damned_institute | Night 50: Main Hallway, 1-Center

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Night 50: Main Hallway, 1-Center

[From here]

Unlike the western section, the central portion of this hallway was completely deserted. On any other night, von Karma would have used this to his advantage to arrive at one of the upstairs locations before anyone else did. The Janitor's Closet, for one, contained a large cache of metal that he could use to compensate Mr. Geeste for the work he would do for him three nights later.

But for now, von Karma merely had to go as far as the very first doorway to his right, which led straight into Waiting Room 1. This was far more important -- though less pleasant -- than his prospective metal scavenger hunt. Besides, by the time he had replied to Mr. Geeste's notice, Ms. Taura had already accepted an assignment from that blasted History Club. He would simply have to try to contact her tomorrow morning as soon as possible before she could accept another one.

Shaking his head, von Karma turned the door knob, expecting to have to jimmy it open, but instead discovering that the door wasn't locked after all.

[To here (with Court's permission to just go on ahead <3 ) ]

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Pilgrim was the first one of the group to arrive, with a metal baseball bat and his usual enthusiasm in tow. Indy noticed another thing about the kid immediately: the limp was better than it had been but still not gone. Damn. If the leg was slowing him down, Pilgrim would probably be better staying out of a fight and trying to get across to move farther into the basement. At the same time, though, the thought of letting Scott Pilgrim, mighty vegan-killer, lead the charge into the unknown almost made Indy want to contemplate hanging up his hat and pulling the covers over his head. If Indy didn't go with that group himself, he'd have to rely on the cooler heads of Ryuuzaki or Lunge to keep the younger guys in check.

"Er, thanks," Indy replied, and then added, "dude," just to yank Pilgrim's proverbial chain a little. He had to think about the question, actually--was he excited? Yeah, maybe, he decided. Certainly he felt that old sense of anticipation stirring, the one that always hit him right before he set off on an expedition. He had a hell of a lot of concerns, too--if he got one of these people killed chasing after his half-baked ideas of what passed for fortune and glory in here, it wouldn't be the first time something like that had happened, but that wouldn't make it any easier to sleep at night--but he guessed he was looking forward to this too.

"I think so," he answered honestly. "You?"

Scott swore: every time Indiana Jones uttered or wrote the word "dude," his soul was split between dying of glee and dying of "this is so wrong."

Regardless of which feeling came out on top, his grin became a bit less put on at that. If Indy was actually excited, that gave Scott a bit more of the real excitement he needed. "Oh yeah, totally! Completely. We've got this by the balls, man. I think we're gonna make some major progress," he answered. With any shred of luck, Scott hoped to be right. With a good, healthy serving size of luck, he hoped to be right without getting pulverized down to his very last piece of heart again.

"So, I lost count on the board. How many do you think we're expecting total before we get going?" he asked, deliberately resting the bat over his shoulder in a very casual manner.

Edited 2010-07-12 06:53 (UTC)

Indy shot Pilgrim a glance. He couldn't tell if that was genuinely how the guy showed enthusiasm or if he was protesting too much. In either case, Pilgrim didn't have any better idea than Indy himself did of how well they might do or how much actual concrete progress that would mean. Nonetheless, Indy figured excitement about doing this was better than utter reluctance and terror, which seemed to be another common reaction among people who went exploring with him.

"Well, just don't get carried away," he warned. "We don't know what's down there, so we're going to have to watch our steps." Literally and figuratively. "As for who's coming, I'm not sure. I mentioned it to a number of people, including your friend Logan, but the only ones I'm sure of are you and Peter Parker. Could be just us, or as many as eight." Indy did a quick mental tick-off: yeah, that was right.

[From here.]

And there was Jones, equipped with that knife he'd grabbed the night before, and standing with a kid. The guy hadn't been lying about working alongside a bunch of younger patients, though that was mainly what they had to choose from. At least the stranger looked to be in his twenties, rather than still in his teenage years. That was when it got really odd.

Harvey realized he could have brought his axe with him, but the thing was heavy and they had a lot of ground to cover. Besides, it looked like Jones had the weapon department covered, and even the kid had a baseball bat. None of which would do much good against something that breathed fire, but Harvey wasn't going to get too caught up in that.

He moved over, surprised to see that he was the third one to make it here. Was their group really that small, or were the others just late? He spotted that kid from the grocery store at Doyleton nearby, but it didn't look like he was part of the group.

