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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Hm, now that was odd. Most Nobodies would either take their stuff back or they'd subject Xigbar to a Look of some sort. Possibly both, considering some of the members of the Organization. But Roxas did neither, instead just looking at him like someone would a snake or a tiger or something equally as ridiculous. That, however, put another piece into place. Roxas wasn't edging away, and while he was clearly wary of him, Xigbar hadn't exactly seen the younger Nobody running for help.

...which, if he was allowed to guess given on those two deductions, meant Roxas wasn't afraid of Xigbar normally, but he had to have figured out that all the rules were different here. Either that or this was Roxas before he figured out exactly what he and Xigbar both could do, whenever that point in their futures might have been. But the former seemed more likely, given where they were. Of course, it could just as easily be that Roxas wasn't worried at all about what would happen in a tussle, but simply wanted to avoid making a scene or getting sedate.

Hm. Xigbar took a bite of his pilfered meal- stolen honey did taste sweeter, just for the record- and then looked at Roxas, pondering that reaction. Honest confusion, huh? Either no one had told him about his previous stays in the Institute, or he was oblivious of what was going to happen to him. Possibly both, if he hadn't been around for awhile. ...or perhaps neither, if Roxas was just showing some characteristic slowness. Where was Lexaeus with a backhand when he was needed? "This isn't your first go-round here," he answered with a shrug, using his fork to gesture as he spoke, "you've been in and out a coupla times here. Makes me wonder how long you'll stick around this time before you bite it."

"Not every organized group," Lelouch corrected promptly, taking a sip of his orange juice. Coffee would be so much more appropriate right now. Well, he supposed he should be thankful that he was able to drink anything at all; it was impossible to do so through that mask. "It seems a little foolish to expend the effort necessary to maintain journals for some of the smaller groups. If they have members who are willing to do so, of course, I won't stop them, but otherwise, I think it should be all right if they were to pair up with other small groups and share.

"As for the History Club, they'll have no more over what goes in the notebooks than they would have had the information stayed on the board. I'm not intending to share anything in these journals that I wouldn't on there, Mr. Gavin. The fruits of our research in other areas will be given somewhat more care than that. The History Club is, after all, far from the only group with a dubious reputation in this place." That wasn't even going into the various individuals in the institute, but Lelouch didn't even bother pointing that out. It would have been a waste of time, assuming Gavin was as intelligent as he thought he was.

"Apart from that, we can always implement penalties for groups who fail to contribute. We may not be able to take their journals away from them once they've gotten them, but we can prevent them from updating them with the others. Outdated information can quickly become obsolete in this place. They could theoretically steal the information from other groups' journals, but we could just as easily penalize that group as well or stop using the system entirely. I am not suggesting that this is a perfect plan; it is merely the best I could come up with under the current circumstances.

"I am, of course, open to any other suggestions you may have for improvement. I do not believe, however, that excluding the History Club at this stage would be a wise idea. It is still a prominent group, and assuming this information proves to be something that they have a genuine interest in, we may be able to find some way to ensure that the success of this venture becomes one of their goals as well. It isn't the ideal outcome, but I believe that enough people will benefit from it that it should be worthwhile."

He kept his eyes on Gavin, scrutinizing him in what was likely a vaguely unsettling way. He had no doubt that if the man had any inkling at all of the sort of things he had done in the past, he would lose his support in an instant, and after Edgeworth had been released, that was a possibility he had to avoid at all costs. The current subject wasn't the sort that might cause such a split, but the subject of the History Club itself... he would need to keep his true opinion on their methods hidden.

As focused as Lelouch was on the current conversation, though, he could hardly block out Nunnally, and he lightly touched his hand to hers, sparing a brief glance at her. The look she gave him was one he recognized, and he gave her a brief smile. If she wanted to help with this, he would hardly stop her; it was something he'd be working on himself, and as long as he could keep an eye on her...

"Decepticons don't 'get on' with anyone." A shame, though, that there were humans who shared similarities with them. "There are a few of them here, in fact. I haven't run into them in the metal yet, so I can't tell you what they look like now." At least they weren't as dangerous in meatbag bodies. There was a lot to be said for the fact that they couldn't simply step on the other inmates.

