[from here]

Exquisite. There was no other way to describe being in a hall one moment and then suddenly appearing in the restroom in less time than it took the rest of the Institute to take a breath. This place was dark as always and Grell grinned as he realized it didn't matter this time. A death god's eyes, nearsighted as they might be, were sharp and made to pick out things other people could not see. The dark was their ally and tonight it was going to be his most beloved companion.

Grell dressed quickly and took a deep unnecessary breath as he tossed the old glasses off and replaced them with his own red pair. The beads settled cold against his neck and he smiled, tugging the ribbon into place. Oh, how pretty he looked, and how much prettier he would be bathed in the blood of those who had bothered him in his unnecessarily long stay here. Stepping up to the mirror, Grell drew both hands up over his shoulders, tossing his hair back with an exaggerated motion. "And the actress returns to the stage in all her rightful glory~!" he sang to himself, dropping forward to grip the sides of the sink mirror in both gloved hands, a maniacal grin on his face. "Mustn't keep the audience waiting..."

For all the world's a stage, and all the people merely players, and I am the one to draw the curtain on their low, miserable little lives.

With a flourish, he pushed away from the wall and spun around on one heel. Glorious! Tonight was going to be a magnum opus! A celebration of the beautiful machinations of death! Who cared if they weren't on the list? They were going to die; especially those whose lives were already over and should have been dead anyway. Grell was certain that if he cleaned up enough of them the management would overlook all the little indiscretions along the way. Right?

"Right."

But the first order of business? Grell forced the power forward and it responded with a surge; a welcome, warm, beautiful, bloody red and summer golden oh so nostalgic surge and the roar of an engine - the sweet sound of razor sharp teeth slicing the air while the motor turned faster than a machine should be allowed - his baby, his chainsaw. It was back.

"Oh, darling! I missed you so!" he cried, hugging the machine to his chest. "Oh, let's never be apart again! I shall never let you go thirsty again! Never shall you want for anything, my love~!" Least of all blood. Grell swung the chainsaw around and disappeared out the door again, ignoring the sounds of some unknown beast clawing its way through the walls, hot on his heels.

[to here]

[From here.]

Peter left the room thinking very deep thoughts. Most of which entailed speculation on the origins of the pink glow he had just been assaulted by. As much as he hated himself for it, he couldn't help but keep coming back to the Matrix. Maybe they just changed something. Turned the halls into mazes.

Buzz.

MREOWWWWWW!

"JESUS!!!!"

Peter's flashlight on loan gave him the half a millisecond to register that there was a fetid demon cat leaping for his face. The pillowcase dropped from his grip and he slapped it from the side.

Splat.

A slight splatter of cat guts speckled his side for his efforts.

Peter stood, gaping, dripping, and shaking all over. There was a cat shaped stain on the wall, and a formless sack of skin and shattered bones inching down to the floor from it. What. Had he done.

Mortified, Peter picked up the pillow case and took two inches away from the dead beast. Then four. Then he was booking it down the hallway and out the door.

[To here.]

Guy's head was still spinning from finding out that his friend was back once again. He realized that he'd done a good job of keeping his cool while explaining everything to Luke, mainly because nothing would have been solved if both of them had been reeling, but...

What exactly was he going to do now? Tear and Natalia being excluded from the basement group was one thing, but Guy felt a duty to Luke that he was going to have a difficult time divorcing himself from. He realized he wasn't really Luke's servant anymore (Luke had said so himself), but with how often Luke had left this place only to return again, how could he not feel as if he needed to keep an eye on him?

Granted, it was something that they could split up among their whole group. Luke wasn't going to like the idea of being babysat, but Guy didn't know if he was comfortable with anything else. Tear and Natalia could stick with him when he headed off with Claude and Anise, but getting all of that information transmitted in the small time left before night came seemed impossible. In any case, if he made it sound more subtle -- like they were all just taking care to stick together -- then Luke would probably accept it.

The soldiers forced them apart when lunch ended, however, meaning that Guy's only option was to put up a bulletin notice and hope that things worked themselves out that way. He was pretty sure Claude still had an extra sword for Luke, so that was one weight off of his shoulders at the least. But he really didn't want Luke going off on his own at night, so any chance of preventing that was his priority.

Once a note had been posted, Guy finally agreed to go into the Game Room with most of the patients. He realized he had the ability to wander elsewhere, but it seemed pointless when there were barely any others who had the same privileges. Still, he couldn't help thinking of Sai; he still needed to track the man down at some point.

Upon entering the room and finding that it was still relatively empty, Guy started to wander in search of anything interesting to play. He could always check out one of those portable game systems again.

[For Edgar.]

Upon hearing the shift change, and Harrington's subsequent announcement, Berg fought the urge to rub at his eyes. While he understood that neither himself nor Aguilar had the time to do something like work the intercom system during the day, sometimes he thought Harrington enjoyed his new responsibility a bit too much.

Well, no matter. The issue didn't bother him enough to look into a replacement. Harrington did his job, and that was the most important thing.

In the meantime, Berg was slated with four more meetings today. Second shift would likely prove just as interesting as yesterday's discussions: a death god with a flair for the dramatic and a thirst for blood, as well as an android (or would "former android" be more accurate?) with a combative personality in every sense of the word.

Berg glanced at his watch. The first subject would arrive at any moment. Two cups of steaming coffee were waiting on his desk -- one for him, and one for his expected guest.

[from here]

Slipping into the bathroom, Grell gaze the area a quick check before he locked the door behind him and let out a sigh. As usual the place was dark, dank and rather disgusting (it was a men's loo after all), but it was silent and solitary and meant he could get changed in peace. Or relative peace. The chainsaw at his side would ensure that anyone rude enough to interrupt a lady when she was changing would receive a fitting punishment of being sliced in half. Hopefully their blood would be proper and red for once. She could do with a little blood right about now.

Setting the pillowcase in the sink, Grell checked his fake lashes and the placement of his rouge and lipstick. A smidge here and there, a slight adjustment to the lipstick and the makeup was finished. After that it was a simple matter of getting dressed; tying the ribbon around his neck, lacing up his boots, pulling on the gloves and adjusting the ribbon again so it sat just so. It took him a moment to decide whether to put his hair up or down, but he went with up. It was rare that he did so and tonight was a special occasion. Special enough that he even considered wearing the beret for a moment until he remembered it really just didn't go with his outfit. He needed more clothes. Desperately. The worst part about the Institute, more than the heartbeat and mortality and the imminent danger of death around every corner, was the lack of a good wardrobe. Seriously. They needed some variation. Sigh.

Outfit in place and hair pulled up into a high ponytail, Grell winked at his dusty reflection in the mirror and grabbed his chainsaw. Time to go now that he was finally ready.

[to here]

[from here]

He glanced idly at the doorways as they passed them, and yet still none read infirmary. "It's only a waste of time," he replied. "If you can't find them. Which would be a bit pathetic in a small building like this."

There was another hallway to the left and Albedo ducked into it, coming up short. Draping his hands behind his head, he walked back to the other, tilting his head. "Especially since I saw Sora about twenty minutes ago. Hopeful with hair at unrealistic angles?" Which would make sense. Sora was sky and didn't Riku speak as shore?

It was annoying, that. It spoke of a beach, and that reminded him too much of a girl.

[from here]

Unsurprisingly, the door opened with a twist of the handle and little pressure. The interior hidden behind a door long since locked--if they were to believe the blow-hard of a commander who had taken control--was quite large, dwarfing the sun room in comparison. Enclaves and doorways crept away from them, and Albedo was idly curious--wondered, if he survived in a more than unsightly way, if he'd see what new toys a medical wing would have to offer him.

For now, however, there were other things, goals that he and this other had in common if it was to be believed. And should Albedo speak to him, play with him? Or should he just go on half-ignoring him and perhaps the other would flee of his own accord. The boy began to move forward across the space, glancing around idly for these things that were supposedly set out. It'd be annoying if it all turned out to be a farce. "So you wake up after getting back from 'somewhere', and your first thought is to try to attempt to poison yourself?" He moved to glance down a hallway on the left, seeing nothing but doors. "Seems a bit strange. Shouldn't you be seeking your comrades or doing something wholesome?"

