Day 41: Lunch

[perfectrecord]

Just as von Karma started to enter the doorway leading to the Courtyard to look around for anyone remotely resembling his daughter, that pretentious lunatic's voice rang out over the Intercom, heralding the approach of lunch time. Right away, the damned nurse practically dragged him back into the cafeteria and towards the serving tables, telling

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[braidless]

Obi-Wan had spent the better part of last shift meditating, which helped clear some of the left-over fog that had still been clouding his senses. He'd obviously been out of commission far too long. It would probably do him well to be more alert in the coming days. Not that Obi-Wan considered himself to be careless, but apparently he hadn't been careful enough, either.

The Jedi checked the bulletin. Still no word from Qui-Gon. It was possible that he'd been taken back into the infirmary as well. But with night rapidly approaching, Obi-Wan was going to need to figure out how he ought to spend his time. He'd seen the call for people to help those who'd been taken for experiments, and he had to admit that a part of him felt compelled to offer his aid.

Either way, heading back to the basement probably wasn't the best of ideas, especially considering what had happened the past few times they'd tried for it. At this point he was starting to expect that either someone was going to die, or that someone was going to mysteriously fall ill. Perhaps Landel didn't want anyone to head down there after all? But that certainly wouldn't make sense...

It hadn't taken Obi-Wan long to get some of the strange Earthian cuisine before he found a place to sit. These days, though, he rarely gave the food here much thought, though whether it was because he was becoming accustomed to it, or if he just had better things to think about, Obi-Wan himself wasn't entirely sure.

[Closed to Armand and Batman, I think?]

[secret_orchard]

Going back inside was a bit of a disappointment, but Armand knew better than to protest. He simply bit his tongue and kept his eyes down. It was so easy to get annoyed at the staff here now. He reviewed the conversation he'd just had and wondered if being so frank had been a good idea, but then again, it wasn't as if he had much choice about his honesty either. The nurse was still following her campaign to fatten Armand up, and piled chicken and potatoes on his plate. She didn't object when he added salad and chose to drink water. With all this, he still worried he'd be fat in a few short days.

However, as much as he tried to steer his way to a vacant area to watch for his meeting, she pushed him toward a chair near another man. Although he didn't look much bigger than Armand, he looked fit, so perhaps this wasn't a complete waste. "There, Mr. Larue," the nurse said, choosing to be polite with his false names instead of condescending for once, "you just talk to Mr. Klein here. I think you both need more friends." Armand closed his eyes until she had gone, trying not to cringe away from her hand on his shoulder.

"That's not my name," he said as soon as she was clear. Yes, if this man was a veteran here, he likely knew that, but Armand's compulsion to truth just wouldn't let it rest. "I'm Armand St. Just. I don't think we've met, in person anyway." Armand had met any number of people on the bulletin board, some of whom he even remembered their names. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything. She made me sit here, even though I'm looking for someone else." Armand bit his lip, wondering if that sounded rude and dismissive. "Not that I mind meeting you, sir, but I hope you don't mind the additional company, if he can find me."

[gothamnight]

With the exception of those with Wally, meetings for Bruce Wayne always seemed short, rushed, and to a point, futile. There were typically very few matters of substances discussed, few ideas exchanged, and even fewer plans made. The knowledge that whatever organization had created this "Institute" was formidably intricate and difficult to crumble had been enough for Bruce to take the "lack of progress" with a grain of salt, but in the light of Clark's death nothing seemed enough.

Nonetheless, meeting with Statesman had been...useful. Not a distraction, at least. Cowl or no Batman did his best work with the mask off; the amount of "useful" his conversation with Statesman had been was enough to testify to that. Batman the detective became with each step towards the cafeteria Bruce Wayne the billionaire, but this time more than ever Bruce was forced to consider whether it was the masks that kept him from doing. Whether, if only he'd been able to make that crucial step and throw the billionaire aside, perhaps he would've gotten there sooner, or figured something out faster, and maybe Clark wouldn't have--

I have long, brown hair. It's braided today. And I have a straight, horizontal scar on my forehead. That usually does it.

--He'd paid as much attention as he needed to know what lunch was today, but not enough to distract enough from the sight of a man with braided hair addressing another patient. Bruce watched them between movements from the corner of his eye, beginning to assess what kind of adjustments he'd need to make when approaching his (apparently two) lunch companions.

When he was done, he got up and walked over.