When was the last time someone had called Ratchet 'nice'? Well, he supposed it beat most of the things people said about him, even if it was coming from a human simpleton. "Yeah, I'm glad we won, too." He couldn't muster up much humor about it. This was the most he'd talked about the wars in a few stellar cycles; it was a little tiring.

The thin veil of self control that Asuka held tightly to snapped like tissue paper. Her morose expression now burned with something akin to abhorrence and disgust as her fidgeting hands grabbed Kaworu by the collar of his shirt.

"Don't talk to me so casually, traitor, as if you are entitled to my friendship, or Shinji's!" Her voice started quiet, just for the two of them, but the eva pilot grew more hysterical, like a dam beginning to crumble one crack at a time and spew with no restraint. "A wolf in sheep's clothing, how dare you even show your face here, you filthy angel!" With a grip on the Fifth Child already, Asuka simply took the material of his shirt in her fist and shoved him back as hard as she could in order to topple the chair so the redhead could bear down on her enemy properly.

Meche tried to remember if she'd ever heard of any movies about birds or rats. Wasn't there an old horror film about birds that pecked people to death or something like that? Somehow that didn't seem like the kind of thing Remy had in mind.

"I wouldn't mind seeing a movie about birds or rats either," she agreed with the Scarecrow. "Rats especially can probably go all kinds of places without being noticed. I bet they'd have some pretty interesting stories to tell if they could talk."

She realized a little late what a turn for the surreal this conversation was taking. It sounded like small talk, but she just felt that there was a lot going on here under the surface that she was missing, between the Scarecrow's almost worried reactions an unusual dislike for crows (was he a gardener?) and Remy's equally unusual interest in animals (it struck her as strange that someone who worked in a famous restaurant in Paris would be such a big fan of rats; she'd expect someone like that to be disgusted by an animal that most people thought of as unclean). But she couldn't figure out what it might be that was driving either of their responses, so she just kept writing letters and sneaking in the occasional bite of food in between keeping up her end of the conversation.

"I was only kidding. The Germans don't even get on well with their allies, let alone aliens. It's that whole master race thing they're tied up in, they think people with blond hair and blue eyes are better than anyone else just...cause." Carter ran a hand through his own thinning hair, far from an Aryan ideal but close enough to pass for a German officer, and grinned with half his mouth. The master race probably didn't even begin to consider befriending people who had tentacles on their head instead of any hair at all.

"I'll watch out for any evil aliens. So far I've just met Admiral ZEX, and he's a really really friendly guy." Carter was glad he'd stolen that animal book for him, the little guy would probably be over the moon at so many pictures of Earth animals.

Haseo was silent as the blonde seemed to work through what he'd said before finally getting around to apologizing. This was definitely an unusual circumstance for the Rogue, having to make a first impression by voice alone rather than visual presentation. In a way it was ironic, considering his current appearance- many people used the Network and more specifically, 'The World' and their created characters inside it, to meet and talk to people outside the expectations of real life... and yet here Haseo had to do that outside of when he'd actually chosen to.

In 'The World', the teen usually found little issue with his reputation as a fighter, aside from the accusations of cheating and blame for things he hadn't done, of course. However, there were times when it was weird or even got in the way... such as when one had been kidnapped for use in an apparent experiment, stuck in a body that definitely didn't exist in reality. He was an unusual sight already inside the game, but here he seemed to really stick out, even when dressed exactly the same as everyone else.

"Hn, yeah," he answered, snapping out of the state of thought. He blinked, then aimed his remaining irritation at his meal instead, staring at the tray for several long moments before adding on more- "Don't worry about it." For a second or two he tried to recall if he'd heard of 'Claude' elsewhere, but came up entirely empty. He wasn't sure where it would have come from, anyway.

"Uh, sorry but... did that happen last night?" he asked then, curiosity finally getting the best of him. Normally he might have gestured to accompany the question too, but he kept his hands down, feeling slightly awkward. He hadn't heard of anything blinding someone before, and he'd tried to pay a decent amount of attention when they could still talk about that kind of stuff on the bulletin. If there was a monster or something capable of that, he wanted to know about it.

