[from here]

The kitchen was pitch-dark save for their flashlights; no lingering light from the Sun Room's windows made it in here. Taura did a quick swing, and headed for the sink. The water turned on, clean and fresh, so she rinsed off her claws and went looking for a towel.

Pans, more pans, and then finally a package of sponges. That'd do well enough. She pulled one out and started drying. Each time she slid it down a blade it became less square and more like a floppy mop-end -- those blades were sharp.

"See anything you like," she drawled, motioning towards the open cabinet of pots and pans with a slow flick of her hand that could go all sorts of ways. First priority was safety, always, but it didn't mean she couldn't be friendly about it.

[from here]

Pausing to catch his breath on the other side of the doors, Tylor kept shivering, and tried to shift a little closer to his new female friend with that as a plausible excuse. Even though it had worked out pretty poorly the first time he'd done it, he still had to resist the urge to jump up on one of the tables or chairs instead of staying on the ground where something else might grab him from his shadow.

They seemed to have traded one huge room with an unbearably eerie atmosphere lit by intermittant light for a huge room with an unbearably eerie atmosphere lit only by flashlight. This was the direction Tylor had originally wanted to go in, but now his stomach wasn't eager for any additions; his dinner felt awful. He took a few more deep breaths to calm down, and offered Taura a sickly smile. "Thanks for saving me! Wow, it's a good thing I went in there, isn't it?"

[from here]

Taura had found the assignment listing after her shower; she hadn't had more than a moment to dash off a reply before she'd been harried back towards the bunks. She jogged into the center of the room and over towards the board. The notices and replies were gone each morning, but she'd never seen the staff tidying in the afternoon; perhaps any further notes were still here.

The bulletin board was certainly not empty, but those were not notes. Communication, yes. A desperate cry for help. Many cries, by the look of it, or one repeated beyond the endurance she'd found typical of unenhanced human bodies.

Someone had been here, and been hurt. She turned to the room and barked out a couple short questions. "Who's there? Is someone injured?"

[open to threadhopping]

[From over here]

While the prospect of loitering in the hallway he had just passed was tempting (just what was the Keybearer and his friends up to?), X was officially timing himself out of lack of anything else to do. There was no one to speak with, nothing to look at, no cards in his possession, but Time would never abandon. She was always there to focus on, so that was what he did.

Fifteen minutes to reach this hallway in silence...? He could do better, but since he saw no sign of his conspirator, he was not going to rush. Still, that didn't mean he was going to stop moving. The open doors of the Sun Room and the closed door across were ignored for now. They could be explored later when he had no further obligations.

As he kept timing his stride and paced ever forward, Luxord began to wonder if entertaining the idea to paint these walls garish colors would be fun or not. He could even make a game of it, should others get involved...

[lalalalala]

[Skipping one room from here]

Ugh. The prosecutor could not get out of the patient block hallway fast enough. He could practically still taste the putrid tobacco from there. For once, he was thankful that he was wearing the hideous coat over his precious garments. But if one single fume of that blasted cigarette smoke filling the previous hallway had leached into his suit, he would personally convict the insolent smoker of reckless endangerment -- of both his health and his valuable property.

Unlike the patient block corridor, this hallway seemed to be unoccupied for the moment. Not wanting to make any more unnecessary noise (the soft tapping from his cane already creating more sound than he preferred), von Karma stifled his residual wheezing from the noxious smoke as he cautiously headed south towards the main hallway.

[Skipping one more room to unknowingly meet up with Xemnas here]

[from here]

Another hallway, which meant that he needed to slow his steps to a jog and turn on his flashlight. His light shifted over the walls quickly, up, down, around him, and even toward the floor, as if little black heads with yellow beady eyes would suddenly pop out and attack him. Though he didn't have any idea what most of the monsters looked like here, Riku doubted that he would see anything like the heartless. They may have the Darkness to change Kairi completely, but it didn't seem like the type of thing they would use against their patients. Making them into heartless would only be useful in the situations where Nobodies might be involved. Some people here might be strong in heart, much like Sora had been, much like Kairi had been, but he doubted that would be the intended result of their experiments. No, they were probably going for something else.

But what?

Riku shook his head uncertainly before he picked up his pace again. Nothing seemed to be clear. Not even the Darkness of this place seemed like that Darkness, even as he tried to see if it was the same way. But with every aspect of him feeling relatively weaker, it was no surprise he couldn't really check, couldn't really differentiate to tell for certain. He also knew there was a possibility that his senses were weakened. That would slow him down more, but they didn't bother to remove his experience or knowledge. Those were still things Riku pocketed and kept. They were what would help him help his friends.

[to here]

He didn't remember falling asleep exactly, only that he was suddenly starting awake when the Head Doctor's voice crackled on. For a second, McCoy couldn't remember where he was. The sheets felt rougher than he remembered, the layout too small for a starship, the bed itself unfamiliar. Even though he'd been around the cramped room the past few days, the dim room seemed alien in those waking moments.

The doctor didn't sit up immediately. Last thing he remembered was nursing a growing headache. McCoy regarded himself suspiciously as he woke up bit by bit. He couldn't feel any splitting pain now, which was well and fine, but you never knew for certain. A good part of him was reluctant to roll over or move, and actually find out whether it was slept off or just lying there waiting. McCoy lay there a little longer, listening to the intercom.

For that brief moment earlier, it'd really felt like he was back lying on the bed in his quarters, back on the Enterprise, only there'd been something peculiar about it. Like it wasn't his quarters and that bed had been elsewhere, in a room that was bigger than his and hotter than he was used to. It definitely wasn't his room: mugginess was one thing, he'd grown up with it before, but having the air hotter than Death Valley wasn't his idea for healthy living. Despite knowing those were off, there was a sense of right about it all the same.

The doctor looked around blearily for a clock only to remember that there wasn't any such luxury here. He couldn't have missed the rendezvous already. The Head Doctor sounded like he was giving one of his first announcements for the night. Lying here a little while longer was pretty tempting, but he had his orders. McCoy sat up slowly. To his relief, that headache looked like it had burned itself out for the most part. He really had just needed some sleep.

He quickly changed out of the gray number into his own uniform. He could still feel that headache lurking about on the fringes, but it was manageable. Adjusting the medical tunic, McCoy stepped out.

[From here, and waiting on a certain chain smoking patch face.]

Was he early? It looked like he was early. It was just him by his lonesome in this big dark hallway, and the night had only begun a scant few minutes ago. At least now he was in his regular patient grays instead of the old red and blues, so he shouldn't draw too many stares as everybody drifted out of their rooms. Just another prepubescent mystical boy, pay no mind to him. There's dozens of them around.

Peter settled against a patch of wall where he could keep an eye on all four corridors and the entrance to the main hall. He'd have an exit available should the need arise, and he'd be able to spot Ginger Spice coming a mile away.

_{[From here.]}

Shinji paused at the major hallway, playing the beam of his flashlight over the walls. This was familiar by now. He'd come through this hallway a couple times before and it was usually as far as he'd gotten into the institute at night. Usually he just stopped - he didn't particularly want to find out how far the corruption went or encounter anything unpleasant. Tonight was different, though. Kaworu was missing (or so he thought). He'd wait here for a few minutes to see if Kaworu passed through. If not, Shinji decided to move on. He'd find Kaworu if it took all night. He owed him that much.

He didn't want any more of his friends to be hurt because he was too afraid to take action anymore. Despite the firmness of that thought, he still found himself fighting against panic and fear. This place still scared him at night. All moving shadows and claustrophobic walls. The feeling of being watched and followed. It was more than creepy, even after a few nights here. He wanted to go back to his room and try and sleep for once, but this was more important.

He wouldn't run away. Not this time. At least, that's what he told himself. He just hoped it wasn't a lie.

"AACHOO! Ahem!" The Head Doctor's slightly-better-but-still-congested voice came on clearly over the intercom. The sound of Nurse Lydia sighing and pulling out a tissue from somewhere in the background was also audible.

"Ah! Yes, thank you..." the Head Doctor muttered before continuing: "Well, it seems like today, like all days, must come to an end, even if it wasn't quite as bright and cheerful as we would like, hmmm? In any case, everyone will now be escorted to their quarters.... mmaahh... AAACHOO! Ah! Erb– yes, to their quarters, where they'll be served some Atlantic wild-caught salmon seasoned with garlic and herbs, along with mashed potatoes and a small garden salad. Our usual vegetarian alternatives and drinks are also available, along with a chocolate mousse dessert.

"And that's all... all ...aaaachoo!"

The intercom clicked off.

[ All room threads go in response to this post; please post your character's room number as the subject line of the initial post. I think Court said something about the new roomies not being completely sorted out yet? :O She'll probably post about that later, so hang tight! ]

After a rough morning, Lunch was actually fairly easy to sit through.  Sechs and Kibitoshin hardly knew him, so light conversation was fine.  The things from Breakfast and this morning though, would be sticking with him for a while.  When the nurse arrived to take him to showers, he was relieved to find he was the first one there.  With that, there would be fewer questions about some of his injuries.  They weren't obvious most of the time, but in the showers, one couldn't exactly hide them. 

He took off the eyepatch at the nurse's insistence, along with the rest of the institute's standard uniform.  There was the locket too, from Aaron, that the nurse told him she'd keep an eye on.  That done, he went about the usual routine, scrubbing out his hair first and slicking it back before he soaped up.  While some of the injuries had quickly become nothing but scars, there were still a few remaining, the deep cut in his neck, right above his collarbone was still in stitches, though it'd closed up and started to heal.  He couldn't see it, but he ran his thumb along the length of it, feeling a slight stinging sensation as the soap reached it. 

Once finished, he dressed and let his nurse re-fit the wounds with new bandages and a fresh and clean white medical eyepatch.  His hair was starting to get a bit long, he noticed, but maybe he'd wait a bit longer before he asked them to cut it.  Still, he dried it as much as he could, then headed out of the showers.

[to here]

McCoy listened to that crackling intercom with some concern. A "Mr. Radio?", "P.A.I.L.?" Coupled along with the smugness and that cackling, he had to say it sounded like this head Doctor had gone off the deep end himself long ago. Somehow it made sense. Only a mad man could conjure up all this.

Well, he was as ready as he was ever going to get. McCoy took one last second to check things over. He was armed with a flashlight, that primitive radio, a bulky winter coat unearthed from that closet and the pillow case stripped off his bed. He tucked the last two both under an arm, feeling more like he was seven again and about to go trick-or-treating than something a lot more serious. It was the pillowcase. It was fit for Halloween, not carrying around medical supplies in them. It was risky, possibly carrying around delicate liquids and tools like that, and something he'd never thought about considering until now. But there weren't too many (or any) alternatives at the moment.

It'll be blood-letting and leeches next, McCoy silently grumbled as he started down the hall. Things could only get worse.

He didn't remember seeing any orders, but Mr. Spock had mentioned his room number earlier. He could report to him, maybe bring up his concerns about the rec field incident in the meantime.

[to here]

[From here]

There were more halls branching off from this one, and a peek down one of them confirmed they were identical to the hallway his room had been on. There would be no use in going down any of them, unless he needed to find someone else.

He wondered briefly if they'd moved West here, too, but there were far too many rooms to check if he was going to get out of here unnoticed. West hadn't been up for execution at their hands like he was, anyway, so his brother would be alright.

There was still no sign of anyone else, but Prussia didn't want to risk using the torch to confirm in case it alerted a guard or doctor or anyone to his escape. He could make out a door at the end of the hallway, and he headed for it. It was unlocked, and he continued onward.

[To here]

[From M59]

Dinner hadn't been Italy's cooking, but Prussia finished it anyway; food was food, and if he succeeded in breaking out of here, it might be a while before he had another chance at a meal.

When an announcement mentioning "patients" was broadcast, it had merely confirmed his suspicions that he'd been placed in a hospital overnight—or perhaps, during the day; from the sound of things, it was already night again. That suited him; the door may have been locked, but his attempts to force it open hadn't brought in any guards, so it seemed that he was alone. He wondered what the control council was trying to accomplish by putting him here; they'd hardly been concerned about his health before (were they trying to make up for what they'd done to him?), and relaxing their guard on him was foolish.

After the announcement, Prussia had started searching for anything that he could use to get out, but the only particularly useful things he'd found were a handheld light, a key, and a pair of boots. It was while he was putting on the boots—who knew what terrain would be like once he got out?—that another announcement was made, of a different nature than the first. The man on the broadcast seemed to be going on about a radio.

Far more interesting than the announcement, however, was the fact that when Prussia tried the door again—out of hope more than any real belief that it would be miraculously unlocked this time—the knob turned.

There wasn't a moment to waste.

The hall was empty. No guards, no England or America just waiting for him to slip up so they would feel more justified in crushing him, no one. Prussia felt somewhat insulted that they were so overconfident as to think their law and a locked door alone would be enough to render him useless.

There was a long row of doors ending in what looked to be a dead end to his left when he exited his room, but there was another hallway to the right. That was the way he'd go.

[To here]

[For Yuna!]

Fish and chips weren't his favorite thing ever, but he did make sure to eat it all. He just liked to think of the fish as the Filet'o Fish without the bun and it made it easier to eat. The french fries had been pretty well cleaned off and he'd even managed a bit of fruit, although he avoided the oranges and other sour things his nurse had insisted on putting on his plate. But the fries had been good and he felt a little better having eaten something. With everything that had been going on lately, Ritsuka had been shirking on his meals more than usual and it'd all but made him sick.

