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damned_institute2010-10-12 04:54 pm
scavengerbird.livejournal.com) wrote in damned_institute2010-10-12 04:54 pm
Night 52: M21-M30
[M22]
The History Club was a temporary solution, Zevran reassured himself.
Loyalty had never been one of his strongest traits, he had been told on multiple occasions. He already had countless betrayals under his belt, and guessed that there would be many more to come in his lifetime. They varied in significance, and Zevran typically didn't count the small ones. The small ones meaning those where he had planned to turn on the person from the very first moment he smiled at them. All of them were marks, plenty of which were quick enough to take him to bed, and that tended to fog their judgment. They didn't consider Zevran to be anything more than a silly, easy elf, and they assigned him with whichever imagined motivations suited them. Lust, greed, desperation, but rarely murder. Zevran would readily take advantage, and felt no guilt afterward. It was simply a means to an end. His own personal strategy, if you will. All killers and warriors had their own way of handling what they must. At the end of the day, death was a business, and not just for an assassin. If you wanted to survive, you needed to kill or accept those that did the killing for you. Speaking of killing, Zevran gathered his meager supplies, and hoped they would do the trick. He needed better armaments if he expected to come out of this alive. If the Maker was merciful, then Asuka and Agatha would be able to take care of themselves.
Zevran had met too many people willing to judge those who dealt in death. He could almost understand why they gave him those judging looks, but only if he took into account their assumption that he was paid handsomely for each dead soul. It was not strictly true, of course, but he would never lie and say he hadn't benefited, or even enjoyed it. But it all blurred together with time.
The betrayals that stayed with him had sometimes involved death, other times not. He regretted some and cherished others, even if they had amounted to nothing. He didn't wish to think of leaving the Crows as a pointless event, but then he had ended up here, where everything was made pointless. He knew nothing of where he was, he was apparently alone, and his surroundings were dizzily unfamiliar. Zevran was becoming convinced that he was the lone elf.
And yet still, he felt discomfort signing up with another entity, having not even had the chance to properly turn on Amell and cause him great danger and turmoil. It was bitter humor that made him think he ought to have at least quit the warden's company more memorably if he were to never return. But now that he thought about it, seducing him and then disappearing come morning was rather dramatic, in and of itself. Perhaps Zevran would not be so easily forgotten after all. He hadn't hoped for anything else from the tryst, but there was something to be said for the man's company...
And that was why he was letting someone else hold his leash, Zevran supposed. If all he wanted was to run, then there seemed to be no further place than this. But Zevran had to acknowledge that what he truly desired the shabby sort of freedom he had found previously, and then been ripped away from. It would be so much easier to call it a wash and see about running off into the woods (for all it was worth), but no. He had to make things difficult for himself. He really should have thought about how difficult this would be before he decided to let himself get comfortable back home. Zevran would need to be more careful in the future, and control his weakness for pretty faces and aching sincerity.
[To here.]
The History Club was a temporary solution, Zevran reassured himself.
Loyalty had never been one of his strongest traits, he had been told on multiple occasions. He already had countless betrayals under his belt, and guessed that there would be many more to come in his lifetime. They varied in significance, and Zevran typically didn't count the small ones. The small ones meaning those where he had planned to turn on the person from the very first moment he smiled at them. All of them were marks, plenty of which were quick enough to take him to bed, and that tended to fog their judgment. They didn't consider Zevran to be anything more than a silly, easy elf, and they assigned him with whichever imagined motivations suited them. Lust, greed, desperation, but rarely murder. Zevran would readily take advantage, and felt no guilt afterward. It was simply a means to an end. His own personal strategy, if you will. All killers and warriors had their own way of handling what they must. At the end of the day, death was a business, and not just for an assassin. If you wanted to survive, you needed to kill or accept those that did the killing for you. Speaking of killing, Zevran gathered his meager supplies, and hoped they would do the trick. He needed better armaments if he expected to come out of this alive. If the Maker was merciful, then Asuka and Agatha would be able to take care of themselves.
Zevran had met too many people willing to judge those who dealt in death. He could almost understand why they gave him those judging looks, but only if he took into account their assumption that he was paid handsomely for each dead soul. It was not strictly true, of course, but he would never lie and say he hadn't benefited, or even enjoyed it. But it all blurred together with time.
The betrayals that stayed with him had sometimes involved death, other times not. He regretted some and cherished others, even if they had amounted to nothing. He didn't wish to think of leaving the Crows as a pointless event, but then he had ended up here, where everything was made pointless. He knew nothing of where he was, he was apparently alone, and his surroundings were dizzily unfamiliar. Zevran was becoming convinced that he was the lone elf.
