damned_institute | Day 51: Arts & Crafts (4th shift)

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Day 51: Arts & Crafts (4th shift)

There were very few activity shifts, Cloud was sure, that could possibly make him feel more like he was being treated like a child. He took a seat at one of the tables and blankly examined the materials set out before him. A pair of the dullest scissors he'd ever seen were labeled 'ages 3 and up'. It was good to know where the patients stood in this.

He wasn't much of an artist, and he ignored most of the paints and other drawing utensils in favor of a few sheets of colored paper and instructions on how to make origami. That sounded vaguely familiar. Didn't Yuffie have throwing weapons made out of paper at some point? It was something to do anyway, and thus Cloud began the process of crafting what ended up being very elaborate paper wads.

Sadly, his attempts to keep from dwelling on the subject of his missing friend failed when he realized this was something Aerith probably would have enjoyed greatly. Tonight, he and Yuffie would go out and try to accomplish... something. It was depressing to think there really might not be anything they could do, that they might all end up the same as the flower girl eventually.

[for a hopefully more optimistic materia thief]

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Gren shrugged a little. "Maybe they've got it around for some other purpose." What, he wasn't sure, but there was probably other uses for the stuff. Beading or braiding or something. He didn't generally spend much time thinking about yarn.

"Not a map, no," he replied, although it wouldn't be a bad idea to draw up a few at some point. He drew a vertical line on the left side of one of the groups of lines and added in a swirling treble cleft. "Sheet music. I'm pretty sure they're not going to give me any, so I might as well make my own."

Tenzen said nothing of the nickname the jovial man provided his acquaintance with, or the response to it. Suppressing the urge to provide Tenzen with a nickname, however, had been a wise choice on Gant's part.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance indeed, von Karma-san, Gant-san," he said, offering both a small yet obligatory nod of his head when he spoke their obviously foreign names, mostly for the sake of those damned pleasantries. It was not how the ninja usually dealt with people, but considering these two were strangers in the same sort of situation, there was no need to necessarily antagonize them by seeming 'impolite'. Especially not when they could be useful pieces to him, if he so desired.

These men obviously knew one another already, possibly even from before this nonsensical institute, placing Tenzen at a small disadvantage.

Cute, but mopey. Again, Donna'd seen much worse, and in this place anyone would have good reason to be depressed. Not just for the situation, but for the fact that they were sticking full grown men and women in a bloody craft room.

"Think I know someone who could, if he'd show himself," Donna decided, wondering again just how hard it was supposed to be to find one flippy-haired man in this place, "Though... I suppose if you can make anything from this stuff, that's accomplishment enough. Frogs or otherwise."

She grinned at the little jump the paper frog made then had a seat beside the man. "Here, let's see if I can't make one." And if she couldn't, someone could show her. She grabbed a sheet of paper for herself, ignoring the directions completely, before starting to fold. "Used to be able to make one of those little swans back in school."

"Lunge." Mello gave him a nod in return, several degrees warmer than it would have been for most people. Matt and L knew what Mello had been through, but they couldn't possibly get it the way Lunge did, couldn't share the urgent need to fix this.

His frustration flared again at the question, and he tried not to betray it in his expression. He hadn't made satisfactory progress. Initial contact with a handful of people working on the same problem was all he had to show for several days' efforts. It wasn't enough, and right now, he felt sure the others wouldn't have managed to discover any more than he had. The answers simply didn't exist.

He'd fought against the hopelessness that told him there was no solution in every rational way he could, had started to try a few irrational ones, too. He'd simply have to fake it until he found a way to believe again.

"Some," he replied, which wasn't entirely untrue. "I'd have made more if this place hadn't decided to impersonate an Escher drawing. I'm meeting with the man you suggested later, and I've noted some others with a personal interest in the matter."

Matt would just have to deal with the change of plans. Maybe that ring would come in useful after all. It would necessitate a detour tonight, but would make things much faster in future. Mello idly drew a jagged line to nowhere on the calligraphy paper. Planning that far in advance had been unthinkable only a few days ago. Was it surrender that he was doing it now, or simply realism? He made a straight, thick penstroke off the edge of the page, and looked back up at Lunge. "How about you?"

"Hmph." von Karma shook his head then waggled a finger at the police chief. "You underestimate me, as usual, Gant. I do indeed know how to have 'fun.' However, my idea of 'fun' doesn't entail pointless nonsense such as this. What does it accomplish? Nothing!" It was true. Unless the activity involved competition or a record to best, von Karma could derive no entertainment from it. And the prospect of holding a contest of who could create a masterpiece out of crayons and bits of yarn in the least amount of time was utterly ludicrous.

