Day 52: Lunch

[purpletaint]

[from here]It was a race. A fight against patience and a Song's call. Still, the sedation's dredges churned through him. Two close at hand had a potent effect--much like the night that they were left in that town, and the morning after. Rubedo had came then. Came for them like something out of place, and wasn't that so ironic afterwards--when

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[herr_inspektor]

As predicted, L appeared quietly and without fanfare- only then Lunge was struck into silence for a second because somehow he hadn't expected the man to look quite so ill. He was used to L looking pale and tired, that seemed to be a given no matter what had happened the night before, but there was something almost corpse-like about the way he looked now, as though there wasn't quite enough blood left to pass under that papery skin. Even the way he moved was startling- slow and considered had become slow and painful. The bandage was a surprise, too. Perhaps it was a preconditioned response, with the illogical but all-too human expectation that the same thing that had happened to him would likely happen to someone else.

And now he needed to tread carefully, because he was already starting to appeal to emotion: bloodless, corpse-like, language far too emotive for his liking, and then there was the personalisation, too. It looked like he really had managed to shake himself up.

Well. That had to stop. It had to stop right now. Never mind that it was counter-productive, it was also the very last side of himself he wanted to share with L, especially not right now. From the sound of things, it was the last thing L wanted to see, too. That conversation opener was as straight to the point as could be, jumping the question entirely, and Lunge had to wonder whether or not that meant talking about what had happened was out of bounds for the time being. No. Probably not. He was willing to speak about his 'death' all those days ago. This shouldn't be all that different, unless-

Unless the Institute had found his Achilles heel as well. They really were exceedingly good at that- he hadn't even remembered he had one until his own session. They still hadn't discussed his own experience, Lunge vaguely remembered, but that was fine. He'd already managed to reduce his experiences to facts, to be collected and pinned like scientific specimens, almost entirely separate of himself. Except for the mention of his daughter, of course. That was classified. He still hadn't decided how much of that particular part to impart to L, if any- perhaps a passing reference to inside knowledge, something that could be related to without having to give away details. But then, perhaps details would help. L had always seemed so cautious, so guarded, that if they'd managed to find a personal level to strike from, the odds were he wouldn't give it up easily. It would be give and take.

But now he was distracting himself unnecessarily; he wasn't the subject today, he was an investigator, and he was falling behind. Unforgivable. Recomposing himself, Lunge took a second look at the man: bandages indicate some sort of surgery. Book: science fiction, probably irrelevant.

He nodded. "I saw." This time around he somehow couldn't entirely treat L as a victim or witness to be mined for information- perhaps it was that pang of something he could feel in the pit of his stomach that had earlier seemed uncomfortably close to guilt. He ignored it. “Do you want to start or shall I?”

[quarter_english]

L caught the peculiar look Lunge gave him. It rankled: he knew how he must appear, that his current weakness was written all over him. Lunge would be phrasing questions in his mind. They both knew that it was experimentation; they both knew how L had been taken from his room and sedated; it was the same story for everyone. The questions would be more intimate than that.

L didn't like the feeling of the bandage around his head, the way his hair stuck out above and below it but was pressed against his skull underneath it. The stitches under the gauze pads in back were probably the kind that would dissolve into the wound, but for the moment, they felt itchy and tight, distracting him. It was only one of several elements, and as such, it wasn't hard to find some other kind of distress to focus on. While ache in his back and head was the greater source of pain, but more than anything, hunger demanded his immediate attention.

He picked up his fork; he could ignore the subtle tremor in his right hand. He speared a strawberry and raised it to his mouth, chewed a few times, then pushed the pulp into his cheek and spoke around it. "I missed breakfast," he explained. "Ask what you want. To begin with, I was heavily drugged, so my memory..." He trailed off, then shrugged, swallowing the fruit. It had a bland, acidic flavor, rather than the sweetness he had been hoping for. He would try a bite of pineapple next.

"There are holes, but I think I can recall the gist of it, along with a number of details. The procedure was only similar to yours in the broadest sense."

[herr_inspektor]

At least L seemed to have his appetite back. That was a good sign, and it diverted most of that unsightly sympathy for the time being. Straight for the strawberries, too. Still have that sweet tooth I see. A nice human touch for Lunge to focus on instead of the shakes, which together with the bandages, he supposed, perhaps hinted at some sort of neurosurgery, or the fact that he hadn't been well enough to make breakfast at all. They were details that would be slotted into a more appropriate place when they reached it- he wouldn't have to make guesses about what had happened, or what it meant for the future. It looked like L was willing to share.

'Looked like' being key, of course. The man's mask of composure was almost flawless, the kind he himself would have have been proud to wear- and of course it had to be mask. There was no way that he'd walked away from his experience without any psychological repercussions. No. We did speak of what had happened to me, he remembered then, but not of my daughter. He hadn't wanted L to know, at the time. If L wanted to keep something back, he wouldn't know.

Then again, it had been a while now. A few days- which meant a lot, in terms of the Institute. If he was going to be asked now, would he give the same answer, or non-answer, or...?

"Of course. I understand completely." Good. That hadn't sounded or felt as awkward to say as he'd thought it might. He was recovering from the initial surprise well. With a slight nod to L's explanation, Lunge made himself comfortable with both hands resting on the table, ready to take notes. L/ Ryuuzaki/ etc: session on Monday (date:? Week two.) night. Briefly, it occurred to him that these would be the kind of notes taken by Javert, when they finally spoke. "What was the first thing you saw on waking up? Anything at all?" It had been bright light, in his case. Nothing but bright light and the occasional play of shadow. But those were his own experiences, and he was distracting himself.

[quarter_english]

He concentrated on his memories of the night before. He had trained himself to observe repugnant circumstances without flinching, and if he was honest, he had to admit that it hadn't been hard; all he'd had to do was overcome the propensity of both a human and a child to avoid exposing themselves to the worst. In almost every other case, though, the circumstances had been someone else's--there was a difference when it was more personal. He could feel himself resisting the recollection, his natural inclination to shy away from an unpleasant memory.

His stomach flipped again, and he set his fork down. That wouldn't do--he couldn't afford not to eat. He struggled to master it, and after a moment, he was successful. All that was left when he began to speak was a serious, unhappy expression.

"The floor. They had me face-down. My arms were secured by straps; the straps were leather, or maybe a synthetic material--hard to say. Strong stitching. The buckles were metal." He paused, then frowned, and steered another piece of pineapple towards his mouth. He could remember trying to lift his arms, how the motion came up short, the soft jangling clink as he met the resistance of the buckle.

"I think it would be easier to discuss the general before we move to the specific."

The volume of his voice dropped; his tone became distant and hesitant. "I was drugged, and then the doctor performed a lumbar puncture. After that, cranial surgery, which he claimed was in order to place an implant in my brain. It's just as possible, however, that the surgical element was for show, and that they were interested in my reactions to the procedure itself. I can't say."

If that were the case, though, would I have been so drugged? There were times when it was difficult for me to react at all.

"I can't remember as well as I would like to," he added, in a more normal tone, then held up his hand, pausing the conversation so that he could take a sip of juice.