No. Not even that ever-so-charming red-headed girl wasn't able to take his mind from memories dragged to the surface. It wasn't so much of a surprise--those things, that girl, had occupied his mind for a long period of time. Where every waking thought, after reaching over to find his twin's mind on her, became an undulating hatred of her presence. And so being reminded of that again had become simple. He had hated that girl. And there was nothing more clear than that fact. Nothing.

Even still. Stepping into the empty shower room was almost a shock. Every one since he had arrived here had been shared with one sibling or the other. The absence of both-- Though both should already have been recognized. Was he still looking for Rubedo, out of habit, when Albedo knew, knew in the way that his heart was beating solitary yet again that his twin was no longer here? How absolutely pitiful he was. With no wanting to stay, Albedo hurriedly washed to the nurse's specifications, then moved to leave. To come nearly face to face with the baby. Blanks looks and shifted eyes seemed the norm, and even as Albedo didn't move to break the pattern, something burned within his chest.

Something close to hate; something touching on despair.

[to here]

Claude was all too relieved when the announcement signifying the end of lunch played over the intercom system. It gave him the perfect excuse to let his nurse collect his things and lead him out of the cafeteria. He wished he could have privately said something to Luke, at least -- that he appreciated him looking out for him, for one thing, and that he was sorry he'd had to even waste his breath dealing with the likes of Sync on his behalf. But that would probably have to wait for another day, preferably one where Claude could seek Luke out and actively avoid Sync on his own.

He was still pretty steamed, not to mention humiliated, over what had happened, though. As Claude's nurse took him into the sun room, his uninjured hand balled into a fist at his side. Just who the hell did Sync think he was, anyway? Considering he'd been a weeping, bloodied mess the last time Claude had seen him, it was amazing he even had the gall to keep messing with them like this. Maybe Sync had been brainwashed back then, but next time Claude was going to make sure he finished the job right. They'd be on equal terms, if he had anything to say about it, and he wouldn't be holding back.

In the meantime, there wasn't much for him to do except pass the time while he waited for the day to end. Normally arts and crafts would have sounded like a nice distraction, but that wouldn't work today for obvious reasons. Claude just had to keep telling himself that he couldn't give up on getting his sight back. Natalia was kind enough to offer her help tonight, so the least he could do was try not to let himself get too depressed right now.

After the nurse led him to a couch, Claude leaned back against the cushions, tucking one hand behind his head. So far it didn't sound like there were many people milling about the sun room yet, though no doubt that would change soon enough. Maybe he ought to take some time to just relax. He might need his strength tonight, after all.

[For Leon.]

[From here.]

L had never seen this kitchen before. Even when it was only illuminated by a beam of light, it was cleaner and brighter than other rooms, much like its counterpart on the second level. Surfaces gleamed. Realizing that he had been holding his breath (in anticipation of--what?), he exhaled slowly.

Three doors lined the wall in front of him--two pantries and a refrigerator.

The trouble with a trap door to the basement was that it was also a trap door from the basement. There was no way of knowing what might be waiting for them, and the closer they got, the more the knowledge tugged at him, increasing his apprehension. It wasn't paranoia; the Institute offered ample grounds for disquiet.

He indicated the door in the middle with his flashlight. "That one is the refrigerator. I believe Jones said the door is there. We can find it." He spoke in German, again; at least one of his companions understood it. Neither of them spoke English.

[from here]

The dark of the cafeteria took enough time to adjust to against the light and colour of what had occurred in the Sun Room that for a moment Lunge only waited by the door, too cautious to move any further into the room without being fully prepared. It seemed unlikely that two ‘guardians’ would be placed in such close proximity to each other, but it had also seemed unlikely that he would suddenly find himself at the mercy of a language barrier.

What had happened? The sudden change in the head doctor’s language indicated that it was his actions that were at the route of the problem- but then that left the case of whether or not it had been the overall plan or simply a side effect of the “sloppy implementation”. If the former, there was still potentially a side effect to endure. If the latter… well. What else could possibly go wrong?

