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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A familiar head of blond hair caught Sai's attention the moment he walked into the room. His nurse was insistent that he got a plate of food before he sat down, however, so he hurriedly made himself a plate of salad before making his way over. Some other time he'd take the opportunity to truly select from the different dishes offered on Sundays, but not today. He hadn't spoken to Naruto much since his (most recent) return, and this was as good of a time as any.

Just as long as Okita was on the other side of the room and not likely to make another attempt on his life while Naruto was present to be put in danger. The two of them might be enough to take him out, but he didn't want to test his luck just yet. The ninja kept his focus elsewhere, since staring was only bound to draw more attention to himself.

Sai set his tray down lightly across from his friend, offering the closest he could get to a warm smile as he took a seat. "It's good to see you again, Naruto. How was your night?"

That was always a good easy subject to start out on, even if it meant trying to describe the unusualness of his own.

Just like clockwork, the guy started to fish for his pictures, and Harvey couldn't help spotting the one the man had taken of him during their first meeting, where he was leaning against the wall out on the field while squinting against the light; it'd actually been sunny that day. He still couldn't decide what kind of weather was preferable. Overcast was best, but it usually had to be one extreme or the other in this place.

So, did Leonard think that he was trustworthy? Considering the risks he'd taken during their first chat, it was fairly likely that he did, and Harvey couldn't help but see it as a small victory. It occurred to him that he had the tools to manipulate Leonard, but he saw very little reason to do so. He had no personal grudge against the man; if anything, they shared far too much in common. Maybe if he needed an extra set of hands on one night he'd try to get the guy to come along, but for now he was content with leaving it be.

"You have," he responded with a nod. "It's all right. Anyway, I... don't know where you were either last night, but I can tell you about what went on, if you're curious. Wouldn't blame you if you weren't, though." After all, in the end the guy didn't even remember what had happened to him, and the information wasn't immediately relevant. He could see how Leonard might want to keep the information he wrote down concise, holding onto only the most important scraps -- otherwise he'd just get overwhelmed.

Just as Zack was absentmindedly forking a tater tot into his mouth, a nurse started to wheel over what had to be an injured patient, and the soldier couldn't help straightening in his seat as he took in the stranger. What had happened? There were no obvious signs of injury, no casts and not even any bandages, and yet something clearly had to be wrong...

Waiting for the nurse to leave them be, Zack had been ready to ask the obvious question, but the teen beat him to the punch.

And what a punch it was. Hearing the company's name was almost as bad as getting smacked across the face. Years ago, he had been able to handle needling from anti-Shin-Ra activists without a problem, having been solid in his decision to work for the organization. Nowadays, after he'd been tortured and then discarded by the company himself -- and more than that, had been forced to watch friend after friend get ground under Shin-Ra's heel -- it felt like an embarrassment.

"No," he said, shaking his head vehemently, "I work for myself now. Uhh, have we met?" This stranger clearly recognized him, and it seemed most likely that it was the person from the bulletin with the messy writing. Zack had honestly been expecting someone a little younger, but he wasn't going to judge too harshly.

Scott half-expected the door from the Sun Room to the Cafeteria to dump him off in a closet or a doctor's office or a lake, even to the point where he squinted his eyes shut and prepared himself for that inevitable wave of nausea. The human body being the marvelous thing that it is, Scott easily managed to convince himself that he actually felt the nausea, too. But no, there was the Cafeteria, right where it was supposed to be. Unless he had gotten a portal that happened to warp him to exactly where he needed to be, that sort of thing was all over. For now, anyway.

Still feeling a little sick to his stomach both from his expectations and from being slumped over on the couch for the whole previous shift, Scott didn't take much for brunch. He grabbed a burger and a slice of pizza without thinking much about what was on them. It wasn't until he found an empty seat that he realized the pizza he had grabbed was full of gross little anchovies. Scott made a face. He wasn't going to eat that. Yeuck. But did he really, really want to get up, go all the way back over to the food line, swap out his pizza, then come all the way back here (without a guarantee that the seat would still be free) when he still had a perfectly good cheeseburger in front of him?

Scott pushed the pizza plate aside purposefully and started nomming on his burger. "Fshupid anschofies."

[Free Scott Pilgrim!]

"Ha ha, I totally get what you mean!" Ivan had played a good first shot, but America wasn't going to get flustered over an insult to his looks. Even after the Cold War, he and Russia often exchanged insults as pleasantries; after all, who suddenly becomes best friends with their arch-nemesis? America took a large bite of his cheeseburger, then, as predicted, spoke around the mouthful as he held it up. "Looking at you almost makes this burger tastes like England made it!"

Now, how to go about getting Russia on his side. America knew better than to just spill details, at least in this case. England had been America's ally throughout the hostile period after WWII, so if Russia knew how badly he was hurt, he'd try to take advantage of it. But at the same time, America had to try and convince Russia of how bad off they all were, including Russia himself, to get his support. Man, this was hard!

"You know when I asked you about something missing yesterday, yeah?" He'd actually swallowed before speaking this time, since it was serious. "You can't feel your land or your people. And don't lie to me and say you can, because I know better." Or at least, that's what he was betting on. America stayed smug because if he showed the least bit of doubt, Russia would pick up on it, and try to deny it. "Something like that's got to be worse than anything I ever did, even to someone like you."

"I'm glad," he said, still watching, unmoving. He wasn't really sure what humans moved. Usually his tail would flick about absently, though he supposed some people tapped their fingers. He flopped his hand onto the table and looked at it, trying to coordintate a little tap. His fingers flapped about for a moment and he gave up.

"I'm Nakani," he said, slowly. He'd done exactly as Zack had asked, and it seemed people here were not from the same world, they wouldn't know about Shin-Ra. Oh well.

"I suppose I can afford to trust you a little more if you don't like Shin-Ra." They weren't a problem anymore, but if people were from the past, it could be troublesome should they find out what Nanaki was.

A chick who didn't think an apple a day counted as pigging out. Dean could dig that.

He used his fork to lump in some scrambled egg into the first of the tacos. The scrambled eggs were toeing that line between awesome and kickass, the perfect consistency where it was fluffy but a little soggy at the same time. The only thing missing was some Tabasco or something. It wasn't worth getting up for though. He shrugged, taking a bite into the taco and remembering just in time not to just wipe his mouth with the back of his hand like he would've with Sam. Dean reached for a napkin.

"Guessing you got the same ride as the others," Dean looked up over the taco at the chick. "I'm Dean, by the way."

He'd grin at her but doing it with scrambled eggs in your teeth wasn't exactly pulling a Casanova there. What was it with this joint? Why were all the chicks hot or really hot? It was like there was no middle ground and he'd yet to see someone actually plain or looking like they got hit by the ugly truck. Well, at least on the chick side of it - he didn't exactly spend his time checking out all the guys here to grade 'em on attractiveness.

A busy night, what was effectively a second night's sleep, and an hour or so of measuring the Sun Room with long strides all meant that by the time the cafeteria doors opened, Taura was ravenous. Not starving -- she knew what starving felt like. It was a big point in this place's favor, as prisons went.

She stacked a tray with some of almost everything. (Who ate soy protein by choice? That was reserved for rat bars that needed to be so vile that the soldiers didn't eat them before it was an emergency.). Then she found a friendly face in the crowd and dropped her loaded tray down across from him with a light thunk.

"Howdy, TK. How's life treating you?"

"Since the only one awesome enough to deserve my undying, everlasting love is me…" Yuffie looked up, grinning warmly at Kenshin and nodding for him to sit. A flicker of a raised eyebrow told him—tried to tell him—that he should know better than to feel he had to ask by now. "Yeah, I guess I am. It's totes sappy."

