May 30, 2007 05:54
The intercom jingle rang out both inside and outside the institute on speakers loud enough to broadcast clearly across the recreational field
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raine,
carnage,
axel,
intercom,
nel,
xigbar,
lust,
rock lee,
goku,
snake,
suigintou,
susan,
naoya,
utena,
allen,
naminé,
asch,
light,
demyx,
miku,
zex,
yazoo,
tamaki,
ginji,
hakkai,
luxord,
signum,
artemis,
rena,
xemnas,
aya,
subzero,
fuu,
usopp,
ken,
integra,
lord recluse,
elena (ffvii),
ritsuka,
yuffie,
edgar,
farfarello,
link,
cliff,
okita,
otacon,
takaya,
masaru,
darman,
kurikara,
hitsugaya,
gabranth,
kadaj,
haku,
inara,
citan,
renji,
kurama,
count d,
jack horner,
kenshin,
obi-wan kenobi,
homura,
haruhi suzumiya,
adelheid,
larsa,
ravi,
naoe,
usagi,
saïx,
luffy,
ashton,
seishirou,
reno,
albel,
kyouya,
cheetara,
elfangor,
rukia,
roland,
max,
faust,
javert,
zabuza,
dean winchester,
raven,
byakko,
hk-47,
ren,
sakura,
guy,
kimbley,
sheska,
kairi,
hinamori momo,
gaara,
protoman,
roy,
mal,
kuja,
george,
lyta,
sai,
relena,
the boss,
sasuke,
iruka,
aidou,
riku replica,
eva,
eddie brock,
jean,
hisoka,
gin,
omi,
james,
tatsumi,
captain jack,
sanzo
He didn't like screaming. He'd gotten more than enough of that as it was.
There was food. Pot pie, peas, and mashed potatoes. Food that did little to nothing for him. Still, he went through the motions of eating at least the pot pie. There was, at least, enough meat to slake some of the hunger he could feel building in the back of his mind. Or at least it felt like it could.
Meanwhile he glanced at his room mate as he sank down on his own bed, not saying anything for the moment. He'd certainly had a rough life, judging from all those scars, and he also seemed a bit... distracted. Hm. Perhaps just resting would be in his cards.
Shame that the fruit juice couldn't be something a little harder. That would have at least helped him sleep.
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At least his roommate didn't seem to be anything like that blasted girl from lunch. She was going to cause him trouble, he could feel it.
When he finished his meal, Farfarello was finally able to devote a little more attention to his roommate. "... We seem to be stuck with each other. We might as well exchange names."
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"I'm Roland," he finally said, tapping a pen against his journal as he thought, only to chuckle and faintly grin. "I'll try not to snore too loudly."
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Not that Farfarello particularly cared about this man's welfare, but if he died maybe they'd stick some sort of noisy kid in as his new room mate, and that would suck considerably worse, so. Might as well put in some minor effort to see to it that Roland survived the night. "I assume you've been warned about what happens at night."
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But when Farfarello made that statement, that caught the pale man's attention. "...unless you're referring to what we're going through now, no. I haven't been given much of a chance to find out what's wrong."
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"I imagine that these 'monsters' have powers greater than what you possess; why haven't they simply eaten everyone by now? For that matter... I assume that you're going to be going out anyway? You don't seem like the type to enjoy sitting still."
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Lying back and closing his eye, Farfarello let the pain have its way for a few moments. It seemed to help his concentration if he took little breaks. "Why haven't they killed everyone? Same reason we've been brought here, probably. What THAT is, no one seems to agree on."
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When Farfarello leaned back, Roland managed to keep his questions to himself, at least for that little while. Why had they all been dragged into Landel's? If there were monsters, if there was struggling, then this was not Nirvana- not even a false version of it. But if the Institute was looking for more monsters to swell their ranks... that would explain why his mark yet remained. "...I wonder," he muttered at last, his gaze distant as his mind worked on this new possibility. The journal, naturally, lay forgotten on his lap.
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When Roland fell silent, Farfarello was perfectly happy to let the other man lose himself in his thoughts, and take the time to enjoy his migraine. He could understand, now, how pain would be terribly problematic during a fight--very distracting! But it was more complex than he could have imagined, throbbing and twisting and dull and sharp all at the same time; he wondered if his victims ever understood what a remarkable thing their pain really was.
Roland's soft mutter brought Farfarello out of his little trance, and he looked over at his room mate once more. "And yes, I'll be going out. Most people do, trying to map the place, or find weapons, find a way out." That this was exactly what the people in charge probably wanted either didn't occur to them, or they couldn't figure out anything better to do. Farfarello didn't really care what Landel wanted, or even about escape. He just wanted to have some damn fun.
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What a strange thing, though. Roland's gaze shifted back to the other man, and he seemed almost contemplative. Something was clearly gnawing at the back of the scarred man's mind, and nosy as always, Roland wanted to know what it was.
Sadly, he was starting to get a good novel idea just from talking to this guy.
"Hm... that does beg the question, though. Is this place worse than wherever everyone comes from? I can understand the desire for freedom, and I don't plan on staying here longer than I have to, but it's still a question worth asking."
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Farfarello paused, blinking. He was all but babbling. First the text conversation with the Irish boy, now this--he was speaking more today than he had in the last year of his life combined, more likely than not. Even with Schuldig he seldom talked this much, as so little needed to be said when one was with a telepath. Well, he had all this new and interesting stuff to talk about, that was probably it. When the novelty wore off, no doubt so would this fit of verbosity.
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Of course, that indicated a need for some sort of exchange, and Roland shrugged as he gave his own answers. "I'm from the United States, around... 2030? It's been too long since I looked at a calendar. World War 2 is just a page in the history books for me."
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Still, he was quiet for a while longer, letting the pain have its turn again; who knew when it would fade, and then he'd probably never feel it again. Looking at his hand, red from sunburn and scabbed and bruised where he'd bit into it earlier, Farfarello wondered at the strangeness of being able to feel the imaginary pain in his head, and not the very real, physical pain he ought to be feeling in his hand.
And all this thinking and rational discussion, today--it was starting to make him edgy, much as he'd enjoyed it and continued to enjoy it. He needed action, violence, or he was going to start bouncing off the walls.
... Room mate. Right. "2030? Huh. I'm from early 1998. The board I mentioned, it's full of information about where and when the people here are from. People talk about that a lot. They also use it to arrange meetings, mostly." ... And make crude drawings about anal sex.
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"The board, hm? I'll have to take a look; I'm sure that there's a great deal of information there. However... that does beg an obvious question. How did you, someone pre-millennium, and someone like me, from 2030, end up in the same room at the same time? Unless one or both of us are, in fact, insane, that doesn't make sense."
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"Oh, I'm insane. But not in that way. And there are people I know from more or less my time and my world, here. They're apparently a little bit ahead of me, months or a year, not too much."
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