Night 57: M1-10 Hallway
When the familiar crackle came on from overhead, Claire had paused, then continued about his business, sorting through the few possessions he had in his box and setting them into seemingly random positions on his desk, looking as listlessly bored as he'd been just prior to the announcement. But he was quiet, quite aware of what this Aguilar man was saying. Ah, so he'd been right about his nurse after all -- it had been a play, hadn't it? He himself hadn't received any visit or letter from one of these supposed "loved ones" today, but all the same, it was a terrible trick to play, wasn't it?
Still, there was a sort of liking he took in this Eagle. The man was straightforward and he said things clearly. Simple truths, just like that. There were none of the stories that Martin Landel had come up with in his words, though those stories had been interesting in their own right. But Aguilar shared that same, self-righteously entitled attitude as Landel. Who was he to trespass on other people's worlds? Claire's world? That wasn't allowed. Claire couldn't allow that.
As the voice continued on, Claire finished sorting through all his belongings, then replaced all but a few back into the metal box, closing the lid with a snap. His dinner lay untouched, pushed to one side of his desk, but aside from that, the only loose items on the table top were the flashlight, the handheld radio, and the gun.
The gun. He picked it up, weighing it in one hand. The voice droned onward as he ejected the magazine, counted the bullets -- one, two only -- then slipped the magazine back into place. He raised his arm straight before him, the one with the lightning burn, and took aim down the barrel at an invisible target on the blank wall before him. As the message ended, his finger jerked slightly on the trigger, but came up against resistance. The safety was still on. No worries.
What was worrisome was the fact that it was almost as if someone at the top had just made a gift of this weapon, as if telling him, here, let me provide with a way to kill your enemy. Which felt an awful lot like someone was baiting him -- do this, you know you want to. And that wouldn't do at all. The problem with the entire Institute here wasn't that they were telling lies to all the inhabitants and keeping them locked in one place -- it was that the people who ran this place acted as if they could control these people, as if these lives were theirs to control in the first place. The gall of that assumption! Everything Claire was hearing now about that new Medical Wing was positively charged with it. It was... annoying. Yes, annoying was the right word to use here.
He really had been in that medical ward for too long, he decided. He needed to get out and do something.
The click of the unlocking door was his signal to leave. Claire twirled the gun expertly around his finger with practiced ease, smoothly slipping it into his pocket. Really, if they were going to be so generous as to give him a gun, they might as well have provided a holster with it. Not that it mattered too much, though. He grabbed the radio and flashlight, then headed for the door.
With a wave over his shoulder to his new roommate, Vino left the room.
[to here]
Still, there was a sort of liking he took in this Eagle. The man was straightforward and he said things clearly. Simple truths, just like that. There were none of the stories that Martin Landel had come up with in his words, though those stories had been interesting in their own right. But Aguilar shared that same, self-righteously entitled attitude as Landel. Who was he to trespass on other people's worlds? Claire's world? That wasn't allowed. Claire couldn't allow that.
As the voice continued on, Claire finished sorting through all his belongings, then replaced all but a few back into the metal box, closing the lid with a snap. His dinner lay untouched, pushed to one side of his desk, but aside from that, the only loose items on the table top were the flashlight, the handheld radio, and the gun.
The gun. He picked it up, weighing it in one hand. The voice droned onward as he ejected the magazine, counted the bullets -- one, two only -- then slipped the magazine back into place. He raised his arm straight before him, the one with the lightning burn, and took aim down the barrel at an invisible target on the blank wall before him. As the message ended, his finger jerked slightly on the trigger, but came up against resistance. The safety was still on. No worries.
What was worrisome was the fact that it was almost as if someone at the top had just made a gift of this weapon, as if telling him, here, let me provide with a way to kill your enemy. Which felt an awful lot like someone was baiting him -- do this, you know you want to. And that wouldn't do at all. The problem with the entire Institute here wasn't that they were telling lies to all the inhabitants and keeping them locked in one place -- it was that the people who ran this place acted as if they could control these people, as if these lives were theirs to control in the first place. The gall of that assumption! Everything Claire was hearing now about that new Medical Wing was positively charged with it. It was... annoying. Yes, annoying was the right word to use here.
He really had been in that medical ward for too long, he decided. He needed to get out and do something.
The click of the unlocking door was his signal to leave. Claire twirled the gun expertly around his finger with practiced ease, smoothly slipping it into his pocket. Really, if they were going to be so generous as to give him a gun, they might as well have provided a holster with it. Not that it mattered too much, though. He grabbed the radio and flashlight, then headed for the door.
With a wave over his shoulder to his new roommate, Vino left the room.
[to here]