Day 55: Cafeteria

[mustbethesuit]

Comments

[scintillatingly]

Sora had still been sitting with Kairi in that empty room when the intercom had finally come on to announce the end of the night. Normally he was too busy fighting or running to actually hear a lot of the words that the Head Doctor spoke as morning came, but in this case he'd been able to hear it loud and clear.

Except, of course, that it wasn't the Head Doctor who was speaking this time. It was yet another unfamiliar voice. The accent didn't really stand out to Sora, since he'd traveled to enough places that he'd heard his fair share of them, but he could almost feel the disdain in the voice. It was scolding them, even going so far as to say that they were useless animals rather than flesh-and-blood people.

It was the sort of thing that filled Sora with a quiet anger, because they had already been toyed with and put through more than anyone should have to deal with. If this general (it had to be him, didn't it?) didn't consider that valuable, then he was full of it, plain and simple

[scintillatingly]

"Come along, then." The walk itself was pretty much the same as how it went with the nurses, but Sora spent it taking in the smiley face on his armband and marveling at how the boots were actually kind of comfortable. The pants were a bit tighter than he was used to, but he'd just have to adapt to them

[allroadslead]

There had suddenly been an excess of things happening at once after what had started off as a pretty quiet night. Sam hadn't figured for a goddamn angel to blow into the room, and therefore throwing him the task of keeping Castiel and Ruby from destroying each other. Thinking on it later, Sam would conclude that trying to step between an angel and a demon, both of whom had their powers back, wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done

[allroadslead]

Truth was, he should've known better than to be caught off guard. Of course the two of them were bound to bump into each other, and of course it would result in a spectacular blowout. He knew he couldn't stay in the middle, as much as he felt caught in it, and when it came down to it, he still trusted Ruby more than he did some angel he hadn't even known existed until three days ago. But he also wasn't exactly looking to incite any bad blood here if he could help it. There'd been a reason why he'd extended a tentative truce with Gabriel, why he hadn't done anything about Castiel until now, and why he'd been avoiding discussing it with Ruby as much as possible. He didn't need the mess, end of story. And not only him, but Dean, either. He was interested in getting Dean alive and out of here. That was it. For such as simple goal, this was getting really freaking complicated. Angels. He never thought he'd run into a supernatural entity that caused more trouble than demons, but at this point, he'd pick demons. At least he knew he could

[human_sponge]

It seemed that their new regime, so to speak, couldn't decide on who they wanted to make the intercom announcements, since while getting bandaged up Peter had heard a very different voice speak to them as the night drew to its end. The Spanish accent was what struck him first, and it fit with the name: Aguilar. That had to be their new dictator, and the attitude that he expressed made that even more clear. The man seemed to think that even after all they'd been through, they still weren't good enough. They were disappointments

[human_sponge]

"Is that some sort of rank?" he mumbled to himself.

"Yes," one of the men unexpectedly replied. "You're the second-to-highest rank, which allows you certain privileges."

Peter blinked down at the dog tags again, wondering what he'd done to deserve such a thing. He hadn't been prepared for his question to get answered in the first place, but it just made him more curious. "Like what?"

"That will become clear soon."

So they weren't as open as they wanted to seem at first glance, but Peter could deal with that. He let the tags fall from his hand where they swung against his chest and then forced out a sigh. If only he could have gotten into his stash from the pharmacy, he could have at last taken some heavy painkillers to make this more bearable.

When they made it into the cafeteria, Peter was audience to an explanation about how everyone but the people who had fought yesterday would have to clean the whole room. He glanced over at his escorts, wondering how he could do such a thing, but one of them just shook his head at him

[immortale]

It had been an interesting walk, to say the least.

