Night 55: Stairwell by Waiting Room/Lobby 1
[from here]No sound came from inside the stairwell, but that amounted to little at times. Still the Digimon stretched her senses, moving quickly and quietly into the dark. None were in this place yet, despite the small crowd in the hall below. It might mean none have moved upstairs, or it might simply mean they were quicker than she
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No light in here. Morgan hugged the wall and paused to listen and let her eyes adjust the rest of the way before moving on. There were footsteps coming from the stairs above her: a thin blonde woman in a black coat. Morgan tensed for a second until she determined it wasn't the soldiers' uniform, and then she relaxed. Probably not a threat.
She started climbing, keeping her sword arm free. The bottom of a staircase was a dangerous position from a tactical standpoint, and the lousy lighting just made it worse--all the more when your targets had serious firearms. She wasn't too worried, though. Whatever rumors might be floating around, she hadn't seen anything much at night besides shadows and a bunch of paranoid prisoners.
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And then, the rats poured down the stairs.
There were five of them, running as a group tonight. Alone, a single rat was basically nothing. Together? A bit more of a force to be reckoned with. Each one was a whole foot in length and armed with wickedly curved claws and diseased mouths - all aiming for the succulent flesh of new prey.
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A second later it turned out to be exactly what it sounded like. "Rats!" Morgan hissed, readying her sword as the giant (seriously, seventeenth-century rats were big enough, but what were they feeding these things?) vermin hurtled towards her. She pressed close to the wall again to keep herself from getting either knocked over or surrounded by the creatures and slashed sharply at the first one in the pack. The move was aimed to decapitate, but expert swordswoman though she might be, she was still aiming at a rapidly-moving target in the dark. She didn't even wait to process whether the blow had connected before she edged up a step, going for the high ground.
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From a breast pocket, she retrieved two scalpels, flinging them at the rat closest to her. The blades were nothing like her diamond shards, but with any luck, they would wound these creatures as easily.
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Interesting that she'd gotten the ring back. It fit the pattern Mello had already observed, of a lack of pretense and euphemism under the military. They volunteered a hell of a lot less information, relying more on intimidation than fake concern, but there was a certain matter-of-factness about them that Landel had always avoided. The problem with that was the corresponding rarity of letting anything useful slip. So far, at least. Weren't you over unfounded optimism? the bugs babbled. Military with no qualms about wrongful imprisonment? Rod Ross's security was more likely to leave gaps than these assholes.
That raised the question of where the grunts' allegiance truly was, and whether they could be bought, but Mello had to conclude, with an inward scowl, that he wasn't in any position to be buying loyalties. Not in here.
He knew Mordio had been here as long as Matt, at a minimum, so he didn't bother asking about that. "What do you think of the coup?"
[checking in with Javert]
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Along with the telltale signs that he might have been suffering to any degree, Guybrush stifled a gripe about the stairs. Ugh, stairs. He grimaced- what luck that he'd tried the Sun Room the previous night in an attempt to avoid taking the stairs, only to find and be pummeled by Scott; now that he was walking with one hand on his flashlight and the other around his chest, they were headed up them anyway. The plan of "go in the Sun Room, see if anyone is even in the hall upstairs before making the trek" hadn't worked out so well for him.
Not only were there stairs, but there were already people in the way. Guybrush's hook hit the railing with a dull clunk. They were just going to have to move.
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"A couch?" he repeated disbelievingly, before he remembered the restored powers. "If nothing else, it explains the bruising." He would have inquired further--it had been a while since his last encounter with a Special Counseling patient--but a familiar figure was on the stairs ahead of him, and he increased his pace slightly.
"Morgan," he called up. Better to stick with the young man's false name if he was traveling with a companion. He'd still no idea why Mello chose to hide behind it, other than sheer paranoia, but if it would earn his trust, then he had little room for argument. "Doing all right?"
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"I think it's annoying, first of all," Rita huffed in response to Morgan's question. "Half of my research was confiscated, so I was only able to work during the dinner shift." Fortunately, tonight's task hadn't taken long, but the next time she had a large project to do, it could end up taking days to complete.
Before she could elaborate on her thoughts, they were approached by an odd pair: a one-handed weirdo with what looked like underpants tied around his waist, and some geezer. Rita regarded them with a passive, somewhat unfriendly look. "These the guys you were looking for?" she asked Morgan. There was a dubious quality to her voice. If this was the Search and Rescue group, Rita ( ... )
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It wasn't until he'd started up the stairs that he considered Alfred's request. Talking about himself wasn't something Izaya made a habit of: he was in the business of information, but information about himself was essentially off-limits.
...Aside from a few vague-or downright false-points, that is.
"There isn't much to tell about myself," he stated. "I'm twenty-one, I live in Tokyo, and I work as an information broker. I hope you weren't looking for something more exciting."
He'd sized Alfred up earlier, but he gave the young man another glance now. If he was giving out any information, he expected something in return. "And you? I would guess you're American, but..." He did seem to fit the image of a blond-haired, blue-eyed, loud American, but the world wasn't comprised of stereotypes alone.
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"Yes, it shouldn't be too far ahead of us." Although, the last time he'd spent some time around that door, he'd ended up coughing up hair for a few days. He wouldn't exactly call it a negative experience though, despite what everyone else thought. Whatever that creature was, it had been so beautiful. It was worth it.
A sharp cut appeared across his cheek, causing him to wince and grunt a little. Cursed invisible pests. It looked like they were still following him. Ugh, he was never going to go more than a few hours without having somewhere on him bleeding.
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As soon as Ritsuka entered the stairwell, he could smell it. Putting a hand over his mouth and nose, he cringed pulling away from the source. Blood. There was blood somewhere on these stairs and it turned Ritsuka's stomach. Keeping to one side of the stairs, he moved onwards, keeping his flashlight pointed only at the steps in front of him. He knew if he saw something dead up here, he could lose it. With Tear following, he couldn't allow that.
"...Have you been here long?" he asked, trying to distract himself from the vague awareness that he was passing something on his right. Something that was no longer moving - small, several of them, all of them dead. Ritsuka's ears flattened and his tail curled beneath him as he walked.
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When they passed through to the entrance to the stairs, it took almost no effort for Tear to detect the smell of blood as well as the discomfort in the boy. Therefore, rather than calling attention to the facts, she answered his questions while quickening her steps. "Not very long," she responded. "This is my fifth day."
She paused, barely glancing at the forms on the side. Animals. Over-sized rats if the outlines indicated anything. "It sounds like you've been here for awhile," continued Tear, her tone even.
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