Night 54: Patient Possessions Storage

[quarter_english]

[From here.] The storage area for patient possessions turned out to be one of the larger spaces L had infiltrated at the Institute, about the same size as the file room across the hall. Low brown shelves, filled with labeled white boxes, spanned all four walls

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[quarter_english]

L remained still, for a moment, fixing Edgar with a long, wary, calculating look. He had steeled his own posture, as much as it was possible to do so, in anticipation of the possible attack--his spine stiffened so that he stood almost at his full height, which was still less than Edgar's. When he was sure that he wasn't in any danger of immediate assault after all, he exhaled with an almost inaudible hum, and relaxed.

"I have to admit that I'm relieved. If it had been something you'd wanted to hide...." He shrugged. Edgar had taken his revelation, and its implications, in stride, with good humor--better than L would have taken it, if so much about him that he had taken pains to keep secret had been given away with a touch. They could move on to focusing on the causes of what they were experiencing.

"It seems that what I learned on contact was correct, which could mean that they used at least two different food additives, which might or might not have been distributed randomly. Or it could mean that there was a single method, a single substance, and the outcome is determined by other factors. If that were the case, I would assume that the nature of the effect would be determined by individual body chemistry, but... how? Also, are these the only two, or are there as many effects as people who are affected? Or something in between?" He shook his head. Laboratories might exist at Landel's, but he doubted that any that the patients had access to would have enough equipment and references to analyze exactly what had happened. Any chemicals that had been used were unlikely to be simple or easily identified. If he ever received an explanation, it would be from other sources: Aguilar or Landel, or documentation that might eventually be recovered.

He moved in the direction of the box with Laurier's name on it; it was as close to belonging to him as anything in this room was ever likely to be, yet it was impossible to think of himself as "Daniel Laurier," to make the two interchangeable. His experience last week, when his own consciousness had been overtaken by the Laurier identity, made it more than a mere alias he could adopt and discard, and underlined the necessity of maintaining as many mental barriers as he could. Apart from that, scanning the Ls confirmed that there was no box associated with his real name.

[girlsandgadgets]

"Not hiding it so much as not mentioning it," Edgar said with a shrug of his own. "The title means nothing here, though people do expect certain things from one claiming to be a king... like proper behavior or insanity, I'm sure." He smiled to himself, recalling days where he'd been told he had an abundance of the latter and a distinct lack of the former. While it felt invasive to have someone gain that kind of knowledge with only a touch, Edgar had to admit he was curious: just how much did Ryuuzaki know?

He sighed lightly. Even with the mild discomfort that Ryuuzaki knew more about him than the other way around, the king found he couldn't complain too much. Whatever Ryuuzaki had learned had granted a degree of trust, as shown in his change in behavior. It was a start.

What would be hard to trust from there on was the food. "I know I'll be keeping an eye on the board tomorrow," Edgar remarked. "If there are others affected, someone will make note of it there. I'm interested in finding out if others are having the same effects we are, or if they're experiencing something different- something that might give them an advantage."

As he spoke, Edgar knelt with Edward March's box, removing the lid and discarding it to the side. In the container was a small collection, one that, had he not known any better, Edgar would have claimed some of the pieces as his. The first items he removed were a hairbrush and rag, both covered in oil and grease. Next came a paper folder with matches, the name "Sirens" emblazoned on the cover next to a silhouette of a dancing woman. He couldn't help but laugh- March had good taste.

Last out of the box was a leather wallet. As Edgar opened it, a coin fell from its folds, its sound somehow unnatural as it hit the ground. He found out why as he retrieved it: it wasn't made of metal, but some lighter material, its hue turning from violet to green as he moved it in the beam of his light. It was an unusual coin in more than one way- it was two-faced, both sides bearing a grinning jester adorned in a crown. Edgar clasped the coin tighter, his irritation visible. To combine a cherished memento with something he so despised... yes, Landel did know the right buttons to push.

Pocketing the coin, Edgar continued his search through the wallet. The only other clue about his "real life" was held in one of the inner pockets: a picture of himself and the man who was presumably March's twin brother. Same contours, same goofy smile, both wearing matching outfits- he did resemble Sabin, more than Edgar wanted to admit. He was silent, eyeing the picture for another moment before returning it to the wallet. He tucked all the items into his pockets before returning the box to the shelf.