"Hi," Bruce said with a somewhat tired but otherwise pleasant smile. While his greeting was directed at the man with brown hair, he made eye contact with and nodded politely towards the other man, as well.

"You'll have to excuse me if I've made a mistake, but...are you Mr. St. Just?"

[braidless]

((Still on hiatus, but am taking advantage of airport wi-fi. \o/))

Even as the nurse practically shoved the poor man into the chair near him, Obi-Wan made sure to keep a pleasant demeanor. It not only put the staff at ease, but it tended to help smooth over a potentially awkward conversation.

"Not at all," he replied with a quiet, polite smile. "I'm afraid I've had to keep to myself the past few days, so the extra company will likely do me some good." He took a small sip of his water. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. St. Just. You may call me Ben if you'd like."

He generally didn't like going out of his way to hide his true name, but he had to consider what he needed to do to avoid unwanted attention. It was still strange to think that his name was so well-known on such a backwards planet like Earth, and yet Obi-Wan knew he had no choice but to accept it for now.

It wasn't long before Mr. St. Just's other companion appeared, and Obi-Wan gently inclined his head in greeting.

[secret_orchard]

"You're very gracious," Armand said. He couldn't help the blush though. That wasn't anything new, just his own natural reaction to embarrassing himself. So even without the Institute's interference so he couldn't lie, Armand had never been a very good liar in the first place. He was usually far too easy to read, which had been used against him before.

"I hope the subject of our conversation doesn't bore you too much. You seem a man who knows how to handle himself, so perhaps you'll at least understand. I'm looking for a few alternate bodyguards--protectors is perhaps the better word--for my couriers. I am hoping we'll be able to do some work tonight."

He arranged his tray, moving the chicken and fried potatoes further back so he could eat the fresh vegetables first. Lettuce was still considered a vegetable wasn't it? He'd hardly done that, hoping to let his accidental lunch partner get used to the idea of the meeting to come, when he saw a large, dark-haired man approach them. Was that who he was supposed to meet?

Armand hastily stood and bowed. Whenever he was too flustered, lifelong instincts took over his actions. "Yes sir, I am Armand St. Just. Are you the man I spoke to on the bulletin board this morning, the one who wanted to talk about my advertisement?" Not the one who'd wanted to call him a coward.

[gothamnight]

Bruce blinked for a moment, caught a bit off-guard when St. Just stood up suddenly and bowed. Granted, he could've guessed from the man's prose and the way he wrote his name that he was from an older time; still, the gesture surprised him.

His lips quirked up in a half-smile.

"Yes, that would be me. Bruce Wayne," Bruce said, holding out a hand to St. Just but looking at both of them.

"I couldn't comfortably give out my name on the board, but I really am glad for the chance to talk to you. Both of you, I'm sure--once I'm introduced?"

[braidless]

Obi-Wan didn't find the topic boring in the least. If anything, he knew it was wise to find out any information about efforts patients had going on, and to familiarize himself with it for future reference.

"I see," he replied with a small smile. "That does sound like it'd be a beneficial service to some of the people here."

When Mr. St. Just bowed, Obi-Wan didn't seem to show much of a reaction, although he did think it indicated an extremely polite demeanor on his lunch companion's part. He hadn't seen much of that here. Perhaps some Earthians were more inclined to demonstrate such courtesies more so than others. Of course, it was possible he wasn't Earthian at all, but there was no way for Obi-Wan to know without asking.

"My apologies," he said as he turned to Bruce Wayne. "Please call me Ben. It's a pleasure to meet you."

[secret_orchard]

Armand took a moment to settle back into this chair and poke nervously at his food. It was beginning to look as if he would be too anxious to eat. He bit his lip instead and then looked between the two men. "I'm glad to meet you, Monsieur Wayne. I had no idea the nurse would make me sit with someone else as well."

His food was far less intimidating, even if he couldn't eat it, so Armand dropped his chin again. "I am not the best at explaining things, but what I have been been organizing with a few friends to begin is a courier service, more or less, to move items and messages around the Institute without having to delay people's nights or use the bulletin board as much."

"There is precedent to believe that Dr. Landel knows much of what we do no matter how we try to hide it, but there is no reason to advertise our every communication to the daytime staff, or even to personal enemies any prisoner may have from their regular life. Also, when I talked to the new head of the Cooking Club, Brigadier General Hughes I think his name is, he gave some strong indication that many people are wasting time at night trying to deliver or wait for pick up of items. This seems to affect the club leaders especially, and they are some of the more competent people, the ones who need to get out and find a way out of this trap."

