for the Royal family."

It was a taboo that had been in place for hundreds of years, for the good of all - the risk of unleashing an uncontrolled wave of zombies was just too great no matter what one's ambitions could be. No rational being would use zombies, for fear of not only the Royals but of the zombies themselves. And yet Hime had seen them employed not once, but twice in her lifetime.

"You know I'm a princess, right?" she asked suddenly, seeming like a change of topic. "And a princess would obviously have a kingdom to rule, vassals who served her, those who lived under her protection, correct? Not just a handful of people, but dozens, hundreds of them, yes?"

She let those numbers, if not those faces and names, sink in for Depth Charge.

"I lost all of those when my brother, Fifth Prince Severin, broke the taboo."

"Yeah. Special diet." A special diet that involved the living flesh of other demons, possibly humans, and one that the nurses weren't willing to acknowledge he needed. Having spent a day believing himself to be a med school drop out, he knew what the staff believed him to be. That just made it all the more infuriating. Heat had no idea what diabetes or vampirism were, having retained only the basic shell of knowledge from that time, so those particular queries got Scott only another confused look.

His eyes strayed to the mark on his arm when the boy asked, and he held it up where it was more visible. "It's the fireball, my Atma." The demon was hungry enough that it didn't take much concentration for it to flare up red for a moment. How soon would it be, he wondered, before he lost control just like Roland had? As the only Embryon left in the facility, he refused to let that happen. That night was going to be dedicated to getting himself a meal.

He supposed he could devour his roommate, if it came to that, except Beelzemon apparently had a friend who might notice his absence.

His struggling continued, even as he felt the needle penetrate his skin; if anything, he tried to fight against them even harder, yelling non-words as he did. This was bullshit, and he wasn't crazy; he didn't belong there, and...

It sank in slowly, and his senses gradually dulled. It just seemed pointless to keep fighting; they'd won this round, and, as much as he hated to admit it, he'd failed. It was a sobering thought, and Matt had to wonder if that was how Mello felt most of the time, cooped up in Landel's as long as he had been. Made him feel a bit more sympathetic to the prat, that was for sure.

Sucked that they were taking the crowbar, but what could he do? Nothing, that's what. As they helped him up, he just nodded. "Yeah. Sure. Eat."

It was clear that Ratchet wasn't going to get an answer about the fuel. Oh well, whatever explanation the human had was probably stupid, anyway.

"So, you were a prisoner of war before this?" he asked, gesturing at their surroundings. "Kind of a lateral move, if you ask me." Maybe that was why this human was acting more...out there than usual. Captivity was known to promote programming glitches. "Strange that they'd keep you all alive, though. Were you in an intelligence division?" There was a cutting remark he could easily have added, but for once Ratchet refrained.

Feeling a little more kindly disposed toward his companion now, he thought a bit more on what he'd been told. "I'm only familiar with the Detroit area," he said. "What does a German look like? Is it similar to a human at all?" If he was going to be stuck here for a while, he wanted to be able to recognize one of these new creatures if he saw one.

"I'm sure your hook is wherever they've put my pants," Guybrush answered with a hint of irritation in his voice. His makeshift sash could only hold so much, despite its stellar construction- it'd never be able to replace his regular pants and their ability to hold everything he'd ever wanted to carry while still maintaining their shape.

He let out a sigh of relief, grateful Morgan hadn't told Elaine anything she didn't probably hadn't figured out already. "I'm trying to be careful with what I say to Elaine and what she hears. She's bound to find out some things, but anything that could potentially ruin my past self's engagement needs to be off-limits."

He rubbed his hook on the front of his shirt, pleased with his cleverness. "I told her that I do eventually uncurse her and about the Pox and La Esponja Grande and the Marquis De Singe, but I conveniently left out the parts where you sliced off my hand, turned me in for quick cash, and got into a fight on a buffet with her. I was thinking that if she didn't find out about that stuff, she might not hate you when she meets you later and... it would somehow make things better?"

It was nice to catch up and talk with Mello in such a quiet and reasonably peaceful environment. Even if she wasn't terribly religious, it was still a break from the usual noise. She checked the bulletin once again, wondering if she ought to put up a post or not. No one had answered in town, but that didn't mean they weren't ok. It was possible they'd stayed behind. It would be best to at least check in with them.