And yet still, he felt discomfort signing up with another entity, having not even had the chance to properly turn on Amell and cause him great danger and turmoil. It was bitter humor that made him think he ought to have at least quit the warden's company more memorably if he were to never return. But now that he thought about it, seducing him and then disappearing come morning was rather dramatic, in and of itself. Perhaps Zevran would not be so easily forgotten after all. He hadn't hoped for anything else from the tryst, but there was something to be said for the man's company...
And that was why he was letting someone else hold his leash, Zevran supposed. If all he wanted was to run, then there seemed to be no further place than this. But Zevran had to acknowledge that what he truly desired the shabby sort of freedom he had found previously, and then been ripped away from. It would be so much easier to call it a wash and see about running off into the woods (for all it was worth), but no. He had to make things difficult for himself. He really should have thought about how difficult this would be before he decided to let himself get comfortable back home. Zevran would need to be more careful in the future, and control his weakness for pretty faces and aching sincerity.
[To here.]
M27
Of course, now that their numbers had once again increased by one, Spock wondered if he ought to attempt to locate another knife in the second floor kitchen. Technically, the room was within the bounds assigned to him for tonight. Furthermore, it would not do well for him to be the only crew member with a weapon. Perhaps their investigations would naturally take them in that direction, and they would all be better off for it.`
For now he needed to focus on reaching the second floor, however. He'd had enough experience with this facility to know that time was precious. After laying an empty pillowcase over his shoulder, he reached for his flashlight, knife and radio and stepped outside.
((To here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/988852.html?thread=73472436#t73472436).))
no subject
What he had to focus on instead was what to do with his night. He barely heard what was said over the intercom; sure, the words came through the new intercom system clearly enough, but it was almost like it was in one ear and out the other. Landel always gave his warnings, and while he'd put them through hell more than once, Peter knew he'd come out of it okay. A little rough around the edges, maybe, but he would manage. It wasn't worth hiding in his room just because there might be something horrifying in store for him.
He was mainly kicking himself over the fact that he hadn't better planned for the night. Peter knew he should have asked Javert if he wanted to head up to the pharmacy with him, but it had seemed strange to do that with someone he'd just met -- and he didn't know if the man had already made plans. But he should have bit the bullet anyway, because now he was stuck without anyone to go with.
Peter considered asking Sam, but his roommate looked like he was gearing up for something else. In other words, he was going to have to see if he could find someone out in the halls. And so he packed his bag with the same supplies from the night before, along with the syringe of Claire's blood which he handled as carefully as he could. Although this time he made sure to grab his shovel, which he'd forgotten in his rush the night before.
Tossing his radio into the pillow case along with everything else, Peter then took his flashlight last and headed for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow. Good luck," he told Sam before stepping out into the hall, which he headed down at a steady pace, his shovel over one shoulder and his bag of supplies over the other.
no subject
M23
He grabbed his flashlight and plugged his phones into the radio, tucking the map once more into his waistband and double-checking his pins before he headed out.
Re: M23
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Surely this had to be another nightmare, but quiet shuffling behind him indicated that his roommate was moving about in the small room. There was another pause, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing. It was only then that the nation sat up, reaching for his glasses and putting them on with no real rush.
He wondered if it was a wise choice to wander. 'Last night' resulted in coming across a man who claimed himself to be a child before awakening immediately after the exchange. There was that risk that his dreams would fool him again, and he'd be facing the same issue as if nothing had changed. Yet now that he was awake Austria couldn't help but feel impatient, and the urge to roam about soon became very strong.
In the end he decided to leave, seeing that there was little risk if he remained close to his room. And so, after preparing a few things, he left without a word.
[To here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/988852.html?thread=73499316#t73499316).]
Outside M21
Kaworu had been told Shinji's room number once. He had requested it for this moment, although he had wanted it to come at a different time. He had intended to find him on the night he had been taken, which seemed long ago, but not long enough. Kaworu couldn't remember being removed, but he remembered the regret that he would not find Shinji as he had said he would. Kaworu hadn't resisted, though. There hadn't been any reason to, if choice had been removed from him, and yet, his inaction had made that inevitable.
