Day 52: Game Room

[full_score]

Lunch had taken his mind from his worries, if only for a few minutes. But after the intercom sounded and the nurses began leading patients onto the next activity, one look at the bulletin board brought everything back in full force. No replies from Ashton, Dias or Dad. By now Claude felt like he was practically counting down until the end of the

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[quarter_english]

Eating lunch did L a world of good. While the headache was still there, and its presence was likely to continue for a while, its intensity had receded. His lower back still troubled him, but that discomfort was to be expected when a lumbar puncture was performed without anaesthetic. The stitches ached and itched... yet he was sure that he no longer felt as weak and dizzy as he had upon waking up. His gait was now more of a walk than a shuffle; he didn't have to lean on his nurse as heavily. His feelings of injury and helplessness had lessened accordingly.

Walking into the game room felt strange. He knew that he had been in it a week earlier-but he had visited it as Daniel Laurier, and as a result, the hours he'd spent there seemed unreal and dreamlike. He could summon a memory of the top of one of the mahogany tables, plastic-coated playing cards slipping between his fingers, neat stacks forming on the surface of the wood. He had detached from the memory, as if it was only something he'd seen in a film or been told about in an interrogation: a scene from someone else's life.

He would therefore regard this as his first proper visit to the room. Nothing about it was very interesting, but it was cozy, and the decor was more to his taste than most of what he had seen in the Institute so far. The uncomfortable faraway recollection of playing solitaire made him shy away from cards; instead, he selected a chessboard and carried it to one of the tables, waving off the nurse's offer of assistance.

He sat alone, for the moment, setting up the board, trying to ignore the electronic noises from the video game systems. His movements were as precise and methodical as he could manage; doling the pieces out into their proper places was a good test of his motor control. The pieces seemed to fall into line in the centers of their squares.

The probability that someone or other would want his attention was high. If they began to exhaust him, he could always redirect their attention to the board. If no one approached, he could make himself look busy by claiming to be working on a "chess problem." His mind would be elsewhere, then, focused on what Lunge had told him about a woman called Lydia.

Maybe there was some accuracy in describing the situation as a chess problem, after all.

[Howell, will you be black or white?]

[slipperymagic]

Howl slid into the chair opposite of Ryuuzaki, and although he knew every movement was casual and calculated, there was a chance it would amount to nothing. He didn't think Ryuuzaki would care even if he could somehow tell how relieved Howl was to see him. He certainly wouldn't be touched that he was being worried over, and Howl sincerely didn't wish for him to be. And yet this did not stop Howl from attempting to hide his distress and the way that seeing Ryuuzaki up and moving about had impacted him.

However, Howl would hesitate to say that he was happy to see Ryuuzaki. He had been frustrated and anxious, perhaps even guilty, that he had been unable to make a proper rescue attempt. He just hadn't wanted to have to deal with the consequences of Ryuuzaki's death, and he did like the man. Howl knew he had only been trying to hide from the inevitable fact that they could all die. Ryuuzaki could die, Sophie could die, Howl could die. And in the end, Howl would be unable to do much about it. Seeing Ryuuzaki should have washed away all those fears and allowed him to return to blissful ignorance, but it didn't work out the way he had hoped. The fear remained in his stomach like a rock, weighing him down and refusing to let him think of anything else. He had been dealing with the whole thing much better earlier, before he actually saw that his missing acquaintance had survived.

Howl didn't speak immediately, and instead went through the motions of fixing his hair, brushing it behind his shoulders. His eyes remained trained on Ryuuzaki's fingers as he set out the chess board. They seemed steady enough.

"My apologies for having missed you last night," he began. His voice was too calm, he realized. Upon speaking, it seemed too steady and unfazed to be real. He tapped his finger nail on the table in a small gesture of irritation. He dismissed the social expectation to apologize for having been unable to help. Apologies were pointless, especially with this man. Howl didn't think he could hurt Ryuuzaki's feelings even if he yelled and screamed at him for causing such insufferable distress by nearly dying. Again. So what good would an apology do if it changed nothing? Howl sighed with the weight of the world on his shoulders. "You need to break this habit of having near death experiences. My heart can't take it."

[quarter_english]

"I'll try not to let it happen again," L replied. With more vitality in his voice, it would have sounded droll, but as it was, he only managed to sound flat, tired--disinterested in his own fate.

He placed the last pawn, then gave it a nudge to be sure it was centered in the square, then sat back in his seat when he was pleased with his handiwork. "Abe must have found you. He told you that I was detained?... To be honest, it wasn't what I would call a near-death experience." He paused, drumming the tips of his fingers against the top of the table in a soft, slow cadence. The noise of the video games across the room almost drowned out the beat, and he shot an irritated glance in their direction, then exhaled, trying to relax.

"However, it was very unpleasant." The mask of apathy fell away as L made eye contact with Howell. He didn't know if Howell would be able to see how troubled and indignant he was: the procedure had been humiliating as well as painful, and the only respite from it had been the moments when he had lost consciousness. He let his gaze flicker down to the chessboard: orderly rows of perfect squares in alternating colors, governed by well-defined rules. When he looked up, he'd concealed all hint of emotion or resentment, and his expression once again revealed nothing more than mild exhaustion.

He lifted his hand from the table and gestured at the chair across from him, palm up. "Have a seat. We'll play."