DAMNED || LANDEL'S INSTITUTE

A Multifandom Asylum RPG


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Day 56: Bus 1
why does every party end with me on fire
mustbethesuit wrote in damned
Previously, on Peter Parker's Sucky Life:

Pain, pain, fourth wall bulldozing, fire and pain, and teeny useless swords.

Yeah, so Peter wasn't feeling so hot today. It was a marked improvement on waking up after getting shanked by Grell, but this was in no way a good morning. They had all made it through the basement trials and got their dinky rewards, but man did they pay a hefty price for it. All of them. (Scott and the others had to fight robot raptors? What the hell...) Peter rose from his bed oh so delicately and with much wincing, thanking whoever it was that carried them back to bed every night for putting him belly down on his mattress.

His back, oh god. Peter seethed and hissed and grunted in pain. It felt like it was scabbing over, and the bandages yanked at the tender skin with every minute muscle spasm, every move he made. Cripes. Better his back than his arms or legs, but still. It was going to make things so difficult if they got stuck in Doyleton all over again.

Brainy was so thoroughly wrapped in his blankets on the other side of the room that Peter couldn't make heads or tails of his current state. But he'd stayed in the whole night, right? He should be fine.

Sometimes he just needed extra convincing of that. Considering the guy's track record and all.

From the sounds of it, this Aguilar guy wasn't changing too much of the routine. Being field trip day, Peter had wondered how the new man in charge would handle it (or how General Lieutenant Burger would, apparently). If he planned on letting them out at all. The announcement squashed that theory, and so did the orderly tromping in with a second-hand change of clothes. The burly man passed him the goods without so much as a word, stomping right back outside to wait behind the door. Guess they weren't going in military gear.

...Orderly? Peter pushed the door open again after performing the hastiest change of clothes he could manage in his state, peering at the man. That guy was in an army uniform yesterday. He remembered him. His buzz cut was uneven and he had a pointy old mole on the back of his neck.

"Uh. Are you going incognito?"

He was suddenly on the end of such a pointed look Peter could swear he was talking to Nick Fury. If Nick Fury was white and still had both eyes. "...Right. Okay. Lead the way, hombre."

So undercover it was. The people of Doyleton didn't know this was a military operation. Briefly, he wondered what the advantages of revealing that to the townsfolk could be, but then he remembered how they'd all up and morphed into the living dead at sundown. Put to rest any usefulness they might have had. They were just puppets, the same as the rest of the creepy crawlies in this hellhole.

Though that did beg the question as to why you would have to hide your secrets from puppets in the first place.

He was bequeathed with the usual paper bag lunch and packet of coupons, though he was still surprised to find himself a $15 gift card in the mix. Intercom Dude wasn't kidding about that?

He had money?

...What would he even do with money in Doyleton? What was fifteen dollars and worth buying that wasn't a gourmet burger? Peter boggled at the card as he clambered onto the bus. He'd never gone through the town with any inclination to window shop, so he couldn't even say what was available. He might actually have to look around. Even something simple might be a big help.

The orderly-formerly-known-as-Private-Dwight followed him on tucked a pillow into his seat for him. "Sit down. And don't do anything stupid. You'll heal a lot faster if you don't agitate it."

Peter fidgeted, but quietly settled into the pillow. This was kind of awkward. "Um. Thank you. I deeply appreciate your concern." The man nodded, and was gone.

Peter was the only one on the bus so far. The emptiness was kind of creeping him out.

[Reserved for Harvey Dent. WHY AM I TOP POSTING EVERYTHING YOU JERKS.]

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Though he awoke with a start, as though forcing himself from the grips of a nightmare, it took Edgar a moment to muster the energy to rise from the bed. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out all he was feeling long enough to listen to the morning announcements- he wasn't very successful. His body ached all over; his shirt was damp with sweat, leaving him longing for another shower. Any rest he might have found in the time between the end of night and dawn had already been exhausted. He couldn't remember hearing the intercom during the night- he shook his head, reasoning he'd passed out. There weren't words for the mixture of frustration and humiliation he'd faced.

... And would continue to face, apparently. It was time for the weekly field trip to Doyleton, which meant he was expected to don whatever shabby garments they'd found for him to wear and behave. He disliked being given orders, and doubly so after the previous night; however, he was in no condition to argue. He had to admit he was looking forward to some time alone, especially given the circumstances. If he looked as ill as he felt, it was a good day to keep to himself. It had been some time since anyone had seen him that undeniably sick, and he preferred to keep it that way.

Adding insult to injury was a new adornment to his hat. As Edgar made out of bed, he caught sight of the beret on the night stand: on the front, as though it had always been there, was one of the pins he'd spotted others bearing the day before. M-U. He thought he would vomit for a second, his stomach churning with an instant of fury as he eyed the piece. Whether he was truly moved to sickness from personal disgust or it was a reaction to night before was something he couldn't discern.

He wasn't given time to think about it, nor was he allowed to check on Gren- the morning escort arrived, knocking on the door impatiently. Edgar pulled on the clothes left for him as quickly as his body would allow: his movement was sluggish, his limbs working against him as he pulled on the jeans, his fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. Though he wanted to leave the thick sweater behind, the guard insisted he wear it to keep out the chill in the cold weather. It seemed the perspiration lining his brow wasn't a clear enough indication that he was plenty warm.

Edgar took his provisions and slipped onto the bus without protest, thankful to find an empty seat near a window- it didn't open, but the view would serve as a decent distraction. The changes already in place were subtle: the morning announcements had said the additional orderlies would be traveling with them, implying they were little more than soldiers in disguise. Then the residents of Doyleton weren't to be made aware of the changes? That was... interesting.

He brushed the damp hair from his face, cursing himself for being unable to focus as well as he liked. Though it appeared they'd been given proper food for the trip, the nausea that coursed through him made him wonder if he'd ever eat again.

[Late, but free if anyone wants him]

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