Day 18 - Breakfast
Junior had woken up when he heard the crackling of the intercom. He'd had every intention of hiding out in his room that night, and had eventually fallen asleep; and seeing as how no monsters had come to attack him in the night, that had been a good call in the first place
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Then again...it was just a bit humorous to watch the poor, defenseless food disappear. Regardless of the way he'd felt when he'd been unceremoniously dropped off, Junior couldn't help but chuckle, even managing to smile a bit.
"At least someone can enjoy this slop," he said to the other boy after a moment. "Was it really that long of a night?"
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He laughed a little, clapping his feet together from beneath the table. "Last night was crazy, though. Me an' my friend Zoro tried to get into the kitchens, but the door was locked!" His lower lip slightly jutted out with disappointment. "Then we got into this fight with a huge shrimp-scorpion thing. It was right over there." The pirate excitedly gestured to a nearby table, though he was surprised to find that the creature's dead body had been cleaned up from the floor somehow. "My powers don't work so good here, so I had to beat it up with a chair ( ... )
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He was a bit more interested in the story, though. "Really, a scorpion?" the redhead's gaze followed the pirate's gesture, and Junior was a bit surprised to find nothing there. There weren't even any bug guts. "They sure cleaned up fast. I'm sure it got really messy when you whacked at it with a chair. Was it fun? And why were you trying to get into the kitchens, anyway?"
At the mention of powers not working, Junior was just a bit confused, although that would explain why he'd had a bit of trouble getting his own to work. And he'd just attributed the fact that Red Dragon seemed to be non-existent to the lack of U-DO. No one had told him about powers not working. "Mine always gave me a headache, anyway, but here it's been worse. What sort of powers do you have?"
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Of course, he still needed to talk to Lust, as well. Maybe some of the asylum's "pets", as the intercom had put it (and Crane had to admire that, seeing as how he'd treated the drugged inmates in his care back at Arkham the same way), had met up with her.
Of course, what they seemed to consider a "wake-up call" was more disturbing than the first had been and left him just a bit rattled. But when his nurse came to pick him up and take him to breakfast, he walked between her and the orderly quietly, brooding.
Until then, he moved through the line and picked up whatever it was they'd decided to feed them today, then moved on to a table to watch for Brock or Lust.
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Brock woke up sore.
He wasn't surprised, frankly; ever since he'd run into Parker's old hand-me-downs (who happened to be very POed), Brock had gotten used to waking up each morning sometimes feeling stiff and sore in places that wouldn't make sense considering his daily activities. The only way to account for it was to remember that he had one body between two; and of the two, Brock barely tickled his physical limits. Usually they fed and exercised when Brock was technically asleep, and with the symbiote controlling their body, he could expect it to be pushed in ways it simply wasn't meant to ( ... )
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After all, it wasn't the first time that someone had threatened to kill him, but generally he had someone waiting close by to sedate them. There were still the orderlies to keep anything from happening during the day, but there was always the night...so which was the worse of two evils: an ally that threatened to gut you or monsters?
After a few moments of silence, Crane took a deep breath and finally spoke. "I'd like to accept the apology, and hope that you sincerely mean it, but I want to get something straight before that...so Brock, tell me. What the hell happened yesterday?"
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"I barely remember yesterday," he started quietly. "I only remember bits and pieces and there's a big gap between thinking I had to talk to you about something and last night. I honestly don't remember what I did to you, but I'm getting the feeling I pissed you off."
How much to tell Crane? The symbiote wasn't pleased as it was that they already had one other patient here who had them on a leash - whether she knew it or not - and broadcasting their feeding needs to every single person really wouldn't help already complicated matters. Still, he deserves a warning, Brock thought, especially if we want to keep his trust.
From the way Crane was glaring at him, Brock got the feeling that whatever he'd did, it hadn't won him new friends. He had a brief flash of threatening Crane with something, but that was about as far as he remembered. Judging from the Other's memories, this was to be expected from being neglected the proper nutrition for this amount of time.
Brock sighed. That was fine and all of the symbiote, but ( ... )
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"They're trying to kill us," she remarked flatly. Funny that it was the food and not the giant, carnivorous spiders that had prompted young River Tam to announce this theory.
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Sanzo didn't just pass out. Not without a "good" reason, and that tended to consist of being wounded or exhausted. He hadn't felt either, and aside from the woman, no one else had even been near him ( ... )
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Somehow, he wasn't entirely surprised that this stranger in particular decided to risk it.
The monk stared at her, to the point that it could border on rudeness. Dark hair, light blue eyes. In the light of the cafeteria, she looked less like a pale, wandering ghost and more like a human being. Morning didn't miraculiously wipe away the previous night, however; there were dark circles under her eyes.
She was younger than he'd first thought. She also had a strange way of looking at you that he'd rarely seen.
"I didn't catch your name last night," the monk started. Sanzo didn't bother commenting on her appearance, even if she'd lost that glazed look: she had to have known she was drugged, and it wasn't worth wasting either of their time with stating the obvious.
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"I don't know, actually. When I woke here a few days back, all of my personal memories were missing. The name the staff assigned to me doesn't feel right and so I took a use name to tide me over until I remember. Chusa." She gave a small shrug of the shoulder that wasn't bandaged and stitched. "Your name was... Sanzo? Master Sanzo? I remember you a bit."
In the full light he was striking, even though like most of the other people here, the loose gray clothing failed to flatter. It was probably the eyes, purple wasn't a common color to begin with in humans and the red dot centered just above and between them served to pull a persons gaze upwards towards them. Which left said person trying to meet a very intense regard.
"I think I asked this last night, but are you a Jedi?"
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Landels, obviously, was the exception to this. Adelheid's hands- swathed in bandages, so many that the young man had to wonder if such restraints were medically necessary- were so pained and tender after pushing them so greviously during the night that he couldn't grip a tray, let alone hope to hold utensils long enough to actually choke something down.
Instead of asking for assistance from an orderly- ask for help? The thought alone was ludicrous!- he settled down in the same table he had taken during the previous lunch, in the middle of the room and open on all sides. Last time, that had done a wonderful job of attracting people, perhaps his luck would hold?
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First, he'd woken up just early enough to hide the ladle - which he'd still been holding in a death grip - somewhere inconspicuous. He'd found some bars beneath the mattress of his bed and has slid the ladle's handle through them, putting it well out of sight unless someone were actively searching for it; even that wasn't as secure a hiding place as he would have preferred, but it would have to do. He'd be damned if he let the nurses confiscate it, and he couldn't imagine why they wouldn't if they caught him with it.
Then, he'd investigated a minor mystery - namely, that he'd woken up with both sleeves on his shirt despite the fact that he knew he'd ripped one off the night before. It had turned out not to be such a mysterious thing after all - he'd found the torn shirt neatly tucked away, almost hidden, in the back of his closet. Setting aside the disturbing implications that someone, presumably not him as he had no recollection of it, had changed his shirt during the ( ... )
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As he began to eat, the mercenary gave the other man a quick once-over, measuring him up out of habit. Relatively tall(that was to say, not as much shorter than Dias than was usual), blond, obvious emphasis on upper body build, particularly in the arms...and red eyes. Dias was starting to get downright suspicious about that; red eyes had been rare enough on Expel, but in Landel's they seemed to crop up nine times out of ten ( ... )
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