Unusual. Weird more like, if you took into account all of the comments from the others. Caterpillar brows. Bushy brows. And he'd passed them on to the others, Australia and New Zealand, Sealand, inflicted them on Hong Kong out of spite towards China. They weren't something that ever got complimented, and he couldn't quite accept that anyone would ever want to. They were ugly, uncouth, untamed. "Unusual hm?" he said, a touch sourly. "If you intend to insult me, at least do it openly." Unkind perhaps, but he was so used to being mocked for them.

He looked a little confused when the man spoke about his 'species' deserving to live. "My species, as you put it, is exceedingly difficult to kill," he said with a quirk of his lips. Even Prussia hadn't died despite his nation not existing anymore. Bizarre appearance? Zex looked just the same as he did! The tone made it clear what his intentions were though. He was making a pass wasn't he? Lovely. He had a crazy human making hitting on him. The sane humans were bad enough since he wasn't France and didn't sleep with anything that moved and a few things that didn't. He cleared his throat, feigning ignorance. "Relationships have to be done properly," he said with a wan smile. "It takes all kinds of paperwork... bureaucracy." Treaties and mutual defense pacts.

Muraki led them to a table and Ritsuka set his tray down across from him, scooting into his seat gently to avoid jostling the wound on his left shoulder. He was certain the bandages were peeking out over his collar, but as long as he didn't make a big deal about it, no one else likely would either. It was just normal to get hurt here anyway.

But what wasn't normal was the slight feeling of distance between him and his former doctor. Muraki started cutting into his omelet and Ritsuka picked up his hamburger, rearranging it so it wasn't so messy anymore. He listened carefully as Muraki spoke and finally understood why he felt a distance. Muraki didn't remember him. He had been brought here without any of his memories of his time as a doctor here, or else he would have remembered Ritsuka, right? He wasn't that forgettable, was he?

The realization hit him hard and he set the hamburger down on the plate, unable to eat now. He'd been forgotten. This was why he wanted photographs and real, physical memories. There was nothing he could do to prove to Muraki that they'd known each other and had a relationship (albeit a professional one) before. It was like it had never happened and just like that, Ritsuka had been erased. Again.

But was it better to lie or to tell the truth? Dropping his gaze to the tray, he tried to make things make sense in his head. He knew this could have happened. When people reappeared here, they usually forgot everything and he should have known that and not gotten his hopes up. But it still hurt. It hurt more than he thought it would.

"I guess...maybe," he said slowly, pulling his hands back into his lap. "Um, if you're new, I guess you don't really know what's going on here, huh? Want me to explain it all?"

Sechs returned the other man's frown with an aggressive grin. So far things didn't look to be leading towards an intense fight or an uprising against the institute, but just some silly little food fight with an unfortunate stranger. Despite it all, any outlet for Sechs to vent out his frustration, no matter how stupid it may be, was starting to look far more appetizing than the rest of his hearty meal.

"So then just what were you implying, huh?" he growled, feinting a toss of his red projectile with another threatening flick of his wrist, just to see how much he could freak out his finicky seat mate. "You saying I'm stupid or something?!"

If that were the case, the other youth had better be ready to duck his head...

It was true that Spock would have preferred not to have been assigned to Gabriel, and he strongly suspected his roommate was similarly inclined. The odds that their sharing a room was simply a coincidence were small enough to suspect that the institute had, for whatever reason, purposefully arranged it that way. That alone was cause to remain on guard, making Peter's warnings somewhat unnecessary in that regard. However, if there was the chance that there was more to Gabriel than what met the eye, it was beneficial to at least be aware of that possibility. Peter outwardly appeared willing to assist him in whatever way he could in the event his roommate proved problematic, though if the need to contact him ever arose, Spock knew that he would not be willing to simply leave the matter in his hands.

There was no need to voice those thoughts out loud, though, and so the Vulcan prudently allowed the subject to naturally shift toward Gabriel's supposed powers.

