DAMNED || LANDEL'S INSTITUTE

A Multifandom Asylum RPG


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Night 57: Infirmary
right. right. he rode a keyblade.
antiheroed wrote in damned
[from here]

For as direct as they were being, Riku understood how much of this section of Landel's remained unexplored. They were so focused on acquiring the drug that it hadn't occurred to them to stop—or, if it had, it was a thought stopped by his frustration with his partner for the night. To think he pushed off some old man because he thought he'd be irritating, but he found something just the same in Albedo. Maybe he hadn't said as much yet, but the feeling he got off him set him on edge. It also made a different side of him come out. It was the side that was smirking now as he looked around, head held high, like this wasn't a problem at all.

That arrogance was more natural in this situation. Riku realized that if he got too caught up in it he wouldn't be able to think clearly, but for now, he was okay. He needed to match abrasiveness with just that. Sora would have done it differently, and so would Kairi, but Riku didn't believe in killing someone with kindness. (Not that kill was in his friends' vocabulary when they were so chipper and easy with their hearts; it was just the way they functioned. He always admired it.)

Upon noticing what could only be the aforementioned concoction, he turned back toward Albedo. His mind had already processed the surroundings. Outside that set up section, everything was the way he imagined it was supposed to seem. If someone was sick, they came here. If they needed help, they called a nurse. In a way, he thought that some of the people he came up against could learn a few tips from Landel when it came to subtlety. Then, maybe, they wouldn't have gone down so hard at the hands of Sora. Though it was better that for whatever their backgrounds were, their own flaws came against them. Riku wondered if that was what happened here, if Landel's own pride and pompous handling of himself led to losing his stronghold.

That question could be asked soon. But first, he asked, "What do you think this'll do?" Not that it wouldn't stop him from taking it. He needed something to give him an edge for his lost time. Truthfully, he was curious about what Albedo had to say. Would he lie and make it look innocent, or would he possibly tell the truth and show ignorance? In Riku's mind, those were the only two options.

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[From here.]

Surprisingly, they were greeted by not just one concoction— the Scarecrow had been picturing a bubbling pot filled with a brew, akin to something that would have been found in the Wicked Witch's lair— but many: vials, bottles, needles, and capsules decorated a part of the room. Despite the array of enticing colors, they were marked with a warning scribbled on a large scrap of paper. Judging by the hasty nature of the handwriting (though somewhere in the back of his mind, he supposed it could have been another non-human sort, someone accustomed to neither holding nor using writing utensils— he had been one of those not too terribly long ago), it was likely from another patient.

"It looks like we're not the first to think of warning people away from trying these, either," the Scarecrow said, eyeing some of the empty tubes and spilled pills, "though it looks like a warning might not do much good." He picked up one of the capsules, delicately holding it between two fingers as if it would crumble from the pressure.

Though he hadn't a clue as to who he could show such things, he pocketed the capsule, moving on to inspect one of the syringes. Sangamon seemed like he might have some experience with such things. He was sure Abe would have— the former strawman frowned a moment, the thought of his lost friend still wearing on him. It was Abe who had warned him against such things in the first place, putting strange things into himself and keeping a watch for danger. There was so much his human brain didn't tell him.

He looked back to Sonia, syringe still in his hand. She seemed pretty keen on stopping people from trying the medicines; he reasoned she might know more about them. "What do you suppose these do?"

[Time-warping to before Okita's arrival.]

We're too late.

In amongst all the sounds, Sonia thought she heard a cry for help out in the hallway. She stopped in her tracks to try to get an idea of where it might have come from; all she knew was that it seemed to have come from far away. She looked back one more time, wide-eyed, before pausing at the main entrance. Focus. There was no way Robotnik would've offered these people rewards unless he knew he was getting something out of it, and even then, you could bet he wouldn't keep his word. If Aguilar was anything like Buttnik, there was a lot more going on here than met the eye, and that cry for help proved it. Either it had something to do with the concoction, or they'd been lured here for another reason. If it was a surprise attack they were aiming at, it didn't look like anything had happened here yet, but they might have just cleaned up.

Taking in a quiet breath, she managed to hide the anxious look on her face as they advanced. This place looked perfect for a trap--the darkness stretched further than the beam of her flashlight could reach, which was just what these guys needed to stay one step ahead of the prisoners--but if people had been coming and going, Aguilar could've ordered his men to wait until they'd taken the concoction. Even so, she kept a lookout for any signs of movement, trying not to let herself stare at one spot for too long. She noted the empty hospital beds nearby and made herself look away from them after confirming there was nothing there. You wouldn't find Sonia in one of those (not if she could help it).

When Scarecrow showed her one of the syringes, it immediately reminded her of something: Robotnik's flybots. That "concoction" could be anything! "Well they probably aren't good for our health," she answered with a stern frown. "Think about it. If Aguilar means it when he says he'll reward people for taking it, he must be getting something out of it. And that can't be good for us." She looked at the concoction in all its forms and grabbed one of the vials. "There's no telling what this stuff might do. We should show it to someone who'll be able to tell us more."

Sonia did have a point about that: if they were being promised rewards for trying the strange concoctions made by Aguilar and his men— and given how cruel the staff could be at times, and that they'd only gotten harsher since the military arrived— then the consequences couldn't be good. He wasn't made of straw anymore; for all he knew, one drink might result in him bursting into flames. He had to be careful.

Well, more careful than he had been, anyway. Both arms were in bandages, acting as a grim reminder of just how much more precaution he ought to be taking when doing anything at night, be it exploring or collecting a few of the experimental potions for someone else to examine. He eyed the syringe another second before returning it to the table, unable to think of a safe way of carrying it that he could make with only what he had on him. He'd seen the nurse use it enough times to know how it worked- he dare not prick himself with it now.

"That sounds like a great idea," the Scarecrow affirmed, as he'd been thinking the same thing. "I was thinking of doing that myself- I've got a friend who—"

The Scarecrow was cut off by the sounds of screams and door slams from across the hallway. His legs shook beneath him as his courage faltered. "T-that didn't sound good at all! What do you think that was?"

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