He breathed out slowly. “Who else is here?” he asked the darkness next to him, nearer the doorway- then, remembering that most of what he had heard had been English, racked his brains for an English alternative that the rest of them could understand. He could trust L to understand him, but... “Hello?” Close enough.

[from here]

At the front of the group, Indy edged cautiously into the Sun Room, sweeping his flashlight around in a search for movement or lurking figures. A couple of times he thought he caught something, but it was hard to tell in the darkness and with the arrhythmic tramping of six pairs of feet behind him. If something was here, they might just have to take their chances.

"Stick close," he muttered to whoever was behind him as he continued to move forward.

As expected, after the allotted amount of time had passed, the nurses started to move through the waiting rooms to inform the visitors that it was time for them to leave, whereas in the Sun Room King Kong was turned off and the staff quickly sprung to action to put the equipment away.

Meanwhile, the sound of intercom turning on cut into the hustle and bustle, but it was Lydia's voice which came through. "Mr. Landel is taking a quick nap," was all she said by way of explanation, as she seemed to be beyond making lengthy excuses for the man. "Nurses, once the visitors have said their goodbyes, escort the patients back to their rooms for dinner. Tonight there is steak and fries on the menu, with a slice of cheesecake for dessert and vegetarian options if requested.

"Enjoy your food and have a good sleep." Keeping it short, the intercom then turned off.

Sakura had mentioned a library on the second floor, but there was one on the first floor, wasn't there? It was for the patients, sure, but that didn't mean there wouldn't be any useful books. Not that he knew for certain, since every time Hanatarou had been in there previously it hadn't been to pay a lot of attention to the reading material.

As he wandered into the shelves, however, he didn't find anything like medical texts or information on the medications that he'd found. All he found was-- what was this? The shinigami blinked at the cover of the book he'd pulled from the shelf, then shook his head and quickly shoved it back into place. Maybe something... somewhere else. He moved away from that shelf and over to another, frowning thoughtfully as he looked over the titles on the spines of the books, but didn't really find anything that looked useful.

[for paramedic!Peter]

[from here.]

Instead of the forest, Keman found himself in…the courtyard at Landel’s? Yes, that was the greenhouse right over there. But he’d just been in the forest seconds before, miles away from here. How had that happened? He stared at the high walls ahead of him, feeling utterly defeated. All he wanted was to escape somewhere and hide, but the Institute wouldn’t even allow him that. This wasn’t even close to being the worst thing that they had done to him tonight—his own body was a perfect example of that—and yet it felt like the last straw.

He just wanted it to be over. Why couldn’t it be over?

It was never over.

With a sigh of resignation, the dragon ambled over to the door back into the Institute, praying fervently to gods that he didn’t believe in that it would actually lead to the hallway. He just wanted this to end. He needed to rest.

[from here.]

And the door out of the pantry led into the…town? That was odd. And yet, Keman had no way of knowing how long he’d been out, or how long the transformation had taken. He’d passed out again after the woman had hooked the IV to his arm; maybe the glowing room had been somewhere in town instead of the Institute? It didn’t make sense, but nothing about this did. What she’d done to him wasn’t supposed to have even been possible, he reasoned, picking his way towards the door. If he got out of town, maybe he could hide in the forest. Live off of rodents. It wasn’t an attractive prospect in the least, but unless he could somehow get back to his halfblood form and warn the others, he would just be mistaken for one of the creatures the Institute had created. And he was one, in away. They’d made him like this.

The little dragon climbed to the door and prepared himself for the rain. At least this time, he wouldn’t get cold.

[from here.]

Suddenly going from two legs to four was as disorienting as going from four to two had been. Keman was dizzy with pain and still shaking from the trauma of what had just happened to him. He sagged against the wall, chest heaving. He’d been playing into the woman’s little game, running out the door she’d created for him, but he hadn’t had a choice. It was either stay or risk exposing himself to more of…whatever she had done to him. The little dragon curled up on the floor, feeling his wings and tail move with the rest of him, and hating every second of it.

