damned_institute | Day 51: Breakfast

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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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Edgar smiled darkly at Guy's statement. Simply letting a madman run unopposed wasn't his style, and it was a comfort to find someone else who shared that sentiment. "We certainly won't. I know I, for one, will be taking advantage of all the resources available. Letting Landel go unchallenged as he tortures and brainwashes people, my allies or not? If I were to give up the fight, I might as well be dead."

He slipped his hand into his sling, retrieving his journal carefully and setting it on the table before turning to a blank page. He found his pen, uncapping it with his teeth. "And that's why I don't plan on giving up. Getting away from this place is important- there are people who depend on me back home- but even if I had the chance to leave this very instant, I don't think I could do it in good conscience. Not as long as Landel is in power."

Edgar was right; with all of the things that Landel left laying around for them to grab up, it would be a crime for them not to make use of all of it. All it took was an innovative mind, and the man clearly had that. Guy nodded in agreement, taking Edgar's severe words to heart. Giving up was as bad as death. He wanted to keep that in mind, for all of those times when it got particularly hard.

"He doesn't give us much time to catch our breath, but we need to keep going," he agreed. Languishing would just lead to a steady decline into complacency, and that was what Guy was most scared of. He didn't think he would succumb, though, especially not when he had his friends around to both motivate him and rely on him.

Though at the mention of home, Guy couldn't help but think of his trip back to Baticul. He almost wanted to tell Edgar about it (it didn't sound like he'd gotten back home the other night, despite being warped around to other places), but Guy still wasn't sure if it had been real or not. It didn't seem right to feed the man false information when it would either inspire him or depress him.

"But yeah, it's... hard to know. If I stumbled upon the device that would send us back home, it's not like I could just leave without all of my friends, and without helping everyone else." Landel had to pay too, as Edgar had said.

Despite his serious mindset, however, Guy couldn't help noticing that Edgar had taken out his journal. Was he going to draft up more plans, maybe? Scooting forward in his seat, he tried to get a better look.

One line, two lines, then another were scratched onto the paper as Edgar pulled the pen across the surface. "I agree," he said, drawing a long horizontal line. "We patients all share a common enemy, one who is taking people by force. I know for a fact some of the captives aren't trained for combat- how can they protect themselves?"

Another line appeared on the page, followed by a few scribbled pipes. He bit his lip as the pen shook, pushing pain from his mind. He had more important things to do. He took a deep breath, resuming both his line work and his train of thought: "Those are the ones I'd fear most leaving behind. They're not my people, but I still feel the need to help those who may not be able to help themselves. That's why I'm putting my strengths to work."

Edgar was drawing the blades now, nearly finished with his sketch. "Before we crossed the wall last night, Gren and I decided to take a look inside the shed in the courtyard." He grinned, already pleased with his new idea. "Tell me, Guy: do you know what a lawnmower is?"

It was difficult to tell what Edgar was drawing while he drew it, and so Guy gave up after a few seconds had passed, deciding to focus on the conversation for now. He was sure he'd get to see the sketch once it had been finished, and he was just going to have to employ some patience in the meantime.

"I'm pretty sure that some of the clubs here work to help those without combat training to get some help," he remarked, wanting to assuage some of the man's worries. At the same time, he could see where Edgar was coming from, and the fact that the man was so dedicated to helping out even those who he didn't know really spoke for his character. "I know what you mean, though. This place is bad enough for someone who knows how to use a sword. For those who don't..."

But Edgar seemed completely confident in his ability to take charge, almost as if he had some experience with all this. Which was completely possible, Guy realized. Maybe he'd saved his world, just as he'd helped Luke to save theirs. However, that train of thought was derailed when the man asked him a question. "Lawnmower...?" He'd been to the shed on the recreational field, but not the one in the courtyard. He didn't have a frame of reference. "I can't say I do... what is it?"

Edgar nodded as the conversation turned toward the clubs, drawing a figure at the bottom of the sheet. The truth of the matter was that he didn't entirely trust the club system- from what he'd seen, people contacted one another through the board, then set up tasks to accomplish during the night; the idea had merit, but he wasn't sure how much they actually accomplished. Celes had said those in her group had mostly disappeared- if she was their acting leader, it was possible they'd disbanded with her release.

His other concerns with the clubs would wait for later. He looked over his sketch another time, crossing out the area where his hand had jarred moments earlier. It was a mess, but it would do for an illustration.