1/2

[quarter_english]

Edgar was right, of course: claiming to be a king was only useful if there were more than a few people around who knew you as one. Otherwise, it might be a liability. L would suspect delusions of grandeur as an explanation before he would believe that he was conversing with royalty; one was more common than the other. It wasn't the same as his reason for keeping his own profession close to his chest, but he could understand it.

He watched as Edgar sorted through the items in his own box: matches, a hairbrush, what appeared to be a dirty rag, a wallet, and a toy coin that fell to the ground without the metallic clatter that it would have made it if had been real. Something about the coin annoyed Edgar, but L couldn't say what.

His natural impulse was to wait to turn his attention away until he had observed what Edgar would choose to take and leave, but without being able to say how much time they had left, he couldn't risk the chance that he would run out. He opened his own box, raised the flashlight, and peered inside, both wary and curious.

The space was full of thick, stiff black fabric with a slight sheen. He poked the fabric with one finger, then lifted it out... a backpack, folded over on itself. Average size; large enough to hold a computer, or to go away for a weekend, or to carry during a flight. Not large enough for extensive travel unless the traveler had few needs or, more likely, other bags. It appeared to be good quality, probably expensive, and its condition was almost new, without much wear around the edges and seams. It was light enough to be empty, but something small shifted and clicked inside as he lifted it.

He patted the bag's exterior, not sure which pocket to check first, then settled on the front, because small items were more likely to be packed there. Unzipping it and poking the head of the flashlight inside revealed two--no, three--pale grey plastic cylinders with black caps: felt-tipped permanent markers that were almost identical to the ones he sometimes carried.

The pocket also held a small booklet with a dark red leatherette cover, so familiar that he was certain of what it was. He made a soft noise--"Hmph"--then pulled the booklet out and flipped it over so that he could see the front. THE UNITED KINGDOM OF GREAT BRITAIN AND NORTHERN IRELAND was printed across the top in gold foil. Below it was the national coat of arms, depicting a lion and a unicorn, and the word PASSPORT.

He opened the passport, and after the expected introductory page requesting safe passage for the bearer, he found the information page. The photograph there was certainly of him, or someone who looked like him--not comforting that such a photograph existed--but the passport itself had been issued in the name of LAURIER, DANIEL QUENTIN ST. JAMES. Laurier's signature was in a reasonable simulation of L's own handwriting. Stamps showed international travel that was frequent, but not constant--trips to France, Brazil, India. The most recent stamps were Japanese. Dates were missing in some cases, illegible in others.

2/2

[quarter_english]

It was strange, how much of it was true, and how much of it was still a lie. For example, the citizenship and place of birth were correct in the technical sense, but they couldn't be used to attempt to research his background without a date and his real name, at which point anyone who tried would run into certain walls that he had taken care to construct. Even so, just enough of the data was accurate that he might have been alarmed to find the passport the night that he and Jones had visited the file rooms. In the interim, there had been his visit "home," and the events of Monday night, both evidence that Landel was capable of reproducing uncomfortably intimate details. That made it less of a surprise. Now it seemed like nothing more than another prop, useful only for sending Daniel Laurier out into the world one day.

The bag would be a welcome addition to his supplies. After a moment of hesitation, he dropped the passport back into the pocket with the pens, which he zipped shut. Then, he opened the main compartment of the backpack. It turned out to be empty. Smaller pockets were built into its side walls. He used his chin to hold his flashlight against his chest as he loaded the pillowcase he had been carrying into the larger compartment, then zipped it shut.

The box's contents hadn't been as revealing or interesting as he had hoped, but his curiosity about it was satisfied--something that couldn't be said for the other boxes around him. He felt a temptation to stay in this room, to spend what time they had left looking into as many other boxes, as many other constructed identities, as possible. However, there was no guarantee that there would be anything useful in any of them. He expected that the contents would just be the equivalent of falsified passports and plastic trinkets: nothing that told him anything about the real backgrounds of the people they were trapped with, except in the most strictly metaphorical sense. The consolation was that no one would be able to use this room to learn anything concrete about his own real life, either.

He wanted to accomplish at least one more goal that night if he could, and to do so, they'd have to go back out in the corridor. "Ready?"

[girlsandgadgets]

Edgar watched as Ryuuzaki pulled items from the box supposedly belonging to Daniel Laurier. He'd found a knapsack inside, along with a handful of other pieces. While Edgar couldn't tell if the collection held the same twisted significance his own had, but at least it was practical.

"Ready." With a nod, he headed for the door.

[To here.]