DAMNED || LANDEL'S INSTITUTE

A Multifandom Asylum RPG


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Day 57: Cafeteria
So... you're single?
gald_digger wrote in damned
Edgar's charming company had raised Anise's spirits enough that not even the Head Doctor's voice could bring them back down. Besides, she was feeling pretty sure that Landel wasn't actually around. To begin with, it wouldn't make sense, and secondly, his announcements sounded suspiciously like ones she'd already heard before. While Anise wasn't very familiar with Earth technology, she'd seen the little devices in the Music Room that could play recordings of people's voices. This had to be something like that.

It wasn't long before Anise was escorted to the Cafeteria, and then to the section where edible food was being served. As she filled her plate with waffles, fruit, and sausages, she looked to the other side of the counter with a look of sympathy. It was hard to enjoy her own meals while knowing what the other patients had to suffer through.

She wasn't about to refuse her meals just out of guilt, though. Anise needed her strength for tonight. There was still a bit of a nervous twist in her stomach whenever she thought about what could happen down in the basement... but she wasn't going to back down. Not after promising her friends they'd go together.

With her tray in hand, Anise seated herself at an empty table in the middle of the room. She preferred to have company while eating, but it looked like she was one of the first patients there, so there was no one to sit with. Maybe if she minded her manners and tried to look her cutest, she'd attract someone handsome! Holding her utensils delicately, she began to cut her waffles into smaller pieces.

[For Battler.]

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Dean rolled out of bed in time for brunch.

"Brunch". First of all, on the best of days "brunch" was the wussy stuff they probably served with those fruity little lace things (Sam probably knew the right names. Like he said, wussy).

And second, in Landels? Apparently "brunch" was just more of that pink sludge which...Dean was trying real hard not to think of that time he got sick as a kid and puked pink. The resemblance was kinda creepy and he stared at it, caught the sympathetic eye of that dude soldier who was toeing the line with wanting to be pals with him, and figured the guy was probably thinking the same thing. It didn't look much different than the last time in the cafeteria. Slight difference in jiggle? He wasn't too sure he wanted to know what the little solid looking things in it where. All he knew was he didn't see the point of dressing it up as something fancy like "brunch" if it was the exact same stuff as the other day.

Dean scanned the cafeteria as he turned with his tray. No sign of Ruby, which was probably just as well. He had no idea what she'd do if he happened to spill salt on her. Probably knee-jerk maiming if she really was one of those black-eyed sons of bitches. He'd have to go for something a little bit more subtle. Give him some time to break it to Sam. He hated to say it, but man. Sam had some crap luck with chicks.

No Ruby, Sam, Castiel or the Trickster. Whatever he was really called. Dean moved for a table and sat down. He decided while he was here, he might as well check out the pink sludge. Hunkering down slightly, Dean poked at it with his fork. It jiggled. Like, titty jiggled. If tits were made of freaky pink sludge and suddenly dropped down the awesome scale. He frowned at it.

Well, he could always just wash it down with water, he guessed. No way was he going a day without eating just 'cause it looked like this.

[For LOST!Claire]

For her insubordination yesterday, she would have nothing to eat today. Nor was she allowed to take a seat. This is what the soldier brought her aside to say as she made a beeline for the lunch trays, making his demands in a tone that allowed not an inch of leeway. Claire's first instinct was to be furious. They had shot her full of sedatives yesterday, which made her too sick to even touch her dinner. Wasn't that punishment enough?

She had learned her lesson, though. And all things considered, this was barely even a slap on the wrist. She had gone without eating for longer. Suffered worse discomforts than being made to stasnd all day. Try being hunted through thick jungle for days on end. Or worse, being imprisoned in a pit. Only an idiot would pick the Others over Landel's for a jailer. Strange as this place was, she had yet to be treated like a dog.

Not everyone could appreciate that though. Like the man she suddenly found herself behind, drawn over by aimless meandering. He was poking at the gruel suspiciously, as if it were a living thing in his bowl.

She leaned over his shoulder to dispense her advice. "I'd eat up if I were you. Never know when the next meal is going to come."

Edited at 2011-06-27 11:56 pm (UTC)

Dean was so engrossed in jiggling the gruel that he didn't hear the patient creeping up behind him.

He jumped, almost dropped his spoon, and tried to recover as he turned around, as if yeah, he totally meant to do that and maybe that wasn’t really gonna fly on second thought: there wasn’t exactly a Joe Cool way of jumping in your skin like that.

