A Multifandom Asylum RPG

Previous Entry Share Next Entry
Day 40: Greenhouse [Fourth Shift]
toxicspiderman wrote in damned
Most days, fish and chips (and a cold beer or three) was pretty goddamned high on S.T.'s list of perfect expense-account lunches. Today, the idea of picking at greasy hunks of unidentified bottom-feeder odds-and-ends (politely known as scrod, to the delight of teenagers all across the Northeast) didn't appeal.

He begged off and collapsed into his bed, after using his damp shirt as an excuse to surreptiously check the contents of his closet. Bingo. His nurse watched his little show, unimpressed but (more importantly) unsuspicious. Not that his hairy chest was much of a catch today, pale and sweating from fever. At least she didn't tuck him in.

The intercom woke up up right on schedule, and pulling the sheets back over his head almost won. But a handful of unanswered missives and a vague sense of duty dragged him out to the bulletin, and from there it was easier to stagger over to the greenhouse.

It was warm inside -- a deep, humid warmth that actually penetrated to the aches in more joints and muscles than he could remember the names of. Like a sauna, without the hassle of finding someplace to look that wasn't a mound of pasty middle-management cellulite. Or a sweat lodge, without the opposite hassle of being conscious that he was the only white guy in the room. In fact, besides the nurses in holding patterns, he was the only person in the room.

He located a tray of tomato seedlings going rootbound in their tiny six-packs, and a potting bench whose location was a quick-and-dirty approximation of equidistantly far from anything blooming. He assured his nurse he knew what he was doing, and after a couple of successful repottings, gently sliding the little seedlings out and loosening the tangled roots, she seemed to agree and backed off. It was, by far, the most fucking theraputic thing he'd found in this hellhole so far, and he let himself sink into the rhythm of the task.


  • 1
While he was relieved to know the unconscious girl from the previous night was in good health, the Scarecrow was a little glad to escape from the conversation. Talking about homes being burned to the ground made him terribly uncomfortable. Things started looking up when the nurse led him outside and into a strange glass house filled with plants. He stopped following her to take it all in- it was truly breath-taking. He smiled as he thought about how well he'd liked the Recreational Field- this was even better!

His nurse called his institute-given name and he returned to her side, watching some of the other men as they picked at various bulbs and blossoms. She handed him a watering can and left him near some brightly colored flowers- he wasn't sure of the variety, but they were lovely. He took a deep breath. The smell of fresh air was replaced with the smell of soil and greenery, but those fragrances were just as sweet to the Scarecrow.

Taking a look around at some of the other activities occurring in the house, the Ozian wondered how much water he should be giving these blooms. These didn't seem like the talking sort of flora, so they couldn't tell him themselves when they were no longer thirsty. Shrugging, he gingerly tipped the watering can, allowing some of the water to pour from the spout before moving onto the next flower.

[Unknowingly awaiting a Chocoholic]

[Agh, sorry for the delay!]

It was certainly turning out to be an interesting day! Wonka had already met with two people about his wares - one of whom seemed willing to lend quite a bit of assistance! - and had also had the chance to dispense sage advice (or something like that) to a confused young man. And now, having been led to the Institute's greenhouse, he'd have a chance to see what they were growing here. Nothing too exotic, it turned out, but certainly a good variety for Eastern America. It reminded him of his lost years, really - exploring the wilderness, looking for new ingredients among the flora and fauna...

While admiring one particular patch of flowers, a glance to the side revealed a man who seemed to be - somewhat awkwardly and anxiously - watering the flowers. Looking at him over his shoulder, Wonka asked, "Do you want some help with that?"

"Oh!" The Scarecrow said, surprised as he was addressed- he was really going to have to stop reacting like that, but he'd been so concentrated on not over-watering the flowers that he'd never even noticed the other man near him.

"Yeah, help would be great. See, I've never really worked with these sorts of flowers before, so I don't know how much-- " He cut himself off as he glanced back at the flower he'd been watering, which was now drowning in the water pooling around the stem. He quickly and clumsily pulled the watering can into an upright position, stopping the flow from the spout. He bit his lip as he thought about the irony of a man who had been created to protect plants being better at drowning them. The crows would have a field day if they knew.

His eyes darted from the water-logged blossom to the other man. "I have very little experience with flowers. How much water is it you're supposed to give them?"

Oh dear. This man really didn't know what he was doing, did he? Wonka suppressed a giggle, and placed his hands on the watering can so as better to direct the man. "For small flowers like these," he said, directing the water to the next patch of flowers, "two or three seconds is usually enough, especially since they're greenhouse plants - there we go - the glass keeps in moisture, you see. Now, with larger plants," he continued, gesturing to a nearby bush, "it's all right to keep going until the water starts to pool, since there's no real danger of drowning something so big. But for these, a little bit goes a long way."

The Scarecrow mimicked the watering motions for a couple more bulbs in the line. "Huh, this isn't so hard," he reassured himself as his hands became steadier with each movement. He smiled- it felt good to be productive. He'd not really gotten a lot accomplished since he'd been here, besides falling down a lot and having his legs trashed by somethings in an attempt to protect an unconscious girl in a darkened hallway.

Finished with that row of bulbs, he looked for others that looked a bit thirsty. "Are you some sort of a gardener?"

  • 1

Log in