Now that he had begun speaking, Armand was beginning to relax some. Most of what he was saying, he'd said before to his friends. Some of the rest was speculation on his part, but since he didn't know it wasn't true, he was able to say it. It was a bit of a relief not to have the words choke in his throat, because he didn't particularly want his weakness revealed to everyone just yet. He pushed his tray back slightly to fold his hands together on the edge of the table.

"Another problem I'd noted, somewhat far too personally I'm afraid, is that many people here are not fighters. A huge proportion of us are, compared to a normal population, but those who aren't shouldn't be put at risk. Nor should they feel... left out of the work that needs doing. One of my young friends, a child named Bridget, was hurt very badly outside the walls several nights ago. My friend, a soldier from space, had his collar bone broken by monster in the kitchen while defending me. I don't want to put him in that position again. I don't want the young people hurt or killed."

"So we can deliver items and messages between people and rooms. No part of the Institute is completely safe at night, but the brainwashed patients and the bigger monsters tend to gravitate to the very high traffic and valuable rooms, such as the Sun Room, the route to the basement, or the entry way. Do you see what I mean? If we work in pairs, a courier and a defender or bodyguard, who can learn from one another as they work, we can safely, and hopefully discreetly and efficiently, move what needs to be moved around in the western part of the Institute."

Armand paused now to catch his breath and try to gauge his audience's reactions. He swallowed nervously, and wondered worriedly if they would pelt him with questions or criticisms. He dreaded the questions far worse. He was a nervy speaker, but his heart was in his conviction on how this service would be a benefit.

[gothamnight]

Under normal circumstances, Bruce would have been more concerned with a third person's presence; Clark's death had impressed upon the necessity of trade-offs, yes, but Bruce couldn't change the part of his nature that knew that trusting people, one way or another, was just asking for trouble. He could never give up his masks that easily, even when the price was for refusing was--

Bruce's instincts about Ben, however, told him that the man was worth taking risks on. He spoke formally, but without arrogance; Bruce would've wondered about his background were there not more important tasks to focus on. Namely, St. Just's idea of a courier service.

An idea was seldom separable from its source, and Bruce watched St. Just carefully as the man spoke. He was nervous, which surprised Bruce: not just anyone could've had the guts to propose an idea on the bulletin knowing men of fantastic minds (and even more fantastic egos) were reading and judging every word. Bruce thought that St. Just would have been a confident person by nature, but it seemed he was wrong.

That meant only one thing: either St. Just was not the one who wanted to post the notice, or something had happened to make the man feel so strongly about this service that he would go out of his way to seek out people to help. And from the way the man's voice got stronger as he spoke...Bruce guessed it was the latter.

He listened intently, not needing to hide either the interest in his eyes or seriousness of expression. Much of the reasoning St. Just'd put behind this idea was the same as Bruce's: the impossibility of confidential communication between patients was a serious obstacle at night. While it was impossible, it would certainly be difficult to beat Landel at his game when he knew each and every one of their movements. Bruce had given up on the idea that they weren't constantly being watched: even if they weren't, after all, trying to guess at when Landel was paying attention or not would be just as difficult--if not more so--than taking precautions.

A lump rose to Bruce's throat when St. Just described what had happened to his friends--the word "killed" didn't help. But thankfully, the man paused only briefly before moving on.

St. Just fell silent after the suggestion about working in pairs, leaving Bruce to note that the nervousness had returned. Bruce said nothing immediately, but after watching Ben and St. Just for a few seconds a faint smile came to his face.

"Well, you've sold me," Bruce said, lips quirking up a bit more.

"It's a bit of rough plan logistically, but once the details are worked out, you might be able to establish more private, alternate methods of communication."

[braidless]

Obi-Wan, hands folded neatly on the table's surface, quietly listened to Mr. St. Just as he explained this courier service, and his reasons for wanting to implement such a system. He had to agree that many people were likely far too open about their plans over the bulletin, especially considering how they knew very little about how Martin Landel used such information. Perhaps things like where brainwashed patients or vicious monsters were placed had a strong link to what people said over the bulletin, and they were none the wiser. Not only that, but he could see how delivering items could slow the other clubs down, especially when night had a tendency to end when one least expected it.

