Day 57: Library (third shift)

[unpriest]

The meal shift had come to an end without being able to ease Seishin's confusion. In fact, the conversation with Vino-san had only served to raise even more questions than he initially had. It had all sounded so strange and unreal, though he didn't think the other man had any reason to lie to him. He couldn't help but to be a little skeptical,

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[anemptydecapo]

People could say whatever they like about the quality of a movie, but Venom was not going to stand around and watch a flickering screen for an hour and a half.

It was going to be a bad day, wasn't it? His legs had begun to ache by the time the lunch shift had ended (last night's events certainly didn't help today), which was to say nothing about the sharp pain slowly pronouncing itself more and more in his stomach. Combined, the punishment was leaving him in a sort of dizzied state, mind not particularly focused on one thing or another aside from annoyance at his captors, irritation at Edward, and apprehension toward the end of the day in an attempt to avoid the physical aches. Trying to pay attention to pointless Black Tech was hardly going to be stimulating enough to pass the time, none the less distract from all that.

So, when given the choice, the film was forgotten and he ventured into the library. He remembered scolding himself the first time he came in here, metaphorically slamming his own fingers in a cookie jar for being tempted to eat one. Work was more important than leisure and he couldn't afford to waste time and whatever else he was thinking two weeks ago. He hadn't realized there wasn't much to do during the day but waste time two weeks ago. Now was a different matter entirely: he wasn't focused enough to brainstorm or question others and he couldn't relax enough to meditate. There wasn't much reason to fight what he'd been wanting to do for two weeks-- no, for months before actually coming here. After all, it wasn't going to upset or disgrace Master Zato if he briefly pursued something he enjoyed if there was nothing else he could do.

He'd get back to work when night fell. It would be fine.

Venom eventually found himself with a copy of Sherlock Holmes (I've heard of these books, but I've seen a copy of one before), reading through its pages with interest and slowly pacing along one of the farther walls of the library. It was a nice distraction.

[Come here, Harry.]

[commentated]

Sitting in the dark for two hours surrounded by possibly crazy people? Sounded about as appealing as sitting through a screening of The English Patient, only twice as exciting. Because, you know. Paint drying would be twice as exciting as that goddamn movie.

Not that the library was all that thrilling, either, but the nurse hadn't gone easy with the glaring and it was the first option Harry managed to blurt out before they decided his silence was some kind of unspoken code for, "I would like to spend time with the rats; please take me to a dark scary basement."

So now he was in the library surrounded by books. Obviously. What else did you think would be in a library, strippers? Anyway, there were two people in the room, not including (hello) yours truly. He tried to leave those people alone, he really did, because he knew libraries were places where you weren't supposed to socialize unless you were in one of those study groups for smart people who socialized by multiplying large numbers. But after two minutes and five seconds of flipping haphazardly through a John Grisham novel (was this the one they made with Tom Cruise?), he was getting antsy.

Plus, that guy pacing two feet away? Wasn't helping.

Harry edged his way along the shelf. He wondered if there was any Johnny Gossamer that made its way here. They seemed like the kind of cheap paperbacks that you always found for a quarter at used book stores, between the the fifty copies of Stephen King and the forty of Tom Clancy.

On the topic of which: he nudged out a bent version of The Dark Half, clearly one of the older editions. Oh. Scary Monet storm on the cover. That didn't look unoriginal at all.

He glanced over at the pacing man. Okay, it was seriously making him nervous. Maybe he didn't realize he could sit down? Was that possible?

"Hey, you know you could, like, take a seat, right, you don't have to keep walking like that. Those couches actually look pretty comfy."

[anemptydecapo]

Despite trying to will himself to read slowly and enjoy the book in his hands, Venom still managed to rush through the pages, his mind far too eager to process something that wasn't what he dealt with every other day. He'd gone thirteen pages in the two minutes of silence he was given when a voice broken the quiet of the room.

He was going to assume that wasn't directed at him and ignore it, but there hadn't been anyone else in the room who was pacing back and forth like a madman. Hn.

Venom never actually stopped to speak with the stranger, only continued his pacing at a slower rate instead. He bent the top of the page he was on and closed the book, raising his head to at least cast one unamused glance at the man who'd called at him. Explaining the situation would obviously require patience and a sense of calm and, thankfully, he was always calm.

