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

[vodka-jump.livejournal.com]

What an odd kid. Definitely had to be English. Probably believed in magical ponies and fairies too. Russia watched him for a few more moments, then continued with his clay blob collection, trying to decide whether or not to twist off the miniature head of Arthur or not.

Even if Mason said it was funny, he didn't laugh. He didn't even smile. What a depressing guy. And he wanted him to explain himself or something? It was hard to tell if he was suspicious or just genuinely curious.

"I wasn't there in the morning. I only said it would be my third night, da? I think it was late afternoon when I first got here. But I don't take very many naps in the middle of the day, so it was kind of strange."

[gamingsostfu.livejournal.com]

Matt nodded at the answer, but his mind was whirring as he mentally jotted down the new information; he'd need to take it to Mello later, see what they could come up with together. He never had any idea what it was they were going to be up to that night, but that was the way he liked it; less chance for him to blow their cover, or something similarly heinous.

So patients don't just arrive in the morning, he contemplated in his head, licking his lips and wishing for a cigarette. Which, strangely enough, was the first time he'd done so that day. Not sure if that was a good or bad thing yet, but he wasn't all that willing to figure it out. Or... maybe they do arrive in the morning, but they're heavily sedated enough that they sleep straight through the day? It seemed like the picture was really starting to take shape, and Matt had to hide the slight glow of pride that he could feel starting up when he realized it.

To Ivan, he only nodded passively, uncrossing his arms and reaching forward, running his fingers through the sparkles. "Is it possible that they drugged you?" he asked, unable to see the harm in letting his intention become known; the Russian seemed to be rather forthcoming, for which Matt was grateful. It was the end of the day, and he really didn't feel like putting his Wammy's training to too much use at the moment.

[vodka-jump.livejournal.com]

Twist. And off came the head. He smushed it into the table next to the lumpy headless clay body, vague smile never leaving his lips. Mason asked a lot of questions it seemed, and answered very little of himself. Expecting answers, even though he was just a child. That was the fastest way to end up unhappy. The less he knew, the happier he'd be.

"If they did, it is not one I am familiar with," was all he said. There'd been no grogginess, no hangover like a late night of heavy drinking. And it wasn't like any of the poisons people had tried to slip into his food or water or other things.

"Why does the getting in matter?" he asked, straight to the point. "Everyone wants out, da?"

[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.