Day 51: Arts & Crafts (4th shift)

[notthistrain.livejournal.com]

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]

Comments

[shorttank.livejournal.com]

It seemed far more likely to Leela that the nurses were brain-slug victims or robots than that they were the actual kidnappers in question. She forbore to offer those particular theories so early in the conversation.

"Oh, I'm not much of an artist, but it makes Betty think I'm trying." Enough so that she had retreated to wait with the other nurses, thank goodness. "Did you just get here?" She didn't remember having seen this girl around before. "I don't think the nurses really know anything." There was something weird and not entirely natural about their ignorance, and she wasn't about to rule out mind control any time soon.

[windstwilight.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, you're right." She managed a smile. "We'll look out for her. No one else is going to go missing if we all watch out for each other." Which bordered on a want to say an apology, but right now. She didn't know if she could. And she knew that Meche might just wave it off, say she had nothing to apologize for. So Senna would apologize in her heart, and work to make it not just empty words. I'm sorry I've been a bad friend. I'll be better. I'll protect you guys.

And as if to underline that, that was brought up. She poked a finger into her clay, mouth twisting in thought. "Sora's a reliable guy, I think," she started. "He's been around with A&C longer than I have, and signed up about every day. And he's always been helpful and wanting to check up on people. He'd be good for it."

[doctorbadtouch.livejournal.com]

"Ah, I see. I apologize. I misinterpreted." He inclined his head briefly, expression mild, if not particularly contrite. "It's good that you and Rit-chan have eachother here."

He paused, his expression thoughtful. "If it's not too forward, I may have to take you up on that. There's a boy here, Ritsuka, who was a former patient of mine. He's lost a lot of friends recently. If you see him... I think it would be good for him to talk to someone close to his own age."

[ofyulia.livejournal.com]

That was unfortunate; another means of communication would help keep avenues open in the event one became unavailable. From the sound of it, however, the patients' resourceful use of the bulletin was keeping the board from being taken down. Codes could be a headache to decipher, but as long as they worked, she supposed she could be content with what was available.

"I see," replied Tear. Her eyes remained fixed on the decorative paper Anise was sorting through. She couldn't help herself: some of the patterns were attractive to look at. Of course, she still had no clue as to their use, but now was hardly the time to wonder about that.

Especially as Anise continued. Tear was surprised to hear the Abyssman code names being their group's signature way to communicate, but upon further consideration, it made sense. As silly as the names were, it would only be comprehensible to them. "I'll watch for them," she affirmed. "Though, I still can't believe Sync is alive." And here, of all places. "He hasn't been interfering, has he?"

[osoreirimasu.livejournal.com]

His companion was quiet as always and Japan worked diligently at his papercrafts. It was soothing, to work with his hands again. Despite his age, he was lucky enough that arthritis hadn't set in and so he enjoyed taking up origami every so often. It was a craft his country could be proud of.

Despite the distraction of the paper at his fingertips, Japan sensed Germany's frustration and lowered his eyes. He hadn't meant for his words to cause his friend any distress. Perhaps this situation was more delicate than he previously thought. An appropriate response had to be here somewhere and all Japan had to do was--

"Cosplayer?" Germany's voice broke through the mild onset of panic and brought Japan back to reality. Here was a nice change of topic, one that he could explain very well.

"Costume play - the act of dressing like a character from a form of media, often a Japanese media like our anime, manga or video games. Originally the concept was to not only dress, but act as the character did and interact with others. Now it is more for the sake of photographs and conventions." Japan turned the paper controller over in his hands and pushed the corners, puffing it out to finish it. He smiled faintly and inspected his handiwork. "It is admirable that some still hold to the original concept, especially here in America-san's home."

[gald_digger]

In the pile of paper, Anise selected a golden yellow colored one, spotted with bright orange flowers. That would be good for making a duck, right? Anise set the others back in the center of the table and laid out her selection next to the open book, looking to the page for folding instructions.

Tear's comment about Sync made her pause just after her first fold, however. She couldn't believe he was alive? That meant she was either way behind Anise, or way ahead. Anise knew she ought to answer Tear's question before asking any of her own, though.