But before she had much time to glance at it, the nurse hurried her on to the late breakfast. It was always a little baffling, the foods they offered and the combinations some of them had, but she picked out some toast and fruit, considering the soup and maybe a salad if she was still hungry after that. Tray full, she found an empty seat and took it, glancing anxiously at the door every now and again.

[Ritsu!]

His voice was lacking its usual power and Franziska glanced at his meal with a much more critical eye. Soup and tea alone coupled with the slight rasp in his throat meant a sore throat of all things and a sore throat could be from two things: yelling or a cold. Since Manfred von Karma had little reason to yell here that she could see, that would mean a cold was the likely culprit. She would need more evidence to support her theory, but she had the verdict she'd be looking to prove. That blasted Landel had kept them all in the rain yesterday so this was a likely outcome. How could he not realize?!

"Danke, Papa." She bowed again and set her tray down, pulling her chair out to sit primly on the edge of her seat like usual. First, she'd get the pleasantries out of the way and then she'd serve him a verbal subpoena. She told herself it was out of respect for her father, but really? She was worried about that cold. "The tea here is inferior, don't you think? I do wish they'd wise up and learn to serve quality products."

Honey did like meeting new people and Mele was no different. He picked up his stuffed bunny rabbit after their conversation and followed his nurse into the cafeteria, the thought of pancakes more than enough to keep his feet moving.

Once he reached the pancakes, he took a frighteningly large helping and poured as much sticky sweet syrup as he could over the top. It looked like Takashi was already greeting someone else and it was probably better if he didn't try to get in the way. It wasn't the Host Club after all. And pancakes were enough to keep him busy and content for a good while. He sat at the first empty chair he found and picked up his plastic fork, remembering to set Usa-chan aside before he got covered in syrup.

[Free! No limits]

"Oh, you're another alien!" Carter nearly bounced in his seat, giddy at having found yet another visitor to his fair blue planet. It was so hard to tell, though, they should wear labels so Carter knew who wasn't really human. "No, no. A German's a kind of human who comes from Germany. I come from America, so I'm an American. Where I come from the Americans, and the French and the English and the Russians, are all at war with the Germans and their allies the Italians and Japanese." Take notes, Ratchet, there will be a test.

Carter finished the bacon and moved on to more fruit. He supposed he could call what he did intelligence work, but the Germans didn't know about it and he wasn't doing it before coming to Stalag 13. "Sometimes they shoot prisoners, or so I hear," he said, with only the slightest of frowns. "But the Geneva Convention says they have to at least keep us alive and fed and with rights, even if they break the little things most of the time." Heh. Hogan could get a lot out of Klink just by waving that little book around, but then Hogan could do most anything to Klink if he phrased it right. Carter wished he had that level of ability.

Russia ignored the petty insult, if only partially because he could hardly say he had much better taste than either America or England. Food was food and even if it tasted terrible, sometimes you just had to suck it up and eat it anyway. Not that it mattered now, seeing as they had such a wide selection to choose from. He took a few more bites.

The other part though, was much harder to ignore. Russia wasn't one to dwell much on his inner-most feelings, he usually came up empty or haunted by his own nightmarish past. There were fragments and pieces he was happy to leave forgotten or left to grow dull with the passing of time. But even his usual emptiness was nothing compared to the complete detachment he felt toward anything that was home. No land, people, politics, any of it.

Russia was never the first to admit weakness and now was no different. The only change was that America and presumably any other countries here were having the exact same problems. He smiled back at Alfred, tilting his head just slightly to one side, but making no move to deny the country's claim.

"What are you getting at America? That we ought to join forces to defeat a powerful enemy? That I should be your backup on some foolish heroic quest?" Not that it wasn't Russia's eventual goal to take over this place as well, but if America thought he would be ordering them around like before, he had another thing coming.

That must have been, what, a few days ago? It felt like ages. He'd been pretty friendly and Badou didn't remember anything particularly horrible about him anyway, so unless he was just trying to stave off his taste for human flesh, life was good.

Once he set his tray down he brushed his hand off on his pants and shook Wally's. "Yeah, that's right. Badou Nails."

Another reason not to wear the sling? It attracted way too much attention. Normally Badou was happy to whine at length to anyone willing to put up with it, but the topic of yesterday was - well, not private or anything lame like that, but not something he wanted to discuss at length. "They're like a non-stop party." Badou replied, grinning to take the edge off the sarcasm. "It's just dislocated. Again. Could use some cigarettes to offset the pain if you come across any..."

