As the day began drawing to a close, the intercom flickered to life. Instead of Harrington's voice, however, Berg's calm tone filtered through the speakers
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There was something a little weird about that last announcement, but Claude couldn't quite put on his finger on it. At any rate, he'd had a pleasant enough chat with Tear. It was good to see she was in good health. And with Luke here again, he had a feeling she was relieved to know where he was now.
Once he reached his room, Claude was thankful to discover that his escort didn't have any intention to stick him with another needle. After last night, though, it was hard to let his guard down. He remained tense until the soldier finally left him to his meal.
Claude's gaze drifted down to his delicious-looking teriyaki and tempura. Although his first instinct was to chow down, he couldn't help but remember Anise's story. There was a chance the institute had done something in order to make her hallucinate (and, quite frankly, the thought made his teeth clench in outrage), but what if the food really was bad?
He sighed and wondered if he shouldn't just start preparing for tonight instead.
If they tried to drug him again tonight, Firo was going to be ready for it, ready to fight back without getting caught like before. He'd watched his escort carefully the entire way back to the room--but when they arrived, there was no nurse lying in wait a second time. The soldier simply pushed him inside and locked the door behind him. If it weren't for the relief of not getting drugged again, it was almost a let-down.
Claude was already inside, and Firo greeted him with a nod before heading for his desk where the usual pink slop was waiting for him. He was hungry after skipping lunch, but... No; he'd wait it out a little longer--he'd find out whether it still looked bad to Peter or Hakkai then. Ignoring his dinner, he turned towards Claude instead.
"How did last night go?" he asked. "Did anything... weird happen?"
After everything that happened last night, Claude was glad to see Firo arrive. It meant that he was still safe for the time being. With how many roommates he'd seen come and go, he knew better than to take that for granted.
Even though he felt like Firo should probably be worrying about himself, Claude still appreciated it when he asked after him. "Sort of," he admitted, scratching his cheek. "I actually got a power boost not long after night started, and I was able to heal up my injury a little faster." To demonstrate his point, he flexed the hand that had been in a cast yesterday into a fist for Firo to see.
"Some other stuff happened, too," he added with a small frown. "But all in all, I probably got lucky when compared to everyone else." Looking more concerned now, he studied his roommate for a moment. "What about you?"
A 'power boost'? Firo wasn't entirely sure what Claude meant by that, but at the mention of his injury, his eyes shot to the other man's arm. It had been in a cast just yesterday, and now, as far as he could tell, it looked completely fine. It couldn't have been that Claude was an immortal-no, his injury would have healed much faster were that the case; he wouldn't have needed the cast at all-but for a regular person to heal so quickly... Well, maybe it was just a case that it had already been almost healed. He did say it had only healed a 'little' faster, but...
"That does sound lucky," he agreed, smiling bitterly. "I wasn't nearly as well off."
He hesitated. He'd already told Peter about it earlier, but it was still embarrassing no matter how many times he repeated it. But... Claude deserved to know. Even if he'd been better off for it, he'd still been drugged against his will, same as Firo. "I've been hearing voices since then."
As bad as things were, Woody couldn't help but smile to himself as his guard brought him to his room. Life was definitely tough here, but it was strangely encouraging to see that some folks here didn't let it drag them down all the time. More than that, he liked that Scott had a colorful imagination despite his age. A few minutes of play perked Woody a lot more than he thought it would.
It almost took the sting out of the pink gruel waiting for him -- keyword: almost. Woody sighed as he sunk down in front of his plate, annoyed that this place had even bothered to shove real food down his throat in the first place. If they'd just started him out on this junk, he probably wouldn't have understood the difference.
Propping his chin into one hand, Woody idly stirred the slop around with his fork. He wondered if Buzz was okay. His roommate had sounded like he was still here, but some of the stuff he wrote wasn't all that reassuring.
Once again, the day was ending with more unanswered questions about this place. That whole time travel mess was still weighing heavily on Zero's mind despite confirmations that it was true, and so was the thought of meeting Nigredo tomorrow and what might result from that. But the once-Reploid tried to stop himself from becoming too frustrated at all of this, especially over his unanswered questions. He'd already been warned a few times that things were supposed to be confusing around here, and he himself had concluded that keeping the prisoners in the dark was simply Aguilar's way of maintaining control. He should just expect the unexpected from now on and not let himself get too caught up over why this and why that
( ... )
When he heard someone step inside, Woody's face brightened. He'd wanted to talk to Wally and ask him if he had any idea of what happened over the past few days. The moment he turned around, though, his gaze landed on an unfamiliar face. It was difficult to tell much about the newcomer at first glance, but one thing stuck out: he had blond hair that was long enough to make some Barbie dolls jealous. Suspicious, Woody slightly furrowed his eyebrows.
"I'm, uh..." Wow, this wasn't weird at all. "I'm Woody." Something about their meeting didn't feel right to him. The new person was dressed like the other "patients", and yet Wally was nowhere in sight.