"Uh... interfering is one way of putting it," she answered somewhat delicately, her grin turning weary. "Since he doesn't really have a boss or a main goal here, I think he's made 'messing with everyone' his new goal. That creep's done a lot of damage." That last statement came out in a grumbling tone. Anise wasn't sure if she should give Tear the full story of everything that had happened with Sync's schemes when she had so much she needed to absorb already, but at the very least, she was going to make it very clear how big of a threat the God-General was.

"Hey, Tear?" This was probably a good time for Anise to ask her own question. She wanted to know what she could expect Tear to know. "What's the last thing you remember? Before you wound up here, I mean."

[neuepolitik.livejournal.com]

"Ah..." Costume play... Ludwig had been informed that some of Japan's citizens tended to dress in... rather odd manners. And of course, he had seen some of them as well; 'theme restaurants' were popular in Japan's home, and some of them appealed to Ludwig's sensibilities. However, being far too serious and hard-working to indulge in much leisure, he had no idea exactly which characters were supposed to be what. And, considering how a good half of them were large-bosomed maids or catgirls, he'd given up trying to figure it out.

No, what baffled him was the implication of that statement. Did Japan believe that the people around him were cosplaying? It earned a baffled look from Ludwig- once more, he found himself utterly baffled by his friend's mindset, and while he tried to remain open-minded, this was an experience that was far, far beyond him. Especially since there were one or two key problems with it.

"Er... but I don't see any costumes..." They all wore the same gray uniforms, after all. And if they were pretending to be other people, then perhaps it was less 'cosplay' and more 'delusional behavior.' So he clearly needed some additional information on the matter. "Who do they pretend to be... wait. We're certainly in America's home?"

[gamingsostfu.livejournal.com]

Matt just nodded, understanding what Ivan meant perfectly. He had no personal experience with drugs himself, but he'd known others who did; they'd told him stories, things about aftereffects and side-effects, and it was obvious that they were all different.

The Russian's question amused him, because he would have thought that his purpose for asking such questions would have been easy to deduce, no matter your intelligence level. There was a slight upturn of the right side of Matt's lips; it wasn't much of a smile, but it was all he allowed himself to convey of his amusement. Watching Ivan with the clump of clay that no longer resembled a human body, it dawned on the brunet that he might need to pay closer attention to the other man's mood. He didn't seem the type who would choose to hold himself back, should he lose his temper.

"Well," he started to reply, shifting in his seat to get more comfortable. "It doesn't really seem like getting out is helping anyone. It makes sense to look at this from a whole new angle - and my first attempt at finding a new way to view the problem is try to figure out how they got us in. Maybe it'll lead to finding a way out." There honestly wasn't much chance of his plan being successful, but Matt was trying to get himself accustomed to making shit up as he went along. It was proving difficult.

[ofyulia.livejournal.com]

It took no effort for Tear to understand: Sync had more than interfered. His very presence had caused enough trouble for the God-General to be labeled as a viable threat. Though, the fact shouldn't really surprise her at this point. If there was one constant to stick to, it was that there would always be someone under Van's command getting in their way. She would just need to take that into account, on top of everything else.

Before she could properly vent out the building frustrations with a sigh, Anise brought up a question of her own. Its nature took the Melodist aback, but she eventually agreed on the logic. She canted her head slightly--a contemplative move--and then answered, "We had stayed in Belkend for the night, and--"

Here, unlike the previous time, Tear hesitated. The others hadn't really known about her intentions, but Luke had reacted well to her reveal. In fact, he hadn't questioned it. This, however, did not necessarily mean Anise would feel the same. "--I boarded the ship to Ortion Cavern with the fonimin gathering team."

[fixedpointintime]

Jack was not against comparing the Doctor to a rat, but in his opinion the resemblance wasn't physical. No, not by a long shot. Donna liked him, though, whatever she might have occasionally said to the contrary - Jack remembered that much. Everyone always liked him, and if they ever realized the truth, it was usually too late for them to get out.