He started into his breakfast of things-that-could-be-eaten-one-handed. Mostly pizza. "So what's eating you?"

"Of course I wouldn't miss this." Yukito glanced up at Touya and grinned, leaning over to bump his shoulder against Touya's. "Not this much food. It's better with good company, though."

His grin widened slightly at the internal flicker of reaction from his other self, corner of his mouth twitching as though he was trying not to laugh. "Did you have a good time last night?"

Oh. Tsukasa frowned slightly and then sat down, looking and feeling rather awkward after the half-hearted response. It... reminded him a lot of himself not so long ago actually, when Mimiru had tried talking to him and received only monosyllabic responses. "I'm called Tsukasa, by the way," he said quietly, staring down at his food. "Sorry if I'm interrupting."

Sakura hadn't worked a lot with team 8, but she knew at least a little bit about Kiba, being in the same class at the academy and all(when he bothered to show up at least). But he'd been helpful and decent at doing his job when assigned missions, so when he sat across from her looking and sounding as if she'd done something to offend him, she could only raise an eyebrow and regard him just a little strangely. Seriously, what was his problem?

"The last thing I remember?" she repeated, trying not to sound as bitter as he did. It was possible he had some information about what had happened since their time in Konoha. Though Shikamaru's warning still hung heavily on her. Did she really want to know? She'd said before that it was important, that maybe they could change things, but now? After finding out that Kakashi had been taken away, would he meet the same fate?

"Intelligence was working on deciphering a message from Jiraiya and analyzing the other corpse they found. Naruto just left to do some training with
Fukasaku and the sages. I've been helping Tsunade-sama with the usual chores since Shizune is busy studying that body," she tried to leave things vague enough that it would give a good approximation of her time, without mentioning the deaths of any of their teammates in case she was actually ahead of him or something.

[No prob! :D]

From the way Franziska suddenly peered at the elder prosecutor's meager lunch after he had spoken, he could tell that she had taken note of his current condition. Blast it! He wouldn't have even come out here had he not been thirsty. No, it had absolutely nothing to do with the smarmy, grinning nurse holding the syringe in her hand, threatening to humiliate him into making a public appearance this morning.

Despite Franziska's apparent appraisal of his current state, it appeared from the formal manner in which she seated herself that she had approached him on a professional matter. Which could only mean one thing: she had gathered new information on her investigation... or perhaps had even completed it. Ergo, it was even more important than ever to maintain a steel facade... and to patch up that tiny chink that had manifested in his voice.

In response to her question, he sipped his tea just enough to clear his throat, then grimaced in disdain at the foul taste. Yes, there was a discrepancy between pure tea and this bastardized excuse for it, never mind what the unrefined tea enthusiasts claimed; anyone who couldn't taste the difference between regular and decaffeinated tea had no right to call themselves connoisseurs!

"Indeed." Thankfully, the bitter fluid had served its purpose; while deeper than usual, von Karma's voice sounded clear again. "It's but one of the many areas of improvement I'm addressing to the administration," he pointed to the form he had just finished. "For all the good it will likely do, given that the head of this hellhole is a complete lunatic," he scoffed. "Hmph."

"At any rate," he set the paper aside and turned to face Franziska head on, "I do have some information to pass on and some questions to ask of you. First, the information: I encountered Chief Prosecutor Skye yesterday in Doyleton. She asked me to tell you that she wishes to speak to you again, though she didn't say on what matter." As he waited for Franziska to process this, von Karma's expression remained impassive.

Edited 2010-06-21 00:28 (UTC)

Morgan's eyebrow climbed even higher. "And you don't know where that is? Guybrush, what have you been doing for the last three days, just chatting up crazies?" Pants or no pants, she expected the infinitely resourceful Guybrush Threepwood to have made some progress in recollecting his stolen stuff and escaping. At least he had to have a plan, didn't he?

She kind of wanted to dispute those charges ("quick cash" just made her life's vocation sound so...what was the word. Petty? Cold-blooded? Fantastically amoral?), but if she was honest with herself she deserved everything he'd said and more, so she wiped away the downcast look threatening to take over her face and just pushed past it. "Hey, I'm all for your homicidal wi--uh, fiancee not trying to decapitate me while I'm focusing on getting out of here and getting revenge on LeChuck."