His steely, piercing gaze studied Gant as the buffoon fidgeted with a scrap of paper. Of course, he would choose his favorite color. Orange. Such a garish color that never matched anything, especially those purple lenses that he usually wore. Though he would never admit this aloud, von Karma grudgingly commended the nurses for confiscating those hideous spectacles from Gant.

He saw no need to verbally dignify Gant's remark about his being a "stick in the mud" nor the continued use of that foolish nickname. However, he couldn't help smirking a little as the buffoon made the pretense of a cough while addressing Mr. Tenzen. "Tsk tsk tsk, Gant. Caught that little cold that's been going around the Institute?" Then he turned his attention back to the younger man, returning the cordial nod. "You have to forgive my associate here, Mr. Tenzen. Among us all, he's the one who most belongs in a snake pit like this." A mirthless twinkle shone in his eyes.

Why, yes of course, von Karma knew how to have fun. TAKE THAT, Gant!

Again? Their environment was a much different place when the sun was up, as opposed to when they could pick up their weapons and interact as they wanted during the night--Yomi was restrained to behaving herself and letting the eye of the collective staff slide over her without seeing a reason to linger. She just couldn’t have her way with him, meeting in the light like this.

That wasn’t precisely true, but there were certainly more restrictions.

"Go ahead," Yomi granted as she resumed work on the paper, the invitation coming easy. Her tone took on an edge of teasing suggestion. "You need me for something?"

Remnants of her surprise faded to a blank wall, and Ange watched him begin to mix pigments. Given the colors he had chosen, he appeared to be starting on her face (or a really light shade of her hair). If what he had said was true and that this was his first time, she shouldn't expect much of a replication; however, the young woman was partly curious as to what he saw in her and how he might duplicate it. As long as she did not anticipate a certain result, anything he made might be interesting in its own way.

This, she decided, was slightly better than simply watching him paint. He was wise to ask.

When he brought up the topic of introductions, Ange blinked rapidly, realizing she, too, had failed to ask for names. It didn't really matter in her honest opinion, but if she was to be a portrait's subject, she might as well tell him who she is, no? Or at least that fake identity. "Ah," she started. "It's Greta."

The 'enthusiastic' mix of questions and statements might have unnerved the teenager another time. Thanks to a combination of previous conversations, however, Tear managed to understand the basic gist of what came out of Anise's mouth. More surprisingly, she was able to give her answer almost immediately. It was no easy task when she was still reeling from other things.

"I just got here this morning," explained Tear, voice calm and steady. "Luke and Guy told me what I needed to know." She finally sighed. Anise must have had enough to worry about if her reaction was of any indication. "I'm glad to see you're all right."

Well, mostly "all right". The bandage didn't escape Tear's sight, but she figured it would be best to leave it out of the conversation unless otherwise prompted. First, they had to get the basics settled.

The barrage of questions might have overwhelmed the average new patient, but Tear was as cool and collected as ever. That was the soldier Anise knew! The familiarity of her demeanor was kind of comforting, in a way. As Tear spoke, Anise's face lit up with a smile.

"Naturally!" she chirped in response to Tear's comment about her. Anise had been doing a good job of staying out of trouble! ...Most of the time. "Ehe, and I'm glad we caught you before nighttime. Luke and Guy told you all about that, right?" If they had, then Tear wouldn't have to guess at what 'that' referred to.

Though the girl was still excited, she remembered the books in front of her, and picked one of them up again. As she skimmed the pages for interesting-looking crafts, she seemed to suddenly remember something else important, and looked back up at Tear. "Oh! Did you see the bulletin board yet?"

Cloud didn't really trust those rings at all, not after what had gone on over the intercoms the night before. What was there to return to, anyway? The second floor? Sure, it had taken them time to get up to that level in the past, and perhaps starting off there would allow them to get further than usual, but where else was there for them to go up there that someone else hadn't already been to? Not to mention that if they wanted to go outside, that would put them even further away from their goal.

At the same time, he felt bad wanting to deny Yuffie the use of the ring when it had been given to her. He picked up his little origami mishap and smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, sure. A flea." With a flick of one finger, he sent it 'hopping' in the girl's direction. It even kind of hopped like one if you didn't count how far short it fell of its target.

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Outside is probably our best bet as far as finding anything new. Everything else will have been scoured over by other patients hundreds of times before." Maybe not the basement, not completely, but like Yuffie said - Zack already had that covered. Even the outside wasn't going to be a sure bet, seeing how easily they were allowed to get there, but he couldn't think of any routes that would be better.