Unfortunately, patience was never something he could manage when he was tired, even if that patience involved rethinking his own words to be more polite. "I'm sure they would," he began, his voice taking on the same strained edge his legs did if he stood still, "to someone who doesn't have the prospect of being shot lingering over their heads." What with Zepp being the only country to keep their firearms after the war and the Guild only taking to using them to frame that country when they needed to, Venom had never actually been fired at with one before (though, in hindsight, it could not be more painful than being electrocuted, set on fire, stabbed, or crushed by a giant anchor). His vision turned to the 'orderly' standing at the other edge of the room, one who had been watching him since he'd come in here. "I'd rather stand, if it's nothing to you. Let the guards save their ammunition."

[commentated]

Oh. Did he manage to piss this guy off somehow? It was hard to really be sure with some people, you know? Sometimes you just ran into those perpetually irritable types and after awhile, you started to realize that was just, like, their default setting.

He should know.

Wait. Rewind just a second. Or, okay, no, maybe closer to twenty...two seconds-okay, right there.

"I'm sorry, did you just-did you say you might get shot?" Harry looked at the surly orderly to the side and then back at the surly patient. His hand slowly closed the book on its own.

So, he'd figured out about ten minutes ago, during his conversation at breakfast, that something really fucking weird was going on here, Like, some borderline Twilight Zone shit. But there was a line between weird and completely insane, okay, and the prospect of being in a hospital that armed its doctors with a license to kill slid slid so far over that line it hit China.

He glanced over his shoulder again, then back. "Capping someone in the ass for sitting down, that's, like, ten kinds of illegal...I really-you really think that'll happen?"

[anemptydecapo]

As the stranger turned his attention to the solider, Venom's eyesight followed once again, considering the question. "Perhaps not immediately." They didn't look like they had their weapons today, but, considering their ideas of punishment, he wouldn't put it past them to wait until nightfall. He really did not feel like being shot tonight, not when he had potential plans.

The implications of a punishment harsher than this had begun wandering through the assassin's mind when the man turned back to him and spoke again. Oh... That was not the question of someone who knew where they were. These people did not care about the law and anyone who had been here for more than a day would gather that by now.

The assassin's head tilted somewhat to the side (though not enough to show his eyes. He was beginning to get good at that), and the incessant pacing finally stopped. "You're new here, aren't you?"

[commentated]

Why did everyone ask him that? He knew he was being really obvious about it, what with the questions and all, but look, it wasn't his fault that everything was way out of whack here, okay?

Plus, what was with this guy's hair? Could he even see from under there? Well, he probably could, since he'd been reading...and stuff. But it was just weird. And excessively white.

"I'm-" He scratched the back of his head. There were only so many ways you could acknowledge that yeah, he was new, nice to meet you, please explain some more to me about what the fuck is going on. "Harry. I got here this morning?"

That-that wasn't a question, by the way, it just sort of came out as one. That happened sometimes. But once it became a question, he realized that it very well could be a real question. Couldn't it? Like, he could've actually not gotten here this morning. What if he'd been here way longer and he just had no goddamn clue?

Oh, shit. Could that be real?

[anemptydecapo]

"Venom," he supplied in return, making no effort to shake the other man's hand or force a smile to appear friendly. From what he could see, this Harry was the flighty sort. Of what little that came out of his mouth, none of it sounded particularly well thought out. He stammered over himself often enough to notice and not in a quiet, shy way. It was nervous and loud and suddenly his mind went back to images of an albino American who kept thinking he was Japanese.

He couldn't say he enjoyed having a reminder staring him in the face, and he was going to continue his insistence that he did not care how Zanuff was fairing.

"You're not here for any sort of insanity," he began, his voice taking the same tone an exasperated professor would to a student who neglected to ask a peer about yesterday's lecture. It was the afternoon now; had the man really just wandered about the entire day, bewildered, without bothering to ask anyone else? "The staff members here aren't hospital staff and haven't been for the past few days. They're soldiers, by what government is something no one knows for sure. They're here for a sort of project called Next Wave, the goal of which is apparently to brainwash the populace into believing we're the people they claim we are." He paused, crossing his arms over the book he'd pressed against his chest. "I assume they are calling you by a name that isn't yours?"

[commentated]

Was that seriously the guy's name? Not that it didn't fit, which was actually the thing. Like, did his parents just take one look at their kid and go, He's gonna grow up to be an intense sonofabitch, let's call him Venom. Yeah, good idea, honey, that'll go over great on the playground.

And well, yeah, Harry had gotten that part. About the insanity bit, he meant. His life had gone seriously batshit for about four days there last year, but that was life going crazy, thank you, not him. And oh look, here it was, happening again. Perfect.

Okay, maybe if he hadn't gotten the same kinda spiel, like thematically the same, from Herr Gilbert back there, he would've, you know. Not fallen for it. But it was weird, right, for two completely differently people to have the same story? In here, anyway, not like, if you were trying to line up an alibi. Which, by the way, he should point out, was harder than it looked 'cause he'd tried and...But they hadn't really practiced beforehand. Maybe that would've helped.

Oh, yeah. Yeah, but New Wave, okay. What was that, the Hollywood sequel to Brave New World? Not that. Did they make that into a movie? They probably did. They'd make the Oxford English Dictionary into a fucking movie if they could.

This was-nuts. He couldn't be here. Except he was and he couldn't really argue against that as much as he wanted to, even if he did want to argue. Kind of how you felt like arguing with the doctor about how you could still walk when your leg was across the goddamn room 'cause most of your brain was busy wondering how the hell you got this fucked this fast.

Harry looked down at the book in his hands and slapped it against his forehead with a groan.

"Why do these things always happen to me. You know, at least the last time, I was kind of asking for it by, like, half pretending I was someone I wasn't, but I did not do anything this time, okay-and I know you have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm-sorry. Uh." Questions. Questions were good because they led to answers. "So what, are we talking, like, Manchurian Candidate here?"

[anemptydecapo]

Hm. He would have to add "rambling" to the list of adjectives.

Though still hidden from sight, the assassin went through an impressive number of variations on his usual blank expression during the man's short spiel. Apathy grew to bemusement, which turned to exasperation, which in turn dipped back into a mixture of confusion and irritation. There was a slight shift into concern, but that too was swallowed by the overwhelming feeling of being lost. It was as if he'd gone for a five minute walk into an empty field and forgot where he was. It was not supposed to be that hard.

Evidently, being captured and false-identities were no stranger to this stranger. But... Manchuria? What does Ancient China have to do with any of this?

Venom gave a moment of pause before finally speaking in response. His words were even and showed no signs of being sarcastic in the slightest. "I don't see the relevance in your question."

[commentated]

If Harry was a man who paid attention to people's facial expressions (beyond the obvious sad, happy, and ready to beat the shit out of you expressions), he would've noticed Venom cycling through faces like Hugh Hefner cycled through women.

But he wasn't, so. But look, he did, he did manage to catch that Venom was evidently confused by something, but that wasn't so hard considering Venom not only looked confused, but also pretty much voiced it, like those narrated voice-overs that said what a character was thinking just before they said it. You know, just in case the audience wasn't paying attention. Which was valid because it was actually surprisingly easy to miss stuff when you were busy flicking fallen popcorn off your lap or something.

"Well, Manchurian Candidate, you know, where all these military guys, they got brainwashed into doing shit, like, kill people and...make out with their mothers. I guess. It got a little weird in some parts. I don't actually mean we'll all start committing incest, obviously. I mean, I hope not." He stopped. "We're not, right. Please tell me that hasn't happened here."

There was already the...Harmony and the little sister. Once was. One too many, really. You only needed one creepy sonofabitch in each storyline; two was seriously overkill.

[anemptydecapo]

He never stopped talking, did he?

The earlier confusion etched on his face had by now morphed into the same look of disdain and disappointment that usually only came from speaking with Chipp Zanuff. After having dealt with the albino far longer than he was comfortable with, the assassin fell back into his usual way of dealing with it: he kept his mouth shut as the other continued to talk on, not bothering to interrupt until there was a pause that lasted more than three seconds. He could have immediately told the man to shut his mouth and listen to what needed to be said. In the end, he just decided to fix the man with a level gaze and wait.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Harry," he said finally, the sentence almost coming out as an exasperated sigh. "Please stop it." They desperately needed to move on if Mr. Harry did not want a nasty surprise come nighttime. "As I was trying to say, the asylum isn't what it appears. I wouldn't suggest wandering alone at night."