"Hey, listen, are you sure you have the right room?" he asked. Woody wasn't trying to be rude -- he was honestly curious. "You're not the guy who usually comes in here."
Zero said nothing at first, only stared at the unfamiliar man while appearing to be much less confused than he really was. This guy--Woody--looked pretty uncomfortable seeing him here, although the question he asked made his reaction understandable. Even so, why was he expecting a different person to come here? No one else had shown up last night when Zero had been in here, and he was positive that this was the same room he'd been taken to yesterday, too... Odd.
"I'm sure," the once-Reploid responded, "A soldier took me here himself, and I was here last night, too." That definitely meant he was supposed to be here, as far as the Institute was concerned. But the fellow prisoner's questioning made Zero curious. Was Woody sure he had the right room? "My name's Zero. Who's supposed to be here instead of me?" Chances were he didn't know whoever it was that Woody was expecting, but it couldn't hurt to ask anyway.
Dinner wasn't worth the effort of looking at it. Like a sullen child. Billy had left it on the desk for the maggots to enjoy, and collapsed on the bed. He was exhausted. Sick from grief and being spread too thin and not having eaten in... when had he last eaten something? Probably right before the ritual, actually. He was flirting with two days of no food.
Billy dropped his arm over his eyes and stared into the dark crook of his elbow. He was going to cry. He couldn't think of anything that didn't just lead him back to memories that demanded emotion from him. He exhaled. He took several more breaths after that. They didn't seem to do much, and Billy still felt like he was underwater. Millions of units of pressure above him, miles of water, and no bubbles to lead him up again. He wasn't even asleep, but he was tired, and with it came the sighing of the ocean, or maybe just the slosh of formaldehyde in a bottle.
The moment passed, and the movement settled. He didn't feel half as rocky, and he returned his arm to his side. What now? He
( ... )
Hakkai could see his roommate's disdain for the food - not that he could blame him, if the other man was seeing what he saw. He took a seat on the edge of his bed - 'his' by process of elimination, if nothing else - and tried to ignore the smell of the food. It hadn't been so bad at lunch, but in the small room, it was starting to give him the beginnings of a headache.
A small sigh escaped, and he reached up absentmindedly to rub at the edge of his eye. Today had been... bizarre, really. Which, given the things he'd seen, seemed an almost laughable adjective to apply to such a situation - but it was true. The parody of normalacy here - it was disorienting. And reminded him of all he was missing, at the moment.
Somewhat belatedly, he remembered that there was someone else in the room, and that right now was not a time to dwell on the past. He forced on at least the semblance of a smile.
Ending the day by getting to check on his niece was more or less the best way to do so, which Peter was glad for. He couldn't say that things were going well, since he was still stuck in this place and so was everyone else, but he was definitely establishing a stronger direction for himself and that was enough to energize him
( ... )
The day had been weirdly mellow, which was kinda nice, but put him on edge just by virtue of the fact that when things were quiet, that was when shit really hit the fan.
As people filed down the hallway, one soldier pulled him aside to-promote him, apparently. Nice of them. Three weeks. Right. How could he forget. He'd woken up in his room during dinner three weeks ago. God, really? It seemed longer. He knew it wasn't, that was just how it felt. His sense of time in here was seriously whacked.
He didn't get the soldier's offhand, Enjoy your meal, until he stepped into his room and realized his tray actually had something that wasn't an insane shade of pink. He also noticed Peter on the floor by the closet. Huh. Peter almost never ignored his dinner. If anyone went without eating, it was usually Sam. Did something happen? It didn't seem like it, but...
"Hey." He sat down and started digging in. His brows were drawn in question. "Lost your appetite?"
It didn't take long for Sam to show, but that was about the norm for them. Ever since Sam had become Peter's roommate, he'd been able to stop worrying so much. Sam was reliable; he was always there to talk things through with Peter. Sometimes he forgot how much he took the other man for granted
( ... )
Oh. Yeah, of course, that was right. He probably should've made the connection earlier. Castiel and Dean had been freaking out about the same thing. Which honestly had been a little weird, having an angel worry about what you were putting into your mouth. Or eating with an angel at all
( ... )
Nigredo had retired to his room long before the pronouncement for dinner, spending the late afternoon reading a book about a prepubescent girl and her rise to power in boarding school. The story was far more engrossing than he wanted to admit, though he couldn't understand how anyone could be entranced about mystical sea creatures and their dealings in romance. Girls, Nigredo concluded at the beginning of the fifth chapter, were weird. Weirder than initially thought.
At the start of dinner, he shoved the book underneath his pillow and took to sorting his items. Dinner, as always, was ignored for productivity, though he did note his privileges now included the usual meal. It was odd what they considered to be rewards. They would likely get better reception by offering weapons, but who was he to complain? Everything returned to neutrality, regardless of shifts.
And it seemed better to reserve his concentration for elsewhere.
Comments 147
Once he reached his room, Claude was thankful to discover that his escort didn't have any intention to stick him with another needle. After last night, though, it was hard to let his guard down. He remained tense until the soldier finally left him to his meal.