She flicked back a page to add a tick next to the Wutaian kanji that spelled Kenshin's name, before resuming her journaling. Just a couple more lines… Okay, actually, make that a couple more than a couple. Or even a couple more than a couple more than a—

Kenshin might be speakin' all cheerful, but Yuffie'd known him for long enough that she could spot the gloom lurking somewhere underneath. Had something happened last night? Something else, something more than the teleportation 'biz? Maybe it was something to do with Sen… haha, Yuffie remembered that night; the night Okita'd gone bugfuck. What was to stop it happening again? A big fat load of nothing, that was what! Yuffie was on decent terms with the guy now, but she wouldn't ever pretty-up what he'd done then, nor would she put it past him to try for a repeat performance.

Or, hell. Maybe it was something else else. Leviathan knew how this place liked to mess with people, and Kenshin'd been here even longer than her. How he could stand it, she didn't know.

"How's things hanging?" she asked, lightly enough to leave the option of dismissal open.

Stifling a cough and the pesky urge to sneeze in front of the increasing crowd heading into the Cafeteria, von Karma mulled over what he had just witnessed on his way to the Sun Room a few minutes ago. Chief Prosecutor Skye... embracing her younger sister. The thought of any public display of affection, be it romantic or familial, made the older prosecutor frown in disapproval. Especially if it was initiated by his own superior. He would make sure to speak to her about refraining from such nonsense, as it detracted from her professional image.

von Karma stopped to glance at the bulletin board. Hmm. So the staff were giving their prisoners the opportunity to register "suggestions," were they? He certainly had a number of his own, whether or not the blasted administration cared to take them into consideration. The prosecutor took a small stack of the slips of paper, intending to use every single one of them before the end of the week.

Why, just looking around the Sun Room, he could already see one simple source of improvement right away: get rid of the damned cats that were running around loose in here and curled up on the otherwise available seating. He thought at first he heard a familiar booming voice coming from across the room, but as he looked in the direction from which it had come, all he saw from his vantage point was a large puff of shaggy gray and white fur perched on the top of the couch. He shook his head, his scowl deepening.

Though the Cafeteria was already crowded by now, the aging prosecutor was able to find an empty seat at the end of one of the tables, far away from the other patients. It was just as well; he didn't want anyone to see that he had been fighting off the cold he had caught during yesterday's excursion. The long night of rest had helped avert it, but he was still experiencing lingering symptoms. He ordered his nurse to bring him a bowl of soup and a cup of hot tea (never mind that it was that decaffeinated sludge; the steam itself would expedite the recovery), then proceeded to fill out one of the suggestions slips while he waited for her to return.

[Closed to Dear Daughter]

Edited 2010-06-18 13:31 (UTC)

Guybrush stayed in the chapel a moment longer as Elaine walked away, taking a moment to think through the conversation with his tuckle-bear. She seemed okay about being turned into a statue- well, more okay than she had been last night before he realized she was from the past. She took the whole story about the Pox of LeChuck better than he'd thought she would, being from the past and all. The best part was when she admitted she was happy to see him. Those magical words made his brain shut down, his tongue not work, his heart flutter like a dozen vicious, fabric-eating moths flitting around a tacky jacket. It took him a few minutes to recover himself, plenty of time to wonder if fantasizing about Past Elaine constituted as cheating on Future Elaine.

Following the nurse downstairs, Guybrush wanted to go to the Sun Room next. Morgan was nowhere in sight by the time he left the chapel, so he figured she'd be hanging around the bulletin board, pinning up notices for her pirate-hunting business. If Stan could manage to make business cards while nailed in a coffin for a few months, surely Mo could make some promotional materials from within a fake asylum in the span of a few measly hours.

His nurse left him alone for a moment, giving him a look that warned him not to steal the cats. He didn't see the pirate hunter lounging anywhere in the room, so he decided he'd take a quick look at the board for himself. And what did he find? Libelous remarks! He borrowed a pen from a nearby nurse (not his; she wouldn't have loaned it to him for even a second) and furiously scratched at the note. What if Elaine saw those comments? They weren't true, but he couldn't take the chance she'd see something that could ruin the future of their relationship. His snuggle times depended on his name staying relatively clean.

