Aug 16, 2011 01:37
Anise woke up feeling lucky to be alive. She still felt a bit waterlogged, even though her skin, hair, and clothes were completely dry. During last night's adventures, she'd swallowed a lot of water, and it still felt heavy and disgusting in her stomach. Her arms and legs were tired from treading water. Lying still in her bed, she still kind of
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zero,
klavier,
japan,
tsubaki,
badd,
badou,
anise,
lily,
terra branford,
the doctor,
england,
sam winchester,
firo,
utena,
doctor facilier,
niikura,
claire bennet,
peter parker,
tolten,
snow,
lunge,
brainiac 5,
albedo,
peter petrelli,
tear,
rose (tvd),
damon,
ritsuka,
two-face,
erika,
edgar,
hijikata,
maya,
battler,
zack,
kratos,
l,
america,
sechs,
carter,
jessica drew,
bella,
izaya,
sora,
gren,
claude,
renamon,
guybrush,
byrne,
leanne,
guy,
venom,
rita,
lightning,
castiel,
chise,
trickster,
mikado,
yomi,
riku,
ippo,
meekins,
daemon,
aidou,
edward cullen,
claire stanfield
...Well, probably not okay, but at least better-safer-until tonight.
When the guard came to escort Firo to breakfast (calling him 'Saviano' again), he put on his beret and followed with a frown but without raising a fuss. It seemed like the military was back, anyway-or just no longer pretending... Did that mean that there wouldn't be anyone coming in from outside today?
The usual pink gruel was being served in the cafeteria, too. Firo wasn't exactly looking forward to it, but with his stomach starting to growl, it didn't seem as unappetizing as usual. Once he took his tray, Firo started looking for a place to sit, spotting Claire after a moment. He headed for his childhood friend's table.
"Good morning, Claire," he greeted, setting his tray down as he slid into an empty seat.
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"--Huh? Oh, Firo, good morning." It might have taken a moment for Claire to realize that he wasn't the only one at his table now, distracted as he was. He spent another minute or so, uncharacteristically quiet as he continued to mull over his options.
Then it occurred to him that he had someone before him that he could bounce ideas off of. That would certainly help answer a few questions, right?
"...Ah, Firo!" he suddenly exclaimed, starting in the middle of his train of thought and conveniently forgetting to explain the context. "So, these journals. Do you think they'd bother looking through them? Probably not, right? Because if they did, they'd probably not like what they'd see, but then again, that's sort of what they're aiming for in the first place? So it wouldn't be my fault at all, right?"
If Firo had had time to manage a reply to anything he'd just said, Claire wouldn't quite catch it. He was already moving on to the next set of questions that had popped up in his mind. As he continued rattling off questions from his stream of consciousness, he took a spoonful of pinkish gruel and watched it drip from the silverware as he held it some ways above the bowl.
"Also, do lists help at all?" he continued, a beat later. "I've never made one, didn't think it worth the time and effort, but I'm not sure, maybe it would help?" Claire dumped the rest of the gruel back into the bowl, then scooped up another spoonful, dumped it back. "So, does it?"
Now, he paused and looked up, waiting curiously for an answer.
And then it occurred to Claire that he hadn't seen Firo in a while, even though he'd been able to "talk" with him on that bulletin board the previous day.
"Oh right, and how have you been?" he ended up asking belatedly, and then finally stopped talking long enough for Firo to possibly answer if he wanted to.
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From the second his friend opened his mouth, Firo was lost. "Huh?" What journals? Who would look through them-the guards? What would not liking what they'd see matter if someone wanted to look through someone's journal, anyway? And what would be Claire's fault?
He'd opened his mouth to ask those very questions, but before he'd had a chance, Claire had already moved onto a different(?) topic. Lists?
Firo's spoon had found its way back to the bowl, and stayed there as he stared at his friend, who was now asking how he'd been. Firo's mind was still trying to catch up with everything about journals and lists and what he thought when he wasn't even sure what Claire was talking about in the first place.
He was silent for a long moment before asking as much. "What are you talking about? If you mean the journals from our rooms-and I assume everyone has one-I don't know if anyone would look through them. The guards don't seem to have much problem going through our things, but other prisoners might have more courtesy. And what's this about lists?"
...Ah, right; Claire had asked after him, too, hadn't he? Firo was slowly catching up with the nearly non-stop string of words, and he added, likewise belatedly, "Also, I've been doing alright."
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Claire just sat and waited for his answers, apparently not noticing that Firo seemed to be having trouble following his line of reasoning. When the response started taking longer than seemed necessary, he blinked slowly, then began stirring his porridge breakfast for lack of a better thing to do, wondering for a moment whether he should probably try to eat some of the pink atrocity at least. He hadn't had dinner last night, after all.
