damned_institute | Day 51: Breakfast

Yuffie Kisaragi, indomitable bouncing ball of sunshine and unfathomable ebullience, was tired. It'd been a long night full of gibberish and getting nowhere fast.

"Can't I—"

Plucky, who had been busily loading a plate full of French toast and bacon, tittered. "I'm afraid not, Hanna, darling. A chat over a nice, hearty breakfast would do you a world of good, don't you think?"

"Aaaaactually—"

"Come on, let's find you a seat. Plenty to choose from this morning!"

For a long moment, Yuffie seriously considered doing something—anything—to act out. Punch her nurse, rub jam in an orderly's face, climb a wall and hang off the ceiling, jump on a table and parody Loveless… A ruckus like that would definitely jolt her back into gear, right? Sedation aside. And it'd turn Plucky's good day right on its head, which was always a bonus worth shooting for.

But, by the time she'd reached a decision—and it was an epic decision, a really awesome one; everybody'd appreciate the genius, she was sure—she was already alone. Her breakfast tray had been set down neatly by the nurse, who had left with an infuriatingly winsome smile.

"Wow," Yuffie muttered. Shaking her head, she picked a chair at random and threw herself into it. She kicked back, one arm slung across her eyes, to wait. For what, she wasn't totally sure. Some moron to decide that she looked like good company? That was how it usually went.

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Much as she would have loved to spend a good chunk of the remaining night time berating the Doctor for being in the TARDIS and not having managed to free everyone there, morning was a very welcome sight. No geeks rambling on in front of her, no retorts from the Coluan (who was not and forever marked as 'spaceboy' for Donna) and, joy of joys, no more ring! That meant the Doctor had it. Lovely. She'd probably end up having to trade him back his specs for it, but after thinking about it a bit, she had to wonder if she really did want the ring back. It needed blood after all, so unless she wanted a vampire ring suddenly biting her finger, she was able enough to hoof it thank you very much!

So it was to breakfast on a better note than the night. If she spotted the spaceman she'd give him an earful, but for now she could just try to enjoy her food without too much trouble. Even if it was something sugary and sweet. Why couldn't they keep the cavity-inducing stuff to cereal and let them have a proper breakfast for a change?

She passed the toast and meat in favor of a nice fruit salad and a bagel before turning out to the room. Going through a few tables, Donna found her search for familiar faces side-tracked by someone who was drowning his pancakes. Not flooding, mind you, drowning.

"You should give 'em some air," she teased as she went by, unable to help either the remark or the grin that found its way onto her face. Too much like something the Doctor would have done.

Speak of the devil and he will appear: one of the humans populating this little cell was actually talking to him. That was pretty new. He always picked them. And knew everything about them, but he was adjusting to the lack of knowing. And that thought brought up another point. Why didn't he get picked for any of these adages? Never mind that most of them were meant in the negative, he was still, you know. Important. Like Gabriel's trumpet can blow it out your ear. Except he didn't have a trumpet. He'd never had a damn trumpet. He didn't need one.

Maybe it was better he hadn't been in any. The Renaissance had been bad enough to him.

"And let these puppies enjoy their last moments? Not a damn chance." He took another big bite - really as many bites that could be shoved onto one fork and remain somewhat in place - the enjoyment pretty obvious on his face. He made a damn good breakfast himself, but reality was so substantial. Only think that could improve it was some crushed Snickers, a sundae, and maybe some gummi worms. He hadn't had those in a while.

'None of your business' would have been expected, with or without some added profanities for the exceptionally grumpy, or else something simple. A thoughtful 'hmm' or maybe some one word acknowledgment. Those kind of mundane answers would have had Donna keeping pace past the table, but that answer? She definitely liked, and turned back to the table for it.

"Quick and painless then. Probably best if you're not one for torture," she said, grinning as she invited herself to take a seat opposite him. "All my 'finger foods' usually ended with some slow, gruesome finale." Not unlike the one he was giving the 'puppies' by shoving them into his mouth. Manners, no, but creativity made up for that somehow.

Donna wasn't one for actual torture, but when you were a kid... well, nothing could be crueler than a child. Lord knows Donna had been a handful, and she'd even admit to it now. Still, it was amusing to think back on how she'd been.

"Haven't seen you around before. You new?" she questioned. He could have been lost to her in the masses of patients, but it never hurt to ask. If nothing else, he was at least good at making up for how mundane it was here.

Not one for torture? He was flattered someone would think so highly of him; the flattery wasn't showing when he responded with a full mouth, muffling half the words. "I only torture the ones that deserve it. Now French toast - it's not even French. It's like the Mickey D's of sweets. If I was sitting here with a German chocolate cake, this hour might be going on for a lot longer than sixty minutes." Which he had done before. The Trickster shtick with high metabolism kind of... stuck. And it was a delicious sticking. Make a few pies that never ran out of pieces and you didn't need to have a reason to eat slow and gruesomely.

Eternity was long, okay. Really long.

Gabriel was a bit surprised to be picked out that easily when he wasn't asking questions (which still didn't have satisfiable answers, but considering the company last night... Klingon and Tolkien Elvish. Not helpful.) but all that showed on his face were his lifted eyebrows. "Sure am. Mysterious visitor to the Mental Asylum on Haunted Wherever-The-Hell. With teleporty rings, apparently. Not exactly something I'm used to."

Considering the Head Crazy was so vocal with boasting about his creations, the little gathering the previous night certainly wouldn't have been the only one to jump around, but probably the only one with the good fortune of falling into a lake. In winter.

He still wasn't happy about that.

No matter how much Donna was trying to be good in this place, just the thought of an honest to goodness cake, German chocolate or otherwise, thrilled her to no end. Just because it would be bad, and just because she couldn't have one right at the moment. She'd been stuck here long enough for a treat once she got out, if she did say so herself.

And the Doctor would buy.

"If you were sitting there with something like that you wouldn't have even a second before a few someones here would jump you for it. Would probably eat you without thinking while going for the sucker as well." Donna warned despite not being one of those someones herself. She wasn't that loony just yet. "But that's proof enough that you're new. If you look at a board in the Sun Room - you'll get there sooner or later, I'm sure - you'll find that there's a few clubs around here. One that's called the 'Cake Club' and seems to be a bit more literal than the others..."

Wait a minute, why was she introducing clubs? She wasn't in any, and she definitely could do better than any 'Cake Club' in telling newcomers what they needed to know. So right, proper introductions first. "I'm Donna, by the way. Donna Noble. And I think we're in America," she added so as to answer his locational confusion, "You?"

Clearly the answer to that little problem was that he would covet the cake. Alone. In his room. With his little coma victim. And, if he had enough mojo for it, every piece would mysteriously be sugar-free cake right as the wrong person took a bite out of it... Look, tasting sugar-free cake while expecting the real thing was a travesty. A travesty. And while he wasn't surprised to find himself the only cake aficionado in this place - "Shoved into a crazy house and baking is the priority? Suddenly it's become the Betty Crocker b-movie of the year."

Haunted asylums were so overdone. And, unfortunately, more accurate than most horror clichés.

"Think is the important term here," he added regarding their location, which reminded him: he hadn't even thought of it. The last time he'd been alive was in Munice, Indiana, and it hadn't been winter. So the possibility of moving through time and space was there. Greaaaat.

Though he certainly wasn't tossing any real names around, Gabriel had thrown out enough fake names and faces when he was doing his thing that grabbing one out of the air was easy. "Glen Coco." Four for you, baby. "Taking a wiiild guess and assumin' you weren't exactly in America before being here?"

Day 51: Breakfast

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