Speaking of the future, he needed to find Morgan now. If she'd already said something to Elaine that made him look bad, he'd be treading in even hotter water. With no Mo in the Sun Room, he tried the cafeteria.

The room was already filling with people, so Guybrush grabbed some food quickly and took an empty seat where he could keep an eye on most of the other tables. From his vantage point, he could see Elaine talking to some other guy. A tinge of jealousy hit him, but he stifled it for now. At least she wasn't hobnobbing with LeChuck. Beardy jerk.

[Mo]

Edited 2010-06-18 13:42 (UTC)

Raphael woke up after what felt like a night packed with dreams of opening door after door after door, each time ending up in a different place, the locations steadily becoming more and more bizarre, but frustratingly never getting any closer to anywhere he recognised. The dreams were almost more exhausting than the actual night had been, one of those stupid days when you woke up wishing you could turn around and go right back to bed.

But that wouldn't help anything at all and he could just picture sensei's face if he could see Raph now, so the turtle dragged himself up and out for brunch. At least one thing in favour of today's weird set up was that sleeping in had only meant he missed wasting time in the Sun Room or the Chapel. Not much of a plus, but still.

Grabbing a tray, Raphael piled on some pizza, burgers, and fries before finding a seat and dumping the lot down on the table before all but flinging himself into the chair.

[for Edgar]

Edgar paused after receiving his tray, taking a moment to scan the room. Despite knowing Celes wouldn't be amongst the patients scattered around the tables, he still looked for her, checking each blond head in the hopes it would belong to her. He was less concerned with having an ally within the institute than he was for her well-being. A part of him didn't want to believe her spirit could have been crushed by Landel; however, there wasn't a chance she was attacked and killed during the night: if what her roommate said was true, then he'd been the last to see her.

She had to have been "released" in the gap of time from the end of night to dawn, when the prisoners were presumably put to sleep with a spell and whisked to their respective rooms somehow. She had been a vague image of herself during that final conversation: what prompted her removal from the institute? Was it all an elaborate act on her part to keep him from worrying?

She was gone now, so her act hadn't worked, if that was what it had been. Her disappearance, the curious events of the previous night, and his conversation with Natalia only fueled his drive to find answers. Landel couldn't continue to get away with his transgressions; his defeat was likely the only chance anyone had of getting home. If Edgar expected to see Figaro again, something would have to be done.

The machinist sighed tiredly as he made his way toward an empty batch of seats. It seemed that Celes might not have been the only ally he'd lost: he'd seen neither Harley nor Yuna in some time. Given the primarily male population of the institution, it seemed Landel had something against the fairer sex. How unfortunate.

As he passed one of the tables, Edgar spotted a familiar face in the crowd: Raphael. His fiery nature undoubtedly kept his spirit afloat in spite of the pressures of institute- he was likely to be one who wouldn't give up so easily. It was a notion that brought a private comfort. He took the seat opposite of the younger man, setting the tray he'd been carrying in one hand on the table. "Raphael," he addressed in greeting, his tone darker than usual.

Despite the fact that they had squabbled a bit, Bella was still in a somewhat good mood. After all, she knew that Edward was okay and that he wasn't too mad at her (she knew he still was, though, and their fighting just was making it closer to coming out.) and they were going to see each other that night. That was all that mattered.

The teenager sighed as she entered the cafeteria, once again not feeling very hungry. Brunch? Honestly, after all the blood from yesterday, she wasn't that hungry. At the moment her stomach was at just a neutral mute, so she didn't know if she should force herself to eat.

"Let's get you some food, hm, Kate? Look at you, such a tiny thing. You need some food in you!" the nurse at her side chirped, and so Bella was lead to the food line ...

