[From here]Ilia tread carefully through the hall, ears open for gunshots, but no. She still didn't hear anything like that. Good, the guardian hadn't been brought back tonight, just as she'd been told. So that meant tonight would be... torture sessions. Ilia gripped the flashlight in her hand a bit tighter. What unethical behavior for a doctor, a fellow man of science! She would see to it Landel wouldn't get a chance to bank on whatever 'research' he was accumulating with this place. Even if it took her the rest of her life
( ... )
Ilia's voice echoed back to her from the ceiling, though it was garbled, with only a few sounds remaining that could be understood by the human ear. But what sounds could be understood were unmistakably Ilia's voice.
He had never seen this before. The patient was aggressive, but his readouts (as far as he knew), made no sense. The patient was an aggressor... to himself? That was what his data told him, and in a matter of seconds he accepted the scenario as fact. But then came the query: what was he supposed to do about a self-aggressor?
if aggressive
then dissuade
A low tone sounded from the same place Ilia's reflected voice had come from, and a sphere of blue light descended to rest in front of Ritsu's face. It gave off a brilliant flash of light and suddenly, there was a body. And a face with wide, staring green eyes.
Ilia's heart accelerated to a frantic pace when the woman almost fell... or not. She had jerked a bit, but her hold was tight so she remained on the edge. The long-haired woman was still too close to empty air for Ilia's taste. She slowed herself to a walk, holding her hands out in a placating fashion. No need to send the girl into hysteria
( ... )
Guybrush took several tentative steps into the area above the sun room before clicking his flashlight on to draw attention to himself, keeping his sword low and hopefully out of sight for anyone watching him in the darkness. Not immediately seeing anyone, he decided to try his luck. Morgan had his back if he got into trouble.
"Hello?" he called, his voice echoing a little as he took another step. "Is there anyone up here tonight? I just want to ask a few questions, if that's okay." He paused, listening to his own voice ringing as well as for the sound of gunshots. The last thing he needed to add to his list of problems was a number of bullet holes in his chest.
"Okay," Morgan agreed readily enough. Guybrush's methods did have ways of working themselves out--and honestly, they might even work better than hers in this case. Not that she wanted to tell him about how she'd been bested by the guards on the first day, and not that she thought it would happen again now that she had her sword, but...well, maybe diplomacy had its uses too. Seriously, the speed with which those guys moved was as unnatural as DeSinge's freaky finger trick.
She fell into step behind him and stuck close, keeping her sword down the same way to show she wasn't going to gut the first person who looked at them cross-eyed. So far she didn't hear an answer. Morgan kept quiet and let Guybrush continue to do the talking. Or the calling to thin air, as the case might be.
Air yes, but perhaps not so thin. Because as far as he was concerned everything was thick with code, just waiting to be reached into and yanked apart to suit his immediate needs. Doors opened, objects altered, statuses rendered according to his randomization program. It was all in the numbers and symbols, all in the ones and in the zeroes.
"H3ll0?" Guybrush's voice echoed back, garbled and tinny. It was only polite (one scrap of his programming told him), to respond when greeted.
The low, ringing tone seemed to reverberate the very air, and he appeared, floating down from the glass ceiling with his blades extended. Slow. He touched down on the ground lightly and, boots clicking on the floor, he approached Guybrush and Morgan with grave intent. A single glowing eye watched them, wide and unblinking, as he approached.
It seemed they'd dodged a bullet as the gun-toting girl was nowhere in sight- instead, Guybrush was greeted by a blade-carrying kid with a voice as melodious as a heavy chain being dragged across a cobblestone road. Another patient? He swallowed the knot in his throat that formed as the figure before him reached the floor. In spite of the chorus of 'I've got a bad feeling about this' running through his mind, he put on his most winning smile.
"Ahoy! I'm Guybru- "
The radio in his sash chose that moment to crackle to life, a song humming from the speaker as he scrabbled for it. The volume dropped as he turned the dial, echoing just before leaving the hall in silence again.
Guybrush coughed. "I'm Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pirate! I know it's late and you're probably busy, but I'd like to ask you a few questions."
The casual conversation was making it easier for Claire to dismiss how silly she felt for working up so much paranoia in her mind over what they'd find in that hallway or the potential to get gassed again, even if it didn't eliminate that self-awareness about it entirely.
"I get that a lot." There was a wry smile on her lips as she reflected on it. Most cheerleaders probably didn't go running off, ready to taser anyone either. Niceness was kind of relative at that point, and as much as she liked to think of herself as loyal and friendly, there was a certain acknowledgment that had to be made that anyone ready to bash a guy's head in with a baseball bat if he lost it wasn't nicer than your school of choice's Regina George.
That kind of stung to acknowledge, but she just kept moving, straight into the next hallway.
Dean looked up just in time to see the Doctor stick the blood into his mouth. He couldn't help himself: he flinched involuntarily, making a disgusted face. Dude, that thing looked like roadkill. That just wasn't right
( ... )
The foul taste of the blood still lingered his in mouth, despite his efforts to remove it.
