NIGHTSHIFT 27: F-BLOCK HALLWAY
[From here]
Ami stepped out into the wider corridor. Again, silence. It was disconcerting. Glancing around, Ami couldn't see anything threatening. Yet. She forced her fear back, determined not to let its icy claws grip her.
She walked across the hallway and into the women's bathroom.
Ami stepped out into the wider corridor. Again, silence. It was disconcerting. Glancing around, Ami couldn't see anything threatening. Yet. She forced her fear back, determined not to let its icy claws grip her.
She walked across the hallway and into the women's bathroom.
Not this time. She stared at the little plastic tray with its disgusting human food before kicking it clear across the room, and watching it splat against the wall. This was not how Diva was supposed to be treated now - she was everything to the Chevaliers - everything because of her blood - After a few thunderous moments of clawing, kicking, and beating the locked door, Diva had to give pause before she really had to accept it wasn't going to open under her own force. (She was weak again, but how, she was full! She was eating. She was eating so much good food, how could she be back to that time ( ... )
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Good thing he missed Uma Thurman just now, though what was in store for the hunter would probably take the cake.
With Sam's outline at the corner of his eye, Dean promptly strolled into the F block, registering a particularly lithe figure standing in close proximity. The elder brother almost yelped when he realised what it was, hopping backwards as though he'd sighted a monster and stretching an arm in front of Sam.
"Oh for- dammit," he muttered, torn between shock and frustration. While the night technically veiled most of the girl's painfully prominent stark image, his vision had adjusted itself to the lack of light, calling for an arm to shield his stunned gaze. "Sam!" He snarled, turning pointedly to his 'partner' and throwing him an exasperated look, half-glaring half-daring him to stare at Diva. "Sam where'd her clothes go?!" His growl was low and faint, but perfectly audible to the other man.
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He jerked his head to the side, one hand coming up to either shield his vision or rub his temples to ward off a suddenly-looming headache. More than likely, the gesture was meant to serve both purposes at once. "I don't know," he muttered, voice somewhat strangled. "I'm not a..." He trailed off then, as the continuation to the retort was, in fact, inaccurate. He was a psychic.
Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately - he'd had no visions involving missing clothing.
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If 'rape' was taking something without permission, then Diva was fine with rape.
And what she wanted right then was her dress, and the desire only grew when people continued to stare but were too stupid to go find it for her. Was she supposed to do it herself while her Chevaliers were away? That wasn't fun at all, and her nipples were getting cold and hard without clothing on.
The Chiropteran only crossed her arms, unconsciously jutting one hip to the side in a show of displeasure. The two men in front of her acting as though they'd never seen a bare body before now.
"You can look, I don't mind," was all she said.
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If Sam said one word...
He closed his eyes, lips barely moving as though he were silently turning over a possible solution. Eyelids flicking open after a few seconds, he grabbed the items in his pockets (pain-killers, pair of butter knives), blindly snatched at Sam's free hand and slapped them in the other man's palm. Dean glowered at what he assumed was a face.
"Don't lose 'em," he managed to communicate, heatedly ripping his arms from his overcoat sleeves and setting livid sights on Diva.
"Uh, don't, uh... here." Regained composure crumbled the instant he decided to shift forward and drape the thing over her shoulders, features in minor distress while he fumbled with the top button. The coat was oversized on her figure. It could be passed off as an ugly nightgown of sorts.
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He exhaled slowly, a touch too sharp to call a sigh. His gaze roamed the ceiling and along the halls, noting the passage of the other prisoners scurrying about the maze. The only place it didn't rest was on Diva. Or, given proximity, on Dean. "Is this your-" Sam hesitated momentarily, groping for an appropriate term that did not include the phrase 'batshit crazy'. "-Your friend from lunch?"
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Perhaps one of the more remarkable sights - to one who knew who and what she was - would be observing her stand perfectly still while a piece of food approached, standing docilely while he tried to cover her in his embarrassment. Diva just tipped her chin down and watched. It held the lingering body warmth of a human.