When Firo did reply, Claire just had to sigh. "I'm talking about lists right now, Firo! You know, those things you write on paper?" Have an overly complicated (and not very discerning), hand gesture here to attempt to illustrate his point more clearly. "So I've never really tried to write up lists before, always used to think they were a waste of time."
He now abandoned his spoon in his bowl for the moment, freeing his hand to use to prop up his chin as he leaned forward and gave Firo this look that said he was going to do him a favor and be extremely patient with him. This was why people should learn to pay more attention! Really!
"No, no, I know all that! I meant that, well, see... didn't you get all your possessions in a metal box last night? It was gone in the morning, right? And everything you'd taken out of it as well? They'd have to go through your things if they take them away and then give them back in the evening right? Well, assuming they do give it back. Even everything I had in my pockets disappeared, you know? My pockets!"
Clearly, if they were even looking through pockets on his immediate person, it meant that anything he had would probably be seen and handled by the guards or something, right? Though then again...
"Actually, that doesn't really matter, nevermind," Claire continued, waving a hand dismissively. "They gave me a gun even, so it's really not my fault if they find a list detailing how I really want to off whoever's in charge of this place, right? It's a natural conclusion to make!"
Back to attempting to eat his breakfast... aaaand, nope. Not going to be happening. Instead, he occupied himself with watching the watery stuff spill from his spoon when he dumped it back. Again. And again.
"Ah really?" Claire said. "Have you gotten anywhere at night, by the way? I feel like I should actually try and do something, you know? Instead of wandering around, searching for people to interrogate. I haven't found anything yet and it's sort of frustrating."
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Claire was still rambling on, though, and finally started to explain himself, at least in part: his things had been taken from him only to reappear in the box they received in their rooms each evening, so apparently what he was fretting over was whether they'd read a list about how he wanted to kill Landel or Aguilar or whoever else if he wrote it in his journal? Firo felt pretty sure that was what he was getting at.
"...You've got a gun?" he found himself asking instead of commenting on the rest of it; it sounded like Claire had already made his decision about it anyway. But the gun... from the sound of it, it wasn't something he'd just found lying around one night.
Or maybe it was. It was hard to be sure sometimes, when it came to Claire.
Compared to having gotten a weapon already, Firo's own progress was kind of pathetic. "Not really," he answered. "Most I've gotten done was trying to help some kid who'd gotten take in for... I guess they're experiments. If you're looking for people to question, I think the soldiers are the ones who know the most about things around here."
At that, he shot a pointed look at the nearest guard.
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"Huh? Oh yes, yesterday night, I had a gun in my box of possessions. Not sure how or why I got it, but it's a pretty clear message, don't you think? Here, have this gun, bump someone off with it, right? Only two bullets included with it, but I can make do with what I have. I borrowed a railing from a restroom last night as well, so I'd also have that to improvise with. Provided they do give it back."
He hoped they did. Claire would be kind of annoyed if they didn't. Certainly, obtaining the makeshift weapon hadn't been too difficult in the long run, but if he were forced to waste time every night on finding a new weapon before going hunting, it would be unnecessarily tedious, right? He'd rather not.
"Experiments, really? This institute really is going for the creepy hospital type place, isn't it? That's not okay, though," Claire answered, in reply to Firo's progress. Not as much information that he'd expected, but then again, Firo hadn't been here as long as Claire had (not that it counted for much). But experiments were something he hadn't heard of before. That was something, at least.
"Ah, right! That's what I was thinking! I've been spending my nights looking for someone to question. Before, I was thinking maybe one of the nurses or orderlies, even that Martin Landel, but now, probably a soldier would be more like it. I took your advice on the bulletin board, by the way!"
Claire managed to catch the look Firo sent to the guard and followed his gaze. If only he could just ask in broad daylight...
"You know, I also thought about just asking that soldier that accompanies me everywhere I go, but they're mostly silent, aren't they?"
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He might have commented further on the young man who'd been experimented on, but then Claire went on to say that he'd taken his advice on the bulletin, which threw Firo for a loop. He couldn't remember having given any advice, per se, though he'd thought about warning Claire against being so open about his job where everyone could see it. Even if they weren't in the '30s any longer, Vino was still a wanted man.
...Well, if Claire thought he'd given some advice, that was fine. If he'd taken it, even better. Firo sighed, picking up his spoon and swirling it around the pink slop.
"Mostly silent, yeah," he agreed. "I think I've only ever gotten three words at a time out of mine. He keeps insisting on calling me 'Saviano', too, no matter how much I insist that it's 'Prochainezo'."
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"Oh, you too?" Claire said. "Same with mine, actually! Well, that is, when he decides to actually say something, rather than glare or nod or grunt. I'm starting to think maybe he doesn't really like me. I'm pretty sure I never did anything to him!"
Well, even if Claire rarely remembered exactly whom he'd attacked before, he was fairly certain he hadn't done anything to this guard of his. ... Pretty certain, yes.