The paper in his hands was crumpled beyond repair now. "Rat," he repeated. "Absolutely. Tell me... how furious is he to be stuck in these clothes? Not a pinstripe or a tucked pleat to be found." It would be lovely if he could get his jaw to unclench.

aaaaaaaaaah this took indecently long ;A; *begs for forgiveness*

[savagesolitude.livejournal.com]

Thoughts of Aaron flew out the window when she heard that voice. Claire startled and glanced up with a silent prayer that this was not who she thought it was.

Sadly, she was right.

Claire glowered as her nameless roommate invited herself to the table, slipping into the seat next to her and drawling at her with the same condescending crap she'd given her last night. She wasn't being cruel outright, but the intent was hidden in there. There were always sly girls like this. You knew them growing up, in school, in college, at work, wherever you went. They never had anything nice to say. Even when it sounded like something sweet, there was always a sour layer hidden beneath. Her roommate was playing that part to a tee. Until she gave her a reason to think otherwise, Claire was writing her off as a bully.

"What's the point?" Claire rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to pretend like this is summer camp and sit here making stupid crafts. It's a waste of time."

[planetarial.livejournal.com]

[ so sorry for the delay! ]

He was missing a step, he knew. Or he'd taken one too many; the dragon was more so resembling a rather eccentric bird than what it needed to be, and Yuusei wasn't sure if it was worth backtracking or starting over entirely. Frowning slightly, he unfolded and flattened the paper with a few deft movements and tried to work out the steps in his head before trying again. Square, diamond, petal, then what? It was great for busywork, which was pretty much all he could really expect to get at the moment, but it had the added effect of making him think about home; of days spent in the hideout and Rally's fruitless attempts at teaching him the art, only to wonder why Yuusei, a technical genius, could make anything as long as it didn't involve folding paper. They'd both thought it funny at the time.

It was a strange thing to remember, all things considered, but thinking of Rally and everyone else only made Yuusei more eager to find his way back. What was going on at home, anyway? At this point, he figured he'd been gone a full day already, and considering the unusual circumstances of his disappearance, it had to be causing a bit of an uproar. He could only hope his friends wouldn't be negatively impacted by his disappearance; even though he'd already met the conditions for their freedom, Yuusei wasn't willing to trust Godwin that easily. The fact that neither the man, nor any of his subordinates, for that matter, had tracked his marker was odd enough already-- had he managed to end up outside of Godwin's vast sphere of influence? Like everything else, it didn't make sense, and if Yuusei had been in a different frame of mind, he knew he would have better appreciated the irony in actually wanting to be found, for once.

The sound of someone approaching was enough to jolt him out of his thoughts and make him realize that he'd been staring at the table, blankly, for the last five minutes or so. Yuusei sighed and blinked some of the dryness out of his eyes, glancing up just long enough to see someone - maybe a kid, from the looks of things - stop at his table and slide into a seat on the other side of him with a casual greeting. "Hey," he replied quietly, taking a good look at the other patient. He was straight from the showers, if the wet hair was indicative of anything, but what caught Yuusei's eye immediately was the rather large set of headphones he wore. He hadn't noticed any of the other patients carrying around personal items. Curious, Yuusei reached for another sheet of paper from the pile in front of him and, instead of repeating the earlier process, began to fold it aimlessly, turning it over and over between his fingers. "... I'm surprised they let you keep those," he said offhandedly, without looking up.

[composers-proxy.livejournal.com]

Seemed like every other person asked him about his headphones. In Shibuya, it wasn't such a big deal. It kept the undesirables from talking to him (okay so it kept just about everyone from talking to him) and it was a fashion statement in its own way. But here? If people kept bringing it up, he was going to start worrying about someone jacking 'em when he wasn't looking.

Maybe it was weird, but he'd never had much trouble hearing people, despite the headphones. Filtering out the sound of a voice from the sound of a heavy beat and the latest pop just hadn't ever been all that difficult. Maybe that was why in the UG, his powers were... kind of similar. Picking out thoughts from the static, the noise of everyone talking and thinking all at once. Whatever the reason, even if the other kid's face wasn't to him, he didn't have a problem hearing the comment as he sat down, not at all sure what to do with the guy sitting next to him or the glitter and paper and paints on the table.