Morgan stabbed a sausage from her plate and took a bite. Stupid plastic cutlery. "So I won't tell her anything that would make you look bad. But I can't make any promises about getting along with her." How someone that condescending had been able to hang onto any kind of career in politics was way beyond her, but she had at least enough good grace not to mention that to Guybrush.

Though many of the patients seemed depressed, either by their nightly adventures or something that was yet to come, most of them were deeply involved in conversation with each other. Either they were all very well behaved little sheep, or the shift between night and day was mostly unremarkable. Then again, despite the abysmal record-keeping, this was a facility for the mentally unstable...that happened to keep shinigami around against their will. If he wasn't holding his tray, he'd be rubbing his temple. He was starting to feel the beginnings of a headache and he'd overlooked the simplest solution of them all: asking someone, outright, what the hell was going on. It wasn't as if he had a great deal to lose.

When he noticed the boy coming towards him, all he really did was lift his tray to avoid losing his breakfast as well. That was exactly what he needed, all wrapped up in a charming little package.

"You should — " They both started talking at the same time, and Muraki stopped, partially out of surprise. People were nothing once they outlived their usefulness, but he never forgot a pretty face, especially not one so full of adoration. A scrapped project? No. He was sure he would remember.

The doctor smiled, faintly amused. "Your tray doesn't belong on the ground." He chided, teasing with a little bit of real disapproval. "I'm having brunch, so why don't you come and keep me company for a while?"

Edited 2010-06-21 00:20 (UTC)

The small bite of food was enough to suddenly remind Nunnally that she'd barely had a change to touch her dinner the night before and hadn't eaten a real meal since lunch in town. She took another bite of the muffin to still her abruptly-ravenous hunger, watching the other two speak with a thoughtful expression. Circulating journals between small groups would serve to distribute information amongst those who needed to know, though there was always a risk that the staff might notice the significance of the books as they were handed around. Counting on word of mouth wouldn't work, however, for nurses were probably more likely to notice conversations before they would suspect something odd in someone reading from their notebook.

Unfortunately she wouldn't be of much use when it came to writing the needed information in the journals, as she was still remembering what she'd learned as a child. Information encoded in Braille would be far easier for her to read, but that was hardly an option for other people. Nunnally made a mental note to practice her writing some more (and perhaps if she asked Lelouch would write out the Japanese alphabet for her, so she could study that as well, since people seemed to use more than one language on the bulletin). When it came to talking to people, however... that she could certainly do.

At the moment Lelouch was working on recruiting Mr. Gavin for his purpose, though, so it wasn't time for her to interrupt and volunteer herself to work on the project. Nunnally did, however, give him a look that she hoped he could read as she lightly touched her fingertips against his arm. He was reluctant to allow her to help, she was aware. But that didn't mean she was going to simply sit by while he asked others to work.

Roxas's worry was entirely understandable. Xigbar could laugh and grin whether he was just clowning around or raining death from the skies. If he had to kill someone, especially a traitor to the Organization, it was hard to say whether he'd be serious or whether he'd have fun with it... or perhaps both in turns. It was just difficult to say with the Freeshooter.

While he was joking, his eye picked up on subtle details. Or not-so-subtle, in the case of dangling egg. Young guys like him didn't do that often, and never without a reason. The smile was gone as well, which meant that Roxas had experienced an abrupt shift of not-quite-emotion, as sharp as flicking off a light switch. It could only be because Xigbar had approached, which narrowed down the reasons quite a bit. Was it because Roxas was afraid? Doubtful. Of all the Senior Members, Xigbar was probably the most personable and easiest to get along with, and while he hadn't done much with the brat, he doubted that would change overly-much. So then, if it wasn't personal, it had to be because he was worried something would be found out.

...but what? For now, Xigbar leaned forward and stabbed his fork into one of the piles- ironically choosing the ones Roxas didn't like- which let him get threateningly close while still leaving the possibility open that he was just curious about what Roxas had chosen. "Just survivin', huh? Seems that'd be a little trickier for you. How long have you been around this go-'round?"

"No harm done," he replied. "Pleasure's all mine." McCoy wasn't too sure what to make of it. She'd brought up his name and Jim's in the same sentence, seemed to think he was joking initially. A mistaken identity seemed like a long shot. The explanation she just gave could make sense. It was reasonable enough on it's own. However, it didn't quite fit with her earlier disbelief either. It had to be one hell of a coincidence for her and her friend to use both "Kirk" and "McCoy".

