NIGHT 43: M71-M80 Hall

[beloved_less]

Soubi was restless. Demyx had provided a distraction from thoughts of Seimei and Soubi had other things to distract him once he was with Ritsuka. Now he just had to make sure Kio was sticking around and not sneaking off

Comments

[piggy_king]

My, my...Porky had a lot of people to get in touch with tonight~ First there was that guy who won the prize in the riddle contest, then there was that guy who wanted the lock-picking tools, and, finally, Harley! Well, first things first. Porky looked around for something to make a torch with. He already planned to use a t-shirt or something as the part that would be burnt, but what would be the handle? A quick scan of his room provided an answer: the legs of his chair. After a few minutes of strenuous work and quite a few blows from his hammer, Porky finally managed to detach one of them from the base.

...Wait, Porky needed two more...

"Ffffff..." Porky muttered as he went to work on two of the other legs, and he eventually finished deconstructing his chair.

Thoroughly exhausted now, which was definitely not good, Porky wrapped a t-shirt around each chair leg, sprayed it briefly with some paint thinner that he had barely used yet, and lit them up. With a squeal of delight, the three torches burst into flames and started burning

[piggy_king]

[to here.]

[beloved_less]

He should have known. He should have been ready. But he wasn't.

Folding his arms and taking a step back, he seemed to shrink in on himself as though cold. He didn't look at Kio, to busy sorting through his head for some sort of response. Something acceptable.

"Th-" He sighed and turned away, ready to move on. "It wasn't real." He wasn't convinced himself. Ritsu had seemed so real, but none of it made sense. He had no reason to lie or to do this to Soubi. His responses weren't Ritsu. Unless it really was another game, unless the Ritsu Soubi had known was just another of his lies.

God, it-

"Let's just go."

dramatic emo post!

[beloved_less]

Soubi stopped still, eyes wide, still turned away from Kio.

Wanted him back. Seimei wanted him back. That voice on the phone. It was real. He was real and h-

Soubi bit his lip, pulling his thoughts back. No. He...wasn't going to believe it. When Kio spoke again, Soubi's arm shot out, punching the wall while the rest of him remained still.

"And did he call you Kio? Did he tell you he was Seimei?" he spat. It wasn't his Seimei, that...made this ok. They could forget the whole thing and Soubi would go to Ritsuka.

It's a sign, the little nagging voice said. Pull yourself together or nobody will want you.

"Kio. Just...shut up."

He doesn't want me.

[cigarettes_plz]

By the time the doors opened for the night Badou was ready to go, puffing away at the cigarettes Okita had generously donated to his dwindling supply. The first cigarette of the night was euphoric, and as usual Badou's lungs were about mid-orgasm as he made his way down the hall. It was dangerous and all, but the first few hallways had to be about as scary as watching paint dry on Halloween. And when you couldn't scare Badou, that was pretty sad.

He passed a hand along the wall, navigating by touch and ambient light. It sounded like Iris was having her own little melt down already. Badou was putting money on the resident 'hacker' popping up for a performance before the night was through. As for what that meant for him? He'd gone through theories at length with Renamon, and the only thing he didn't doubt was this place, if anything, getting worse. Landel's was a lot like everywhere in that respect. You just couldn't catch a break.

[to here]

[irishpirational]

When Lockon emerged from his room, he was about as ready as he could make himself out to be. Aside from the usual T-shirt, he was wearing both the sweatpants and the coat, to give himself maximum pocket space (although the waist tie for the coat was instead being used to tie Haro to it: he still hoped Feldt might be able to fix it). In one hand: the flashlight. In one pocket: ten pens and his keyring. In another pocket: the radio. In another: the remains of his dinner tray, fashioned as best as possible (read as: not all that well, but he tried!) into sharpened darts for throwing.

He wasn't sure exactly how to get to Allelujah's room, but he set off, all the same.

[to here]

From M77

[meitantei]

Shinichi didn't want to go out. He just wanted to curl up on his bed with a blanket pulled up over his head, just like he'd spent the rest of fourth shift and most of dinner. He knew it was a very childish way of dealing with things, of course, but he decided that suited him just fine for right now. He'd finally got to talk to Ran as himself, not Conan, and she thought he was a completely different person. She was a completely different person. Rachel. She was Rachel, not Ran. A cheap imposter.

The detective was almost too caught up in his moping to notice the change of shift.

Almost.

This time, he didn't reach for his much-abused notebook. Even though the way I.R.I.S. seemed to be going through the aural version of the Blue Screen of Death could be counted as another clue, Hattori had mentioned another case. And a case sounded really good right now. Anything to get his mind off of his visitor.

[skipping here.]