She’d given him back his true form, but the decision hadn’t been his. She’d forced him to shift, something no one should have had the power to do. Now he was small and helpless, like a newborn dragonet. Smaller than one, even. He could barely stand, much less get out of…wherever he was and somehow find his way back to his room. And even if he did, what then? The other patients wouldn’t hesitate to attack him.

After all, he looked like a monster.

[From here]

The rain was sharp and cold against Hime's face, but there was no crunch of shattered glass beneath her shoes, only that of gravel. The street, the stores, the town - gone. More importantly, at least to Hime, so was the zombie. She had hoped that by breaking through the window she might circumvent the spell on the doors, but once again it seemed that any manner of exit was just as ensnared. So what had they come out of now?

Turning around, Hime saw nothing - no shattered window standing in the middle of the air, no portal, no trace of where they'd come from. In fact, she had no idea where they were. In one direction, she could see a large silhouette, far off and looming. The institute, perhaps? Closer by, there were smaller shapes. A town, it seemed. Doyleton? No, Doyleton wasn't so close to the institute - assuming that was institute.

In either case, the zombie had escaped. Hime made a hiss of frustration as she put away her bat in favor of her knife and her flashlight, for all the good it would do with how hard it was raining.

[From here.]

And this was not the Sun Room. Or any room at Landel's that he'd seen. The odd twisting feeling made Abe's hand slip from the door handle against his will and it slammed shut, leaving him in a far more cramped room that smelled faintly of animal food and wood shavings. "What in the world?" he whispered as he reached for his flashlight.

It looked like some kind of storeroom or shop, with a counter and things sitting on shelves. A bag at Abe's feet was labeled as kitty litter (a substance that Abe was, unfortunately, fairly familiar with)

Tobias still held on his arm, Abe crept forward into the new place. "I don't suppose this is familiar to you?" he asked, holding his arm out slightly as if to give the hawk a better view. Doors that went to more than one place weren't unfamiliar to him, but he hadn't done anything unusual this time. Save carrying a bird, but the bird hadn't seemed to expect a change either.

Aside from sightseeing, the most Brook had managed to do by the time they were escorted back to the buses was to get all but completely soaked. A little rain had never hurt anyone, especially when it came to exploration, and since it was always a challenge just to find clothes that would cover him, finding a proper raincoat had been overlooked that morning. Not that anything would have managed to get over Brook's head of hair. There just was not a hood that existed, let alone one he could trust not to mess up his afro that would have done the trick.

"A shame we have to leave..." Brook sighed to himself since the nurse wouldn't have any of his 'lip'. He really didn't see how she could be so worried about him catching a cold when he hadn't had one in half a century! But it was nice that she was concerned, he guessed.

Taking a seat near the back, Brook glanced out the windows and waited for the return trip, hopeful that by the time they'd rolled out he would have a seat-mate that would not mind some conversation. With all of his wandering, Brook hadn't had the chance to speak to a soul all day! There was one thing he could blame the rain on - it made it so difficult to run into others on the street.

[free and soaked]

Hmph. While this Rude was the proverbial "man of few words," von Karma found more potential use from him than a number of the other patients he had met put together. He would still ask Franziska about the man... as well as the other people he had learned that she had been spending time around. Many of them were utter fools, especially that Kibitoshin.

He ignored the nurse as she insisted that he stay indoors, lest he "catch his death of pneumonia." Already having planned to meet his daughter in the Sun Room, the prosecutor had no intention of spending the cold, gloomy morning in the Courtyard anyway.

It appeared that he was the first to arrive in the spacious room. Gray light from the overcast sky filtered in through the glass windows high above, making it somewhat more difficult for von Karma to peruse the notes on the bulletin board as he awaited Franziska's arrival.

The lines in his forehead furrowed as he saw Kibitoshin's note to her, asking her whether she was "feeling better." What made that blasted oaf think that it was any of his business how she was doing or to worry about her?! She had been raised to take care of herself, damn it! ...Did Franziska say or do something that would lead the clumsy idiot to think otherwise? This, among other things, von Karma would ask her.