"Guess I'm just a special snowflake," he said with a hint of sarcasm, his eyes flicking to the paper that the other was folding. It didn't really look like much of anything.

"Neku Sakuraba," he said after a moment, fiddling with the paper and paints in front of him. Black was always a good start. Unfortunately, with the watercolor children's paints in front of him, all he could get was a muddled gray. Great. He couldn't even paint Emo right. Then again, emo was kind of like watered down goth. Maybe the color was fitting. He frowned slightly, leaving a few dark grey streaks across the paper.

[gald_digger]

At first, the look on Anise's face was somewhat puzzled at Tear's response. For a moment, she had to stop and think about just when that had happened. When it clicked, her eyes widened and she took on a more surprised look.

"Whoa... that's pretty far behind!" What all had happened between then and the point that Anise last remembered? Ion's death... that came to mind immediately. And with it, there was Tear's cure. If Landel was able to manipulate time, rather than just erasing memories, then did that mean that Tear was sick again? It couldn't be... right? After everything they'd been through, and what Ion had sacrificed, it just seemed too cruel.

"Um... did the others mention how all of us remember different things? My last memories are few months ahead of yours, and some of the others are years ahead!" Anise was used to being the farthest behind, so it was weird to think Tear remembered even less than she did.

[planetarial.livejournal.com]

The sarcasm didn't faze him, because for all Yuusei knew, there might be a note of truth to that. He'd only half expected the guy to hear him anyway and was mildly surprised he that did, since Yuusei assumed the things were operational and not there just for show. Although fashion was not something he'd ever paid attention to in the least - that was much more Jack's department - he thought pf headphones as an odd choice for an accessory in a general sense, but Yuusei had always tended to think more in terms of function and not style. Shrugging one shoulder in acknowledgment, but not willing to pursue the subject further for now, Yuusei let the statement hang.

In truth he was still a little bothered by his inability to recall the proper sequence of folds for a simple dragon design, but went ahead and formed the paper he was handling into a crane in the meantime, setting it aside and picking up another piece, starting over.

Yuusei didn't think the kid would offer his name, family and given, no less, and though he generally didn't offer his unless directly asked, he didn't have much of a reason not to return the gesture. "Yuusei Fudou," he replied easily, pausing and looking up as Neku set to work with the paints. Already, he didn't seem pleased with how whatever he was painting was coming along, but Yuusei couldn't tell what he meant it to be, if anything. "Where are you from?" He asked, idly curious. Most of the people he'd encountered so far had names that sounded foreign, and though that was by no means uncommon where he came from, it didn't really help him to place the Institute's possible location.

I FORGIVE YOU ;_; so did this tag as you can see

[highvoltagegirl.livejournal.com]

"It is." Her tone changed completely, going from cheerful-perky-helpful Elle to annoyed-and-possibly-bored Elle in five seconds flat. She picked up a piece of paper on the table and started folding it at awkward angles. She had a vague memory of Kaito Nakamura teaching her to fold a crane once-- or maybe she just dreamt it. That seemed more likely. Regardless, anything she learned in that brief and questionably imaginary lesson was gone now, and it showed. Frustrated, Elle crumpled her hard work up into a ball and tossed it across the room. She didn't watch where it landed, choosing to pay attention to Claire instead, but she the vindictive part of her hoped it would hit someone in the general head area.

After that brief, momentary reprieve, she continued talking. "No, it is. It totally is. This is bullshit. So, you know what the solution is, right?" She leaned in close, trying to close the gap between them. Her tone was low, conspiratorial. "We have to find a different way to have fun. You'd like that, right? Or do you just wanna sit in here and stare at the wall until dinner?"

[herr-inspektor.livejournal.com]

Lunge's eyes flickered and he tilted his head, interested. There was an curious point- one he hadn't considered fully, at least. He'd so far been operating on the assumption that whatever it was controlling the changes here was specifically a computer system, and that much of what they'd seen was computer generated. Even so...

"I don't think it's paper-based, if that's what you mean," he answered. It all linked together. Put two and two together and you got... "However, there is one thing I noticed, last night in particular. Before removing the translation mechanism, you could hear the sound of typing. The suggestion seems to be that the Head Doctor has access to a computer that can control the Institute and most likely contains information on the patients here." Assumption: correct. They always were.