... Where she picked up a bowl of cereal and milk, as well as a cup of orange juice. Her nurse sighed, shaking her head.

Once her nurse was gone, Bella moved over towards an empty table, stretching her arms over her head and yawning before reaching out to grab onto her cup of juice and take a sip of it. Maybe she could flag Claire down? She wanted to know how the girl was doing, since they had become quite lovely friends last night. It was only second nature to worry.

Tired and disgruntled, Ranulf slouched in his seat, staring with a half-lidded gaze at the variety of food he'd picked from the line in the mess hall. His left arm vertical, elbow placed on the table, he rested his head in his palm as he picked at his small stack of sausages with a fork, letting out a long, quiet sigh.

Three days. Three days he'd been stuck in this hellish infirmary. Although he'd been hysterical about the situation a few nights previous, he'd been able to suppress his pent up emotions, until now. It's what he'd been trained to do in Gallia. If you were caught by the enemy, you never panicked. You had to keep focused on the objective, be optimistic... and above all, keep your sanity. This of course was assuming he still was, indeed, sane.

The trip into town had really gotten to Ranulf, affirming that the world he resided in was clearly not his own. He hadn't wanted to believe it, hoping the situation was a strange trick concocted by the beorc. Deep in the back of his mind there had been hope. Hope Tsubaki and the others had been lying. Hope that he'd be going home soon. Ridiculous.

It had all hit him just before he'd fallen asleep, staring at the darkened ceiling of his room, a rush of thought, anger, confusion, washing over him like a high tide. Not wanting to deal, he'd fallen asleep before the man on the "intercom" announced the nightfall and had been woken up by a very business-like Nurse Flo. Now he sat, fiddling with his "hamburger" and sausages, trying to sort through his own personal mess and debris.

Would he ever see King Caineghis again? Dash through the deep forests of Gallia? Poke fun at Ike's polite mannerisms or Lethe's constant annoyance of anything that lacked a tail? He didn't know, and unfortunately that fact caused him to droop a little further in his chair. Not bothering to correct his body language, he speared a sausage on his fork, nibbling carelessly on the end of it. He wasn't particularly hungry, but he hoped the chewing would distract his mind, if only momentarily, from the current situation.

[Free~ <3]

Ratchet was a bot that valued his personal space, and so the humans here naturally invaded it at every opportunity. "Yeah? What's so slagging good about it?"

Picking at his own food, he couldn't help staring at his uninvited company's tray. There couldn't possibly be room inside a human for all that, could there? "Are they starving you, kid?" What would happen to a human if it overfilled its tanks, anyway? Ratchet would have to observe, just in case.

Brainiac 5 followed after the nurse, actually surprisingly hungry by the time they reached the cafeteria. Or maybe it was simply a side effect of having been Coluan again the night before, and he was simply more aware of how sharp the hunger of his organic, human body was now. Either way, he couldn't complain that much about being led away from the Doctor and over to the line to wait patiently before collecting a tray and selecting his own meal. Not to mention his hunger and the largish meal that he selected might also appease the nurses for a change. Maybe now they'd stop trying to foist food on him.

Tofu, a plate of vegetables, and a glass of water was his choice for brunch, and Brainiac 5 made his way to an empty, out of the way table where he could keep an eye on the room at large more out of habit than any real concern. He wasn't sure how long the solitude would last, however. The nurses always seemed keen on breaking it one way or another. Still, it was better to make the most of it while he could, and he flipped open his notebook to jot a few more details down while he ate.

[For Jack!]

622 looked up from his rapidly disappearing food, giving Taura an acknowledging nod and a slight, awkward smile. It wasn't a facial expression he was really used to making.

"Apart from the obvious, quite well," he replied. "I'm uninjured and fit to fight. And you?"

