damned_institute | 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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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.

Remy relaxed a little in his seat, munching on a bit of seasoned potato; he paused to give the remaining potatos a surprised, thoughtful look. They actually weren't half bad. Not too oily, just enough salt, a nice blend of herbs. He took another bite, looking pleased.

"I'd say it's more like rats have to avoid being noticed, wouldn't you? Where I come from, th-- we kill them. But I don't know, I don't think the little guys are so bad. They just have a bad reputation."

So Meche didn't mind rats much after all? Remy felt a little twist, and he recognized it as hope. If he decided to confide in anyone about his situation, someday, Meche might not be a bad choice... Scarecrow didn't seem repulsed, either, and had the advantage of being someone who claimed he hadn't been human before he was at the Institute. Remy would have to keep both of them in mind, if a day came when he couldn't hide his secret anymore. Some days, he wanted to tell everyone he talked to; it was weird that nobody recognized him for what he was. He didn't think that he could deal with the possible consequences, though.

"Almost done with the letters, Meche?" He could hear the mild excitement in his own voice.

From the corner of his eye, the Scarecrow couldn't help but notice Remy's unusual delight stemming from what he was eating. How strange! Maybe he'd been in the same situation as the former strawman: not human, and incapable of human sensations like taste. The Scarecrow had yet to meet anyone quite like himself; the robotfolk came close, but even they seemed baffled by his existence as a construct. It was more likely that the food Remy was nibbling was something he'd never had before. Experiencing it for the first time was a true joy.

The conversation pulled his interest. "They kill the rats? But why?" the Scarecrow asked, his curiosity marked with genuine concern. He couldn't help but feel sorry for them- he'd had a few living in him at one point in time. He wouldn't want them in there now, but it wasn't much of a problem to just ask them to leave.

"They can carry disease," Meche explained off-handedly, still finishing off the last of the letters. "And bite, get into your food...but you know, they're not bad animals, really. Some people actually keep them as pets these days."

She drew straight, careful lines for Zz and slid the journal back across the table to Remy. "There! Do you know about capital and lower-case letters? I made one of each. I can tell you the names out loud, or do some explaining if there's anything you don't understand." She knew Remy was literate, so she wasn't positive where the gaps in his knowledge were.

Having finished that, she went back to her brunch and ate quickly to catch up.

"Yeah, but humans carry disease and can bite and steal food, too. It's not as if rats are anything special in that respect." Remy decided to keep his opinions on the idea of being kept as a pet to himself, although he understood now what it must feel like. Any more talk on the rat topic would probably be too much.

He took the journal back from Meche, and looked over what she'd written out. "The letters? I'll be able to figure it out from here. It was mostly just having them in the right order so I could practice writing for the note board. Thanks, Meche!" It took a little doing to smile at her -- only because of the recent conversational conversation -- but he managed a grateful grin.

Day 50: Cafeteria (Brunch)

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