A man's voice; first speaking English, then what sounded like Japanese. Uryuu had been standing with Kida-san and Maito-san, listening to yet another announcement about a ring he did not have -- then, his eyes opened (though, again, they had already been open), morning was the broadcast, and he laid again in bed. First, operating on instinct, his hand retrieved and placed his glasses. Then, he sat up, noted the empty adjacent bed, and got to his feet. With care he made the bed and took stock of the room. His pillow had no case; his makeshift sack had relocated to his closet.
Uryuu stared at down at it, looked up, and stared at the clothing hanging. His fingers rose, pushing needlessly at his glasses. Alert and in danger of being consumed by frustrated confusion, Uryuu exerted a massive effort to keep calm, to keep his movements controlled, his breathing even, his thoughts in steady, logic-directed pathways. Not that logic helped. With what Maito-san had said, questionable though he seemed as a source of information (and as difficult it had been to understand everything), he understood a little.
He had little time for fruitless mind-wracking: the door opened and a woman, clearly a nurse by her uniform, entered.
"Good morning, Gerard!" she chirped, "I trust you slept well? We sure are happy to have you here, but I said enough about that yesterday! I hope you're hungry; we'll be going to the Cafeteria first thing."
More effort: to not stare at her as if she'd turned inside out and begun to walk on her hands (of which there were five). Clearly, he was meant to be Gerard. It was plain that protesting would yield nothing. This was no error; nothing that would be corrected by talk, polite or otherwise. The most reasonable thing to do seemed to be, irritatingly enough, to keep his mouth shut and play along.
Not entirely shut. After donning the slippers and following her into the hallway (even with the copied maps, his eyes darted to memorize every detail; it was a different room number than last night), Uryuu spoke, cursory and cool. "I'd rather you not call me by my first name. It's far too informal."
She looked at him, quizzical but amused. "Is that so, Ger--sorry, Mr. Way? I guess it's better than--well, it's better!"
Than what? he wondered. His actual name? His lips thinned as he mentally sounded this one out. Gerard Way. Uryuu shook his head, but focused on the path to the Cafeteria, on what questions to ask. What country is this? did not seem promising. The man had spoken English before Japanese, but given the stars, the mystery of this place was unlikely to be solved by an insipid nurse. Undoubtedly such a question would be avoided by virtue of its answer being "common knowledge".
"How long has this institute been in operation?" he tried, eyes darkening at her answer, "Oh, you know, it has such a history! Here we are, off you go, eat a lot!"
The Cafeteria was filled with hundreds of gray shirts, all emblazoned with the smiley face. Most likely one of the other patients would have proper answers, assuming not everyone had come at the same time -- and Maito Gai had clearly not. To avoid the trouble of being singled out for not eating, he obediently collected food. Very American, he thought, certainly Western. Water and orange juice (no tea, to his irritation), the fruit salad, and toast.
Looking over the room again, he sought someone who looked relatively sane (unwilling to dismiss the possibility that some legitimately insane individuals had been planted), and if not comfortable, unsurprised. Pinpointing an older guy whose grin almost turned his attention elsewhere, Uryuu advanced.
"Hello," he started stiffly. Clutching his tray in front of him, he tried not to think of it or treat it as a shield. Business, this was business, and not at all like the sort of awkward situation he had avoided through isolation at school, that of asking someone to sit with him. With a determined indifference, he set down his tray, but did not yet sit -- there would be no point if this guy was mad, or as recent an arrival. "How long have you been a patient here? Apparently I arrived last night."
no subject
Uryuu stared at down at it, looked up, and stared at the clothing hanging. His fingers rose, pushing needlessly at his glasses. Alert and in danger of being consumed by frustrated confusion, Uryuu exerted a massive effort to keep calm, to keep his movements controlled, his breathing even, his thoughts in steady, logic-directed pathways. Not that logic helped. With what Maito-san had said, questionable though he seemed as a source of information (and as difficult it had been to understand everything), he understood a little.
He had little time for fruitless mind-wracking: the door opened and a woman, clearly a nurse by her uniform, entered.
"Good morning, Gerard!" she chirped, "I trust you slept well? We sure are happy to have you here, but I said enough about that yesterday! I hope you're hungry; we'll be going to the Cafeteria first thing."
More effort: to not stare at her as if she'd turned inside out and begun to walk on her hands (of which there were five). Clearly, he was meant to be Gerard. It was plain that protesting would yield nothing. This was no error; nothing that would be corrected by talk, polite or otherwise. The most reasonable thing to do seemed to be, irritatingly enough, to keep his mouth shut and play along.
Not entirely shut. After donning the slippers and following her into the hallway (even with the copied maps, his eyes darted to memorize every detail; it was a different room number than last night), Uryuu spoke, cursory and cool. "I'd rather you not call me by my first name. It's far too informal."
She looked at him, quizzical but amused. "Is that so, Ger--sorry, Mr. Way? I guess it's better than--well, it's better!"
Than what? he wondered. His actual name? His lips thinned as he mentally sounded this one out. Gerard Way. Uryuu shook his head, but focused on the path to the Cafeteria, on what questions to ask. What country is this? did not seem promising. The man had spoken English before Japanese, but given the stars, the mystery of this place was unlikely to be solved by an insipid nurse. Undoubtedly such a question would be avoided by virtue of its answer being "common knowledge".
"How long has this institute been in operation?" he tried, eyes darkening at her answer, "Oh, you know, it has such a history! Here we are, off you go, eat a lot!"
The Cafeteria was filled with hundreds of gray shirts, all emblazoned with the smiley face. Most likely one of the other patients would have proper answers, assuming not everyone had come at the same time -- and Maito Gai had clearly not. To avoid the trouble of being singled out for not eating, he obediently collected food. Very American, he thought, certainly Western. Water and orange juice (no tea, to his irritation), the fruit salad, and toast.
Looking over the room again, he sought someone who looked relatively sane (unwilling to dismiss the possibility that some legitimately insane individuals had been planted), and if not comfortable, unsurprised. Pinpointing an older guy whose grin almost turned his attention elsewhere, Uryuu advanced.
"Hello," he started stiffly. Clutching his tray in front of him, he tried not to think of it or treat it as a shield. Business, this was business, and not at all like the sort of awkward situation he had avoided through isolation at school, that of asking someone to sit with him. With a determined indifference, he set down his tray, but did not yet sit -- there would be no point if this guy was mad, or as recent an arrival. "How long have you been a patient here? Apparently I arrived last night."