"Not sweet, no," the Doctor answered Castiel, wrinkling his nose. "But not like that, either. It's like it's gone off."
He wasn't sure if that was the best description or not, but it seemed fitting; it seemed somehow rotten or spoiled or something. Still, the blood had only served to make him more curious about the creature: he couldn't say for certain that no blood (of any creature in the universe) might naturally be like that of the dead thing in the hallway, but in his limited experience, it was a first. He would have liked to find out why
( ... )
As far as Castiel was concerned, it was obvious that most of the creatures here had at least been dead at one point, even if they were reanimated now. And not all of them were -- there had been that spirit out on the field, for instance. It seemed odd that the Doctor hadn't assumed that the blood would be dead and rotten, but in the end it wasn't important enough for him to comment on further.
At the mention of the chapel, he nodded, searching the area for any dangers before trying to take the shorter path the way they had before. Being the one in the lead was a good feeling, and one that he hadn't truly experienced in a while. Even on his first night when he'd been leading Orihara around, they had both been equally confused about where they were.
In any case, it didn't look like that same machine-like girl from the night before was around this time, which made their trip to the chapel far easier. When he reached the open double doors, Castiel stepped in with no hesitation.
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Ilia's voice echoed back to her from the ceiling, though it was garbled, with only a few sounds remaining that could be understood by the human ear. But what sounds could be understood were unmistakably Ilia's voice.
He had never seen this before. The patient was aggressive, but his readouts (as far as he knew), made no sense. The patient was an aggressor... to himself? That was what his data told him, and in a matter of seconds he accepted the scenario as fact. But then came the query: what was he supposed to do about a self-aggressor?
if aggressive
then dissuade
A low tone sounded from the same place Ilia's reflected voice had come from, and a sphere of blue light descended to rest in front of Ritsu's face. It gave off a brilliant flash of light and suddenly, there was a body. And a face with wide, staring green eyes.
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Guybrush took several tentative steps into the area above the sun room before clicking his flashlight on to draw attention to himself, keeping his sword low and hopefully out of sight for anyone watching him in the darkness. Not immediately seeing anyone, he decided to try his luck. Morgan had his back if he got into trouble.
"Hello?" he called, his voice echoing a little as he took another step. "Is there anyone up here tonight? I just want to ask a few questions, if that's okay." He paused, listening to his own voice ringing as well as for the sound of gunshots. The last thing he needed to add to his list of problems was a number of bullet holes in his chest.
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She fell into step behind him and stuck close, keeping her sword down the same way to show she wasn't going to gut the first person who looked at them cross-eyed. So far she didn't hear an answer. Morgan kept quiet and let Guybrush continue to do the talking. Or the calling to thin air, as the case might be.
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"H3ll0?" Guybrush's voice echoed back, garbled and tinny. It was only polite (one scrap of his programming told him), to respond when greeted.
The low, ringing tone seemed to reverberate the very air, and he appeared, floating down from the glass ceiling with his blades extended. Slow. He touched down on the ground lightly and, boots clicking on the floor, he approached Guybrush and Morgan with grave intent. A single glowing eye watched them, wide and unblinking, as he approached.
"H3ll0..."
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"Ahoy! I'm Guybru- "
The radio in his sash chose that moment to crackle to life, a song humming from the speaker as he scrabbled for it. The volume dropped as he turned the dial, echoing just before leaving the hall in silence again.
Guybrush coughed. "I'm Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pirate! I know it's late and you're probably busy, but I'd like to ask you a few questions."
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"I get that a lot." There was a wry smile on her lips as she reflected on it. Most cheerleaders probably didn't go running off, ready to taser anyone either. Niceness was kind of relative at that point, and as much as she liked to think of herself as loyal and friendly, there was a certain acknowledgment that had to be made that anyone ready to bash a guy's head in with a baseball bat if he lost it wasn't nicer than your school of choice's Regina George.
That kind of stung to acknowledge, but she just kept moving, straight into the next hallway.
[ to here ]
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Dean looked up just in time to see the Doctor stick the blood into his mouth. He couldn't help himself: he flinched involuntarily, making a disgusted face. Dude, that thing looked like roadkill. That just wasn't right ( ... )
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"Not sweet, no," the Doctor answered Castiel, wrinkling his nose. "But not like that, either. It's like it's gone off."
He wasn't sure if that was the best description or not, but it seemed fitting; it seemed somehow rotten or spoiled or something. Still, the blood had only served to make him more curious about the creature: he couldn't say for certain that no blood (of any creature in the universe) might naturally be like that of the dead thing in the hallway, but in his limited experience, it was a first. He would have liked to find out why ( ... )
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At the mention of the chapel, he nodded, searching the area for any dangers before trying to take the shorter path the way they had before. Being the one in the lead was a good feeling, and one that he hadn't truly experienced in a while. Even on his first night when he'd been leading Orihara around, they had both been equally confused about where they were.
In any case, it didn't look like that same machine-like girl from the night before was around this time, which made their trip to the chapel far easier. When he reached the open double doors, Castiel stepped in with no hesitation.
[To here.]
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