"Anyway," he continued. "Mine, and the nurse I had before him, insists on calling me 'Walken,' which isn't right at all! They're confusing me for the wrong assassin! Granted, Mr. Felix Walken is excellent at his job , but maybe I should be offended that they only think me second-best in the world."
Let's see... was there anything else he wanted to talk to Firo about? ... He couldn't remember now. His head was filled with ideas about how he could perhaps interrogate his soldier. But hey, he could always ask Firo later, couldn't he?
"Where are you staying, by the way? Then I could visit you if I ever need to!"
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-But before that, his room? "I was just moved to M44," he answered, a confused look lingering on his face over the matter of 'Felix Walken'. "Tell me yours, too. I might need to know it some time." Especially if that torture thing from last night was a regular occurrence, checking up on Claire from time to time might not be a bad idea. Claire could handle himself, but it did say a lot that their captors had gotten him here in the first place.
"About 'Felix Walken'... If they're calling you that, shouldn't you be happy?" It meant that at least someone was calling him by that name.
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Excellent! Now he had someone he could talk to if his roommate turned out to be the silent type! If he got all his possessions back, perhaps he should mark out Firo's room on the map he'd taken from the bulletin board.
Claire didn't think he had any other questions after this last one. It was also probably nearing time for breakfast to end, right? Not that he was watching the time, but he had been taking a long time trying to decide whether or not he wanted to eat his gruel. Which, he suddenly decided, was a solid, resounding no. Even if he'd skipped dinner last night.
...Oh, Firo was saying something. "Hm?"
And then Claire had to pause for a moment and try to understand. Because...
"... Happy that I'm being called by someone else's name?" Claire asked, not sure what Firo was getting at. He blinked. Why would he be happy?
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"Happy that you're being called-" he started, cutting off suddenly. Ah... Was it possible that Claire actually didn't know? Given the whole 'time travel' thing Scott had talked about, even if it had been 1934 when he'd been on his way to prison, there was a chance it might have been a different year entirely for Claire. If so, it could have been before he'd started going by 'Felix Walken'. It had to have been, if he was saying it was someone else's name.
"...Forget it."
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He waited for Firo to explain, then stared when he cut himself off and told him to forget about it. What? But Claire was curious! What was this all about? He would think that Firo understood how important Claire's names were to him, since they'd known each other for so long. So what was this?
"No wait, what did you mean by all that?" he asked. "Just tell me!"
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He looked down at his bowl of gruel as he thought it over. Claire had already asked him to explain, so he wasn't going to get out of it easily, was he? It would be a lot less trouble just to tell him.
Firo sighed, and then looked at Claire once more.
"It's just... You've been using the name 'Felix Walken' for a couple of years now."
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Finally, Firo looked back up. Oh, so he was going to tell him anyway?
... But what he said wasn't quite expected.
"... But I haven't been."
And Claire was certain of this. He'd been going by 'Claire Stanfield' as his birthname, then 'Vino' as his undercover alias, a few other names he might have conjured up for a few jobs or another and then discarded, and most recently 'Rail Tracer.' But when had he taken up 'Felix Walken'? Pretty sure he hadn't, in fact. He remembered in encounter with that famed assassin himself in the field, but nothing else that would make him take up the name and ask to be referred to by it.
Firo had said a couple years? How could that be possible?
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"But you will," he said. Maybe if he explained the reason he'd had taken up the name? He'd been told it before, and it really was so like Claire that maybe it would be enough to make him understand. And come to think of it, hadn't Claire had mentioned the Flying Pussyfoot when Firo had first arrived? "You explained it before by saying something like 'Claire's dead, so I needed a new name in order to get married'..."
His right hand tightened around his spoon, though he'd long since stopped mixing the gruel. "If you haven't decided that already, then you must not have bought the name yet. But for me, it's already 1934."
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This was... confusing. Very confusing. And difficult to wrap his mind around, because everything sounded just weird. Too weird? Well... probably not. It was... what was a good word for it? 'Interesting'? Well no, not quite... How about 'strange'? 'Impossibly strange'? No, no, for all Claire knew, nothing was impossible, at least not for him. But still! This definitely counted as 'impossibly strange, even for him' right? Right?!
... Wait, did this mean--?!?!!?
It had been a few moments since he'd spoken, during which Claire had probably spent his time making thinking faces. (A rarity, those.) Suddenly, he looked rather shocked. One might think it was a late reaction to what he'd just been told, but it was to something else entirely.
"Firo, how old are you?" Claire demanded, staring intently. If Firo was supposed to be from 1934, that meant he was ahead of him in years. Which was completely unfair! You couldn't just do that! How had that happened?! Time machine? Had Firo discovered a time machine?! If he had, he should tell him these things sooner.
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