"A lawnmower is a lovely machine with a rotating blade underneath a metal frame," he answered, remembering the discovery, the smell of grass and oil permeating every crevice of the shed. "There's a bar at the top, and appears that you push it along to cut grass when it gets too high. It's a clever design, really- it's a shame Figaro wouldn't have any use for it, being in a desert."

With a nod, Edgar set the paper on the table and slid it to Guy, making sure there weren't any nurses looking their way:

"As I don't intend to be cutting grass here, the composition needed a few... structural tweaks." He grinned slyly. "I've not yet decided what to do with the metal casing, but I'm sure I'll find a use for it by the time I've finalized this design. These metal poles for stability, two handles on the side- one of which will have the ignition cord attached- the engine mounted near the rotating blade, which spins at a high speed." He smirked- it was no chainsaw, but for something that would be constructed with the available resources, it would certainly be nasty.

At the description of the lawnmower, Guy tried to imagine what it might look like. He knew he could have gone to the shed in the courtyard himself to see, but they weren't allowed to access it during the day and he wasn't going to go there at night unless he had to for some other reason. Still, the name (and Edgar's handy explanation) made it pretty easy to figure out what the device was meant for, even if that wasn't what Edgar had in mind for it.

Pere would probably get some use out of a machine like that. Maybe Guy would mention it to the man once he made it back home. Even though he no longer lived with the gardener, he wouldn't mind dropping by for old time's sake.

When the journal was set down and extended toward him, though, Guy was out of his seat in an instant, leaning forward so he could examine the drawing closely as it was explained. He followed the scratchy lines with his eyes as Edgar went through it all. It all fell into place quickly, and before long Guy could see what it was meant for. The blade would spin at a high speed with the help of a motor and cut apart anything in its path. It was destructive, but the monsters here were dangerous enough to necessitate it.

"Looks gruesome," he said, smirking slightly as he fell back into his chair. "Where are you going to get the motor from? The lawnmower?" If Edgar ended up being able to utilize both the blade and the motor from that machine, then he'd really made a good find! Even though the man's first invention wasn't even completed yet, Guy was already excited to see this next one in action. It looked like it might be cumbersome to carry, but it would probably be worth the overall function.

"The lawnmower itself had one," Edgar answered as he collected the journal, returning it to his sling. "I believe I saw another machine in there with an engine on it, as well. I didn't get a good look, unfortunately, and I hadn't thought to bring my tool kit- an oversight I won't be making again, as those basic tools would have come in handy in several instances last night."

As tempting as it had been to stay in the shed a moment longer, they'd had to keep moving. They couldn't afford to waste the precious twilight hours. It was impossible to tell what challenges Landel would bring them on a nightly basis- the nights that were normal by comparison had to be savored.

"I'll be sure to take a closer look when I go back," he continued, watching the nurses over Guy's shoulder as they started to collect their wards, ushering them to the next shift. "It'll have to be at least a few nights from now, though. Even dismantled, those parts will take some effort to move, and I can't risk ruining my arm entirely. I learned my lesson from one night of trekking around without potions."

That shed sounded pretty useful, then -- more useful than the one in the recreational field, at least. The bat Guy had gotten from there hadn't lasted him all that long before he'd gotten a better upgrade, though he was pretty sure all the new patients ended up making a trip to that spot at one point or another. Unless they were really, really lucky. In any case, it was something he did make a mental note to check out, even though he wasn't sure when he'd get the chance.

"A tool kit sounds like it would definitely be something you wanted on hand, if you're looking to salvage parts." Which seemed to be Edgar's pattern in this place: he found useful machines, took them apart, and then combined the different parts into a brand new, more deadly contraption. It seemed to be working out pretty well for him so far.

Hearing that Edgar would be delayed by his wound made Guy wish even more so that he could be a help. He was in rather good health at the moment, so carrying some parts around wouldn't be a big deal at all. But it wasn't like Edgar's inventions could be shared around very easily, so it wouldn't be fair for Guy to give up the man power he provided to his friends simply because of his own disconnected interest in something.

"I hope you can get yourself healed up, then," he said with a smile, quietly dismissing his desire to tag along. The nurses were on their way to collect them, and Guy didn't need to be giving them any reason to get handsy with him, so he quickly stood from his seat and nodded to the other man. "Good luck, and I'm sure I'll talk to you again soon." They had struck up a sort of friendship, after all, and Guy certainly didn't want to let go of that if he could help it.

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Day 51: Breakfast

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