Smelled like blood.
No... wait, it wasn't just the clothing Dean had been wearing, it was suddenly coming from everywhere all at once, and noise - all the groaning and weird sounds - Diva spun suddenly on her heel, sending the hem of the overcoat fluttering around her thighs, and turned on the F block bathroom without a word.
She made a beeline for it, curious, very curious.
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The answer to his brother's question was a hung head and low sigh.
He cleared his throat, the situation demanding an authoritative presence.
"Waitwaitwaitwait." The man hesitated to clamp a hand down on her shoulder and instead barred the way, delaying her escapade into the bathroom. "Now look, princess," a curve of derision and a twitching smirk strengthening Dean's injured ego. "Sure it was totally awesome struttin' your stuff in front of everybody, but. Game over. I will leave your sorry ass if you can't cooperate. The hell kind o'... whatever the hell you called it... sheh... vah-lee-whatsit would I be, lettin' you get away with that crap then allowin' you to take the freakin' lead?"
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"Dean," the younger hunter cut in, low and wary and only just this side of urgent. "You hearing that?"
It was not that Sam didn't care about the young woman's escapades, but rather his attention had fixed firmly upon the newest eerie development the hospital had to offer, in hopes of discerning a threat before it decided it wanted to eat them. Especially now that they had, to his way of thinking, a civilian to protect.
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"You're not a Chevalier," she said. "Not yet."
That was just funny. Diva twirled around again, purposefully disobedient, and stepped back towards Sam, who was maybe even taller than Amshel. She had to look up to smile at him. Could she eat this one? She thought she could. He was softer, and sweeter, and younger, and he tasted less like iron than the other one, the brother. "I hear it!" she exclaimed, girlishly, wanting to see if his attention would waver off her again.
Games weren't over until you won, or found the prize. If it was a game, then Diva wanted to play. She loved playing.
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"... Yeah," he finally replied, voice still rough, but far calmer. Cautious. Concentration easily diverged from Diva, the beam of his flashlight continued its steady route athwart the point of suspicion. "... Goin' in there'd be suicide, don't y'think? But..." Oh man. This had his blood pumping. A hunt. It'd been too long. "Should we check it out? Patient might be in there. And, well," a bored smile laced his lips. "It's our job. Right?" Beat babysitting the brat.
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Sam's gaze snapped back to Dean, and the half-smile grew and turned more than slightly wry. "There's no assurance that whatever it is wouldn't just get out and come at us when our backs were turned anyway," he replied. "We check it out, at least we know we're walking into something. I know I'd rather not have it at our back." It was, at least in part, an excuse. A hunt was familiar, more so than anything else he'd encountered in Landel's thus far.
His expression tugged into a faint frown as he looked down at Diva once more, concern written clearly across his features. She was, as far as he was concerned, the real wild card.
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Well, Diva would be fine, but she always was. Humans broke really fast.
The Chiropteran Queen wasn't stupid, however, no matter how she seemed. When it came to a public bathroom, and other things, a human girl wandering around and looking at sinks wasn't worth the effort. Now that she was thinking on it...
She looked to Dean, then up at Sam again, then back to Dean, where her gaze lingered for a moment. And finally, back up to Sam. "Who are you? Are you going to go in there? You shouldn't, you might not like it."
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So when the girl gave a somewhat abrupt warning to the younger man, Dean rotated to completely face her, mechanically flicking off the torch to deflect attention from any unwanted source.
"Diva," he said in an astonishingly soft tenor; a drift one used when speaking to a child. "What is it?" He had a brow arched, though he held an indisputable curiosity for just how much information this patient had in her grasp. Could she sense something about the scenario that they couldn't?
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Noting his brother had turned fully towards them, Sam shifted enough that he could maintain a reasonably clear view of the bathroom door, or more importantly, anything entering or exiting it.
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