And then there were the young people and those who weren't skilled in combat to consider as well. While Obi-Wan wasn't as inclined to pick up "strays" as Qui-Gon was, he still knew those particular patients couldn't be left to fend for themselves. The idea of letting them take part in the work being done so long as they were accompanied by someone more experienced in combat sounded like a reasonable alternative. Jedi often worked in pairs in a similar way, especially Masters and their young Padawans.

There was the concern that some people would try to use the service for ill will, or that untrustworthy people would join as bodyguards, thus putting the very people Mr. St. Just was trying to protect in danger. Of course, those sorts of concerns fell within the execution of the plan, and didn't necessarily take away from the concept itself.

As far as that went, Obi-Wan didn't think Mr. St. Just had any reason to be anxious over how it would be received. His logic was certainly sound, and the sincerity behind his reasoning wasn't something that could be lightly ignored.

"I agree with Mr. Wayne," he said after a moment. "With a bit of planning, this kind of organization could have the potential to ease all of the problems you outlined. I'm willing to lend my assistance, although I'm not sure if I can make a full-time commitment at the moment."

[secret_orchard]

Armand closed his eyes and allowed the relief to wash over him unrestrained. They hadn't asked any questions! He tucked some of the hair that had escaped his braid back behind an ear. Then he smiled at the men, not particularly wide smile but a genuine one, nonetheless.

"Thank you both," he finally said. "I don't think we need an immediate or even a full time commitment. I simply feel the need to not only spread the word that we're trying to do this, but also have a pool of competent and trustworthy bodyguards so that I can enlist couriers with confidence."

"If you had any specific suggestions or concerns, I'd like to hear them. If I can't answer to them immediately, though I will certainly try my best, I can discuss them with Dr. Uzuki and get back to you. As you may have noticed, I am not used to being in charge of anything. I stepped forward with this idea out of the obvious need I saw for it."

He wasn't certain what else to say without making himself seem like an idiot. He didn't want to babble on, but stopping meant time to brace himself again for questions. If he told them to voice their concerns not in questions, they'd want to know why, and he didn't want to tell them. Not yet. Let them see competence first, if he could deliver on his hopeful promises, before they learned his weakness. He didn't like that they could be aware already. He'd had to tell enough people, including that annoying nosy person on the bulletin board before he took the notes down. So to hide his nerves as much as he could, he poked at his food. He still didn't think he'd be able to eat it.

[gothamnight]

"Dr. Uzuki?"

Bruce blinked, completely surprised upon hearing the familiar name. He remembered well that first, if brief, encounter with the doctor--certain details, like the story behind the man's wife and cherished daughter, stood out now as some of the few bright spots Bruce had had since his arrival at the Institute. The man was intelligent, and knowing that he was in this with St. Just...

"I'm in the same boat as Ben--I can't sign on for a full-time commitment, but I'm open to giving whatever help I can. I've some background in organization and fighting, but in terms of arranging meetings actively and asking people to join, I'm fairly useless. I agree that recruiting is the priority right now, though."

Bruce looked over at St. Just and smiled.

"And so far, you don't seem to be doing badly."

[braidless]

Obi-Wan wasn't too familiar this Dr. Uzuki, although he knew that could be remedied. Either way, it was good to know St. Just had other people he could work with while getting this idea off the ground.

He wasn't sure where his basement investigations would take him, but as long as Qui-Gon was unavailable, he likely wouldn't be going down there anytime soon. In the meantime, he was more than willing to help, although there was at least one other organization that he'd already volunteered for.

"I also have some background in combat, as well as in fields relating to diplomacy," Obi-Wan said. "I may be available to help with recruitment in the future, but I can't make any promises right now." To be honest, he was hoping he wouldn't be free for these extra activities, as it would mean he'd be devoting much of his time working with Qui-Gon. But Obi-Wan knew he had to be realistic and to prepare for the worst.

"Yes, it's clear you've put a lot of thought into all of this," he agreed with a small smile of his own. "I hope you are successful in putting this together. You certainly have a good start so far."

[secret_orchard]

He knew Mr. Wayne was only repeating the name, but Armand nodded in response and said, "Yes, Dr. Citan Uzuki, one of my friends. He advises me." Then he bit his lip and listened to the rest of what they both had to say.

"I may personally need help with recruitment within the next few days." So he looked to Obi Wan with a smile. "But after tonight I hope we will be working regularly, and that our work will help tell others about us." Even as he spoke those few words, he could see the nurses start to filter into the room, looking to escort patients to various places. He looked back down at his hands.

"I hope we get a chance to meet again someday soon. Thank you both for your time."