"Hm?" Carter asked through a mouthful of mixed fruit. "No, no. It's just so good that I want to have as much as possible of it. I'm not used to this much good food at all, especially all the fruit and sugar." LeBeau could do amazing things with quality but he wasn't a magician--there was never enough skillful French meddling to go around, and even before the stalags they'd had rationing.

Carter swallowed and extended his hand to his new friend, whose tray was looking woefully empty. The man must be a very fast eater, Carter had barely begun and he'd been in a hurry to get to the good stuff. "I'm Andrew Carter, sergeant. Are you a military kind of guy or just a tough guy? You look tough," he said, babbling with the cheer of someone who has no idea how much they're annoying the people around them. Now maybe those taco things next, what did one put in them?

Edward's arms cradled his head on the cafeteria table, a tray pushed off to the side that was piled low with fruits and vegetables. His nurse, overly caring, was still standing by his shoulder, trying to urge him vainly to eat. She had caught on that food rarely, if ever, entered his mouth; he hadn't been careful enough with her watchful gaze. She seemed sincere, but Edward wasn't particularly good with reading human emotions through face and voice alone, so she could be lying as well.

"You need to eat," she said.

"I'm depressed," he sighed, blowing a strand of hair away from his eyes. Looking like a teenager sometimes had its perks, but they never outweighed the negatives. "I'm stuck in a crazy house and my brother's gone and probably equally as crazy. Can't you give me a break?"

The nurse sighed, but he thought it might have been a sound of pity. "He's been cured, Christopher. He worked hard with the staff here. You should be happy for him. I know he's cheering you on, knowing you'll be okay soon too."

Either she was brainwashed or she was lying, because Emmett and "working hard" didn't seem to mesh together in his brain well. Especially with humans in an asylum. He wasn't sure what to think - he knew his brother was too strong (or stubborn) to go along with their forced views of normality, and one didn't just imagine their brother tearing apart a bear with their teeth alone. It was somewhat calming to believe the portals had taken him somewhere else. Maybe he'd gone home. A home that was still filled with people. Maybe he'd taken the right portal and escaped.

Either way, if he was gone... well, Edward couldn't do much about it. He couldn't do much about anything. He couldn't even convince Bella to do one thing for him.

Teenage mood swings. You just have to love them, even a hundred years later.

"Look, I'll eat it later, okay?" This childlike, young voice he was forced to use around her was really grating on his nerves. His patience was near-endless, but being treated like a child always annoyed him easily. "I promise."

She pat his shoulder gently before saying, "Okay. I trust you," and leaving him be.

Was it too immature to want to throw a piece of cantaloupe at her? Rebellion came in such tiny forms during the day.

[For his black market dealer. >:[ ♥]

Edited 2010-06-18 15:44 (UTC)

Artemis looked up when the older man sat across from him. He'd been focusing intently on trying to shut out the growing noise, though it had nearly doubled already. Where were Haku and his needles? Artemis was beginning to decide he liked being immobile over being overwhelmed.

Though as far as he could tell, this man was at the very least, quiet. Hopefully no surprises--hopefully.

"No, I wasn't expecting anyone," Artemis said. "I'd be happy for your company--I've been taking far too many meals by myself." Or not at all. Screaming had a tendency to ruin his appetite. He looked over the man's shoulder at the nurse who seemed to be watching them very intently, raising an eyebrow.

"Is she watching you or me?" he asked, frowning a little. As far as he could tell, neither of them were doing anything particularly offensive...

Even if he had slept in late, Roxas wasted no time in jumping into a new set of clothing when he'd finally awoken, making sure when his nurse's back was turned that his coat was tucked neatly into his closet. Apparently the trip back to his room had renewed his energy, because he felt a lot better than he had last night. While the sick feeling he'd had was probably from jumping all over the place, Roxas was still suspicious of being suddenly... drained. Especially considering it had happened immediately while using the Keyblade. This hadn't happened before, but... well, he'd never been trapped on a world before, either, or met his Other. This place was all about new experiences.