Firo had expected to start seeing cells any moment-the room with the door could have been an oddity, or a special wing, or something-but as the soldier continued to lead (in the loosest sense of the word) him onward, there was no change in architecture. He'd gone from a hallway full of doors to one long hall that ended in another, before finally being taken through an large, furnished room and into a cafeteria. The whole way, he'd seen other prisoners in the same uniform as he was wearing being escorted in a similar fashion

[human_sponge]

Peter was actually relieved when someone walked up to him, willing to chat. It meant he didn't just have the pain to focus on. He wasn't sure if the soldiers would be all right with it, since the stranger was probably supposed to be cleaning, but it was the kid and not him who would get in trouble if it came to that. Well, it was possible he would be blamed for "distracting" the other patient, but the soldiers had actually seemed reasonable this morning, up until this current incident. The bottom line was that he really didn't know what to expect, not like he had with the nurses

[sanguinario]

The taste of blood and iron was still in his mouth when he woke up in bed with a groan, automatically cradling the limp arm close to his chest. It was wrapped tight, the bandages stretched around his shoulder enough that their edges cut into his somewhat pliable skin. Thank god he woke up on his back. With a very gentle, butterfly-light probing of his collarbone with his free hand, he could feel the swelling, the protruding bone sticking out with his skin barely covering it. He wondered if he could look at it in a mirror somehow, maybe stop by the bathroom and examine the damage... and double-check that his eyes had returned to their natural golden glow. He didn't want to risk trying to look immediately down and injure the bone more, but he could imagine the sight: startlingly purple compared to his usual paleness, warm, and rather sickening. Not the first time he'd seen this type of injury, but it was the first time he'd experienced it

[vitale]

When Bella awoke, she awoke to a world of pain.

Last night ... how had last night ended? Honestly, she couldn't remember. Everything seemed hazy; was it the pain? There had been no pain last night. What had happened? How had that happened? She didn't know if she wanted to find out. Through the food? Through something that had been slipped into the air? No clue. No clue at all.

Holy shit, owBella moaned as she carefully pushed herself up in her bed with very unsteady arms, looking down to see the damage

[sanguinario]

Nothing could make him move as quick as he did when he heard Bella, especially after being unable to touch or talk to her for an entire day. While twenty-four hours was not a spectacularly long time even to humans, for him, who had been spending the last year with her nearly every day, it seemed like much, much longer.

"Bella," he sighed, that hollow feeling draining from him as he looked up from where his gaze had fallen to the floor - then immediately being filled with something else. Something that was a mixture of dread and rage. Bandages, covering his Bella's neck, creating uneven lines under the crisp blue and black lines of her new uniform... her hands, the ones gripping the rag and pushing it against the floor.

He had been so ready to greet her with an awkward grin, ready to bear the brunt of her anger - her rightful, justified anger. But it was okay, because he was the one hurt, not her. He should have known better. He was a terrible guardian, and an even worse fiancé. Of course she was hurt. His face shut down, going pale

[vitale]

"I'm fine," she told Edward a little too quickly, and she mentally scolded herself for it. She wasn't fine. She was going to make him completely miserable. She knew it the moment she decided what her plans were out on the Recreational Field. She knew, and yet she did it anyway. ... But was it any different than what she had done before? Leaving to deal with James and meet her death. Going to see Jacob when he had practically pleaded for her to not go.

You are the monster, Isabella Swan. Not him.

"I don't want to get yelled at. Or. You know. Whatever it is soldiers do for punishment. I'm sure whatever it is, it's not pleasant." And ... there was the nervous talking. The words came out before she could even stop herself from talking. Who did this to you?

You did. Or, someone who looked like you did.

She didn't know where to start. His finger against her face instantly calmed her, and she couldn't help but slightly lean into his hand, eyes falling shut for a moment before opening. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for lying. But ... if I

[its_the_mileage]

The first thing Indy realized on waking up was that the hat he was wearing was not his own. He took it off and inspected it: a black wool beret. The rest of his clothing was also not part of either the usual Landel's uniform, Indy's adventuring gear--or, now that he looked at it, anything else he'd ever worn before. It was an unfamiliar military uniform: dress boots, dog tags and all.

Indy didn't like being put into the uniform of an army he couldn't identify and didn't support. On the other hand, this was a hell of a lot better than the sweatpants, although Aguilar whoever was running the show now had thoughtfully preserved the yellow face symbol on the armband. Groaning slightly as he sat up, Indy turned over the dog tags and read them: Harry Lucas, Jr., B Class,
06121981M. Was there any significance to that number, he wondered, or had it just been assigned at random

[hat_einen_vogel]

What the hell had happened last night?

That was the question on Prussia's mind ever since waking up-or perhaps more accurately, ever since waking up and finding out that there had been some minor changes to the prisoner uniform: they finally had real clothes.