After removing his daughter's response to his original note from the board -- and noting that Ms. Taura had yet to reply to his other note -- he sat down at a table in a remote corner of the room, claiming this space that would afford him and his daughter the most privacy.

Mew?

What was that noise? And what was that tugging sensation at the leg of his pants? He peered down in the direction from which the irritating sound had come and was greeted by a tiny orange kitten that had the mistaken notion that his leg was a climbing post. Infernal creature! One glance at his face, and the furry little nuisance was suddenly at the other end of the room, having cleared it within several skittish bounds. Good riddance!

[Waiting for his Dear Daughter]

Luckily for Mele, the night had ended before Tenzen had changed his mind and deemed Mele appropriate for target practice. Even if the situation of who was mocking who had seemed to change into the Iga ninja's favor. Despite her behavior, perhaps the insolent woman could serve some sort of use nonetheless. He had been trapped in this place for a week by now, he would not accomplish anything on his own.

A week was a long time, a lot could have happened. Of course, he was thinking of the war, the bloody clash of two rivaling ninja clans, whose hatred had gone back for four hundred years. After that infuriating peace treaty had been broken, he, too, could finally release the hatred. And despite their losses, Tenzen had been certain that the Iga clan - no, that he would be the one to remain standing.

Four had remained on both sides a week ago...had the remaining Kouga already been killed? Or had they somehow succeeded in disposing of the remaining three Iga (excluding himself) during his absence? Of those three, two were blind. The situation was not a favorable one, and with himself trapped here before he could return from death, he had to wonder if the Kouga had removed the name 'Yakushiji Tenzen' from the scroll and would believe they had eliminated all of Iga's chosen ten.

The thought - along with no manner of telling this - was enough to make his jaw tighten. The longer he would remain here...

But as unfuriating as it was, it would not help him return. After confirming the presence of the scalpels he had retrieved, a nurse entered his room to escort him to the cafeteria for ridiculous Western breakfast. Unfortunately, the same ridiculous food was the only source of nutrition.

Upon entering, the ninja noticed he was the first to arrive to the area. After deciding on a salad rather than these so-called 'pancakes', he moved to one of the many vacant seats.

[Free to a good home. No limits!]

[From here]

It hadn't been the most graceful landing, but at least Prussia had landed on his feet without injury; a twisted ankle right now would not have been the best thing for his escape.

He picked up the torch from where it had landed, and took a moment to check out what lay ahead of him. The land was unfamiliar to him—even in the dark he would have recognized in an instant if it had been German land—and provided little clue as to which direction would be best to travel in. There were no paths, no roads on this side of the hospital or the side around the corner.

He decided to move along the wall for now, and started heading east. He'd see if there was anything compelling in that direction—some landmark he might recognize or a road or anything—and decide where to go from there.

[From here]

There were no lighted guard towers out here and no heavily-armed patrols, and Prussia again felt insulted by the lack of security. It was almost as if they wanted him to escape! Until now, hardly a day had gone by without the control council making its presence—and his position—known. The sudden change in tune disturbed him more than he cared to admit, and he couldn't help but wonder if he were walking straight into some kind of trap. But they'd already taken everything away from him— the feel of land beneath his feet was good, but it would have been better if it had been his land and felt in his very bones—so what else could they possibly do? He refused to die, and he'd refuse to let them kill him, no matter what they tried next.

Prussia finally decided to use the torch, clicking it on to survey the area. It was a field of some sort (for football, perhaps), with a shed at one corner and a wall surrounding its entirety. He took a few steps forward along the nearest wall before turning towards it and starting to scale it.

Once he was high enough to see over, Prussia propped himself up with his arms and shone the torch into the next area. It didn't look like a way away from the hospital's grounds—it was just a walled courtyard and more of the hospital—so he carefully dropped back to the ground.

He'd have to try his luck with the other two walls, and their corner seemed like the best option. He started across the field, heading in the direction of the shed.