The chick behind him look like she was nursing a hangover. She had the hangover hair (make that several hangovers) and he realized he was actually spending more time checking that out than the rest of her. Actually, Blondie wasn’t so bad on the eyes once you got over the hair. And the look she was giving him. It wasn’t exactly wild-eyed nutso patient, but there was something about it that put Dean slightly on edge. He hoped he wasn’t going to get into a friggen fistfight with a chick over the crappy puke-pink gruel here. ‘Cause that? That was sinking pretty low. Dean refused to budge even though Blondie was getting real close to invading his personal space.

“Who said I wasn’t gonna eat?” Dean said. There was that kind of awkward pause where he waited for her to sit down or move on. When she didn’t budge, he raised an eyebrow. “Something I can do for you, sweetheart?”

This was probably the first chick he didn’t start trying to hit on from the get-go. Seriously, was there something on him? The way she was gave him this intense stare made him think something was on him, Dean sneaking a glance down at his shirt, then at the food.

"You were poking at it," she provided matter of factly. "Nobody pokes at their food unless they think it's going to jump up and run away on them."

Now that he was turned around, it was impossible to keep her brows from quirking up. The man was unaturally good-looking. Almost the same way Sawyer had been; as if he'd popped out from a screen in a theatre and began to walk around in real life. Not that she was the kind of girl who liked that sort, but no one could deny that a face like that was a good one.

The similarities this man and her old friend didn't end there. His next words put on honest smile on her face. "Sawyer used to call me that. Before he left." And before he stopped caring. But the people she had met here were, for the most part, far better than the ones on the island.

Claire was blind to any effect she might have on the man, remaining close even as she stood straight, rubbing at her arm to soothe a chill. Her gaze locked onto one of the soldiers, who stared straight back with a hard line for a mouth. Daring her to try taking a seat. "I'm not allowed to eat today. I just wanted to make sure you weren't wasting it."

A worry born partially from envy, true. Everyone else had declared the gruel unpalattable, but Claire knew better than to be picky. Yet even though she wanted nothing more than to take the bowl off of his hands, she was growing a little less selfish every day. When she had first arrived, she didn't give a damn about anyone trapped here with her. Then the people started talking to her, and she remembered how kind humanity could be.

As big of a waste as tossing the meal down the trash would be, it would be far worse if something happened to this man because he was too hungry to think straight. She considered him, worrying her lip with her teeth.

"I have some sweets in my bag at night. If you wanted something a little tastier, that is. What's your name?"

Hey, he was more worried it looked like someone had regurgitated the damn thing than it running away on him, but at that point, he guessed it was apples and oranges.

Dean had to give it to Blondie though – chick was blunt and to the point.

“It’s Dean. Not that I’d need a babysitter but yeah.” He paused and then decided to hold out his hand, offering her and her hangover hair an easy smile. Normally he’d say that was a pretty…out there pick-up line (“sweets in her bag?” Yeah, he bet!) but with the way she was looking at him, he somehow had the feeling she wasn’t trying to score. He decided to take her at face value. “Sure, I’d be up for that. So what’d you do to get the special treatment?”

It wasn’t hard to put two and two together: the army pukes were still here and the standing thing seemed like something they’d do for discipline. It beat having to drag someone sedated and practically drooling away and you couldn’t help but notice someone just standing there while everyone else. Double duty, he guessed. Dean didn’t turn entirely in his seat to follow her stare, instead shifting slightly so he could kinda glance over out of his peripheral vision. Yep, there was one of the soldiers aka “orderlies”, just standing there giving Blondie here the eye. Dean didn’t see why. Crazy hair and bluntness aside, she seemed okay, and when she smiled, it totally canceled out her hair. Good smile.

Chick should smile more often.

Dean. How very American. Claire took his hand and was shocked to find that she outdid him in callouses. She was used to having her palms scratched holding hands with Charlie, or with John. Then again, the only people she had really touched hands with since the days before were Kate, Bella, and the kids here. Girls who had access to creams and proper care and children too small for true labor. But it was to be expected, once you thought about it. Dean was too clean shaven and well fed to have been chopping his own firewood and foraging for food.

She snorted lightly, shaking her head and allowing the tips of her mouth to curl. He was a rough and tumble kind of guy. She hadn't met any of those here at all. "I'm not trying to baby sit you. There's too many kids here who need it to bother with adults. I'm Claire. Littleton." A clarification only offered because there seemed to be at least three people with the same name running around. "Where do you want me to bring it to? I can meet you tonight."