It had sounded all so very hard to believe, the things that Vino-san and Maya-san had told him. Though Seishin had been skeptical, he couldn't help but think that something was terribly wrong with this place, no matter if the nurses were real or soldiers in disguise. The announcement at least confirmed as much, dropping the facade they had apparently been holding like a hot brick. Military it was, then, though it hardly eased his concerns. Loved ones? What did it mean?

If he had learned anything today, it was that there was no direct connection to what had occurred in Sotoba. There had been too many unrecognizable faces for that, too many people who had been unrelated to the incident no matter what the outcome had been. In Death's embrace Sotoba was isolated from the rest of the world, more so once Death began crushing it, trampling upon its soil and soaking it with blood of human and Shiki alike.

But Death had once more denied him, and he had been dragged from its embrace only to be chained to a new place. It isolated him from the world once more, as if he had been exiled from it. From the world, and from Death. The announcement implied that their captors had some use for them, though it puzzled him why anyone would go to such lengths to take them, why only he would be dragged from such chaos.

The announcement continued, yet Seishin did not like what he heard, the implications that their captor was doing them a favor. Familiar resentment already grew inside his heart, a black pit of hatred; indeed, this place was no better than Sotoba. Pushing expectations onto others, setting out routes for others and acting as though they were doing him a favor. The darkness had always lain in wait, he had succumbed to it without regrets, and the snake would only continue to spread its poison.

The destruction of his life had been a fortunate thing, after all. Sunako was to grant it, but she had ironically kept him from it. For now, he would assume she was at least alive until he found evidence telling him otherwise. It was all he could do from here, hope that she had somehow escaped.

Seishin did not know where he would be headed tonight, had no inkling of what what he hoped to find, but he held little doubt that random drugs would be among them. He knew better than that.

A quick search around the room revealed a working flashlight. With a polite farewell to his roommate, he headed out through the door.

[To here]

Edgar's charming company had raised Anise's spirits enough that not even the Head Doctor's voice could bring them back down. Besides, she was feeling pretty sure that Landel wasn't actually around. To begin with, it wouldn't make sense, and secondly, his announcements sounded suspiciously like ones she'd already heard before. While Anise wasn't very familiar with Earth technology, she'd seen the little devices in the Music Room that could play recordings of people's voices. This had to be something like that.

It wasn't long before Anise was escorted to the Cafeteria, and then to the section where edible food was being served. As she filled her plate with waffles, fruit, and sausages, she looked to the other side of the counter with a look of sympathy. It was hard to enjoy her own meals while knowing what the other patients had to suffer through.

She wasn't about to refuse her meals just out of guilt, though. Anise needed her strength for tonight. There was still a bit of a nervous twist in her stomach whenever she thought about what could happen down in the basement... but she wasn't going to back down. Not after promising her friends they'd go together.

With her tray in hand, Anise seated herself at an empty table in the middle of the room. She preferred to have company while eating, but it looked like she was one of the first patients there, so there was no one to sit with. Maybe if she minded her manners and tried to look her cutest, she'd attract someone handsome! Holding her utensils delicately, she began to cut her waffles into smaller pieces.

[For Battler.]

[from here]

Once inside, Grell gave the room a quick visual sweep and then locked the door behind him. There was no way he'd let anyone walk in on him as he changed. To be honest, he would have preferred going into one of the stalls, but they were likely filthy and he would rather be out in the open and clean than have extra privacy and possibly step in something wholly unpleasant. And it wasn't like he could shower here either. By the looks of the faucets and the appearance of rust stains in the sink basins, the water itself was bound to be infested with diseases the likes of which even medieval Europe hadn't seen.