This night, he had not promised to find Shinji. He hadn't told him that he would look for him. It would be a disappointment if he couldn't see him. He had wanted this since they had parted, although the day had been comfortable. He could he relaxed, even happy, and still desire Shinji's presence. The feeling had increased, or perhaps simply slid into view, where he could not consider anything without it coloring his thoughts.
[Waiting creepily for Shinji.]
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If they wanted terrifying food, all they needed to do was look at the bottom two-thirds of the ingredient list of prepackaged cold cuts. Not the ones you could get sliced. Those would go bad eventually. You had to get down past the fats and salts, which would just give you a heart attack. The one-percenters were the ones to worry about. Hell, it probably had a higher bean content, too. All-bean, if you counted running them through a cow first.
He stared up at the ceiling as the Head Bastard did his crypto-bullshit pep talk. Whatever rat maze -- or rat poison -- was on the menu tonight, he didn't have a choice. He had a meeting to get to. He stripped down to his skivvies, pulled on jeans and a bunch of layers, and grabbed his stuff.
[to here]
Re: M27
M27 was Spock's room, and also that of his human doppelgänger, Gabriel. Daily weirdness, courtesy of Landel's Institute. Kirk rapped twice on the door with the metal butt of his flashlight, but waited only a few seconds before poking his head in. Not exactly the height of manners, but he figured Spock would've let his roommate know that someone was stopping by. Luckily, the room appeared empty, and Kirk's light lingered over the leftovers of the two meals before finding the metal baseball bat by the leftmost desk.
Kirk smiled as he went over to pick it up, testing the weight of it in his hand: obviously used, but made of sturdy material, and with a good reach. "Not bad." He had to wonder what "weapon" Spock had found to replace it, but certainly couldn't complain. The baseball bat would be more than enough to defend himself.
It took a handful of seconds for Kirk to find the best way to hold it and his flashlight at the same, but otherwise wasted no more time in getting to Uhura.
[to here]
M23
It helped that the mission was one that Xemnas hadn't given him. It was one he'd gotten from a friend - Sora was a friend now, wasn't he? - and one the Nobody had had a choice regarding. He could have said no if he'd been so inclined. The worse that could happen was that he and Scott might not find anything. The best was that they might discover something that could help the other patients.
Since someone else was waiting for the radio announcements, he left his behind, only bringing along his flashlight and the pipe. The gun stayed tucked under his pillow.
Re: Outside M21
He reached out a hadn, twisted the handle - and almost run into Kaworu as he stepped into the corridor. He blushed, stammering as he came to a quick halt. He'd told Kaworu his room number, hadn't he? "Oh... Kaworu! I... I didn't realize you'd be here."
Although he was somewhat happier for it. There was still a twisted knot of unease in his stomach.
no subject
Still, he smiled. Not only to demonstrate for Shinji his happiness or his comfort, but also because that happiness was genuinely creating the smile. If Shinji were not looking, he would still smile. And yet, the warmth in him was created by the merit of Shinji's presence.
"I wanted to see you. You don't mind, do you?" he asked. He tilted his head faintly to the side, the incline barely visible, questioning. He didn't think that Shinji would, and felt as though he knew already what the reaction would be. He hoped for an invitation to stay. To be near. To be wanted. He felt these things for Shinji, and wanted that to be known. He wanted Shinji to know him, as much as any individual could know another. As outside of the Lilim as he was, Shinji was what tethered him there, and Kaworu believed Shinji wanted to know him as well.
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Once he managed to get out of bed, Japan realized he'd never gotten back to Russia about his plans. Hopefully the monster nation had forgotten, or would never, ever find him. Ever. And as long as he stayed away from wherever patient possessions were being held, he was safe in thinking he wouldn't run into the old world superpower anytime soon. Which meant he had one option, conveniently brought to his attention at dinner.
They had rice. And fish. And a kitchen. He could make a proper meal, hide it in his room and then have a proper breakfast for the first time since coming here. Maybe it was cheating the system a little, but a Japanese man having no fish in the morning? It was like an American going their entire lives without touching a burger. Things like that just didn't happen.
So with his intentions set for the evening, Japan gathered up his flashlight and headed out the door. He really had no idea where exactly he was going, but he figured the kitchen had to be near the cafeteria, right? He went there twice a day, so finding it wouldn't be hard.
[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/988852.html?thread=73651124#t73651124)]
no subject
Sort of.
He left Ruby's knife in the drawer. The rust of blood staining the blade hadn't gone anywhere. He hadn't cleaned it, of course not. There hadn't been time.