Claude's gaze drifted down to his delicious-looking teriyaki and tempura. Although his first instinct was to chow down, he couldn't help but remember Anise's story. There was a chance the institute had done something in order to make her hallucinate (and, quite frankly, the thought made his teeth clench in outrage), but what if the food really was bad?
He sighed and wondered if he shouldn't just start preparing for tonight instead.
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Claude was already inside, and Firo greeted him with a nod before heading for his desk where the usual pink slop was waiting for him. He was hungry after skipping lunch, but... No; he'd wait it out a little longer--he'd find out whether it still looked bad to Peter or Hakkai then. Ignoring his dinner, he turned towards Claude instead.
"How did last night go?" he asked. "Did anything... weird happen?"
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Even though he felt like Firo should probably be worrying about himself, Claude still appreciated it when he asked after him. "Sort of," he admitted, scratching his cheek. "I actually got a power boost not long after night started, and I was able to heal up my injury a little faster." To demonstrate his point, he flexed the hand that had been in a cast yesterday into a fist for Firo to see.
"Some other stuff happened, too," he added with a small frown. "But all in all, I probably got lucky when compared to everyone else." Looking more concerned now, he studied his roommate for a moment. "What about you?"
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"That does sound lucky," he agreed, smiling bitterly. "I wasn't nearly as well off."
He hesitated. He'd already told Peter about it earlier, but it was still embarrassing no matter how many times he repeated it. But... Claude deserved to know. Even if he'd been better off for it, he'd still been drugged against his will, same as Firo. "I've been hearing voices since then."
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It almost took the sting out of the pink gruel waiting for him -- keyword: almost. Woody sighed as he sunk down in front of his plate, annoyed that this place had even bothered to shove real food down his throat in the first place. If they'd just started him out on this junk, he probably wouldn't have understood the difference.
Propping his chin into one hand, Woody idly stirred the slop around with his fork. He wondered if Buzz was okay. His roommate had sounded like he was still here, but some of the stuff he wrote wasn't all that reassuring.
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"I'm, uh..." Wow, this wasn't weird at all. "I'm Woody." Something about their meeting didn't feel right to him. The new person was dressed like the other "patients", and yet Wally was nowhere in sight.
"Hey, listen, are you sure you have the right room?" he asked. Woody wasn't trying to be rude -- he was honestly curious. "You're not the guy who usually comes in here."
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"I'm sure," the once-Reploid responded, "A soldier took me here himself, and I was here last night, too." That definitely meant he was supposed to be here, as far as the Institute was concerned. But the fellow prisoner's questioning made Zero curious. Was Woody sure he had the right room? "My name's Zero. Who's supposed to be here instead of me?" Chances were he didn't know whoever it was that Woody was expecting, but it couldn't hurt to ask anyway.
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Billy dropped his arm over his eyes and stared into the dark crook of his elbow. He was going to cry. He couldn't think of anything that didn't just lead him back to memories that demanded emotion from him. He exhaled. He took several more breaths after that. They didn't seem to do much, and Billy still felt like he was underwater. Millions of units of pressure above him, miles of water, and no bubbles to lead him up again. He wasn't even asleep, but he was tired, and with it came the sighing of the ocean, or maybe just the slosh of formaldehyde in a bottle.
The moment passed, and the movement settled. He didn't feel half as rocky, and he returned his arm to his side. What now? He ( ... )
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A small sigh escaped, and he reached up absentmindedly to rub at the edge of his eye. Today had been... bizarre, really. Which, given the things he'd seen, seemed an almost laughable adjective to apply to such a situation - but it was true. The parody of normalacy here - it was disorienting. And reminded him of all he was missing, at the moment.
Somewhat belatedly, he remembered that there was someone else in the room, and that right now was not a time to dwell on the past. He forced on at least the semblance of a smile.
"Is the food bothering you as well?"
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As people filed down the hallway, one soldier pulled him aside to-promote him, apparently. Nice of them. Three weeks. Right. How could he forget. He'd woken up in his room during dinner three weeks ago. God, really? It seemed longer. He knew it wasn't, that was just how it felt. His sense of time in here was seriously whacked.
He didn't get the soldier's offhand, Enjoy your meal, until he stepped into his room and realized his tray actually had something that wasn't an insane shade of pink. He also noticed Peter on the floor by the closet. Huh. Peter almost never ignored his dinner. If anyone went without eating, it was usually Sam. Did something happen? It didn't seem like it, but...
"Hey." He sat down and started digging in. His brows were drawn in question. "Lost your appetite?"
Reply
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At the start of dinner, he shoved the book underneath his pillow and took to sorting his items. Dinner, as always, was ignored for productivity, though he did note his privileges now included the usual meal. It was odd what they considered to be rewards. They would likely get better reception by offering weapons, but who was he to complain? Everything returned to neutrality, regardless of shifts.
And it seemed better to reserve his concentration for elsewhere.
Reply
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