After changing out of the uniform and into his usual attire, Grell used the pillowcase to wipe down one of the mirrors and check his reflection. If only he'd been able to get a facial as well as a manicure in town... Being here had him neglecting several of his usual beauty regiments and Grell feared it would start to show. He could care less for the monsters or the constant danger of death or even the fact that he'd been turned mortal, but if he ever got a single dark spot, mole, or wrinkle, he was going to murder everyone in the Institute.

Thankfully, today's check showed nothing but a speck of mascara clinging to his cheek where the false lashes had touched the skin and that was quickly wiped away. Satisfied with his appearance, the death god stuffed the Institute uniform into the pillowcase and tossed it into the corner. It always came back no matter what he did to it, so why take care of it at all? With things settled, he turned and headed for the door.

[skipping a hallway to here]

After another relatively quiet night (Grell liked quiet nights - or at least quiet meals), the intercom clicked on and said.... Nothing. Not a word, not even the sound of someone breathing on the other side. It was silence followed by the unlocking of doors and then another noise that Grell hadn't been listening close enough to identify. He heard something, but by the time his attention turned back to the intercom, it was over and he was bereft of any further details. The speaker was still as the grave and Grell sighed to himself.

Time to go.

Getting up from the desk, Grell did as he'd done the night before. The beret, however, was left behind on the desk while the rest of his clothes were shoved into the pillowcase. Geeky wire-rimmed rounded spectacles were replaced with the slim red frames and the chainsaw was removed from the metal box, then slung over Grell's shoulder. It was a shame he'd have to cover the red nail polish up with his gloves, but at least it would preserve them for a bit longer.

With a wave, Grell headed out the door and into the night, humming to himself. Another quick change in the restroom and he'd be off to find those toys for Dexter. Pretty Dexter. Or perhaps Claire... Ooh, Claire. The woman with a vendetta and a rather gruesome urge to put an axe through someone's face. Either of them were worthy of attention and of bringing to Sylar's attention in case the oh-so-darling Aura decided to speak up again. If he disappeared like Kazuchi did, then Grell would be rather cross with not only the Institute, but Sylar himself. At the very least there were people here who could continue to entertain him, however. Now the only thing that remained was to see about keeping them entertaining.

[to here]

[From here.]

Right as he'd been leaving the block, Harvey had come across none other than Peter. Not that it could really be called that when they hadn't even talked to each other, but seeing the kid had answered a few questions. First of all, it seemed that Peter wasn't planning on going down to the basement, both because he hadn't approached him and also because he wasn't wearing his hideous spandex. That also meant that he wasn't going to come to Sangamon's meeting, which made Harvey wonder where the kid was going in such a hurry.

Maybe he was meeting up with someone who could tend to his wounds better? His burn hadn't been minor, after all, so it was completely possible. It really wasn't Harvey's business in the end, but this at least meant that he could tell the others that Peter had his own plans.

Well, he'd probably have to say "Spider-Man." He didn't know how many of the others were even aware of who the boy really was.

That was a headache and a half, but if nothing else, Harvey was good at keeping secrets. He had no reason to expose the kid's identity. Batman, on the other hand...

But that wasn't something that mattered here anymore, as much as he wished that it did. Sighing, Harvey closed the block door behind him and then briskly made his way down the hall, ignoring the soreness in his side.

[To here.]

[From here.]

He had reached the meeting point in less than a few minutes and there was still not another patient to be seen. Castiel paused, standing near the wall as he moved his flashlight up and down the corridor. There was nothing, not the sound of a shadow slipping through the dark; not the whisper of something less than human.

The only sound was the static that periodically came from his radio. He couldn't seem to get it to let up, and he wondered if it was reacting to him or if he'd been given a faulty one.

He would have preferred the former option, but he had been knocked down too many notches when it came to the loss of his abilities, his divinity, the very things that made him him.

Castiel let out a breath that had been caught in his chest and then lowered his flashlight. He wondered how long this whole process would take, but he supposed that all depended on how well he did as a student. He fashioned himself a fast learner, but he had never been able to grasp things like popular culture.

He imagined he would do a bit better with lockpicking, though. Leaning himself against the wall, Castiel stood there quietly, waiting for Orihara to show himself.