Miss Noble's reaction regarding his name name was curious enough to get his attention but he also wasn't Spock. He wasn't about to forego a normal conversation to start in with an interrogation. Bad enough he'd embarrassed her already.

"I guess I'm not one of them. I'm too attached to it to go changing it now," The institute had apparently assigned names to everyone, but that didn't mean he planned on going around and using it. As a member of Starfleet and a doctor, he didn't think he had anything to hide, even when the Enterprise wracked up plenty of enemies. Donna on the other hand...

Why had she felt the need to use an alias? Was it habit with her, maybe a necessity, or just something on a whim once or twice? It made him wonder just what her line of work was. For all he knew, Donna wasn't even her real name. Shame if it wasn't, the name had a certain ring to it. "Small world then. Have we met before?"

It was worth asking. He didn't think they had directly, or at least, he'd never heard of her even offhandedly. He didn't remember her face or that hair, and she didn't seem to recognize him.

"I don't see what the fuss is all about. Most people aren't from this isolated little mudball." Ratchet didn't think he'd ever really get used to being called an alien, even with as much as the humans liked to throw that word around. And of course, as far as he was concerned it was humans that were the aliens. Who'd ever heard of a human before he and his crew stumbled across them? No one, that's who.

He couldn't even begin to process what this human's war was all about, the names of the major players sailing over his head as so much gibberish. "Why so many slagging factions? You can't possibly keep track of all that." Earth wasn't even that damn big! He'd had no idea the humans were so political.

"I guess your bodies probably don't take projectiles very well," he said in what he thought might have been a sympathetic way. His thoughts about humanity's intrinsic fragility were derailed by the bizarre ritual Carter brought up next. "The what convention?" The thought of opposing factions agreeing on a set of rules... Ratchet couldn't quite get his processor around it. "We don't have anything like that." He traced the edges of his scar absently. Rules for a war. What a concept.

"Nah, not really. Mostly it was just Kibitoshin freaking out. I don't know the guy too well, but that seems to be his thing." That it was also one of Remy's things was something he decided to leave out for the time being. Rats had good reason to run: most danger for him, in his life, had been mortal danger. Even at the Institute, it was mortal danger, but he didn't think it was quite as bad as things could get at home. That night in the Sun Room wasn't the first time someone had shot at him or his friends, and nobody had put him or anyone else he knew of in a jar and tried to drown them.

... Yet.

If the things in the video store were movies, like the ones that ran on the old lady's TV sometimes when she wasn't watching cooking shows, then it seemed like someone had found one that interested him. Not Remy, though. Spearing another piece of sausage with the fork that he held a little bit clumsily, he jerked his head over at Scarecrow. "I think he found a movie he liked."

"Mana is the source of life; without it, magic doesn't function and crops don't grow." If anything, Raine was enjoying this a little; there really weren't many scholars here, to her knowledge.

"I don't know if this applies to everyone suitable within the Chosen line, but the one I know was born holding a Cruxis Crystal in her hand, so there's no real debate about who the current Chosen is. When the Tower of Salvation appears, it's time for her--or him--to begin the Journey of Regeneration. Over the course of it, they become an angel... which isn't as good or as painless as it might sound. Not only do they gain wings, but strength increases, sight and hearing are enhanced, touch and taste are lost, and they can no longer eat, sleep, or speak." She could make herself talk about this, but at the same time she was doing her best to merely recite the facts, not truly remember. Still, to see all that happen to her student when she knew ascending to heaven meant dying... some lectures weren't so enjoyable to give.

"We had the random appearing, too," Riku began, and realized that "was" wasn't as telling as it could have been. He thought of Tsubaki's words on the bulletin board, and he realized that it was a problem all over the institute. People were turning up left and right in unusual locations, and it didn't make any sense. Some ended up seeing their homes. Riku wondered how Naminé would have reacted to Destiny Islands. From their memories, she had scene it, but standing there, with the sand over their feet, would have been a lot different.

"I was out with Naminé," he went on. "I found her, and we decided to travel together." It was easier to relate what they did rather than what he didn't do, which was find out any information that would be of use for them. Still, Riku struggled to go on, and quickly focused on his food. He knew that this would be a sure way for his friends to tell that things hadn't gone as well as he wanted, but he didn't care. Let them ask. Riku's disappointed face was a pretty obvious one by now, anyway.

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Day 50: Cafeteria (Brunch)

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