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

[herr-inspektor.livejournal.com]

Good- Morgan hadn't been offended by his decision to hold back here and there. Presumably he was doing precisely the same thing anyway, which, as troublesome as it might have seemed, also meant that he had the right to lie without crossing a line of some sort-- and you're not a hypocrite, are you, Morgan? But, aside from that, it seemed as though they had fallen into the same scenario that he and L had: empty world, all personal affects restored, and apparently all physical injuries removed. And if there was one thing he knew instinctively (not, not instinct, from experience and evidence) that he could trust the man about above all else, it was the physical injuries.

"Hmm. Well, that's certainly the way it seems so far. Even if you didn't recognise the place you were taken to, it would still have been replicated from memories of your own home world." Replicated. Lunge was careful to use that word, careful to distinguish between reality and what he had already decided was a trick. But more than that, the trauma of that unhappy reunion relied on its believability; rejecting it became therapeutic. "Perhaps whatever it was triggering it- the system behind what happened- was able to recognise those from the world it mimicked." Which, if 'system' was the right word, implied that same uncomfortable level of understanding built into the Institute he'd picked up on all along. They didn't even have to think about what the most effective course of action would be- it was intrinsic. A system designed for the perfect experience. The only place he'd felt it more than in L's tower was in that room on the second floor, leather straps biting into his ski-

No.

Morgan wasn't the only one feeling the inexplicable (ha) tug of the next matter. "Spaces? There's more than one?" Lunge's expression fell into a faint frown for a moment. That complicated matters. "Then there must be multiple items to collect." And if there was a shield, he now didn't doubt for a second that there would also be a sword to go with it- the hero's weapons of choice. "The Sphinx called the item we were given the 'Coliseum shield', so I would suggest that they lead to a Coliseum. Though," he added suddenly, frown falling more deeply into thought, "a 'coliseum' is a theatre of sorts. Who, then, would be the audience, I wonder?" Again, he let his eyes fall steadily and unfalteringly onto Morgan's: take one guess.

[swornandbroken.livejournal.com]

It was replicated that struck Mello. It had been obvious from Matt's reaction how accurately the empty stage had been set, and though he'd managed to convince himself, while they were there, that they'd managed to get one step closer to escape, he'd known all along that real progress would never have been that easy or unlooked-for. He'd known it was another trick, a construction designed for maximum impact. Presumably, Lunge's companion had suffered a comparable emotional blow, thanks to whatever place the Institute had seen fit to throw them into. Just as it wasn't for Mello to say that Matt had been taken back to the scene of his death, he fully recognized Lunge wouldn't be forthcoming with any details about his partner from that night.

"That's a massive amount of information." That it was about them, about him, he quickly pushed from his mind. "It has to be organized, and stored, which is to say accessible... somewhere." The place couldn't just pluck it from their minds, could it? He should have considered this before, he thought, irritated with himself; and would need to devote more thought to it before he came up with anything he could act on.

"There were two spaces." Lunge's rhetorical question got a quiet huff in response. "Would anyone ever get a thumbs-up in that coliseum, I wonder." He could see Landel liking that idea: himself as the emperor, holding the power of life and death over his prisoners, watching them struggle in a contest that was rigged. The only way to win would be to refuse to play at all.

Two nights ago, so they had wound up there by chance, in the middle of what sounded like a quest right out of a fairytale, or some shit, in a part of the place Mello hadn't even guessed existed until that same night. A part that had felt older than the rest of the Institute, at least to him. "What's it doing down there? The style's inconsistent, to say the least."

[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?"