Day 50: Cafeteria (Brunch)

[selfrescuer.livejournal.com]

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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[noifsandsorbubs.livejournal.com]

Claude - French, or French-Canadian? Logan vaguely hoped it was the latter. Thinking about it brought him back to last night, and a nagging question he hadn't been able to answer: where had they gone, that was full of tanks meant for humans? He wasn't optimistic enough to believe he'd seen even a tenth of the world's fucked-up human experimentation labs, but the outside hadn't been familiar to him at all. Not just the structure; the environment. He'd traveled more than anybody had a right to, but he hadn't been able to put his finger on the location of those mountains.

But she'd asked first.

"Nope. Didn't get a chance to ask," he said casually. "Good to know it wasn't just us." He had theories on all of it that he wasn't sure she'd be able to believe, and anyway, they were irritating to think about, so he changed the subject: "You gonna need that pry bar tonight?"

[36-24-35.livejournal.com]

"Yeah..." Tifa agreed, knowing information would certainly be more available tonight after people had been given time to discuss during the day. "Well..." She took a moment to plop another grape in her mouth and swallow it whole with a myriad of painful, but amusing expressions. "... if something comes up or you are too busy, don't worry about it, there's always the next night or the night after that," Her fork did loop-dee-loops in the air for further explanation of their unending plight. "You get the picture..." The bruised skin around her eyes wrinkled as she smiled.

"I think I'm gonna go out and finish gathering the rest of the stuff I need, so if I am not there, you can just toss it in my room--number six--and I'll put it up when I get back."

[noifsandsorbubs.livejournal.com]

Room six - another number to remember. Eventually he'd have to start writing this crap down, although at least now he could forget Kurt's roommate's fake name. And his real name, for that matter.

"Reason I ask is something else came up," he said, spearing a waffle. "So if you don't mind, I was thinkin' I'd bring it over tomorrow night." He paused, considering her: she was tougher than she looked. She'd held her own pretty decently against that thing in the garage. She'd made it through the boulders and up that long chain without breaking a sweat. None of that made her fireproof, but neither was Pilgrim or that guy who called himself Indiana Jones. Neither was he. More importantly, she could shoot ice out of her hand. They could probably use her help, down in the basement.

But he didn't want to ask her along, and he didn't want to ask because he was almost a hundred per cent sure she'd say yes. Next time, he told himself. When her nose was better, and it wasn't so easy to picture her dying in various gruesome ways.