Night 55: M11 - M20 Hallway
And there was the evening announcement, timely as always, although he could have done without the noise at the beginning. It was still slightly jarring to not hear those mocking tones that he had grown so accustomed to, but he did prefer the more direct announcements that had been rolling in ever since last evening. No pathetic attempts at creating
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Your actions tonight will determine ours in the coming days. Actions tonight? ...Did that mean they were being monitored? Well, if that didn't spike one's paranoia, likely nothing would. What were they monitoring them for? They knew everyone wandered around at night. They wanted them to. Why? What was it these people wanted them to do? What was it they were looking for? And more curiously, what progress what this man talking about? If Nigredo's testimony was correct, he had been calling them all pathetic and worthless only the night prior. Now he was speaking of "satisfactory results." ...What was going on here ( ... )
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It also ate up time. As soon as the bag was cut and the shield dropped inside, Indy grabbed flashlight (working again, for now), machete and dog leash and set off to meet the others.
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He wondered if Reynolds was laughing at him now, somewhere beyond those walls. So this was how it felt.
But that was none of his concern. Guybrush should be on his way now. Javert retrieved his clothing from the box and dressed quickly. The rest of his usual gear disappeared into his greatcoat pockets and sat heavy on his makeshift belt; only the hat remained in the box, and the kindling ax beside it. Then, steadfastly ignoring Badd, he settled down to wait for the pirate.
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He gathered his things quickly, but had to stop to watch Javert get dressed in an outfit that looked like it came out of the 1800s. Maybe if he'd stuck around last night he'd have seen Javert do the same thing and realized that the inspector was really not as sane as Badd had thought him to be. Hopefully he wouldn't get ideas and think of taking that ax to Badd while he slept...nah. If he was a crazy, he was a benign one so far. Everyone had their odd quirks, just look at his former department.
Badd almost commented on Javert's costume, but finally just shook his head and left for the hallway instead. There were bigger fish to interrogate.
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While it was a nice change to show up at Javert's door without wheezing as though he'd participated in Booty Island's Annual "Jog for Grog" marathon, Guybrush knew he probably looked a little worse for wear. Or maybe a lot worse for wear. Either way, he felt he needed to make himself presentable for the Search & Rescue- it was about time, given that he'd only gone on one venture with them, skipping all others so he could keep an eye on his wife, collect toilet handles, snoop around for a nurse to tie down and interrogate, and pursue other activities befitting of a Mighty Pirate™ trapped in a spooky asylum with no foreseeable way to escape.
Straightening his underwear sash and his posture (the crack from his spine was not appreciated), Guybrush gave the door a solid knock with his hook. "Guybrush Threepwood, reporting for duty!"
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At the very least, the uniforms had improved in quality somewhat. Javert had located a pair of sturdy boots in his closet and swapped his own for them. He rocked from side to side experimentally before nodding in grudging approval and going to answer the door.
Guybrush had seemed precisely the sort of fellow to ignore his injuries and press on regardless, but he might well be overdoing it this time. Perhaps the multiple bandages around his head and face made things look worse than they actually were--it wasn't as if the ever-present hook improved matters--but Javert stood there for a while in disbelieving silence before he said, dryly, "Reporting, perhaps, but you don't look fit for it."
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Damon watched Klavier leave, waiting for his roommate to get out of there before he did anything. He couldn't help blinking in the unnatural dimness, as if that would make it go away and return his vision to normal. At least he could see why Stefan hadn't seen or heard a squirrel the size of an SUV barreling through the forest.
The door had barely closed behind Klavier before he pulled open a drawer and rifled through it. Nothing specific, really. Just on the off chance there was something new tossed in there. Who knew? Maybe the military room service left them a mint.
"New" wasn't the right word for what he found. Unexpected, though. Was that his flashlight? A flashlight, he supposed. Guess they were just that nice about replacing equipment. How thoughtful ( ... )
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Actually, several things he couldn't complain about, one being that they actually had a solid plan (though his brain thought define solid) and it was a place Alaric actually knew how to get to which, considering how the dark made everything kind of look all the same, was an improvement.
Another thing was that Damon hadn't made some snide comment about the fact that he was standing on two feet. That was already an improvement.
Oh. No snide comment at all. That just spelled either emergency or desperation. Both of which: not good. So the teacher followed without complaint.
[To here.]
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Yet such patient effort only earned Facilier scant information; somehow he was in a newly militarized hell that was about to freeze over somewhere in New Jersey (like that made any sense!). The institute seemed to be a major crossroad for those arriving from a variety of places, only to be trapped indefinitely. It was all but a mishmash of bizarre people and entities that made up the most unexpected afterlife anyone could have the misfortune of ending up in! All this frustration boiled inside the doctor by the time he was taken back to his room for the evening, and to further add to his troubles, his "friends" still had not shown up! Facilier's disgruntlement did not leave him in a talkative mood, ignoring his rude roommate as he pondered over his unpleasant ( ... )
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