It had started out as such a good day.

But if Boone wasn't really Boone, then...oh god, she didn't even know what to think anymore. What was this place? Monsters? Eyeballs that floated in the air? The walking undead, munching on french fries?

Her head was spinning. Claire knew she needed to focus on what was important. That was getting back to Aaron and getting the hell away from whatever this was. Yet it was impossible to ignore the strangeness of it all. Even with her experiences on the island, this was qualifying as bizarre. She took a steadying breath. She would find Boone again and wrestle the truth out of him. If he wasn't lying and he wasn't Boone after all, then...he wasn't her concern, was he? Just someone to avoid, unless he wanted to be useful.

In the meantime, she was beginning to hate this mental hospital facade they were putting on. Arts and Crafts was for summer camps and kids eight and under. She wasn't interested in origami, or glitter and paints. She'd been quite good at knitting at one point in her life, but a look around the room told her she wouldn't find anything like that here.

Still. The man on the intercom had said good patients would get sewing materials next time this shift came. There was some promise in that. It would be great for stitching herself back up again, but she might be able to make something for Aaron. Claire smiled. A pair of booties, maybe. Or some gloves. He might like that.

She quietly drifted into a seat, drifting off into her folded arms. She couldn't wait to see him again. Her little boy.

[For Elle Bitchop.]

A patio, huh? Peter didn't think that he had been up there, but he also hadn't been to any kitchen on the second floor, so that would probably explain it. He'd seen a lot more of the first floor during his time here, though he'd been wandering around upstairs a little more lately. First there had been the hallway that fed into the experimentation rooms, and then the storage rooms that Hanatarou had taken him to. Hopefully the patio would be marked on Claire's map and he would have an idea of where it was.

Not that Peter was convinced that it was that easy, though. If it was just a matter of climbing up (which wasn't exactly a walk in the park, and he knew that), then someone would have managed it by now. Unless everyone was keeping it to themselves, he would have heard something, right?

He wasn't going to be a stick in the mud about it, though. Maybe it was possible. Maybe it just took the right pair of people, the right time, the right determination. "Bad timing," he said sympathetically, frowning over at the other patient. "You think you'll be trying again?"

As he watched the sketch of the cat evolve, Peter couldn't help being curious about what had inspired Abe to draw that of all things. It could just be an idle doodle (it was way more impressive than just a doodle, though), but it could be something else. "So, why a cat? Is it because of those ones in the Sun Room, or...?"

The paper flea-thing hopped at Cloud's urging, before flopping pathetically. "I feel kinda sorry for it," Yuffie said, staring wide-eyed. She leaned over to poked it once or twice, before snatching it off the table and dropping it lightly onto her chocobo's back. Maybe she should keep it? To mock Cloud with at every opportunity, and, if nothing else, to use as an impromptu cat-toy…

"Couple of hundred, and then some," Yuffie agreed, sighing dramatically. "I can't believe it, Cloud. Even I'm running out of things to poke my nose into." It was a concern she'd been turning over and over in her mind for days now; whether she was losing her touch, and her drive to get out and do. Like that'd ever happen, she told herself. Totally laughable.

"There's gotta be something out there," she mused, fixing up the moogle's pom-pom and wings. "Other than zombies, a ghost town, a creepy mine, and a lake with a beach full of skeletons. The dudes from the radio, maybe? Treasure? … Horrifying monsters, too, but that's a given. A sucky given." Getting out there was easy, but actually getting somewhere was a different matter. Maybe it was weird of her, or naïve, but the prospect of hard work gave her hope.

"Ooh! So you're a musician? That's really neato. What instruments do you play?" Now Carter could see what the lines were, it hadn't been as clear without the...swirly music thing at the beginning. Carter wasn't as good at music as he was at explosions.

Carter took a seat, the yarn in his hand forgotten, and pondered the concept of future musical instruments. They could be played by computers or robots or something and would have a hundred buttons and sound like...the future. Beeping, maybe.

If they sounded like rock and metal musics Carter wasn't sure he was fond of the idea.

Shy, but not very cautious. That was fine.

"It must be difficult for a young girl especially, to be trapped in a place like this. Doing what you can for yourself and your cousin isn't silly." He replied, smiling warmly. Homesickness wasn't a feeling he was acquainted with, but like most feelings he understood the mechanics well enough to use them.