When Peter began to explain, Spock set his eating utensils down, neatly clasped his fingers together and listened. The concept of a genetic mutation was not a new one by any means; in fact, he had suspected that he would say something to that affect. Yet it did little to answer the questions Spock had. Was this mutation a result of experiments conducted to genetically enhance humans, such as the ones that were characteristic of the research conducted during the 1990s? Ultimately, those factors had led to Earth's final world war, but Peter hadn't mentioned any such conflicts yet. It was possible that this was an entirely different scenario than the one Spock was familiar with. After all, it was already apparent Gabriel hailed from a different universe than his own, seeing how he was somehow familiar with Spock despite originating from the 23rd century. Perhaps it was related to the Star Trek program Kirk had learned of from his brainwashing, perhaps it didn't. Regardless, it was indicative of the possibility that Earth history as Spock knew it did not apply to Peter and Gabriel, just as it did not apply toward many of the other patients he had encountered in Landel's.

Not only that, but apparently Peter was one such human who had experienced such a change. Judging by his brief pause, he appeared as though he were somewhat hesitant to openly share that with him, though he had done so nonetheless. After learning that piece of knowledge, Spock gazed at him for a brief moment. On the surface, there was nothing unusual about Peter's appearance, though it was difficult to know whether that was his natural state, or if the changes placed upon many of them since arriving here were masking something.

"I see," he said at length, neutrally measuring the other man's words without reaching a conclusion about them just yet. "Was there an external stimulus that triggered these mutations?"

Indy shot a quick, alarmed glance at Ryuuzaki and immediately realized what an idiotic thing that was to do--if the way he dealt with Lunge was any indication, the guy had all the human empathy of a pit viper. He wasn't going to be any help. Unfortunately, Indy wasn't sure he was either. It was obvious that something was very wrong with Keman. There were plenty of possible explanations--someone he knew had been hurt or killed or disappeared, he'd been taken for brainwashing or experimentation, he was just plain homesick, anything--but no way to tell which one was right without prying, and that was the last thing Indy figured Keman needed right now.

"If you change your mind..." he offered vaguely, trying to sound supportive, and trailing off before he added, "I'll listen." That was what you were supposed to say, wasn't it? Give someone a space to talk without pushing him? Indy knew he wouldn't've changed his mind about wanting to talk at Keman's age, but he wasn't sure what else to say. What had happened to the kid's arm, he wondered.

He ate a couple bites of eggs and then turned his immediate attention to more solid ground: Ryuuzaki. "What did you find last night?" Indy asked bluntly, on the assumptions that a) there had been something and b) Ryuuzaki would be interested in trading information about it. He wanted to ask before Ryuuzaki put the question to him. Talking about how he'd made it back home for all of a few minutes wasn't high on the list of things he wanted to do if he could help it.

Going by first impression alone, Haseo didn't strike Claude as the friendliest person, though that didn't necessarily mean he was bad. Given how Claude had greeted him, he guessed he hadn't given the other patient much reason to be terribly chatty with him, either. But it wasn't like he could help it. Running into folks who had the same voice as his friends usually didn't happen, so it wasn't so strange that he wouldn't be able to figure out what was going on if he couldn't see, right?

Upon hearing Haseo asked after his wounds, Claude self-consciously brought his uninjured hand to the bandages, his fingers brushing over the smooth surface of the tape holding the eye pads in place. He probably should have expected someone to ask about all this -- not like it was hard to miss, after all. But that didn't change the fact he hadn't really considered what to say in response to those kinds of questions. Just sharing what little details he had with Guy had been hard enough, but he didn't have the energy to lie about it, either.

"Yeah," he quietly answered. "It..." The blond paused, considering his words for a moment. Even if Haseo's voice was familiar, he couldn't bring himself to just come out and say what happened to someone he didn't even know. Claude let out a small breath. "It wasn't from the monsters, though."

So many secrets were flying around the three of them that Okita wondered if any of them knew everything about the others. Heiji seemed to be the only one so far that wasn't hiding something from everyone else, and even then he was bottling things up. Okita had been watching Heiji for the signs of eruption, but this place made it so difficult to keep an eye on people. The boys were always separated from the adults when Okita most wanted to speak to them.