[For Izaya.]

[From here.]

As Castiel exited the room block he'd been assigned to, it occurred to him that Gabriel had not caught up with him this time around. That was for the best. He had a difficult time shaking his brother off in this place, seeing how he couldn't disappear at the snap of a finger. If he'd had to bring his brother along on his lesson with Orihara, Gabriel would have broken up the instructions and also invited far too many questions, considering his paranoia from the other night.

He had little idea of what the archangel got up to on the nights that they didn't come across each other, but at this point he couldn't get caught up pondering about it.

Straight down the hall and he would be at the spot that they had decided upon. He still had no idea of where Orihara's room was, but perhaps it was better that way. Their relationship should remain strictly professional, especially since he didn't really know how to turn it into something other than that.

This was easier.

[To here.]

Cripes, it was just getting colder by the minute. Peter was rattling inside his coat, feeling mighty sore that the cocoa didn't do him much good now once he left the restaurant. If he wasn't so stuffed he might have gone back and bought one for the road.

And he still hadn't used a single dime of his, had he? His nose wrinkled, and he turned his eyes to the horizon. The day was almost over. He didn't need G.I. Joe Murse to tell him that. (Nice disguise, Bubba.) If he didn't spend the money now, he might not get another chance. Yet every time he made his rounds he was literally drawing blanks on what to buy that would be worth the money. The thing he wanted the most was right out. There wasn't exactly a local chemist's shop around the corner, and even if there was? Fifteen dollars wouldn't cover the equipment he needed to make web fluid. It would get him a smoldering pair of protective goggles, and that would be it. Handsome as he looked in those, Peter would have to pass.

He needed to get up to that laboratory. The minute the basement quest was over, he was marching up there and making a freaking batch of web fluid, or so help him god - wait, spider sense? What are you doing here? Is it zombie hour already?

Then his foot landed on a patch of ice as smooth as Nick Fury's freshly shaven head, and all was lost.

"Hrrk!"

Shlumph!

His ankle twisted in a way God had surely not intended it to, and Peter was face down in a snowbank. The only saving grace of it all was that his poor, beleaguered back had been spared. (Though it stung something awful with his arms splayed out like that.)

[LASSIE SAM. PETER'S FALLEN INTO A WELL. GO GET HELP.]

Rita awakened in a cold sweat that morning. What the hell was that all about!? It had to be a trick, like the moving shadows from the other night... It just couldn't be real.

In the end, no progress had been made. How much longer was Rita going to be trapped in this dump?

Speaking of dump, that was about the moment when a male nurse entered the room, carrying a pile of worn clothes that looked like they came right out of the trash. He dumped them unceremoniously on her bed, and with an unfriendly glance, ordered her, "Put these on."

"Would it kill you to ask nicely?" Rita sneered, pulling herself out from under the covers and crawling over to where she could look through the pile. There was a dark blue knee-length skirt, a pair of purple stockings that came up to about the knees, a pink blouse, blue jacket, and a pink scarf. This was for that 'field trip', then? Well, whatever. They didn't look as stuffy as the military uniform, so Rita put them on.

Once she was finished, she found herself being led outside to some large machines - no, vehicles? - which several other patients were being made to board. Rita had heard very little about the Doyleton trip, other than the fact that they were apparently going to visit some Earth town. There was something intriguing about that - being able to see something that perhaps no one else from her world would ever see - but it was also a distraction that was going to further delay her escape, and that was irritating.

The vehicle that Rita was brought to was empty at the moment, so she sat herself down by a window and started looking through the various items she had been handed upon boarding. The money card was especially curious, and she wondered how much the allowance would allow her to buy. She assumed very little, but she hoped ten dollars were at least worth more than ten gald.

[Free!]

[from here]

As Grell pushed open the door to the washroom, he could feel his face burning. This was just so embarrassing! And yet so thrilling. A lady wandering into unknown territory, really. Not just unknown, but forbidden. He half expected someone to jump out at him and scold him for being so brash as to peek into the men's loo.

