full_score
in
damned
Day 58: Lunch
Although it had been good to see his mom again, Claude entered the cafeteria with a dark expression on his face. He was glad she felt comfortable enough with him to share her experiences from last night, but that didn't make him any less angry at the military for using her to do their dirty work. Why couldn't those bastards clean up their own
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It took him another moment to register that she'd asked him a question, and he was quick to shake his head. "No, I... No. I don't mind company. Please, make yourself comfortable," he added, the invitation rather pointless since she'd already obviously done so. "Considering the food is what it is, I don;t think glaring at it in private or in public will improve matters any," he added, his tone a hint rueful as he inclined his head.
She wasn't familiar, but so few were just now, so he gave her a small smile, some of the ice in his golden gaze thawing a hint. "I'm Daemon Sadi."
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"At least it doesn't taste as bad as it looks. Close, but not quite." It was more bland than anything else. She could handle bland. "The kitchens are still well-stocked, so they're just doing this for the psychological effect. Take away the only good thing about this place, and they're heading for a full-scale revolt."
Revolt. Revolt-ing. It had it's ironies. An army marches on its stomach, and all that. If they wanted soldiers rather than enemies, they might do best to figure that one out.
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At her commentary about the food, he had to chuckle, poking it with his spoon. "I've had worse, but not by much," he admitted. Then again, Jaenelle's concoctions in the kitchen had been a unique sort of disaster. "At least there's food. However loosely the term can be used."
he took another bite, fought off a grimace, and set his spoon down. "Everything here is a psychological effect, it seems. Not that the food before was all that good to begin with, but it least it didn't taste like eating parchment. And it wouldn't be the first time there's been a revolt of sorts in this room."
His lips quirked in memory. This stuff would have made a bigger mess than the spaghetti.
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She wasn't even noticing the taste now, as she plowed through bites between words. "Aguilar's hard to get a bead on. I'm not even sure he cares about this experiment. He's so focused on beating Landel." To Landel, they'd been people, albeit ones he kept around as amusing pets. Aguilar would dismiss them to his folly, but so far they hadn't had much luck taking advantage of the situation.
"Did you try their little experiment last night?"
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Daemon took another few bites as she explained, his expression curious. "I'm afraid I didn't. I woke up this morning after... considerable time spent indisposed, apparently. There is quite a bit different. What experiment did I miss? And can you tell me more about Aguilar and how he differs? I admit to being familiar with Landel and his tricks, but this new change in power is all new to me."
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Which brought her back to business, though her ears hadn't quite gotten the order.
"It's General Aguilar, and he won't let us forget it. He claimed some sort of government tie -- that this whole project had one, and Landel had run them out of patients. Er, patience, as in calm, not people. There hasn't been any shortage of those." She waved a hand around. "Landel's working with the rebels, or so he claims. Night before last, he did something to the basement. Last night, Aguilar tried to one-up him. Opened up the east wing with some kind of experiment. We were in the ( ... )
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"So Landel was making his own rules and those truly in charge got tired of it?" Daemon summarized, well-accustomed to political maneuvering and intrigue. "I have a hard time imagining Landel helping anyone, rebels or not, but that may change again once he sees an opening that gets him what he wants."
Her statement about the basement caught his interest, however. "Were you? What did you find down there? Anything interesting?"
He was still pondering over the message he'd received before they'd taken him out of commission. Did it still apply or was that in part responsible for him sleeping through four weeks of time here? Had they changed things around in this respect as well?
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Yeah, better to keep people positive. This wasn't anyone's home; they were all fighting for control of a place none of them called their own. Except Landel, but she didn't actually want him to win"There was some kind of challenge. A room with weapons, and then a place to fight. We all took weapons; only mine made it through the door, and the attack matched the gun. Turned off the gravity and everything, which is tougher than it sounds in a gravity well. Lots of fiddling around to get it exactly right; artificial gravity just had to be close. Most people's stomachs would do the rest ( ... )
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"I think the only part of that I understood was the magic part," he admitted with a laugh, leaning back in his chair and stretching his long legs out beneath the table. "They gave you weapons and made you fight? Each other, or something of the Institute's?" he asked. He wouldn't be surprised by either, really. It wasn't as if this place didn't pit patient against patient every other night. He had first-hand experience with that, after all.
The rest, about gravity wells and gee combat, might have well been a foreign language.
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"I've never gotten down to the basement, no, so I understand how difficult it is. Before, I was with a friend who was very determined to get down there. I'm not sure he ever did." Daemon had been interested in going up, as he suspected that was the most likely place to find whoever was in charge here. Getting out was all well and good, but not when there was someone here who could bring you back on a whim. What kind of escape was that?
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"Where's the most interesting place you've seen?" The basement was fun, and she at least felt like she was accomplishing something, but all they had to show for it was a little trinket. Not a real weapon, unless you wanted to stab a mouse. And there was something exhilarating about each new door, each new planet. She could take out soldiers all day, especially if they gave her a plasma rifle, but she'd rather explore.
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Of course, he'd missed most of the intense fighting. He'd been dragged off the bus the moment darkness had fallen and the rest of the night still gave him nightmares. Golden eyes shadowed and he took a moment to compose himself, shoveling in another spoonful of his lunch.
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The zombies had been awful, and the whole night kind of a terrifying blur in her memory. Combat did that, sometimes, especially if she'd been injured. But they'd fought back, and all of it -- fighting, suffering, dying -- had been wiped away before the next week. Except for the deaths among the patients. Those were real.
"So you haven't seen the basement or the third floor?" She wanted to know where, exactly, they were keeping her body; escape was more important, but no one would blame her for being curious, right? It'd be easier to fight their way out, after all.
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