He'd seen Jim's note on the board on his way to the cafeteria (he'd intended to write one himself, but the other had beaten him to the punch), and the Nobody felt rather relieved that the man had made it to his room safely. (Roxas was also rather excited about the prospect of being friends with a captain who had a ship and a crew and... wait, was he supposed to call him captain too, or did his crew only do that?) The Enterprise was such a grand-sounding word; Roxas bet it was a big ship. Maybe Jim would tell him about it...

Of all the people to help out, he'd stumbled on some pretty nice guys (and they weren't even locals!). He'd just have to be more careful if he helped anyone else out, since now the Keyblades were... unstable. But at least he had some first aid in case he ever got hurt.

The only worrying thing was that Chekov hadn't answered Jim's note. They'd gotten separated, but surely the other boy had gotten back to his room, right? He was probably just sleeping in. With that thought firmly in his mind, Roxas sat with his tray piled high rather contently, tasting and savoring all the different foods and flavors slowly, dividing them on his tray between "delicious" and "never touching again".

Hearing from Ratchet had been oddly reassuring, considering he was the kind of guy who came off like he had a permanent case of rust, but maybe that just made them all the more likely to get on. Pot, meet kettle, etc. Though maybe 'get on' was an exaggeration- they could stand each other. That was good enough for Depth Charge.

And speaking of things being good enough he didn't have to looking for long to find the princess herself, waiting patiently near the doors. The Maximal grabbed a tray, filled it up with the first things that caught his eye ("Granola and tacos? How adventurous for you, Mr. Price, well done!") before sidestepping his nurse and sliding into the seat opposite Hime.

Straight away, he made a point of folding his arms and giving her a one of those prized Looks of his- one hundred percent merciless sarcasm distilled into one glance. "This alive enough for you?" Well. Ninety nine percent, in this case, perhaps. She might have had a point, albeit a very, very small one.

Chomping up the last bit of his burger, Sechs became dislodged from his thoughts at the arrival of a stranger taking a seat next to him. Not bothering to move his shaggy head, only Sechs' eyes shifted to catch a glance at his new table mate, who looked just a tad wary beneath his burgundy hair.

"Hrmph," was his only reply to the other patient's greeting as he began tearing away at a piece of chicken. He was still grumpy and a tad chilly from his uncomfortable awakening, but at least this stranger wasn't rubbing that in by saying "good afternoon" instead. Deciding to tolerate this newcomer for now, Sechs continued his messy consumption of his meaty meal without complaint.

Minato awoke to the voice of the Head Doctor speaking over the intercom. He blearily listened to the morning announcement, then buried his face in his pillow.

Last night... What in the world had happened last night? His mind whirled, filled with the returning images of the different sights and sounds. Institute rooms. A decayed version of a Doyleton shop. A golden room housing a talking sphinx.

A much more … exciting night than usual.

He slept through most of his first free shift in the Sun Room; staying active every night for the last week had started to wear on him, so it was nice not being ushered off to some activity he would not give his full attention. Unfortunately, napping in the Sun Room came with the consequence of attracting cat hair and catnappers; on more than one occasion, he awoke to find a cat slowly cutting off the circulation to his feet.

After giving the bulletin board a look over and spending some time reading the various notes, Minato followed his nurse off to the cafeteria for ‘brunch.’ He picked at the cat hair still sticking to his shirt, looking up and down the cafeteria in search for familiar faces. This was made mildly difficult when he had to balance his food tray, which he had stacked high with … well, a little bit of everything. Just like he had done last Sunday.

“Christian, why don’t you sit down here?” His nurse suggested a seat next to a young man who was both older and taller than Minato. He gave her a glance; he hadn’t done anything particularly exasperating already, had he? And here he had thought she had decided on calling him 'Chris.'

But with a shrug, he slid into the chair across from the young man, carefully arranging his silverware. “Hello,” he greeted, noticing his nurse walk away to chat with some of the other nurses.

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Day 50: Cafeteria (Brunch)

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