But there was no one. The room was silent and empty and Grell ducked inside as quickly as possible to avoid anyone seeing him. Once inside, he shut the door and did his best to lock it. It was bad enough that he had to use the men's room for this, but if someone walked in on him, he would just die - just up and die of shame. Thankfully, not a soul haunted this place and Grell was able to shed the masculine military uniform for something more fitting to his ladylike image. More than anything, he was just glad to have his heels back on as walking about in flat, ugly boots did nothing for his legs.

With clothes changed, Grell tossed the military uniform into a corner and then went to the mirror, checking his hair. His reflection came back somewhat murky due to the lack of light in the room and the quality of the mirror, but it was enough. He could straighten the ribbon tie at his neck and tease his hair a bit into behaving, and he could see very plainly that his own clothes suited him so much better. The blue and black was so drab and it clashed with his hair. The beret was alright and rather cute in a way, but it didn't mesh well with his outfit so he had to leave it behind. Perhaps one day he'd find the right outfit to match the hat. The rest could be burnt.

Satisfied with his appearance, Grell grabbed his chainsaw and hefted it up to rest on his uninjured shoulder. Time to see what the little rats in this military maze were up to. It was a shame he didn't have his powers back tonight as well or he could have had some fun with them. Sadly, he'd have to make due with simply following after the interesting ones and watching them fumble along to their deaths instead of assisting them on their way. He gave the room one last glance before heading out again.

[to here]

The food was disgusting, but he had to eat. While Grell was hardly a gourmet by any stretch of the imagination, he knew good food from poor and this? Was atrocious. He'd only managed to choke it down because without food he'd have no energy and there was no way he'd allow his energy to run out. He still ached from his fight the previous night, an unfamiliar sensation which told him that the last thing he wanted to do was have something go wrong tonight. Last night he'd had his speed back, but not his scythe which left him at a disadvantage since his weapon was infuriatingly inferior.

But with the failure of dinner over, Grell was about to get ready for the evening when the intercom switched on and began sending out a noise so irritating that he had to clap his hands over his ears. "Nngh..." What was with this place and assaulting every single sense he possessed? They didn't allow him make-up or perfumes during the day, the food had turned awful, the clothes were ugly and rough on his delicate skin, and now this affront to his ears. Would the torture never end? And when did he get to return the favor?

Kurogane had been quiet at dinner, which wasn't exactly unusual, but Grell wasn't going to take a chance. He was more than ready to drop the pretense of the butler now that the Institute was turning into some sort of military gauntlet, but he wasn't about to change in front of a man. It was indecent enough that a lady was being roomed with one, but to change clothes in front of him? Hardly.

A quick search of the closet revealed nothing, which caused enough panic until Grell remembered that queer box he'd seen when he entered the room. Going over to it, he lifted the lid and found...His clothes. Boots lined up alongside the remaining scalpels and medical shears. And the chainsaw resting on top of it all. Cleaned, too.

"Well...." That removed any reason to hide things then. If the military was so kind as to box everything up, then they knew and didn't care that the patients were hoarding weapons. So then why not give them better weapons and let them have at each other? With a sigh, Grell lifted his makeup kit and glasses from the box. Keeping his back to his roommate, he applied the eyelashes and cheek rouge, dabbing a bit of perfumed lotion at his wrists before switching his glasses out. Make-up was one thing, but his clothing? Those were lifted from the box with care along with two scalpels and the chainsaw. Some decency had to be maintained after all.

Once he closed the lid of the box, Grell smiled and headed out, not bothering to leave so much as a greeting behind.

[to here]

After what seemed like an eternity of being amused, irritable, bored, in pain, in excruciating pain, and any combination of those, Guybrush was met by the same soldier who had led him to the cafeteria. He wasn't offered a trip to the Sun Room to check the bulletin board, but didn't push for it anyway. That would have been more walking, and moving was one of those many, many physical activities he didn't feel like doing in any capacity. Not today... or until next week, or whenever he'd stop feeling like he'd been on a date with a rough manatee named Large Marge. There was a slow minute of him feebly getting to his feet, then he followed the soldier without comment.