That Kaito was willing to keep Kudou's secret though was admirable. While Okita would have preferred to have the whole story so he could better understand the entire situation, he wasn't going to compromise Kaito's integrity to do it. Conversely, it raised Okita's respect for the boy a little more for the maturity he was showing in his decision. Unfortunately, the world was not going to be as understanding and as Kaito continued his story, Okita closed his eyes.

Once a man of the law, always a man of the law. Kudou wasn't going to rest until he'd either proven or disproven Kaito as Kid now that he had a clue, which meant eventually the three of them were going to head straight into an ugly battle with only one outcome. Unless Okita could somehow stack the odds against Kudou being able to prove Kaito was Kid. "Thankfully, Heiji-kun doesn't believe Kudou-kun about that. He believes your story more than Kudou-kun's at the moment, especially since he feels Kudou-kun left him alone to be attacked."

And he held no such grudge against Kaito. Not that Okita liked the idea of turning this around to make Kudou the bad guy. He was just...singlemindedly focused on catching Kid instead of focusing on the real task at hand. Okita knew that feeling all too well whenever he glanced at Himura so he couldn't exactly fault Kudou for his devotion. "Kudou-kun and I have something in common in a way. If I spoke to him about this, about him putting his personal feuds and cases above the work he must do here to survive - would that help or hinder?"

Hm...perhaps she was hasty in assuming his lack of appetite and a slight edge to his voice indicated a cold. After a sip of the pseudo-tea, his voice seemed to have regained its usual clarity and commanding presence. Maybe he was simply watching what he ate here, seeing how the food was distressingly American and wholly unhealthy in its options most of the time. She'd chosen her breakfast carefully to optimize the energy she'd get out of it while minimizing the amounts of fat, but she saw what other patients were eating and it frankly turned her stomach. The swill people subjected themselves to in the name of "taste" made her seriously doubt their ability to taste anything at all.

Her eyes followed his gesture to the paper and she nodded in approval. "But not even a complete lunatic could ignore a voice of reason like yours, Papa." Or she'd personally see to it that Landel received a proper beating for his insolence. No one denied her Papa anything he rightfully deserved and proper tea was such a small thing. She was certain everyone here would appreciate it if they had half a brain.

When he set the paper aside, Franziska felt her heart leap into her throat. Was he addressing the case already?! She wasn't ready! Her notes were-- "Ah, Chief Prosecutor Lana Skye. Yes, we met the other day to discuss a personal matter. I will inform her that I am willing to continue the conversation at her convenience." Franziska released a mental sigh of relief. It was just about her conversation with Lana, which was admittedly quite strange, but otherwise had been of no real consequence to her and her case. Now came the hard part, however. Steelling her nerves, Franziska started on her breakfast and asked, "And what questions did you have for me, Papa?"

Two point four million? Taura couldn't keep the surprise from her eyes -- but she could keep quiet and let him finish. Empire sounded too much like Cetaganda, or what the Barrayarans now, half-ironically, half-earnestly claimed with pride. Both sides would have torn her throat out halfway through voicing them in the same sentence, but that was war. History became stories became legend, while the real people either raised flowers or grandchildren, as luck allowed.

"You can't. Understand it, I mean. Part of the design they didn't have to build in. Keeps us going -- all we can do is fight for what we can see." Most people thought mercenaries were men (and women, and herms) with nothing left to lose; they weren't. Every moment became precious, every person, every meal.

She couldn't bring herself to insist they'd find a way for him to get back; she kept her promises, and even after last night, getting everyone home sounded impossible. Which takes slightly longer, and costs triple. Hah. She couldn't think of anything to say its place. Not when TK knew the odds as well as she did. So she chased a grape through her fruit salad with a fork. They were a little under-ripe, and not terribly filling, but calories weren't everything.

Another familiar voice and Sylar felt himself tensing, but this time in a way completely different than he had in the chapel. He let out a breath that he passed off as a huff, then raised his eyes slowly to meet Grell's, his face a mask of petty indignation.

"Where'd you get that idea?" Sylar pointedly rubbed the bandages wrapped around the side of his head, gingerly enough to emphasize the injury but rough enough to cheapen its gravity. He dropped his hand back to the table, grabbing his glass of water and raising it toward Grell in accusation. "Nice timing, by the way. I was looking for you yesterday."