"Would you mind some company? I wanted to see what this room was like but apparently I'll have to remain here for the rest of the shift... and this isn't the sort of needlework I'm accustomed to."

"More that I simply wanted to draw something peaceful. It's been a very stressful couple of days for me." Abe's pencil gracefully swiped across the paper, drawing in the sinuous lines of the cat's legs. "A friend of mine used to keep a lot of cats, this was one of them." Not that he was basing it on the cats, that it was one of them. Abe had a very strong mind when it came to recognition and recall, it was the emotional and social graces where he began to break down.

Would he try again? Who knew. Maybe he'd simply go sit naked under the shower all night or seek out the lake he'd heard about, get more water into his human skin. Stress relief, perhaps. This place seemed geared to drive anyone with a soul completely mad.

He'd spent the day quietly. After the disaster of last night's World Meeting, Japan had spent a good portion of his day in bed nursing a stomachache. America had been America, Russia was scarier than the last time they'd met, and overall not much of anything had been accomplished. Japan was certain Germany's stomach was feeling much the same and had opted to stay in and have a quiet day, using the excuse that he wasn't feeling well enough to join the convention today. His nurse had given him a strange look, but had left him alone until the later part of the day. He'd taken his meals in his room and had been puttering about when an unexpected visit from the nurse had destroyed his excuse.

She'd promptly kicked him out of his room and shoved him into the Sun Room to be social.

Japan just as quickly left that and found refuge in the Arts and Crafts room. It was crowded and Japan swore he saw a Cloud cosplayer that would need to be stalked later once he found his camera again, but it was an otherwise pleasant room. There were several things he could use to create this or that - glue, glitter, scissors, all sorts of things - but none of that seemed like something he wanted to do right now. Painting was more Italy's thing anyway. For now, he collected a few sheets of paper and settled down into an unobtrusive corner. If there was one thing he could do, it was this.

Pulling one sheet in front of him, he started to fold the corners up, pressing the lines carefully and thoroughly to crease. It didn't take long before he had the basic shape and soon after that he began to create the more complicated shapes and angles. It wouldn't be quite the same as having the real thing, but he supposed the challenge of making a paper Playstation 3 with wireless controllers was enough.

[Waiting for his German bro.]

Once the nurse finally left him alone once more, Yuusei took silent inventory of the items he'd been given to work with, his expression flat and vaguely incredulous. She'd seemed perfectly sincere about this activity, which only made Yuusei resent her just a bit more. The fact of the matter was that Yuusei was no artist - the multitude of diagrams for various machines he'd drawn in the past aside - and even though he'd periodically play with the kids back at Martha's and draw a tree here and there when it was demanded of him, Yuusei had never had much of an interest beyond that.

Still, he was grateful to finally have something to do with his hands, and even if none of the materials provided would be of any real use to him in the long run, it was enough to keep him occupied for the next few minutes. Sliding the crayons and colored pencils aside, Yuusei opted for the small stack of origami paper. This was something he knew how to do, albeit not terribly well; he was curious to see how much he actually remembered, however, and so he set about trying to fold a very simple dragon.

[ Neku! ]

There were a lot of things Soma hated about her nurse, but the patronizing way she looked at her had to be the worst of all. She despised being treated like a child who didn't know any better, and at the moment the nurse seemed to be pulling out all the stops. As if sitting in a room cutting things up and pasting them together would improve her mental state in any way whatsoever!

Still, the tone the nurse used with her brooked no argument, and Soma knew what would happen if she argued. She followed the woman into the Arts and Crafts room with a faintly sullen air, taking a seat and picking up a small square of paper before looking around for some chance of rescue. There was Senna, sitting with Meche, and Soma almost went over before deciding against it. Right now, Meche would probably be more help to Senna than Soma could be. She turned back to the paper.

Origami. Soma was hardly in the habit of doing it, but you never really forgot how, did you? She began: neat, painfully precise creases in the paper, not quite remembering where she'd learned to fold the crane that was slowly emerging under her fingertips. Perhaps she'd learned at the institute, or maybe one of the other soldiers had taught her. It didn't really matter. She had to admit there was something a little bit relaxing about the whole process.

[free, no limit]

As Japan surmised, Germany's stomach was not doing very well. The discussion with Prussia had strained him, and the talk with Sora had made him feel better in some ways, but worse in others. He could in fact be happy that there was new information to process and he now had more to work with when it came to the nurses and the challenges facing them. But the knowledge that others had tried and failed so badly sat like a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. Was there nothing that could be done? No, he couldn't accept this idea. They had to be able to do this. There had to be some way.

