DAMNED || LANDEL'S INSTITUTE

A Multifandom Asylum RPG


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Night 54: Janitor's Closet
nightshift - serious business
quarter_english wrote in damned
[From here.]

L had expected to have to kick the door open himself, so he appreciated that his companion took the initiative this time; he was less pleased, however, that he had to enter the room first, as he had also entered the stairwell. He held up a hand, to indicate a pause in conversation. Standing against the door jamb, peering around the door, he scoured the walls, the floor, and the corners and center of the ceiling with the beam of his light.

Still nothing, but there was another door at the far end of the room, and no way of knowing what might wait behind it. The closet itself was so cluttered that he suspected that rifling through it could be perilous: they would have to be cautious in more than one sense. He moved towards the sink, intending to check that, too.

When they were finished here, and the room where their possessions were ostensibly stored, he wanted to try some of the doors that were reputed to have strong locks. He was skeptical of the idea that no one would have mentioned discovering that the reputation was false, but he couldn't take it on faith. Tonight would be convenient for a test; four doors on this hall alone had been marked red on Edgeworth's map. The ones closer to the open turn in the corridor would be better than the one at the isolated far end.

"No--I was in the greenhouse." He peered into the illuminated basin of the sink; when he was satisfied that it was empty, he looked up at Figaro. "What happened?"
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[And back.]

"Excuse me," Edgar said reflexively, stepping into the first room again. The clutter in the floor didn't help them as they tried to navigate the dark rooms, but these two storerooms in particular, as well as the one across the hall, were bound to be ones that brought anyone in them into close contact whether or not they wanted it. He got the feeling Ryuuzaki was probably the sort who avoided most contact if at all possible, whether it was from other people, objects around them, or the sun.

Even though they were only in the back storage a moment, Edgar still swept the room with his light. "Still clear in here."

The idea that he and Figaro might have met before, with neither of them having any current knowledge of it, was interesting to L. Before he could remark on it, though, the other man left the room, brushing against him on his way past.

It was easier for him to make a conscious choice to be in close proximity to others than to endure an intentional invasion of his personal space. Edgar brushing past him was a little of one, a little of the other; there was no helping that the area they were passing through was small and cluttered, but L stood aside by instinct, regardless. The accidental touch to his arm and shoulder surprised him. At first, he thought it was only the contact itself that unsettled him; then, he realized that the rising flood of emotion wasn't resentment or annoyance or discomfort. It wasn't as familiar to him as some of those, but part of feeling it was being able to put a name to it: guilt, and he understood, without knowing how, that it was Figaro's--Edgar's.

Part of what he felt was related to the friend Edgar had mentioned. He could see a vivid portrait of a young blonde woman in his mind's eye, and as he experienced it, he recognized her himself: so that was Celes. The feeling was deeper than that, though, rooting him to one spot like an anchor. There was a young man--a brother, Sabin. A father poisoned by outside enemies. A coin, a king. Edgar was the king. He hadn't stolen the throne; neither he nor his brother had wanted it. It was a responsibility he had taken on, a sacrifice. The guilt ran through the chains of governance and the stewardship that bound a good king to his people and to the land. Edgar was trying to be a good king, a good friend, a good son and a good brother.

L paused in the doorway, staring at Edgar, both shaken and fascinated.

His first impulse was to think that what he had just experienced was the function of the device that had been implanted in his brain during the sleep study. Discarding that conclusion was his next step. Edgar hadn't lied to him, and there was no core of evil running through him, either. The revelations weren't accompanied by a crashing headache.

For the moment, it left L at a loss for words. He gave his head a single quick shake, and followed Edgar across the room. The next thing to do would be to touch his companion again, and see what happened--a hand on his shoulder or arm in the corridor, maybe.

Edited at 2011-03-07 07:17 am (UTC)

While waiting for his companion, Edgar peered into the hallway from the door. He was sure he heard voices somewhere in the dark- other patients, if he had to guess. With a quick glance Ryuuzaki's way to make sure he was still following, he stepped into the corridor.

[To here.]

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