A soldier had burst into his room moments as he'd been studying the identifiers on his new dog tags-Gilbert Beilschmidt, C Class, 65337489M. Neither the number nor the class was familiar, but Prussia couldn't help but smile a little at the sight of the tags themselves.

He'd adjusted his beret-and was reminded of Switzerland for all of about a second as he did so-and then followed the soldier out of the room towards the mess while wondering about last night, and how he could have forgotten who and what he was. There was no getting around it: he'd forgotten things. He'd called himself 'Gilbert' around other nations. He hadn't even remembered West was his brother, outside of context clues that had led him to the conclusion.

But he was Prussia. He was the Free State of

[its_the_mileage]

Indy looked up from scrubbing the table to see Gilbert Beilschmidt standing nearby, conspicuously not carrying cleaning gear. One of the food fighters, then. He ought to be old enough to know better.

The flicker of irritation died when Indy remembered the man had lost his brother. Rumor suggested room changes did occasionally happen, but Indy hadn't seen his roommate since dinner the other night, and that was a bad sign. Gilbert looked in a remarkably fair mood under the circumstances. Maybe the self-proclaimed living embodiments of nations didn't feel the same way about siblings as ordinary mortals), Indy thought dryly, but still, he should say something, even wary as he still was of the Beilschmidts.

"Good morning," he said, slowly soaking and wringing the sponge so he could focus his gaze on Gilbert Beilschmidt without appearing to stop working. "I'm sorry about your brother."

[hat_einen_vogel]

Whatever greeting he'd been expecting to hear back from Jones, the mention of his brother hadn't been a part of it.

Prussia's friendly expression fell away immediately, replaced by confusion. Jones was... sorry about West? What was that supposed to mean? He hadn't actually spoken to his brother since that night with the doppelgängers, and that had been a couple of days by now; had something-...

"W-what do you mean?" he asked nervously.

He really didn't like the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he tried to mentally shoo it away. There were all sorts of things Jones could have meant, really; it didn't mean that something bad had happened. Maybe West had just gotten hurt a little; something like that probably would have looked pretty bad to a human, but really he'd only be uncomfortable for a while

[gald_digger]

Before she even opened her eyes, Anise felt that something was wrong. Still drowsy, she reached across her bed, feeling around for the doll that should have been at her side. When she didn't find it, she rolled over and tried the other side. Nothing.

Finally, Anise opened her eyes... and found herself in a room that looked almost foreign. She remembered now, the institute, the people she met here, and how she'd forgotten all of it so suddenly... but now that it all came back to her, she still wasn't sure she was in the right place. The dolls she'd put on display were absent, and the room looked just like it had when she first arrived.

And Tokunaga... Tokunaga was gone!

Anise kicked her sheets away from herself and scrambled out of bed, desperately hoping to find the doll somewhere in the room. What she discovered instead was the strange uniform she had been dressed in. A metal tag hung from her neck, which she held up to her face to examine. Dolores Haze, S Class... What did that mean

[1/3]

[quarter_english]

Before consciousness had faded, the night before, L had heard Aguilar's announcement. The general's accent suggested fluency in Spanish; therefore, he wasn't so far removed from the origins his name suggested. It was difficult to discern anything more concrete than that about his personal history, though, and in context, past an attempt to predict his motivations, that history might not be relevant

[2/3]

[quarter_english]

He thought of the nurses, who were conspicuous by their absence. If the information about them was correct, they transformed into vicious monsters at night--except for Lydia, who either wasn't one of them in some intrinsic way, or had found a method of halting the transformation. He remembered the night when her guttural responses to Landel's questions had made him think that she and Jill couldn't be the same person, and then his initial suspicions that the two were one seemed to have been confirmed. Had she been unable to keep herself from changing that night, or had he misinterpreted what he heard? (That possibility was one reason why he tried to combine cameras with microphones whenever possible: just one kind of surveillance, without the other, could create a situation in which it would be impossible to accurately discern what was happening

[3/3]

[quarter_english]

L was tempted to rebel--he itched to do it; his expression was one of open defiance and resentment--but there was no chance of success, and the price might be too high. Higher than it had been under Landel, he was sure