Heat was able to ignore the still faintly throbbing spot on his head as he was led back into the cafeteria for another meal he had no intention of eating. He kept himself from rubbing at what he knew would be a small bump because dammit it didn't hurt that much. It was embarrassing, was what it was.

At the fishy odor filling the room when he entered, the demon wrinkled his nose. How that was supposed to be the slightest bit appealing he had no idea. Then again, it wasn't always the taste that mattered. Whatever this cod was, it could very well taste better than the rotting flesh he'd gotten down the night before.

His nurse made some comment about his lack of appetite, but he wasn't paying attention. She could eat his damn lunch if she was worried about it going to waste. It wasn't his fault they didn't inform their staff properly of their patients' eating habits. The room was fairly empty too, so Heat wasn't picky with where he sat. He just hoped one of his tribemates found him before he was stuck with some other pest for the duration of the meal.

[Sasuke?]

Scott wasn't really what one would call the sporty type, at least not currently. In the past, maybe. He could have called himself a hockey player at one point - in grade two (it totally counted). And he had been a jock in high school, hadn't he (he had at least played a lot of Track & Field for the NES, anyway)? Regardless of what his athletic status may or may not have been, sports weren't really what the Scott Pilgrim of nowadays was associated with. He was a fighter, not a lover sports guy. Still, he was surprisingly excited to be going out to the Rec Field. Maybe he wouldn't get any games on, but he could still work off those pesky bullet wounds, right?

He walked as fast as the crutch would let him despite the protests of his nurse and his injured limbs. His hand could grip just well enough to keep the crutch steady under his right arm (gravity did most of the work), and he was thus able to keep a good pace. "All right, not doing bad so far," Scott said to himself with a grin as he hobbled quickly across the field, heading for the goalposts on the far end. He had worked up a surprisingly steady stride by the time he got close to them. Crutch forward, then left leg swung out in front of it. Crutch, leg, crutch, leg, crutch, leg. Nothing to it! Sure, his shoulder was hurting like burning. Sure, his right leg was still giving him similar pain on a smaller scale despite not having weight put on it. Sure, his animal brain was constantly shouting, "WHY WON'T YOU STOP?!" Other than that, though, he was a-okay. He was determined to be. Otherwise, it was Game Over, wasn't it?

Soon he reached the goalposts and stopped, much to the relief of his limbs. He hadn't really gone to this spot for any specific reason. He had just wanted to prove to himself that he wasn't that hampered by his injuries. For now, he seemed to have made a good case for the affirmative on that point. He knew that he couldn't just stop at moving forward, though. He had to see how good he was going to be at fighting in this condition. How was his moveset going to be modified with a crutch added and an arm taken away? That was the million dollar ($1176470.59 CDN) question, wasn't it?

He tried something simple to start - a standing kick with his good leg. He quickly raised his left leg while leaning his armpit against the crutch, lightly touching the goalpost with the sole of his foot. Nothing bad so far. He did the same thing again, only harder. A small wave of pain shot from one leg to the other, causing him to wobble on his crutch a bit. Scott grit his teeth, not liking that result at all. This time he decided to try a small jump kick, just to spite that stupid injury. After backing up a good few inches, he pushed both feet off the ground. "Hiiiiya!" With the end of his crutch still on the ground, he gave himself a bit of extra momentum, letting it fling him toward the goalpost with his left leg outstretched.

One didn't have to be able to predict the future to know what that the result of that was going to be. Foot connected hard with goalpost. Rebound pushed him back against the crutch. Center of gravity over the crutch shifted too far back. Pain shot through both his legs and his injured arm again. This and the gravity shift caused him to let go of the crutch entirely. Body flew back over the crutch and crashed on the ground slightly behind it. Bum (among other things) ended up stinging and covered in grass stains.

"Owwwwww," Scott groaned to himself, fumbling for the crutch. It was in an awkward position, just beyond the reach of his good arm. ". . . Well, could've gone worse, I guess," he told himself as he used his left foot to start pushing the crutch back toward his hand.

[For Keman at first, then Peter and Indy later.]