And it was probably a good thing they hadn't met, Sylar mentally added. If they'd made plans for the night, Grell would have found himself alone, which would've raised the question of Sylar's absence, not to mention his implied incompetence. As things were right now, he could grumble this off, get down to business. He leaned forward slightly as he took another small sip, careful to keep his sweatshirt sleeves covering his chafed wrists.

"So, how'd you do last night?"

He'd read some... weird messages on the bulletin board this morning, though the one about 'brain surgery' had been the main attention-getter. Maybe Grell could clarify a couple of things for him – assuming that Grell wouldn't try to mess with his head first.

At least the guy was self-aware enough to know that he'd probably been through this before. Maybe not this exact conversation, seeing how Harvey was pretty sure this was the first time the whole moving rooms and being transported to New York colleges thing had happened. On the other hand, unexplainable events were pretty much the institute's MO, so Leonard likely had a whole journal full of notes about things that made no sense. Trying to read all of that over ever few hours had to be enough to make his head spin. With that in mind, it was pretty surprising that he was staying so calm.

Though maybe he was just trying to put on that front. Harvey didn't know the guy well enough to know for sure, and his lack of memory made it even harder to judge. "Well, the only person you can trust is yourself," he remarked with a nod and a shrug of his shoulders. Which had almost always been his philosophy, anyway. Maybe he'd been starting to judge Rachel, but... that was different, and it didn't matter anymore.

"Don't you worry that someone's going to steal one of your notes and copy your handwriting?" Maybe it would seem odd that he was thinking up ways that people could take advantage of the man, but he still had no reason to act on any of this. It was just that the man seemed so confident in himself, so certain that he could get by despite what had happened to him. That was better than laying down and dying, but Harvey was curious as to how he stayed so certain that he was going about things right and that he didn't have to always be vigilant and make sure that someone wasn't screwing him over.

ZEX blinked at Arthur's less than enthusiastic response, clearly baffled. An insult? How could that possibly be construed as an insult? He meant it as a compliment, of course! How could anyone take it any differently? Really, there was no predicting a human's behavior.

"Insult you? Oh no, my dear human!" And if Arthur would let him, ZEX would have put a hand on his shoulder. "That's the last thing on my mind! It was a compliment, of course! Why would I ever insult a human? It's unthinkable. You are everything I've ever wanted. There's no creature in the universe quite like you."

The human made an odd noise with his throat... what did that mean? ZEX couldn't easily tell, but decided that it probably wasn't important. "Hee! Hee! Hee! Yes, we gathered that during the War... you are a very hardy group. Very resilient... flexible..." ZEX trailed off a little into a personal fantasy before realigning himself to the conversation. Paperwork? Had they changed topics without him noticing? "Mmm, I don't recall any of the relationships I've ever been in requiring any paperwork..." His smile widened a little. "Unless this is a new kind of relationship..."

Well, that was news to him; Luxord hadn't brought that up to Roxas, and neither had Sora or Axel. Not to mention it didn't make any sense at all - he hadn't had time to disappear to... whatever this world was! He had been busy trying to lose the tail the Organization had on him, permanently detaching himself from the group, as well as finding Sora and -
- well, just Sora. He thought there might have been something else, but he couldn't remember it at the moment.

"That doesn't make sense," he said, trying to go over the possibilities in his mind. During one of his week-long comas, perhaps? But... he had always been in his room on the World That Never Was during those. And X - Axel would have told him he was disappearing for no reason at all. Roxas was actually quite sure Axel would have brought that up to him if it had been an issue in the first place. So how? When? "I've never been to this world before now. I was looking... for someone."

They weren't his allies anymore if they had ever been in the first place; he definitely shouldn't be telling one of the Originals that Roxas had left the Organization to find his Other (as well as try to assassinate Number I, but that was a different story. And he would have, if that white-haired kid hadn't gotten in his way -) The details were staying with him.