Another glance was passed between her and the soldier at his query, turning her tone low and flat, like a note from a bass guitar. "They tried to take my stuff from me yesterday. And we were all standing outside for the buses, and I saw the woods and I just...I thought if I could break free, if I could get one out of the way and run fast enough, I'd make it out." She caught his eye again and gave a shrug. "I was wrong. They shot me up with needles and told me I couldn't eat or sit today. But I'll find them at night sometime. You wouldn't happen to have any idea where they sleep, would you?"

Dean was in for a surprise when he shook the chick's hands -- he wasn't going to say she had total man hands, but they weren't the smooth ones he would've expected with a face like that. He guessed the hair and the bluntness should've been a tip-off or something.

"How about that hall outside the men's block?" It struck Dean how pathetic this was. The first time a chick invited herself over and he had to be paranoid and not give her his room number. Thanks, Landels Institute. He was practically a born again virgin at this rate. It struck Dean that if he really did only have six months left from the new contract terms, he probably should put Try To Get Laid somewhere on the list. No way was he dying without getting his stuff in order.

Claire's story surprised him -- first at how almost casual it was, like it happened to someone else, and second, that was a hell of a thing to try, especially with the army pukes hanging around. He was still trying to figure how far she got when she surprised him with the next question. He blinked, jerking back to attention because it sounded an awful lot like she wanted to gank 'em in their sleep which...was actually a really good strategy when you were hunting certain kinds of monsters, but this was people they were talking about here. 'Course she could've meant a number of things with that remark, but with that look she gave him and the way she said it, he was reading it that way and he was thrown back onto the wrong foot with Claire.

This was a pretty new experience with a woman, he had to say. Dean wasn't used to being on the wrong foot here.

"Me? Nope. Haven't seen where the staff or," Dean flicked a glance at the guards who weren't exactly the usual staff, "our friends. Y'know, if you're going to be wandering around, don't you think finding out where they sleep is the least of your worries? What happened to your escape plan?"

Dean kept his voice low and didn't invite Claire to sit, as much it kinda bothered him she was the few having to stand this whole shift. Dean couldn't believe he was getting close to lecturing Claire -- clearly Sam was rubbing off on him and he felt a little dirty just thinking about it. Still, he did think Claire had the right...general idea. As in the no panicking, trying to deal with this and not freaking out idea. Not the killing humans in their sleep idea, which was kinda flawed in his opinion.

"Which one? Aren't there something like three men's blocks?" It wasn't unusual that somebody would exercise this kind of caution. Nor should they do otherwise in the first place. Claire wouldn't be giving out her room number had the roles been reversed. Not even back in Australia. Though seeing as how his current directions could lead her to at least three different places, she couldn't be blamed for pressing again.

Hiding her disappointment when he turned up a negative for her question wasn't something Claire deemed worth the time. She wanted out, and that was no secret. She wanted all of them out. The only way to do that would be eliminating all the people in power here. Or maybe squeezing a few tidy stories out of them, like how they were pulling all their neat little magic tricks. "That's too bad. If you find anything, let me know okay? I'd like to get some answers, and there's no wrangling them out with the way these guys are right now." They were going to need a proper rope and a few tools to do the job. Claire, at least, had one half of that equation ready to go.

On the other hand, the next part was confusing. She stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending and drawing blanks on ideas. "What do you mean? Like the monsters? Or the patients?" Unbidden, her gaze flicked around to find Damon. Or Stefan. She found the latter first, talking to what had to be that boy with all the bandages from days prior. She turned back to Dean lest it get too suspicious. "I already know what's out there. I'm not scared of the monsters. I'm scared of staying here for longer than I have to." She smiled, intending benevolence but perhaps departing a bit more mischief than she had intended. "I'm making a few changes to it. Seeing what works, seeing what doesn't. I already know charging in blind and trying to run off at night don't work. You just pop back here in the morning like nothing happened at all."

His worry was sweet, really. A lot of the men here were like that. Boys. Dean was older than her for sure, or roughly the same age. It was better than she had originally thought it might be, keeping her feet glued to the floor instead of wandering off to search for safer company. She tilted her head at him, bird-like, watching his eyes for clues.

"So then what do you is worth our time then? What have you been up to? Investigating the hospital? Trying to avoid one in the gut?" Not a malicious query. It could be interpreted that way, certainly, but Claire's tone only held pure curiousity. She wasn't about to judge. She was still rather new here, and if Dean had another week or so on her then he might know something she didn't.

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