Now, as he flopped onto a sofa in the Sun Room, he felt sick in a different way. He really shouldn't have eaten as much as he did, but there was no helping it. He'd been hungry. Wasn't hi fault the grease was starting to get to him.

Pulling his legs up onto the seat cushions, Ritsuka leaned back and asked his nurse to bring him the book he'd checked out from the library last time. She returned soon enough and he curled up with the book, ignoring her curious looks at his choice in literature. He hadn't seen Soubi at lunch and now that it was the fourth shift, he figured most of the men would be out in the Greenhouse. He'd have to catch up with the Fighter later, now that he'd calmed down.

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.]

It had all been going so well!

Seeing Cloud and Aerith(!) again had brought a now unfamiliar lightness to her shoulders. Work would be harder from here on out, but she wasn't on her own anymore. She was getting a second chance she'd never thought was possible. And then, then they'd trekked outside, totally ready to face the fog and the unknown (privately, the ninja had been a little worried; it couldn't happen again, it just couldn't, but what if it did?)—only to wake up. In their beds. As usual. Gaaaaaawd—!

"I just want you to know," Yuffie informed her nurse, grabbing her journal from the desk on her way out, "that your hair looks spectacularly god-awful today. What did you do, stick your tongue in a socket? I'm not exactly hip on fashion, too busy badass for that fluffy stuff, but—"

Plucky looked ready to plant her face in her hands. Or to plant her hands somewhere else. To her credit, and much to Yuffie's eternal disappointment, she did—tried to do—neither. "One of those days, is it?" the nurse sighed, disapproval incarnate. "Well. You're just going to have to behave; the new batches of patients are due today. We don't want to make a bad impression."

"I am feeling so completely convinced of my wrongdoing," Yuffie confided. They stepped into the cafeteria, practically empty as of yet. The chocolate cake last night had worked a treat, whetting her appetite. Honestly, she was getting sick of pecking at scraps like a runt Chocobo in the snow plains—but not literally, of course. Ew. She got more than enough of that on those damn buses once a week. Now that AVALANCHE really was dropping onto her lap—and remind her to get the hell out of dodge if Barret ever took his turn—she couldn't afford not to keep her strength up. For one, she'd be a liability. For two, she'd get her spine chewed out.

"Fruit," said Plucky, hovering as her charge picked out her choices for the day. Rolling her eyes, Yuffie grabbed an apple, slinging it onto the tray alongside an 'English' sandwich. "That'll do. I'll leave you to your breakfast, now." Somehow, that sounded about as comforting as 'My name is Don Corneo and I am raiding through your panty draw', and Yuffie was stopping that thought right there. Oh, god. Eurk. Bad, bad, bad! Bad, brain. Bad. That—yeah, no. Just, no. 'Sides, the guy was as dead as a doornail, splatted across Da Chao's feet. Dirtying them, really, but somehow Yuffie couldn't bring herself to be sorry about that.

(And it wasn't like the creep'd ever end up here, right? Right!)

She took to a seat, dropping her tray and her journal both onto the table. The book fell pages-down; Yuffie flipped it over, thumbing through to the middle as she worked through her apple. An almost finished map of Gaia stared back at her, neat as she could ever manage. Dots for major locations, squiggles for mountains. Stars for the materia caves, Chocobos for the tracks. All labelled in Wutaian. It was just a little piece of the home she absolutely had to get back to, 'cuz Leviathan knew what kind of trouble they'd be up to their necks in without her.

[For Donna]

"Good morning – ah! Could you... could you close that, please? Lydia? Yeah. Yeah, thanks."

Unfortunately for the Head Doctor, today was particularly clear and sunny, and he sounded more disgruntled than usual as his Head Nurse seemed to do as she was told. The zzzziip of blinds unfolding was about as clear as the sound of her sighing, and one could even picture her rolling her eyes as she exited the room.

"...Anyway!" the Head Doctor continued, obviously trying very hard to keep up the cheerful charade. "Sorry about that – ah, bad night, you see. In any case, our regular rounds of therapy for selected patients will continue today, but first... breakfast! Today, we will be serving English muffin sandwiches with fried egg, cheese, sausage, and... well, whatever else you put on it. Er – for sides, we have tater tots, silver dollar pancakes, and our usual salad and fruit options. Our drink assortment is the usual kind too – orange juice, milk, water... the works and all that!"

He seemed to realize he was being a bit more disjointed than usual. He cleared his throat.

"In any case, I hope you enjoy it. I'll be speaking to you again soon!"

The intercom clicked off.

[ All introduction posts for this shift's group of new characters should be made in response to this post.

Have your character wake up in a random room as we don't have roommates sorted out yet. Putting M??/F?? in the subject line is fine. ]