He frowned, exhaled slowly. After a moment, he dropped the ring inside, as well. No need for it. Dean had wanted to talk; he didn't think they'd be making much of a trip anywhere. Best to do one thing at at time. Besides, he still wasn't sure about that damn ring. He'd toyed with it on and off for the past couple of nights now, but it didn't make him feel any better about it. After Ruby's comment last night, he was even less certain. Ruby knew—did know—her stuff and she wasn't usually one for excessive caution.
Grabbing his coat, he pushed Ruby out of his mind again. He had to admit, though, that telling Peter had helped a bit. Even if he hadn't actually talked about it. It was nice to...have someone else he could talk to, he supposed. That hadn't happened in awhile.
He let the door swing shut on his way out.
[going here]
M25
He wasn't sure what he would do if complications presented themselves; if that eventuality arose, as Landel's ominous message suggested it might, he would address it then, to the best of his ability. If it was one of the common dangers, he would be as prepared for it as his health allowed. If not, it would be impossible to ever be as prepared as he would like to be.
They weren't planning to go outside, so his current clothing should be serviceable; his weariness meant that he would wear the trainers rather than the boots, in the hopes that his footsteps wouldn't drag too much. He moved to the desk chair and sat in it, set his flashlight on the desk, then produced the trainers from the closet and bent to put them on. Next, he unlocked the desk drawer. There was the sheaf of papers related to the sleep studies, now personal in a way that meant inevitable discomfort. He put it aside, instead retrieving the ring, the radio, the Walther, and its clip.
He had hidden the ring two nights earlier, but tonight, he didn't trust his reflexes enough to keep it on a string under his shirt; if he needed it, he might not be able to get to it. Lunge would know that he had it, and Taylor seemed unlikely to care. He therefore chose to put it on his finger. If Lunge had remembered to bring a radio, L would leave his own radio in the room--less to carry when he wasn't confident in his ability to carry anything at all.
Lifting both his sweatshirt and the t-shirt under it, he wound one of the strips of torn pillowcase fabric around his waist a few times, then tucked the gun into the makeshift band. The pistol's coldness against his lower back felt good--soothing, like ice. A shame that it wouldn't remain cold. The clip went into one pocket; one of the small first aid kits into the other. The brush axe was out of the question. That left only the flashlight to worry about dropping.
When he was sure he was ready, he rested in his chair, waiting for a knock at the door, unable to master his racing thoughts.
It's a bad idea to go out tonight?--It might be. Maybe it is, but... the evidence is necessary. I'm physically capable of making the trip upstairs... I haven't run into any trouble in that part of the building... Does that mean anything? I think--no, it isn't absolutely reliable. In the event of an attack, Lunge and Taylor will be there, but it's impossible to say how much Taylor can be trusted under those circumstances-- He realised that he would have felt better if Jones was accompanying them: safety in numbers. He had the impression, though, that Jones would be bored in the laboratory--anyway, the trip through the Sun Room had been a disaster.
For once in his life, he almost wanted to stay in bed.
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"Oh, n-no! I don't mind at all!" His voice sounded too loud to him, a bit too high in the darkness and gloom of the corridor, as if they could be overheard, as if the walls would listen. His smile slowly eased into something a bit more genuine, less nervous, less excited. "I'm glad you came."
And he was. He truly was. Maybe there was hope for him here after all.
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A search of the closet revealed overcoats very similar to bathrobes - typical insane asylum fare. It wasn't his standard trench coat, but putting one on did serve to make him feel less naked. And extra set of pockets couldn't hurt either. And speaking of pockets, he had a newly procured deck of cards from the game room that should slip into one of them quite nicely. Even if he couldn't access his abilities here like he could at home (though he still planned on trying that out at the first opportunity) he felt better just having a familiar tool of the trade with him. The radio found his way into a pocket as well, though he wasn't sure how much good it would do him, and a couple pens followed suit as there wasn't much else to grab in the way of pickpocketing material.
The fact that they were given a flashlight, 'hidden' under their pillow as it was, just added to the notion that they were meant to leave their rooms after dark. Such a clever setup for a mindfuck, but a little cliche if you asked him.
Now he just had to see if he could locate Logan or one of the younger two from his world. He stepped out into the hall cautiously, making his way toward where he new the front lobby would be.
[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/988852.html?thread=73583796#t73583796)]
no subject
He believed Shinji when he spoke. He had wanted Kaworu here. This was where Kaworu belonged now, even if it hadn't always been. Even if it wasn't in his nature. It was not in this place, though, but next to Shinji where he belonged, where was himself and yet something more. He couldn't define it, but didn't doubt it. "I'll come for you again, then," he decided.