As he got closer, he caught the tail-end of what Jones was saying. "Eight?" he echoed, somehow managing to frown with both sides of his face. "If that's the case, we'd better be splitting up." He glanced from Jones to the kid, looking him over for just a second before turning back to the older man. "You get the ring?" he asked.

Scott nodded in affirmative, though he still didn't know how they were going to decide when to get going, in that case. Not knowing exactly who they were waiting for kind of made things awkward and uncertain. It was like showing up early to a non-RSVP party - it could either turn into the biggest, loudest thing the cops broke up that week, or it could end up being just two guys staring sullenly at each other from opposite-facing armchairs, red Solo cups in hand and "It's My Party (And I'll Cry If I Want To)" playing quietly in the background. Sometimes you could just never tell how committed random strangers were to hastily-made plans.

Thankfully, it looked like he and Indy wouldn't be the only ones hanging around for long. A voice sounded behind Scott, and it wasn't Peter's. Great, he thought, that was probably one of Indy's other buddies. When he turned to get a look at the new party member, however, Scott froze up. From just the brief flash of detail he got as his flashlight beam crossed the guy's face, Scott almost yelped out "Aaahh! Real monsters!" Luckily for him and his dignity, he was just barely able to contain that reaction. It was just a dude. A dude with incredibly bad luck, from the looks of it, but a dude nonetheless.

He let his shoulders un-tense while the man spoke to Indy. Now that he let his eyes adjust to the guy's appearance, he had to wonder if this guy got called "Two-Face" a lot. Obviously, this wasn't actually Two-Face; the good half of his face looked nothing like any of the comic book, animated, or movie versions of the character Scott had ever seen. More than anyone else, he looked like that one guy from that one movie that had been popular maybe. What was it again? ...Right! The Core. Anyway. The injury looked very similar to the classic villain's. If the Batman comics existed in this guy's universe, Scott was willing to bet his pocket lint that he probably never heard an end to the comparisons.

Finally, Scott had gathered enough of his wits back about him to contribute to the conversation again. "Oh yeah, right! I forgot to ask about that. I know I didn't get one. Hoping someone tonight has one, at least," Scott added to Indy, shaking his head in the hopes of getting his mind back on track. Horribly disfigured people, nice though he was sure they could be, tended to have a disorienting effect on Scott.

[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/938569.html?thread=71057993#t71057993)]

"Am I late?" Keman called, running up to the little knot of people standing near the doors to the Sun Room. He'd recognized Scott's voice and figured that it would be all right if he approached, just as long as he made sure that his magelight was close enough to his face to illuminate it clearly without shining in his eyes. As soon as he'd confirmed who was there--Scott, Dr. Jones, and a man with only half a face that Keman had never spoken with before--he waved it back to its customary place above his shoulder. No need for it to get in the way.

The dragon turned to Dr. Jones. "I'm...sorry if I worried you earlier today. I had a lot on my mind, but I think I'm doing better now."

Dent was early, wearing his coat (to carry things? Not much need for the insulation in here, and it wasn't much of a fashion statement by Indy's lights) and carrying a metal pipe. Evidently the note'd been enough to entice him to come along. Once again Indy didn't see the gun anywhere, but he wasn't sure how big it was; there was always the possibility it was concealed under the coat. He'd better find out before they got down to the basement.

He shot a sharp, reproachful glance at Pilgrim--great, a minute or two in and he was already working toward alienating people--then turned his attention back to Dent. "No. You didn't either?" he replied quickly, hoping the man wouldn't take this as an opportunity to talk about what'd happened last night. He assumed Dent didn't have the ring, since he was asking. That kid hadn't given Indy the impression that he'd be big on sharing, but maybe he'd just had a bad night. "Hopefully. Maybe the odds'll be in our favor," he agreed with Pilgrim.

Keman came dashing up then, and Indy felt a quiet wash of relief. Whatever had been bothering him earlier, it was less apparent now, and he'd either met Dent before or was just a hell of a lot more tactful than Pilgrim. He also had--something--bobbing right over his shoulder. Some kind of light. It appeared to be suspended in midair. Indy blinked, resisting the temptation to rub his eyes, and looked closer. If there was a trick to it, it wasn't obvious. What the hell?

"Glad to see you," he said honestly, but his bewilderment was probably obvious as he added, "Uh...what is that thing?"

