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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Considering everything that had happened the night before, Forte woke surprisingly restful. He was in pain, of course - especially his right shoulder, where he'd constantly thrown himself to the ground. Aside from his back, where his burns felt oddly warm but definitely painful, it was almost a good hurt. He was almost starting to feel an attachment to this body - he'd finally put it to good use, and it was sore but grateful. As he rolled over he felt the two scalpels under his pillow, and decided... to just leave them there. He wasn't tired, but he felt like just laying in bed.

Of course, he wasn't sure why he felt so relaxed. Nothing had changed. He still didn't know what to do about Sheena, or even how he felt.

Well... that wasn't true, was it? In the heat of the battle, tried to protect Sheena. He didn't think about it, he never made that decision, he just assumed it was what he was going to do. Wasn't that enough? The situation wasn't as dire, but he also rushed to help Sechs when he collapsed. His friend.

His friends. Wouldn't he do the same for Teisel or Depth Charge?

He had friends. And he cared about them.

Unfortunately, as much as he would have like to lay in his bed and contemplate that epiphany, a nurse appeared to insist he not just lay about all day. Pushing himself up, his muscles and joints were complaining again, and after she checked the bandages on his back, he slowly put on a shirt and stood. The woman's disapproving clucking fell on deaf ears, and he yawned as she led him out to the cafeteria.

Of course, Sheena and Sechs... he probably still had that... thing in him, and Sheena looked worse after he saved her than she had before. His friends had problems. And they were his problems. It was definitely giving his mood a backdrop of unease, but he was still dealing with this shift in his world view, and his body was telling him to just relax and bask in the aftermath of a battle well fought. Right now it was hard to focus, let alone Still, he stopped by the bulletin to post two notes before moving on.

Finally, as his meandering thoughts evaporated again, he was handed a tray of food and set loose. He saw a girl with tatoos and injuries, and his mind vaguely recalled that he tried to talk to people like that. Mostly out of habit, he sat across from her and yawned again.

"...hi."

She wasn't adverse to others joining her--of the reverse, actually, as the Digimon would rather speak to others at this current point about the Institute than muse over things by herself. The one who did approach her was unfamiliar, though she had seen him from time to time. The markings and coloring reminded her almost of one who didn't belong in the body given--the awareness that the one in front of her was nothing like human only added to that.

Never one to pull words for sake of social graces, Renamon spoke. "Hello. I am Renamon." Introductions sated, she continued. "Would you mind if I asked what kind of being you were?" Had it became a simple curiosity, or was it truly that she believed it mattered? There was no possible way to find a pattern within the patients; at best, only from a small group, which could allow extremes to slip past her ken.

Forte was gradually waking up, and as Renamon introduced herself, the name pinged his memory slightly. He didn't know it, but...

He was distracted when he saw Yukari elsewhere in the cafeteria, and couldn't help but smirk as he saw another woman smash her head into the table. He had to wonder if they'd had trouble last night, or if Yukari was just being Yukari.

When Renamon asked him what he had been, he finally snapped to attention. Right, the tattoos. Probably not human. And she looked like she'd been in a fight, but wasn't particularly bothered by the injuries. Usually he was the one to ask about that. He sat up straight and replied proudly, "I'm Forte, Super Fighting Robot."

Now that he was paying attention, he caught up to where his brain had been heading. "And are you a Digimon? Like Beelzemon?"

[sorry for the delay! did you want to backthread, or leave it?]

...A super fighting robot? Hm. Perhaps he was something like Brainiac, or was something else altogether. Robot, however, spoke of computer programming, and Renamon's attention moved closer to the surface. Prompted more so when Forte continued speaking. Her eyes widened slightly, and then she offered a slight grin. "Yes. I am." It didn't seem like her companion had any compulsions to hide his own nature. It was Beelzemon, though. And even as Impmon, he had been only what he was.

...A complete trouble attractor, but....

She shook her head slightly, and wondered. "Are you an acquaintance of his?"

Forte took a bite of his french toast as Renamon replied. He needed the energy - even if the days weren't dangerous in themselves, he needed to stop his mind drifting and focus so he didn't waste time he could use productively. Like talking to a potential ally like Renamon.

"We teamed up a couple nights ago. We didn't find anything to fight, but we did find some tools to use as weapons. Are you a fighter?" It seemed like it from her demeanor, but it would better to make sure. And though Forte was a master of... not very many things, really, outside of combat. Subtlety definitely wasn't one of those things.

Didn't find anything to fight. It seemed like this one was in the same school of thought as Beelzemon. It was no surprise, of course. Digimon fought. But here a but more subtlety was required at times. But it would be good if the other Digimon had found another companion. Renamon had an inkling of how much Beelzemon had liked the friend he had lost, and it would be good for him to find more. He liked friends, needed them, despite what he had used to say.

"Yes, I am," she answered methodically, wondering if the other would ask further. "Have you been here long?"

Renamon was more calm and deliberate than Forte would have expected, but then, it made sense not all digimon would be the same. Other robots certainly didn't act like he did. But it was always nice to talk to someone that got straight to the point, and didn't mind when he did the same.

"I've been here a few weeks, but I lost some of that time recovering from injuries. I've only been able to find a few weapons," he glared across the room at Yukari again, as he remembered what had happened to sledgehammer he acquired just the night before, "but I think I've found the way to the basement."

Longer than most, it seemed, that Forte had been here. That was a surprise in itself--it seemed the Institute wasn't prone to holding people longer than a couple of weeks, in one way or the other. Though she would wonder. In this place injuries seemed to heal unnaturally fast. What kind of injury would take weeks to heal? A mortal wound, no doubt, but that, too, spoke of this one's resilience. Something to touch on perhaps.

As for the other part, Renamon considered. The basement was one of the areas left to explore in full. If Forte was planning on going down there anyway, it might be possible to inquire after his findings, as well as the other person she had spoken with on the board. "Through the kitchen, correct?"

Day 51: Breakfast

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject