Night 57: M11-M20 Hallway
Easing into his work shirt and jacket was less painful than it'd been last night. It still didn't feel good. Indy went back to the box, coiled his makeshift whip over his right shoulder and tucked the holstered brush axe through one of his belt loops. That and the shield were all the gear he planned to take. He doubted he'd be making too many notes
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Javert awoke to the easily recognizable voice of Aguilar. Berating the patients for something, he thought drowsily. Something about more tests...
That didn't sound like a morning announcement.
He opened his eyes, pushing himself up instinctively and turning towards the door. He had always been an early riser, but now he had grown to heartily despise mornings--or at least it was supposed to be morning. The tray of cooling food on his desk told him otherwise.
He frowned at the sight, an altogether too-familiar unease creeping into his chest. How long had he been asleep? A day? Two days? A week? Time wasted, in any case, and no opportunities to coordinate a Search and Rescue effort. Assuming the experimental trials were even taking place tonight; with no mention of them in the announcements and no clue how many days had passed since he had fallen unconscious, there was little he could go on.
The former inspector grit his teeth. That hadn't been voluntary; of that much he was certain. Sliding out of bed, he seated himself at his desk and forced himself to eat. If the medical wing was open tonight, he least he could do would be to investigate it. If nothing else, he might be able to procure some samples for Taylor to work his magic on.
[for that young whippersnapper pirate fellow. beepwood, i think?]
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The paper cutter blade wasn't the best of weapons. Badd's hands were used to a gun, to seeking out targets long range rather than close range. You had to think differently when you fought up close.
Still, better than nothing. Badd put the picture and the letter out of his mind as he geared up for another night of exploration. He tuned out Aguilar's babbling as the usual nighttime intercom rambling came out. Treating them like human beings? More like lab rats with a different white-coat presiding over the matter, nothing had changed and Badd still didn't care. He was just poised for the moment that the door opened--there.
He'd get to Byrne, offer him the new tidbit, and they'd go off on a new adventure. Maybe he'd finally get to finish that story.
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Despite the run from the main hallway to Javert's room, Guybrush managed to keep himself from simply busting in unannounced. "Better not," he told himself. "Even worse than walking in and finding him missing would be walking in and finding him changing into that outfit he wears. One shower here filled my quota of that for the rest of my life."
Instead, he stood up straight- his back gave a crack as he did, but it was nothing compared to how he'd been a day or so ago- and rapped on the door with his hook once, then twice, then again and again with an increasingly rapid pace.
"Helloooo? Mr. Javert?" The rapping continuing. "Are you in there? Are you asleep? Or did you get kidnapped and brainwashed? If you don't answer, I am going to assume the latter!"
Knowing how dangerous Scott had been during his brainwashing, Guybrush wasn't even sure he wanted to know what Javert would be like. More experienced, for one, and probably with even less tolerance for pirates.
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It was the first time he found himself relieved when a completely unmistakable voice floated through the door, punctuated by a barrage of insistent knocking. Though--and it was impossible to brush the thought aside--if the pirate was looking for him and that concerned, he must have been unconscious for longer than he'd thought.
"I am here and my brains are entirely unwashed, Threepwood," he replied dryly, pulling on his greatcoat. At the very least, he'd get some answers now. "You can come in, you know; that door won't be standing much longer if you persist in attacking it."
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"Sorry about that." He rubbed the back of his neck with his hook. Boy, did he feel paranoid. Having one's wife and nemesis disappear without a trace would do that to a guy. "I just noticed you didn't post anything on the board like you usually do, and figured you might be dead. Or taken for a sleep study. Or attacking unsuspecting patients who come looking for you. Or some combination of those."
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He straightened the lapels of his greatcoat fastidiously. Perhaps the regular uniform here was more practical, but there was a certain familiarity to having his own clothing here, and damned if he wasn't going to take advantage of it. "When did you see or hear from me last? I don't know how long I've been out; I vaguely remember leaving my room the night we returned from Doyleton, and little else."
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"Though I guess you didn't miss much," he continued. "Just the visitors, the fact that they pretended Landel was still running the place by using a recording of his voice, the letters that some people got with all useful tidbits of information conveniently marked out, and the part where Aguilar explained the pins, ranking, and the opening of the medical wing."
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More announcements--he would, he thought, have to ask Lunge about those later. "I awoke in time to catch the last one," he said, knotting his saber to his side with a strip of sheet. "I suppose I can ask you about the rest later. Have you any plans for the night? I shouldn't keep you any longer, now that you've established that I am alive and in possession of all my faculties."
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Though he wasn't sure if the inspector would go along with it, he thought he'd ask. "You're welcome to come, if you want. It's probably safer not to shove mystery potions down your throat by yourself, in case one of them leaves you unable to grab the antidote, granted there is one."
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He took a step toward the door. "It's just as well I'm headed for the medical wing regardless, though my intentions lay more along the lines of taking a sample for later investigation. Now I can drag your corpse to the morgue afterward if you insist on swallowing whatever they've set up for us.
"And if you're that desperate," he added as something of an afterthought, "drop by earlier next time and I'll save you the pudding. Or whatever else is for dinner tomorrow; I can't keep the meals here straight."
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