Day 52: Library (2nd shift)

[longlivetehking]

Scar possibly couldn't have been more thrilled at the prospect of being escorted to the library. He had visited this particular room plenty of times to know that it was entirely useless and uninteresting - like most daytime activities, for that matter. Still, the nurse seemed rather convinced he'd like one of those silly books filled with papers

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[osreborn]

Norman was already tired of today by the time breakfast was finished and he was escorted (to be generous with phrasing) to the library, as if that was an appropriate way to force him to spend his time. Funny, Stark, very funny. It was so ludicrously benign, he almost had to hold back bitter laughter.

But he continued to behave himself, if only for the sake of seeing what was up. If SHIELD wanted something to do with him -- though he wondered if it was SHIELD, it was unlike them to be so hands-off with their own projects -- he damn well wanted to know what it was before he said No! and was put into a sedated stupor. He knew how things worked here; aggression would not get him anywhere he wanted to be.

Immediately.

No matter who it was behind this madness.

Idly, he scanned the shelves, and came across a title that was familiar to him. H.G Wells's The Invisible Man, a favorite. Marvel, they'd called him, like the partner of the title character in the book. Curious that they'd choose it.

He took the first empty seat that he saw, near a boy -- a teenager, apparently. Norman raised an eyebrow briefly, the corner of his mouth quirking crookedly as he wondered since when did they admit children to places like this? Asking for trouble, it seemed like, putting them in with people like him. How amusing.

sob this took even forever-er sorrryyy!

[osreborn]

The boy caught Norman's attention immediately. It was easy to be attentive in a library, even more so when one was holding a book they knew cover to cover in their hands. He'd picked something familiar for that very reason; he wasn't going to stop listening to whatever word of mouth he could. Eventually someone would slip up and he'd be able to demand some answers.

He folded the book closed, setting it down and just looking at the child -- teenager? for a long moment, memorizing his features. He had a familiar face somehow, which was probably the most irritating part of it.

But Norman smiled -- sort of -- a crooked crinkle appearing at the corner of his mouth. He touched his chin with a finger.

"Very good question, young man. That really depends on where 'here' is."

His eyes scanned the library, at the people he'd never seen before today. Yes, he was definitely new here. Whether or not it was another SHIELD prison (asylum, to call a spade a spade) or something entirely different.

"The evidence does seem to align that way."

He leaned forward, slightly. The boy either didn't recognize him as a regular, or he was new himself, sorting out who was who. Norman figured the former was more likely -- better for the unfamiliar to seek a veteran. It was simple logic.

"And you aren't?"

YES LET'S. and yes! assuming backthreading means what I think it means.

[osreborn]

New Jersey. Well, that didn't answer much. Norman had property and business in New Jersey -- it would be an obvious, if not childish, choice for a place to relocate him. Of course, the last thing he wanted was for his daughter-in-law to take that as a sign that she should come and visit him. She would, if only to flaunt her freedom.

"Hm," Norman stroked his chin with a finger, before letting the hand rest on the table. The information was noted, though not acknowledged with any kind of nod or thank you. Being the one not in the know was always a vicious stab to his ego.

He watched the boy's movements carefully, observing each small subtlety of gesture and possibly pain. It was merely clinical; he'd gotten used to watching Spider-man for the very same kind of body language until it had become an instinct. He didn't have a real need to observe anyone so close here. Yet. His paranoia reminded him that any of this could be a trap, anyone could be an enemy -- or a drug-encouraged hallucination. What a revolting thought that would be.

But the important thing to do right now was to continue listening attentively. It all sounded very melodramatic, like something out of an Orwell novel. And not even a good one. He leaned in turn, humoring the boy's secrecy.

"It's an asylum. Or a mental health ward of a prison. More likely the former," he said, eyebrows furrowed over thinly narrowed eyes. "I'll assume whatever happens at night is not strictly procedure."

THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT i'm awesome. yeah, let's go with that...

[osreborn]

That earned a raised eyebrow. Skeptical in part, but not entirely -- it was good to hear something, even if the person he was speaking to was hypothetically even insaner than he was. So he listened quietly, expression unchanged except for his quirked brow, which rose a bit higher.

"It does sound crazy," Norman agreed, his tone more thoughtful than disbelieving. "What sort of monsters are we speaking of? Do you mean humans or boogeymen?"

There was the obvious answer, of course. But having often been called a monster himself, semantics would play a part in clearing things up. He didn't eat people, but someone like Carnage wouldn't think twice.

It was, however, the latter half of what the boy said that piqued Norman's curiosity more. Perhaps because it was something he would do, and had done, himself. So little people realized the merits of experimentation, he well knew. The importance of exploring true human potential. He wouldn't comment on that.

"Scientific or medical experiments? Sounds like it's asking for trouble. No doubt, if they wanted to use patients, they'd slip sedatives or medication in with--" He paused, frowning, and sat back in his chair a bit. He considered that he should look a bit more nonplussed at the news regardless, so he cast a paranoid, cautious glance over his shoulder.

"--The food. Correct?"

NO PROBLEM, I might be slowish too, sick :( so feel free to poke me as well

[osreborn]

Norman drummed his fingers on his knee thoughtfully, taking several moments before he'd say anything in response. He was skeptical, though not disbelieving -- that would be foolish, granted how many he would deem less than human he'd encountered in his lifetime. Anyone could be a boogeyman.

He was still wary about the food. Perhaps it didn't make anyone sick, but that could mean anything. Could anything in a place such as this truly be innocuous? If they tranquilized patients in their rooms, it may not be sedatives, granted. But Norman was a chemist, and he knew just how simple it would be to put something -- even something slow-acting -- into someone's food or drink.

"Do you suspect these so-called boogeymen are products of these experiments? What purpose does experimenting on patients serve?" He queried finally. "There doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason, pattern-wise, regarding what kind of people are being held here. Not as far as I've noticed. What kind of information do they want?"

such a good idea. :( and orange juice.

[osreborn]

Where Norman came from, there were few things that were too far-fetched to be believed. Unlikely, yes, but very little ended up being impossible. Some kind of medieval asylum was far less strange than a man rising back from the dead.

"What if they're genetic experiments? Turning the patients into creatures?" It was a theory. Norman knew it was possible. He didn't know if that was what they were doing here, but why waste the opportunity of having a building full of guinea pigs? The nature of said experiments intrigued him.

He didn't let that cross his face, instead discreetly taking in the information on the bulletin board. "That will be good to know. You're very helpful, young man." He didn't really mean it as a compliment, but he knew young people sometimes required encouragement or they would stop their efforts completely.

"How strictly censored are we talking?"

[osreborn]

"How Orwellian," Norman murmured, thinking about the bulletin board. "You use it often? I imagine for any sort of censorship to be actively a nuisance, you must use it for frequent communication. But having friends here can't be a bad thing."

Idly he cracked his knuckles, looking at the book on his lap. Funny that they allowed a fully stocked library, but monitored communication so tightly. He wondered if people ever left notes hidden between the book's pages. He flipped through it quickly, not expecting to find anything, then set it aside.

"It sounds far-fetched. But I know better than to write anything off completely. No sense in disregarding information, no matter how crazy it sounds. Of course, what it sounds like is organized hallucinations. Perhaps from something in the food, or the tranquilizers. But what it looks like--" He nodded at Peter's wound, "Is something else, as I doubt you did that to yourself."