His mind began to elaborate on the possibility of more nights like this, standing in the dark together, but there was no time for it. Noise flooded the halls (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/998337.html), and Kaworu knew the voice that spoke, and understood the signals of pain in the other one, the one who didn't speak. Landel was more difficult to grasp. It brought back memories of the night he was taken. The same soft amusement, but with an intent to cause pain. Still, Landel desired pain, and the Lilim that had taken him had simply not cared to avoid it. In this case, there should have been anger. Indignation. Accusation. But it only came through his words and actions, and never in his voice.
Speech was replaced by light. Light that came violently. Kaworu listened as it ripped through filaments and shattered glass. A florescent tube down the hall swung down, ripped from its bearings. As Shinji had startled his body before, so did this. It never left, only withdrew, until poor lighting surrounded them and fed that which stayed uneasy in him.
no subject
He stood again, looking shaken. "What... what was that? What happened?"
He hadn't really understood half of the Head Doctor's rant, but he had at least managed to work out the part about hypocrisy and the idea that someone was going to learn something (not that Shinji considered himself a hero). He glanced over at Kaworu, eyes wide. "What's going on...?"
And then his shadow jumped out of the corner of his eye and he glanced at it. No, it was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. His eyes were playing tricks on him. That's all. As he turned to speak again, it came again. He fidgeted, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and very afraid. "...what now?"
no subject
He lifted a hand, and laid it on Shinji's shoulder. He had wanted to touch his hand, but knew that he would avoid it, at least now. The feeling of cloth under his fingers didn't reassure him, but it could calm Shinji. He hoped it would calm Shinji.
"I want to know more," Kaworu breathed, letting his gaze drift away from Shinji and down the hallway. He knew its length, but there was something endless about it all the same. Even with the new illumination, it remained unknown and hidden. Nothing seemed more out of place than the light. It distorted the movements of his shadow on the wall.
His eyes returned to Shinji, swiftly but calmly. The hand on Shinji's shoulder slipped some, and Kaworu thought he could find a heart beat if he focused. He didn't wish to be alone. He hadn't wished to be alone since meeting Shinji, but now it grew in him until he spoke. "Will you stay with me?"
no subject
"...I... y-yes. I just want to know what's going on."
He could swear he saw something move, his own shadow, something just not quite right - but he was probably just seeing things.
Re: M25
There. M25. Lunge made for the door. Moments later, barely a step away, the intercom came to life. Fuzzy sound, static mixed with-- was that breathing? She was still alive. Good. Another witness. Swiftly, Lunge transferred his knife to his pocket and began to type just as the Head Doctor began to speak.
And the subject of tonight's monologue (no, dialogue): hypocrisy? ... yes. That made sense. You're the one doing the 'right thing', aren't you? The road to hell is paved with good intentions, but what other people don't understand is that you have to travel that road. You have to. A pause. But it was only as personal as he let it be, and Lunge forced himself to continue. But those 'methods' you've 'been forced to employ'... you enjoy them. You admit your hands are dirty, but you can't deny that you willingly bathe them in blood each night. What's your game, Martin Landel? To what end?
And where did Jill fit in? The way the man had reacted, that wasn't the closing of a net; that was angry, the sound of a man literally lashing out. Why was it surprising to him? He was the one who'd written the note, the one who'd done the research on Jill in the first place: why was he surprised that the woman he suspected of being a spy was, in fact, a spy? There was the possibility that she was a double agent of some sort, that she'd been taking both sides for fools- but that didn't quite ring true. Not, at least, without more evidence to back it up. What would Marc have to say on the matter?
The Head Doctor's parting words still echoed around him as he knocked on the door, steadily working through the message in his head. How ominous. Presumably that meant that they'd be running into something big tonight- something targeted perhaps on those 'hypocrites' he'd mentioned. The 'heroes'. There seemed to be more than enough of them around to make a dent. "Ryuuzaki? It's me." His voice was low and quiet, but he trusted L would be alert enough that it wouldn't matter.
M30
"Nice try."
He sat up, his legs curled under him.