Staying in the sun room was not going to help him think. There were too many people there, and he didn't need any more distractions. Which meant that he made his way into the Arts & Crafts room instead. Sadly, his initial survey didn't do much to give him hope. The supplies were practically for children- no real possibility for improvised weapons or anything of that nature. Everything was too flimsy, too delicate- clearly, the staff knew better than to leave any potential weapons within easy reach.

However, searching around did give him the opportunity to speak with someone he actually wished to. Even if he didn't recognize Japan from his straight hair and dull eyes, the fact that he seemed to be intent upon making some game console or another out of paper betrayed Japan for who he was. After making sure of his initial reconnaissance, he approached the other nation, instinctively inclining his head as a greeting. "Er, may I sit with you? I wanted to apologize for last night."

"You."

Kenshin stopped his folding, stopped his smiling, stopped everything. The absent-minded rurouni completely vanished and a warrior sat in his place, sharp and suspicious and ready to act if given motivation. It was the madwoman from that night, the one who had thrown Kenshin off of the second-floor balcony to dispose of him and then killed his young companion, Shito, in cold blood. Kenshin's fists clenched underneath the table. One more that he hadn't been able to save, and the murderess--the stark reminder of his failure--sitting right in front of him. Sneering.

"What do you want?" he asked, deceptively calm (though lacking his usual politeness). "You've been quiet these last few days. This one had thought that we were finally rid of a killer, but apparently that is not the case."

Japan had been contemplating whether or not he should try to miniaturize the console itself or spend his time working on putting together different colors for the controllers. It was a difficult choice really. The success of smaller consoles was undeniable, but his nation's desire for limited edition colors was also a driving force of his economy. There were different colors of paper and even pens and markers to draw designs onto the controllers and the console itself. Now if only...

...they were real.

He sighed as he put the finishing touches on the console and began working on the first of the controllers. There was something nostalgic about working with paper again, but Japan missed the feel and the sense of accomplishment that came from working with real materials. It just wasn't the same. While he himself wasn't at the helm for most of the recent production, he still liked to dabble in things from time to time - drawing, design, putting together the models. It was unfortunate that now he had nothing to really work with here.

Another fold in the paper and then Japan realized someone was standing next to him. It wasn't until said person spoke that Japan realized the intruder into his personal space was someone he knew. That didn't make his sudden appearance any better and Japan jumped, dropping what he was working on as he turned to see who it was. Tall, blond, still as young as ever although with a definite fatigue around the eyes.

"Germany-san? Ah...please. Have a seat." Japan stood and motioned toward the chair beside him, bowing in return. "There is no need for apologies. I am the one who reacted poorly to Russia-san's presence and for that I offer my sincerest regrets at worsening the situation."

It wasn't long before there was someone sitting at his table. He was young and scrawny and didn't look like much, save for the angry glares he was casting at the table.

"Good afternoon," he said, friendly smile painted on his lips. He added a couple of purple rhinestones to the biggest clay figure, giving it a pair of sparkling and oddly round eyes. It stood watch over the other mangled clay figures, smiling and saying nothing of the carnage before it.

"My name is Ivan Braginski," he offered, extending a hand in greeting.

The movement at her side revealed itself as wanted--Senna breaking into a wide smile at the sight of her friend. Despite the day, Meche was still something so reassuring by herself. "Hey," she greeted warmly. "I can't say much for the clay. It's not liking me too much."

Crafts in general today weren't working out too well. Though earlier was from everything leftover from breakfast. Hokuto crying like that, and.... The build-up had been worse, Senna decided. Had made everything worse. The smile faded, and her eyes flicked down to the clay, the nail of her thumb carving down-turned eyes. "Hey, I... I gotta tell you something, okay?" The girl's eyes glanced up. "And sorry to hit you with stuff right away, but." Her mouth twisted. "Alita's gone."

She glanced shyly down at the table once more, a little taken off-guard by how kind and understanding he seemed to be. It wasn't uncommon to run into nice people here, no one really deserved to be in this place, but there were always a handful of people who were extra nice (and some that were extra mean too). She responded to his smile with a small one of her own.

"Ah-! It's no trouble at all, please go ahead!" she said quickly, pulling her ribbons and thread toward her and giving the man more space on the table.

"I'm Sohma Kagura, but... Kagura is fine. It's nice to meet you," she offered, a curious look crossing her face, "I... I'm sorry. Needlework? Do you sew too?"

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Page 5 of 9

Day 51: Arts & Crafts (4th shift)

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