Welcome to the First Day of the Rest of Your Life

[susurrosmuertos]

When night finally rolls around and St. John has apparently given up on tossing Ramon's belongings (or Ramon himself) out into the hall for now, the tall kid figures that that means this is where he's bedding down. At least for tonight.

Despite the other person's grudging allowance of letting him stay in the same room as him, or perhaps because of

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[susurrosmuertos]

"Y-Yeah." He nods, folding his hands in front of him, weaving his long fingers together. "Doesn't sound like they've, um, got good things intended."

He can't help but wonder what the heck they'd do with him, though. St. John's got a tangible power; it's a raw, destructive force and ability, something that can be harnessed and used as a weapon. The practical applications here are obvious. Secret organizations and governments can always use a new way to blow things up. But someone who just sees dead people that can't do anything anyways? It's not like he can control the ghosts, after all. Unless, maybe, they wanted his ability for information gathering...Man, now he's regretting thinking about this so hard.

That's always an interesting thought too. If there's anyone would could tell St. John if he killed those agents in the desert, it's Ramon. Maybe someday...

"B-By the way, I know you said you don't, um, know a lot about them or who they are, but...do you have a name for them? The organization?" He can't remember now if St. John already referenced it, and he'll apologize profusely for forgetting if he did.

[tendencytostart]

It's hard to say what would happen if Ramon told him for sure. Peace of mind one way or the other? One might surmise regret and guilt are not options, and they'd be right. St. John hasn't had time to vent the appetite for destruction desire to see what things look like when they burn (just because) yet, and maybe he never will. It's like the fire itself; giving it oxygen won't put it out, just build it up.

"North Central Pharmaceuticals." He says it like it's three separate sentences, and maybe it has enough gravity for that. Almost every home in the world contains something they've made, whether they know it or not. It was the name they used to administer the drug trials Robert Allerdyce had participated in. They weren't concerned about the possibility of exposure; why would they be? That's what waivers are for. Or, you know, death and things.

[susurrosmuertos]

oh gawd Umbrella Inc.

"...What?" That knocks him for a bit of a loop, yes. Because even back over in Spain, that company was a household word in just how they made such a wide range of products that were commonly used. Not that he's ever given the business much thought before, but-

"W-Wait, why would they-? I thought they just-...Th-They were the ones who-...With your dad and everything...?" The plot thickens, sir!

[tendencytostart]

The plot is a thick chewy stew with perhaps both meat AND vegetable products and uh, according to Stephen King, laundry folders that can kill you. Whutevs.

"They have extra-curricular activities." Oh, St. John, you're so forthcoming. Probably because he doesn't, uh, really know anything. Other than they ran a drug trial which made people alternately insane or very powerful and sometimes both, and they've been chasing him around a long ass time. Also, they're well-dressed. Which does not at all help him.

[susurrosmuertos]

"Y-You're saying that their whole business is like a-...a front?" Wow, that was actually pretty astute of Ramon to glean, all things considered. Being as naive as he is. Yeah. "And they're actually-...?"

Oh man, this is all becoming way too much like a weird action/horror flick for Ramon. Nevermind that his life was ALREADY like the true story that the Sixth Sense was based on. Not that he's ever seen, or ever will see, that movie. Ahem.

"Dios mio." Oh, look, he's shocked enough that his Spanish came through!

[tendencytostart]

St. John just looks grimly amused, but not at all like he in any way feels bad about having shattered Ramon's perception of ...uh, a corporation that's not hideously evil. He has to think about them all the time! So must everyone else! Suffering for all! And pie, except without the pie. All right, we're just being very silly now. So, let us move on.

"Well, if I had to guess, I'd say the fact that given what they injeceted my dad with made him able to move shit with his mind, and also that they chased us around with guns for the next really long time after that, yeah. Might be a front. Maybe."

[susurrosmuertos]

Ramon does NOT like the sounds of this. He never spends much time thinking about politics, or commerce, or business, or any other such big, 'real world' worries. He always wound up feeling that his own perception was unique enough that he'd always have to narrow his scope to caring about dealing with the things that are real pressing issues on his mind alone. Who cares who's the president, I'd sooner worry about the teenager with slashed wrists who's always on the same subway as me. My opinion on the Iraq war? None, would you like to hear my opinion on that woman with a broken neck that's standing right behind you? Something like that.

So to suddenly have a real, genuine fear of something a bit more tangible and 'real', to be concerned about a giant corporation that other always say are out to get them...Yes, it's a bit of an odd switch.

And once more? The world is now a completely awful place to Ramon Salazar. And all he can think of to say is as much.

"...This really sucks, St. John."

[tendencytostart]

Now that? That gets a real laugh. He stubs out his cigarette and rubs his eyes again - it's possible he's actually getting tired. "Now you're getting it." And for just a second there's something not exactly like camaraderie, not at all, but a grudging kind of acceptance.

[susurrosmuertos]

He smiles just a tiny bit, though it's a wan, wobbly one. Mostly because, yeah, he knows his blunt summery did sound kind of funny and, hey, he got St. John to laugh in a way that's not at him. That's always kinda nice.

"Um, y-you ready to try'n sleep again?" Ramon starts pulling back the covers of his own bed in case he says yes, so he can lie down again as well. He's sure he's not going actually sleep, of course; there's probably several more hours' worth of lying and staring at the wall, lost in thought and worry. But if St. John wants to sleep, then he shouldn't keep him from it any more than he has to.