"Really, a noble showing." He crawled to the edge of his bed, cautiously looking over. Had someone strolled outside? A moment's pause brought no answers, and Edward found himself edging towards the door. The thrill of exploration trickled down his spine, electrifying his need. Could he try? What was lurking beyond the hallway? Was this preoccupation a nightmare or a dream? Eddie dropped to his feet, determination carving his expression. He clasped the door, stepping out of room M30, his steps muffled but eager.
no subject
no subject
"We'll stay together." Kaworu listened to his own voice. It sounded unnatural. Any life was muffled by his surroundings, or the lingering thoughts of a potential future. A future that was dangerous, to him and to Shinji. It was safer, perhaps, to linger here and accept what was and was not. But in doing so, he would resign his free will. It would be his choice to have no say in what the night might hold for him, and still, he longed for something else.
[To here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/988852.html?thread=73683892#t73683892).]
Re: M25
The intercom crackled to life. He anticipated Landel's nighttime announcements, the swings between pomposity and menace, but every new twist meant two things: the night was likely to be more difficult than usual, and it was likely to present valuable clues to unraveling their predicament. Tonight, Landel seemed to be embracing the role of torturer in a more personal sense than usual.
So that was Jill. Yet... there isn't any proof, only the suggestion and claim that he has her. We are meant to believe that he's striking her. Without seeing her, though, there's no way of knowing what's really happening, and because her identity wasn't confirmed in the past, he could produce a prisoner, and we would have no way of knowing whether or not it was her. Voice recognition analysis is out of the question, under the circumstances. There was a photograph--? It might have been planted....
It's convenient that it all turns up at once, isn't it? As to his lecture on hypocrisy, if we don't have any knowledge of the outside world here, whose fault is th--?
Bright light and a high-pitched whine filled the room around him, causing a sudden shock of pain behind his eyes and deeper in his head. He pressed his eyelids shut; in a frantic movement, his hand covered them. Strange noises came through the closed door from the corridor--a crackle, a snap, the tinkle and crunch of glass hitting the floor. It took him a wincing moment to piece together what must have happened. An impressive power surge. The ballasts failed? If that's the case, I should be able to smell it in the hall. He opened his eyes, then opened his fingers enough to let in a small slit of light.
Just as his eyes began to adjust, he heard footsteps, then the knock, then Lunge's low voice at the door. He replied, "Yes. I'm coming."
The lights were on now, but with no guarantee that they would stay on, he'd need his flashlight. He retrieved it from the desk, then tugged at the handle of his desk drawer to confirm that he had locked it.
As he opened the door, he thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye--something on the floor, chasing at the edge of his shadow and scurrying out of sight. His gaze flicked to it. There was nothing except a gentle rush of dizziness, gone as soon as it arrived, and more doubt about whether or not he was in any condition to be out of bed.
"Let's go. Taylor is waiting," he said to Lunge, glancing at the other man's pocket to confirm that at least one of them was carrying a radio. There was glass on the floor in the hall, as he'd expected. Some of the bulbs were hanging from their housings, and the illumination there was dimmer and less consistent than it had been in his room, where the fixtures remained intact. "We'll talk more on the way."
[To here.]
from M27
The next question would be whether that chance be a good or a bad thing. Running into Elle last night had been a mixed bag: Sylar wouldn't have wanted her existence to slide under his radar the way Claire's being "from the future" had, but at the same time, he could've done with a daytime encounter rather than last night's yelling match and the subsequent sore shoulder. Nothing major – of course it was nothing major – but still pretty damn annoying. He took enough blows from the monsters here without having to deal with screaming blondes too.
Oh, wait, Claire. Yeah, there probably wasn't any way to avoid it in the long run.
With a wry smirk, he exited his room and ambled down the hall.
[To here.]
M28
He ignored his roommate's searching of the room, and gave him only a cursory glance as he left. He still didn't know enough about this place to venture out, and with no idea of the layout, where would he even go?
After so many minutes had passed in relative silence, anxiety began to gnaw at him. He was never one to sit still and do nothing, but he wasn't one to blindly rush into an unknown situation. Still, he couldn't simply sit in his room like a stubborn child, and after a few moments of weighing his options, Dias stood and paced towards the door.
He looked out and down the hall. Looking at the hallways gave him a slight uneasy feeling. He was nothing more than a rat in a maze, boxed in by the walls and blinded to the locations of traps. Any one room could be a false step, and anything passed might be the clue to getting the information he wanted. Remy had said that nobody here knew anything, but that was a lie. If he'd been around long enough to know what everyone else supposedly knew, then he knew more than he'd shared. What other secrets was he keeping?
Dias turned into the hall, lingering only a moment before following in what he hoped was his roommate's footsteps. He might be too late to keep up, but he knew where to start.