Maybe the stranger hadn't said anything, but with the look that was on his face, he may as well have. Sure, people walking around with half their faces burned off weren't exactly common, but Harvey would have figured they were slightly more so in this place. He glared at the kid (even if he was in his twenties, he was scrawny enough that he was still a kid to Harvey) and then turned back to Jones. The way the kid was eyeing him was starting to border on creepy.

"Nah. The kid must have gotten it," he said with a shrug. There wasn't much they could do about it, but it sounded like so far all of them were empty-handed. Some luck that was. Maybe Landel had been lying about things to confuse them further? It seemed like a stupid way to go about it, but there were three of them and the odds were starting to seem unfairly stacked. He was pretty sure Jones was going to be disappointed, what with his wishful thinking.

Before he could say any more than that, another voice called out behind him and Harvey turned to regard someone who really was in his teenage years. It looked like he'd spoken (or thought, at least) too soon.

Harvey might have thought to go through introductions, but first of all, that seemed to be something that should be reserved until everyone had shown up, and secondly, he was also distracted by what appeared to be some weird light that was inexplicably hovering over the stranger's shoulder. Luckily, Jones asked the question for him, meaning that he wasn't the only one who was in the dark.

Or... not, as the case might be. He went ahead and clicked off his flashlight, wanting to save battery power.

[From here.]

A group of people waited in the hall ahead; L could see the beams of their flashlights and, as he approached, he could hear murmured conversation. There was Jones, Keman and the strange orb of light that followed him, another man--young, not far out of his teens, carrying a metal bat--who L didn't recognize, and Dent, who clicked off his flashlight just as L approached.

L got closer, and then, he understood why Dent wore bandages: the half of his face that had been hidden at their first meeting was a livid wreck. L's guess, based on the look of what was left of the tissue, even at a distance, was that Dent had been burned. It should have been painful, unendurable, but nerve damage might have been a factor; muscle was exposed, even bone. While L didn't flinch or stare, his eyes widened for a split second before he could normalize his expression. It would stay normal for the rest of the night: he'd seen much worse.

"How many more people are coming?" The question, spoken in a clear voice, was intended for Jones, but L was still far enough away from the group that it would have been reasonable for anyone to answer him. He shifted his grip on the brush axe as he drew even with the others, then shot a quick, sly look at the identical one in Jones's hand. No one else seemed to have a blade. Lunge would, if he decided to join them.

Scott "ulp"ed silently at the sharp looks from Indy and Two-Face Wannabe. He never had been too good at hiding his reactions to things. His face was an open book a lot of the time; sometimes that won him sympathy with his big, cartoon puppy-dog eyes, but just as often, that only landed him in trouble. He supposed he ought to just be glad that someone hadn't threatened to punch him in the balls yet.

Thankfully, distraction came in the form of Keman, some kind of glowing thing over Keman's shoulder (Navi? Is that you?), and a dude who looked like he hadn't slept in a good ten weeks or so (and also looked, quite frankly, okay with that). He winced slightly when Keman said something about having worrying things on his mind. That hadn't been his fault, had it? He had said a few kind of dick-ish things to Keman in Doyleton. The guy had seemed okay about that at the time, but who knew? Maybe the remarks just hadn't all sunk in at once. At least whatever it was, the elf was feeling better now.

He turned away from Keman to let him answer Indy's question, instead facing Sleep-Deprived Guy. "We're waiting on at least one more for sure," he answered, checking over his shoulder to see if Peter was behind them anywhere yet. "Could be just him, or Indy says we might get up to 8 max if some others show." After a short pause, he waved semi-awkwardly at the two men he didn't know. "And, uh, hi. I'm Scott, by the way," he said with a definitely-awkward and apologetic grin in Two-Face Wannabe's direction.

Edited 2010-07-16 02:44 (UTC)

Keman gave Dr. Jones a somewhat wicked smile, his first all day. This, at least, he could do. Dr. Jones had been the one who had been openly skeptical about magic, and now he was seeing it for the first time and the expression on his face pleased the dragon more than he would ever say. It felt kind of nice to be able to get one over on the good doctor. He held out his hand, manipulating the little light so that it bobbed closer to the rest of the group. “This is magefire,” he said proudly. “My own personal little light. They’re really simple to do; my mother uses them all over the—” cave, but that might have seemed a little strange to folk used to residing in buildings “—place where we live. Lived.” He’d run away, and now the Lair wasn’t home to him anymore. It hadn’t been in a very long time. In following her son and adopted daughter, Alara had been forced to abandon it as well, and Keman still felt a pang of guilt about that. Mother had never complained, never once even brought it up, and he’d been afraid to bring up the subject mostly because he knew he was worrying about nothing. In many ways, she’d resented the Lair just as much as he had. “They’re...really simple to make, and once they’re lit they can keep burning for decades. Back home, anyway.” Here, they lasted the night and that was it.