That certainly hadn't failed to occur to Mello; there were far too many cases of people vanishing after those damn torture sessions for them all to have been coincidentally let go. Then again, 'released' wasn't necessarily a euphemism for murdered. People got dragged in again, and people were still stuck here after having been fucked with. Case in point for both: himself. He wanted to believe Emmett had been one of the lucky ones, and, besides, he doubted slaughter was the goal. No, they'd want their victims to live on to fully experience the damage. Sharing any of these ideas, though, would only lead to questions he didn't want to answer.

"Yeah, sounds like." He sighed. "I've heard they're random, too. So much for incentive for being a model prisoner. They're one of the things I'm looking into. Let me know if you hear anything, okay?" Once he would have let it go at that, his interest being sufficient unto itself to expect an answer. Now, though, some deflection seemed in order. "Just like you said, they're a threat with no rhyme or reason behind it. I want to defuse it."

Did Kenshin tell Yuffie about Okita? She was one of the few people he trusted to tell; he felt comfortable enough with her by now that he could share things like that with her without feeling uncomfortable or that she would judge him for it. His worries about Kaoru, which had settled like a stone in the pit of his stomach, were another thing he did not feel as uncomfortable revealing. But did he? Did he burden her with that knowledge?

The rurouni frowned, and decided to stay silent for now. It sounded like the ninja had enough to worry about on her own, without him burdening her with more.

“Yes, this one discovered the problem with the doors as well. The door that was supposed to lead outside from the hallways by the men’s block went…underground instead, in a tunnel filled with man-crushing boulders. It was an interesting way to spend the evening, to be sure.”

"I don't see where coloration comes into it." The Decepticons, at least, based their superiority complex in actual capabilities. Not that this made their reasoning much less arbitrary than these humans'. "But then, you all look about the same to me."

Ratchet sipped at his water. "You won't know them when you see them, kid. Even before we ended up in these meatsacks," he said, gesturing to himself, "we were pretty gifted at blending in. Unless they out themselves, you can't 'watch out' for them." He never thought he'd be in a situation in which Lugnut, of all bots, was completely undetectable. The big oaf usually stood out like a bent rivet. "If they do happen to show themselves, though, just stay well out of their way. They're dangerous." Maybe not quite as dangerous as usual, but still outmatching a normal human.

Leonard shook his head. "I'd know it if it wasn't my writing," he said with utmost confidence, as if the very idea that someone could imitate his script was something as unbelievable as the things written in his journal. "You just know your handwriting from all others. You have to be able to trust it. Anyone could write you notes, try to lead you on the wrong path, but you know you can trust yourself. It's not memory- it's written proof."

No matter what he said, there was a small seed of doubt planted in him. He wouldn't let those notes out of his sight. He wouldn't lose them. He couldn't allow himself to lose them. "You can't doubt what you know is true when you're like me. I know what my writing looked like before this happened to me. You see that writing over and over and force yourself to learn every nuance of it. Conditioning. Discipline and routine make my life possible."

Now that was kind of weird. Was she having trouble saying his name? He'd been hoping that giving a nickname would make it easier for people to pronounce his name, but maybe he'd been wrong about her being Japanese after all. But then...she seemed so essentially Japanese that there couldn't be a mistake, right? Maybe she was like him and just wasn't used to speaking all that much. That would explain the head tilt and the one worded sentences so far. Mori could deal with that. He actually somewhat preferred it.

He smiled when she took the pancakes from him and was about to turn to his meal when he heard her stomach grumble and glanced up to see her shaking her head frantically. He nodded slightly and took the plate back, setting it on his side. Best to remove the temptation and the source of the pain at once. If she'd eaten too much then more food in front of her would only make her uncomfortable. It was still a bit odd though. Wouldn't the woman have known her own limits by her age? Not that she was old. At all. But most people tended to figure that out when they were going to be big eaters like she was.

"Sorry." If he had ginger tea he'd make it for her, but the only tea they served here was English and decaffinated which probably made a lot of people angry. If her stomach kept hurting though, maybe he could ask the nurse for some medicine to help her. Picking up his granola, he added the milk to it and started eating it as he eyed the room for a nurse who might be able to help. After a moment, he returned his attention to the stranger and inclined his head, wondering what her name was. "You new?"

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Day 50: Cafeteria (Brunch)

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