Nearly always, Heinrich. Nearly. Not when it counts.

Shut up. Two spaces meant two objects. That was the ideal outcome; it meant that only one more item had to be found. The Inspector's mouth twisted into a hollow, pithy little smile. "I'm sure the Head Doctor would leap at the chance to play God and saviour."

And, after all 'thumbs up' had always been misrepresented: not a sign to free, but the sign for permission to kill. One of life's little urban legends. Yes, he didn't doubt for a second that the man would be happy to show it. That cruel twisting of expectation- that was something he knew that Martin Landel thrived on. "That is, I suppose, its only purpose. It's grandiose, it's jarring, it's exciting- it's a theatre not only for the patients, but for Landel himself. Would I be right in saying that the entire 'look' of the room was overtly elegant and overblown?"

[swornandbroken.livejournal.com]

Mello nodded. "It'd have to be a computer system, to keep track of that much data." The thing was, if the computer were the control mechanism for things like the randomized doors, it was crazily advanced, and its components were undetectable: no wires, no cameras or sensors. No evidence of it at all that he had noticed. You're slipping, Keehl. That system's what you want. You should've been working on this since the day you woke up here, not wasting your time on the obvious places. Patient Possessions and the presumed storage place for their actual records and belongings, which he still hadn't reached, the computer even Matt couldn't crack, those were red herrings, and he'd fallen for them. He began drawing again, restlessly, a few sparse lines that would represent, eventually, as much of the Institute as he'd seen first-hand. Bloody inexcusable that he hadn't made this a priority. He still felt that whatever was used to drag the prisoners here in the first place had to physically exist, somewhere. The same went for this master system.

The question of where the hell they put things applied to the underground room, too. "You'd be exactly right. It's mostly empty. There are two other doors, wood, with angels and devils carved on them. The phrase that came to mind for me was 'Old World.'" He skipped to the bottom of the page he'd been drawing on, and made a quick circle, with the doors and pillars marked as he remembered them. A seemingly unrelated section of the Institute, where the fact that this was, at its core, a battle was at least nodded towards, instead of up here, where Landel seemed to delight in soppy talk about his fucking good will.

"Have you been in the basement when the doors're working the way they should?"

[herr-inspektor.livejournal.com]

Doors with angels and devils carved into them. 'Old world'. Lunge was sure he'd find some impressive marble flooring and vaulted ceilings when he got their himself. Landel certainly wanted to make an impact down there, didn't he? "Probably an extension of his egotism," he mused, more to himself than to Morgan. "I wouldn't be surprised if the basement were something he himself installed, rather than it having been originally included in the Institute plans- that would explain the architectural differences. The rooms that represent him are the ones that express the power." Just a theory, of course, and one lacking any real evidence, but since when had he ever let that restrain his thoughts?

Idly, he let his eyes wander across to Morgan's sketch. Looked like a map of some sort, an eagle's eye view of various rooms. The two doors he'd mentioned likely led to the 'tasks' that had to be completely in order to obtain the two coliseum items to open the main doors, behind one of which lay the Sphinx. But what else was there...?

He glanced up again. "No, not yet. I've joined an effort to explore the area, though our only attempt so far was derailed fairly early on," he explained, doing his best to keep the irritation out of his voice. "We'll be trying again soon enough. What about you? Will you be trying your hand down there?"

[swornandbroken.livejournal.com]

Mello understood quite well the drive to go and see, to work out the mysteries for oneself, but this was a battle where their opponent had written all the rules, and would never share them with the prisoners, would never allow them any meaningful victory. True, Lunge was unhampered by his own mind trying to convince him that any resistance was doomed from the start. He was still more than intelligent enough to know that you never engaged the enemy in a framework he had created and which he ruled.

Or was Landel counting on his prisoners to concede defeat before they even began? That had never been Mello's style, and he wouldn't allow it to be now. Damn it, he wasn't supposed to think he could turn odds like that to his advantage. He was supposed to know it, and do it.

"What do you think you stand to gain?"