The whole time he was showing off, he didn’t quite look at the half-face man, instead shooting Scott a shy little smile. Scott had shown interest in magic before, and it was much easier to focus on that than admit to himself that the horrible disfigurement was making him uncomfortable. He’d seen awful burns and injuries before on the battlefield. The only difference was that this one was still alive…

“I’m Keman, by the way,” he added as an afterthought. “I’m—oh, hello, Ryuuzaki. This is getting to be quite the group.” There were five of them now. The dragon looked quizzically at Dr. Jones, silently echoing Ryuuzaki’s question. How many more could they deal with? Many more and they risked not being able to move silently enough to avoid being spotted by monsters.

Edited 2010-07-16 06:01 (UTC)

[From here.]

Peter had spotted the fedora from a distance, and had already began sifting through the crowd towards it when he realized one crucial detail. Namely, the fact that Indy seemed to have been building himself a basketball team.

How was this a group of three?! This was definitely more than a group of three. Why had no one spoken to him of this?

Dammit, there needed to be more convenient manholes around. Peter could use an excuse to disappear into the floor. God, why would Scott invite so many people? He was fine wearing his costume for the trip when it was just their little quartet and the other three guys all knew about mild-mannered Peter Parker and the not-so-mild mannered Spider-Man. How hard would it be for these guys to keep an eye on who Indy or Scott or Keman hung out with during the day and play eenie-miney-mo with who the freak in the spider suit could be? Not even hiding amongst the fifty-odd scrawny teenage boys that populated the place would save him.

Even worse that he had already met them both. Hello, Pale Man Moe and Bandage Face. Who...apparently was Bandage Face no more.

Ouch. Ouch. Why would you take the bandages off of - oh god if he ever fell down he was getting fifty kinds of infections on the spot. His face would have tetanus. Not to mention how pulse-stoppingly painful it had to be to rip off all the bandages and expose that all to the night air. It just defied logic. Bafflement bled through the horror and pity, and Peter suddenly decided that the mask was definitely a good idea. If his face was showing right now the look on it likely to get him backhanded. Look at his eyeball! You could actually see that it was a fricking ball, why would you uncover that?! The last time he had seen anyone that badly banged up was when Wolverine snuck into his house and hid behind his laundry machine to pass out for a couple of days. The man had looked like anthropomorphic ground hamburger. He had seen organs. (Yes, plural. As in more than one.)

Whatever had happened to the guy, it hadn't been pretty. God. No wonder he had been such a grouch. If anyone deserved a sympathy pass for their behaviour, it would be him. Peter could only hope that the man wasn't in too much pain. Maybe his nerves had turned numb from it. Little mercies and all.

He swallowed back whatever mangled mess of emotion that sight had evoked as he strode into view, catching the majority of Keman's oral report on his magical floating lightbulb. Thing. Whatever it was.

"Mage Light, hmm? I was going to call it Ye Olde Defyer of Anything That Ever Made Sense, but I suppose that doesn't quite roll off the tongue like yours does." He drew up beside the taller boy, nodding in greeting before turning to raise a stern finger at Scott. "And why would you tell me to come in my jammies when you invited half the institute along? I'm not dressed for company. All this shame I'm feeling right now is your fault."

Moe hadn't seemed jumpy at the time (wasn't likely that he had the energy for it, not with those epic baggies under his eyes), but you never knew. Peter chose to stand by Curly for a reason. If Keman kept calm and friendly about it, then Moe might back off. It had been Keman's arm he had broken that night, not his, so if he could see that the other boy had forgiven him maybe Moe could cut him some slack and not freak out about it.

He still felt like he should work in an apology somehow. Make amends. Brainwashing or not, that had been one heck of a night. Not fun for anyone.

Through more silent corridors then out into the main hallway, which seemed to have filled up in the time he'd taken to reach it. Most people seemed to be heading upstairs, though; the middle of the hallway was clear enough that it barely took a second for Lunge to spot the rest of the group.

