damned_institute | 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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"Why, thank you!" the Scarecrow said with a bright smile as he was not only joined at his table, but complimented as well. He didn't think of himself as much of an artist, but it was a little comforting to have some semblance of his friends before him, especially since he had no idea how long it would be until he could truly see them again. How long had Abe said his body probably had? Seventy years? He didn't expect he'd be trapped that long- surely he could think of some way out of his predicament in that amount of time.

The Scarecrow tapped his pen to the paper a few more times, stealing a couple of glances at his new acquaintance- he got the odd sort of feeling he'd seen her before, but couldn't place where. The Institution wasn't a huge place like the Emerald City; he'd probably spotted her in the halls once or twice in passing.

Still, that notion it was something else wasn't going away. "I don't suppose we've met before," he said, offering the lady his hand. He briefly considered giving her his pseudonym, but then realized that if he did already know her, she'd probably be more confused with two names than if his only one was more fitting of his previous form. "I'm Scarecrow."

Agatha hadn't actually given the person across from her much thought, and even now that he mentioned it, he wasn't particularly ringing any bells. She shook the hand, though, politely, and said "Sorry, I don't remember meeting anyone with that name." Of course, that didn't mean she wouldn't look familiar to him... she really hoped he hadn't met Lucrezia. The fact that Recluse had was worrying and embarrassing enough; she didn't need someone else in that category. "Mine's Agatha."

Huh. There was a little guide to making that origami stuff, too, and while Agatha still didn't think playing with paper sounded at all enjoyable, the guide itself was something to read. Sadly, there were clearly no instructions for making a trilobite.

The Scarecrow shook his head with a shrug- it seemed he didn't know her after all, but he was so sure he'd seen her face somewhere! It had to have been sometime more significant than a passing glance, or surely it wouldn't have bothered him so much.

He continued his drawing, leaving Agatha to her reading. The pen hit the paper with two more idle taps as he considered what he should add next. The background was plain- maybe the Emerald City would liven it up, or even the Wicked Witch flying--

Realization hit him so sharply that he nearly leapt from his chair- instead, his knee hit the table and he fell back into his seat, hissing at the immediate feeling of pain that shot through him. He scooted his chair back a few inches, desperately attempting to sink into it and disappear. It didn't work out so well.

The Scarecrow had suddenly recognized Agatha, remembering exactly where he'd seen her face: her own visage was opposite of Depth Charge, both visible in the sparking light from the Horrible Hallway just the night before. "Y-y-you're the witch from the second floor!" he stammered, holding his pen with two hands as if it would protect him. He wanted to know why she was out in the daylight, why she wasn't haunting the Horrible Hallway that very minute. She wasn't like the Mangled Witch, who appeared just out of sight the following day, stalking him like a shadow- Agatha was right there, and he had to admit she didn't look nearly as frightening when not illuminated by the light of her magic.

The noise had already taken Agatha's attention away from the instructions, but it certainly didn't ready her for when Scarecrow called her a witch- she hadn't been called that before personally, Uncle Barry had always kept them away from the more superstitious villages and now she knew why, but she'd heard the stories about what could happen to someone who was just a little bit too strange in the wrong place. That word was charged with threat, and her hand clenched reflexively, hard enough that her fingers tore a hole in the paper.

Of course, in the very next moment a touch of reality reasserted itself. Scarecrow looked like he'd far prefer flight to fighting, and he certainly couldn't set fire to her here and now or anything. And even a moment's thought about where he could possibly have got that impression about her was telling, too- the second floor?

Agatha moaned unhappily, and clapped her hands to her face. She didn't remember seeing this guy specifically, but there had been a couple of figures she'd been too busy with other fights to pay attention to, hadn't there? And who knew if someone might have seen her foil and decided to try another way... "This is about last night, isn't it?"

It was only after Agatha had put hands to her face in exasperation that the Scarecrow considered he might be overthinking his fears (though her now-ruined reading material might say otherwise). She sounded fairly reasonable for someone who had been so frightening before, and unlike the Mangled Witch, she was wearing the same smiling uniform he was. Maybe she wasn't a bad witch after all, or maybe she had been like Mele, tricked into attacking her fellow patients. That certainly would make some sense.

The Scarecrow gave Agatha a nod, still keeping low in his seat in the event she changed her mind and he needed to duck under the table for safety. "I s-saw you, just barely from down the hallway as you were talking to my roommate," he said nervously, hoping she wouldn't incinerate him for even bringing up the subject. "I thought you had to b-be awful dangerous with whatever magic it was you were using, since he turned and left without a fight. He's not the sort to back down from just anything, believe me."

Day 51: Arts & Crafts (4th shift)

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