DAMNED || LANDEL'S INSTITUTE

A Multifandom Asylum RPG


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Night 60: M41-M50 Hallway
case open case shut.
unheroed wrote in damned
Even as dinner had passed, Lunge hadn't budged. Harvey knew that that couldn't be a good thing, but it wasn't his business to babysit the guy anyway. It was going to be a hassle if Lunge ended up disappearing, seeing how he'd have to go through the same old song and dance of meeting a new roommate, but he'd make sure that people knew if it happened. There was no point in letting people worry themselves sick over someone.

Then again, was there someone that close to Lunge? He seemed like the sort of guy who kept everyone an arm's length (or more) away from him. So was Harvey, though, and there were people here who probably considered him a "friend."

Yeah, it was strange.

Stranger was Landel's voice bellowing out in self-absorbed tones over the intercom again. Harvey glared up at the intercom, and it wasn't the first time he'd done so that day. Aguilar was still the one he wanted his hands on more than anyone, but he was more than willing to siphon some of his anger onto the Head Doctor too.

All the talk about how they would never be getting powers back hardly applied to Harvey. He'd managed to hold his own last night, so he wasn't going to let the man's words bother him. Right now he was willingly going to do something that was probably far more dangerous than whatever Landel was planning to throw at them, anyway.

Still, if there was any time to throw caution to the wind, it was now. Which was why he gathered up his gun and metal pipe along with the usual flashlight and radio and then headed out.

[To here.]

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Depth Charge gave a sparkfelt groan and turned over in his sleep for what might as well have been the thousandth time in the last few weeks. Even in his dreams he knew what he would awaken to, imprisoned in his human body: cold sweat on his back, a churning stomach and, if he were unfortunate enough to stop off in the bathroom before heading out, green to the gills he didn't have anymore. Just went to show that however far and fast he ran, the nightmares would still catch up to him.

It was kind of pathetic, if he thought about it. He'd gotten up late, sleep-sick from not waking up in time for the night, and sloped irritably into the Sun Room to find... well. First a message from S.T. and the others, suggesting a Round Two- crazy talk, but he hadn't been sane in a long time- and then, nestled in the back, a short, sweet note informing him that Inspector Javert was dead.

The blow was low and hit the Maximal harder than he realised for a long few nanokliks as he read the note again, silent and stonefaced. Was gonna get the old goat some time was his first thought. Then, stiffly, he turned away from the board and walked straight back to his room against the protests of his nurse (So we're back to Landel. Great. Javert's dead).

Somehow, he'd ended up in bed and asleep- and that was when the nightmares had sprung back on him again in a heady ambush of smoke and burning rubber and, newly added, blood both fresh and clotted thickly on grey skin.

He also knew that he would be disgusted with himself when he woke up, and so he was as he sat up that night: sick with the self-indulgence of it all.

The Scarecrow was awake- he could see his shape in the half-darkness- but for once he didn't want to talk. The man had probably heard his shallow, uneven breathing, and the short gasp that had dragged him out of his sleep in the first place. His feet scrabbled at the floor as he staggered out of bed, towards his desk and flashlight. His box was, surprisingly, still there; wordlessly, he opened it up and dragged out the old uniform, which he gave a critical look before throwing the shirt on over his grey t-shirt and dragging the stiff black boots on. His fingers, tensed, fumbled over the laces.

The process took only a few minutes. Then he was up and gone.

[skipping to here]

Despite his desire to talk to Depth Charge, the Scarecrow hadn't found the words when the time came. Dinner and the start of night had passed in complete silence, and when his roommate had finally pulled himself from his sleep, he was gone without a word. Scarecrow just stared at the door as it closed behind Depth Charge, feeling that emptiness in his chest again. He couldn't fully grasp what it was- there were times when he could hear his own heartbeat as it thundered away in him; however, this was almost the opposite. It was as though he'd been hollowed out somehow, left without his stuffing as nothing more than a helpless shell.

Had something happened to his heart? He wasn't sure how it could have happened, but he knew a heart could be broken- the Tin Man had said so once or twice. Perhaps that was what he meant.

Deciding he'd just have to think about it later, given that there was nothing to be done at that moment, the Scarecrow picked out his things from his box. He was supposed to meet someone named Lust for 'dancing'— he assumed that was code for going out at night, but it was certainly hard to tell with the board— and didn't want to be late. He shuffled through the things in the box in his closet, trying to determine whether or not he wanted to take his boots or not. They were stiff on his feet, but he didn't intend to go outside. He pulled off his slippers, leaving them inside as he enjoyed that brief moment where his bare foot met the floor.

As he retrieved his flashlight, he found that ring again, the one from the night before that he'd assumed was Depth Charge's; however, the jewel embedded in it, unlike that one, was in one piece. He paused for a moment before deciding he didn't have time to think too much on it- he knew how he could get lost in his own train of thought. Sliding the ring onto one finger, he slipped out the door into the hallway.

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