From a way off, he paused to count the faces he saw ahead of him- one, two… six people, and not all of them unfamiliar. He could see Jones, of course, and L there, but standing with the group was Dent as well- unsurprising in hindsight, but if he’d thought to ask during dinner… but now wasn’t particularly the time for self-admonishment. Better to move on. The others he didn’t recognise. Three young men: one tall with curls who appeared to have some sort of glowing light with him (?), a second who had apparently already run astray of Dent, a smaller, younger third whom Lunge at least had an excuse for not knowing at all, given that he was in costume. Hmm.

With such a motley crew assembled in front of him, Lunge soon found himself thinking through the logic behind it. Dent made sense, as did L- they were work colleagues, and while the former was unarmed he could see that the latter had with him the axe from the night before. The young man with the glowing light obviously had some sort of ‘magical’ skills (‘magic’ in quotation marks, for the sake of his scepticism- anything to make the concept more palatable), and the one in costume was obviously one of the Institute’s self-proclaimed ‘superhero’ (more quotation marks) types. The other young man- well, presumably he would see. He trusted Jones’ judgement. At any rate, they were relatively well-armed between them all, physically and intellectually.

There couldn’t be many more people coming, anyway. Seven was a sizeable enough group; he wouldn’t have been surprised if he was the last one to arrive. He headed over to the group, nodding at L (now Ryuuzaki again) in greeting and lowering his flashlight. When the conversation reached a lull- the possible ‘superhero’ had come down with a round of self-consciousness (definitely younger- probably still around his mid-teens)- he cleared his throat quietly to catch Jones’ attention. “My apologies for the delay. Is this everyone?”

A number of things happened all at once then: Ryuuzaki arrived and started asking questions (no surprises there), Pilgrim looked appropriately chastened, Keman explained his "mage fire" (Jesus, Indy was relieved that there was enough else going on that all he needed to offer in response was a wide-eyed nod before he shoved the impossibility aside to deal with later), and Peter turned up. In those clothes. Indy could have smacked himself in the forehead. He already had enough credibility at stake bringing all these people who didn't know each other together; why the hell had the kid felt compelled to show up in his Halloween costume? Repressing the urge to heave an exasperated smile, he reminded himself that that was supposed to be what Peter wore to fight crime; he probably thought of it as a professional uniform of sorts. Indy readjusted his own hat with a sudden twinge of self-consciousness.

"Usually I'd agree with you, but he didn't invite this crowd. I did," he explained to Peter just as Lunge came down the hall and joined them. That was seven. As always, it was difficult to gauge time in here, but Indy estimated that long enough had passed that anyone who hadn't already shown must've been held up somewhere. Logan had said he'd catch up if he was coming, anyway. This was the whole group, then--at least for now. It occurred to Indy that since this had sort of turned into his party, he should be a good host and say a few words to get things rolling.

"Looks like it," he replied to Lunge. Then he cleared his throat and said, loud enough for everyone in the group to hear him but hopefully not so loud that he was projecting down the hall, "Hello, everyone. Thank you for coming." It was slightly awkward addressing such a motley crew (literally, in at least one case), but Indy was practiced at these kinds of speeches and the brisk professionalism they required. "We don't have time for a lot of introductions, but let me outline the plan quickly. As you all know, we're going down into the basement, which you get to via a secret entrance in the walk-in freezer in the nearest kitchen." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the Sun Room doors to indicate the cafeteria and kitchen beyond.

"The first room there is a large ballroom, where Scott--" Indy moved his hand forward to indicate Pilgrim and continued grudgingly, "--saw a large, two-headed, fire-breathing monster standing guard two nights ago. If it's still down there, or if we run into trouble somewhere else, the guy who was with him suggested splitting into two groups: one to hold the thing off while the other moves past." As he mentioned the non-combatant group, Indy's glance moved over Lunge, Pilgrim and Keman (who looked unarmed, as far as he could tell)--hopefully not stopping long enough to offend anyone who didn't like the implication, but long enough to make his suggestion clear. If they agreed, that'd leave Dent and the Costumed Wonder to help him fight off the lab rat. Ryuuzaki, Indy reasoned, might fall into either category--he had the same machete, which wasn't a bad weapon as they went around here, but Indy still had no idea how well the man could fight.

"The only other thing I have to add is watch your steps. Aside from the little Ryuuzaki and Lunge saw last night, we don't know much about the basement other than that it's supposed to be dangerous. If everyone's ready--" he looked around; they looked like they were, "--then let's get going." So saying, Indy turned and walked through the Sun Room doors.

[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/946197.html)]

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Night 50: Main Hallway, 1-Center

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