The comment came when Guybrush was handed a leather jacket on his way out the door. "A fine leather jacket... hah." He hissed as he pushed his right arm through the sleeve, settling to just leave the left draped over his shoulder. It was then he noticed the embroidery. At least Aguilar had a decent budget for clothing. If the pants worked, he'd be set.

There was something to be said about the General's methods, though. Why make the people who hadn't been in the food fight do the cleaning, while letting the guilty ones stand around? Sure, he wanted everyone to know who was responsible for the punishment, but wouldn't that just-

Oh. Wow, now that was a new level of crafty manipulation. Even LeChuck could be proud of it, if he wasn't behind it in some way. His disappearance made it possible- even probable- that his showing-up-and-playing-innocent-human-kidnapee routine had been an elaborate rouse, one even more diabolical than creating a carnival with which to recruit unsuspecting tourists into his undead army, more time-consuming than using a Mighty Pirate™ to look for a voodoo-sucking sea sponge so he could... get his mojo back? Oh yeah- Guybrush had died before that one reached Chapter 5. But if Landel's Institute was something LeChuck had cooked up so he could woo Elaine From The Past and change the future, then it was way, way more complex than his previous schemes.

And if it wasn't some incredible plot LeChuck had hatched because he finally grew tired of having his plans foiled? That made things even more complicated.

Guybrush made his way toward one of the benches, sprawling across it as he leaned his head against the backrest. Was the wall higher today? Maybe that was the aching in his chest talking. Either way, he didn't think he'd be going over it in an attempt to Escape from Aguilar's Institute™ that night unless they added a wheelchair ramp.

[Morgan]

While Guy's conversation with Okita had been both interesting and enlightening in a number of ways, the man also knew that all of their talk was only that until they saw for themselves how this new management operated. There was a lot that could change now that they had soldiers, sergeants, officers, and even a general deciding their fate. He got the feeling that they were going to learn a lot more about their reason for being here. The military didn't usually sugarcoat things the way Landel always had.

It made him wonder why it was that the Head Doctor had seen a need to treat them the way he had, leaving everything as a mystery and putting on an act during the day. Had it just been his personal style, or had there been a point to it? Maybe he'd only had the clearance to tell them certain things, if it was really true that he was ranked lower than this general.

Either way, Guy knew that for the moment he had an obligation to the people he was traveling with at night, so he had to focus on that. He was careful to take in the message given by IRIS, noting that there was still some ambiguity involved; though the following announcement was far more attention-catching.

The voice was hard and yet unassuming, to the point and confident in its own way. It was also a voice he'd never heard, and yet it clearly didn't belong to the general, either. They weren't given the courtesy of an introduction; just a warning. Still, Guy had already figured that this night was going to be an interesting one, so that wasn't about to stop him.

As he went to open the closet where his sword had been stored, however, he was shocked to see that there was something there he hadn't ever expected to find here. Guy had often wondered why it was that so many people around him had gotten their outfits from home while he'd continually been stuck with just the uniform, but that had just changed.

He took a second or two to just stare at the clothes. It'd been so long since he'd actually worn them that they were definitely a sight for sore eyes, and he broke out into a smile without meaning to. Grabbing the vest, shirt, and leggings off of the hanger, he also picked up his boots and accessories and then turned to face his roommate.

"Look what I found," he said as he moved over to his bed and immediately started to change out of the Landel's uniform. He wasn't shy to start with and he'd been sharing this room long enough that he didn't mind if the other man saw him out of his clothes. "They're from home."

As excited as he was, he was even more interested in going to meet Anise, Tear, and Claude so that they could give their reactions as well. And having his own clothes back left him feeling even more invigorated to get over that wall and find something. Not willing to be deterred by what the voice over the intercom had said, Guy made sure to grab his sword, flashlight, and radio once he was dressed.

"I have to head out now, though. Have a safe night, all right?" Nodding to Okita, Guy then exited the room and started down the hall with the familiar sound of his well-loved boots hitting the floor with each step.

[To here.]