A Multifandom Asylum RPG

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Day 43: Intercom, Evening
New Intercom
damned_intercom wrote in damned
Hello! I.R.I.S. here once more to announce to you, our honored guests, that you have officially made it through a day of our typical Landel's treatment. Of course, it isn't quite over: we will now have you retire to our designated patient quarters with one of your agency partners to inspect their sleeping area and the tools that we provide them with for the true bulk of our behavioral testing. On an added note, we would like you to notice once again that the meals we provide to our subjects are of the highest quality.

For those of you feeling apprehensive about taking part in our more intensive methods, please be aware that we would never imagine putting all of you in any danger whatsoever. This last shift will be your last at our Institute; afterward, we will escort you to our Head Doctor's personal observation station to survey some of our test Next-Wave participants in the rigorous trials we put them through – all for their betterment, of course.

Once again, we hope that you are satisfied with what you find, and as always, direct any questions you may have to your console.

The nurses began to escort the patients to their rooms. They didn't even seem to be brought to awareness by words such as "testing" and "subjects."

[ All room threads go in response to this post; please post your character's room number as the subject line of the initial post. (Find all of the newly changed room assignments and shift introductions here.) If you are introducing your character during this shift, you may either choose for them character to wake up before their roommate gets back, or after. ]

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Before even opening his eyes, Edgar could tell something was amiss. He wasn't sure what that odd smell was in the room, but it wasn't normal for an inn, especially one he'd been in for a few days. After a night or two, rooms where he slept usually started to reek with the smell of oil and metal. As much as he'd like to say otherwise, it was an odor that followed him everywhere. It wasn't the most attractive smell, but it was a small comfort to him.

The smell in this particular room, however, was distinctive, yet almost indescribable. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it definitely wasn't the smell of his usual possessions. He found out why as he opened his eyes: this wasn't the room he'd paid for.

He sat up quickly. This wasn't his room, and these weren't his clothes. That certainly explained the smell. Now the issue was how he got here. No windows, so he couldn't even see what region he was in- not like it mattered. The landscape had changed so much since the Cataclysm, he doubted he'd recognize the terrain.

A couple of ideas came to mind- first and foremost was that someone had recognized him through his disguise, kidnapped him, and was holding him for some reason. It seemed unlikely, as Figaro Castle hadn't been seen in some time. Several people he'd spoken to seemed to think it had been obliterated by Kefka's god-like magic, and the king along with it. Edgar's blood still boiled when he thought about Kefka. He was one man who was far beyond redemption.

The other possibility was that Kefka had somehow found him alive, and brought him here for some sort of torture. The notion didn't seem beyond the power-mongering clown, but this place didn't look garish enough to be one of his works.

A third possibility was that this was a place unrelated to anyone Edgar knew, and that he'd been brought here for some other purpose. Never being content to wait for answers, he left the bed and started searching the drawers and cabinets for his equipment. He could live without his crude disguise and even the ribbons to keep his hair out of his face, but if someone had touched his beloved tools, it became a very personal issue.

Oh god, not another one.

Really, that was all went through Luxord's head as he entered his room, kitten in hand. Did not Martin Landel ever think that, perhaps, it was pointless to give the Gambler more roommates after all this time had passed? Each one of them had disappeared. Each had been useless to him. He had only enjoyed the presence of one of them, and even that came under strain eventually. He had been planning to come to his room, spend dinner with Tyche, and head out for the night to find Grell or II or something to occupy his time with.

Instead, he found Roommate #5 traipsing about the room and rifling through anything he could get his grubby little hands on. What had been a pleasant enough mood with Naminé had quickly turned into a sour expression as he sat on his bed, crossed his legs, and glared at the stranger in his room whilst petting the kitten in his lap.

"Excuse me," he began, obviously none too impressed with the other blond's investigation. "What is it you think you are doing? Stop it immediately." The notion quickly came upon him that this was a new arrival and he would... ugh, have to explain everything to him.

Why, Martin Landel? Why? Luxord wanted to like you. Truly, he did. But it was simply too hard when you did things like this.

Edgar stopped his rifling as he was joined by another blond- a similarly dressed one, at that. He'd look into the drab apparel later, once he'd found his possessions. First and foremost, he had a person to attend to.

"Pardon me," he said as he stood and gave a slight bow, putting on all formal airs. He didn't know who this man was, but it couldn't hurt to put his best foot forward, especially when dealing with complete strangers. Judging by the fact that there were two beds and this man was dressed in the same garb, Edgar figured this was some sort of unconventional prison, and this man was his cellmate. As for the kitten, perhaps it was a familiar or companion of some sort.

"I'm not sure where I am or how I got here," he continued as he straightened up, "And I seem to be missing some very important possessions. Forgive me if these were your things I was looking through. I meant no harm."

Ugh. X hated being right. ...well, no, that was a lie. Luxord loved being right. Or as close as possible to that. Perhaps a better way of putting it was that he hated having to explain the entire workings of this madhouse to strangers each time they spotted him. The second the man opened his mouth and confirmed that notion, X rolled his eyes.

"You're at Landel's Institute," he started with no hint of interest whatsoever, placing the kitten, tray of food, and Tarot cards on the bed before moving to the closet to reclaim his Organization uniform. "You've been taken here against your will with the rest of us and as such will have no memories of entering this establishment. Your possessions have been confiscated until further notice and searching under the bed is entirely pointless." Uniform gotten, the Gambler moved back to the bed and began to change, back to the stranger.

No, the notion of "shame" did not cross his mind, why do you ask? As far as Luxord was concerned, this man would not be here in a week. Why bother with false-modesty?

"In at least thirty minutes, the door to this room will unlock and you will be given a chance to escape. I suggest eating something." Much like how Tyche was eating his steak! That little scamp! He couldn't even get his right boot on before having to pick her up and place her on the floor. Sigh.

Well, this chap was certainly dull. At least he was informative. An institute didn't sound much better than a prison, but at least it didn't sound like Kefka or his insane followers were involved. Not yet, anyway. What he didn't like was the fact that his possessions had 'been confiscated until further notice.' He could live for a while without his tools, but his coin was a little more dear and pressing. He would be finding a way to get that back.

His search of the room hadn't been entirely pointless- he'd found a couple of objects that struck his interest. One was somewhat of a miniature of his own Flashbulb tool- that could be handy. He wasn't entirely sure what the other object was, but he intended to find out. Turning the knobs on the front didn't seem to do anything. He'd found some sort of a journal and writing utensils, as well- those might be useful, if he felt compelled to write.

He looked away politely as the man changed from one drab garment into another. The wardrobe on his side of the room hadn't contained such an ensemble- not that Edgar would have worn it if it had. Black wasn't his favorite shade. He busied himself with one of the many pens, attempting to use the pointier end to pry the back panel off the unidentified object.

"What sort of an institution takes people as prisoners, but gives them the opportunity to escape?" he asked aloud, still working with his new-found toy.

"One that fancies itself as a game." Speaking of, he removed the cards and die (he'd only one now. A shame) from the sleeves of the institute's uniform and slipped them into the sleeves of his coat. It'd do no good to leave weaponless, regardless of what he found himself doing this night. "Unfortunately, it is less interesting than it gives itself credit for and the little gamble for survival has lost its charm. Were you to last more than a week, I'd say you would be cursed with the same perceptions."

Ah, at least he'd Grell to liven things up. Yes, Xigbar would always be his first choice for nightly adventures bros before hoes, and all that. even if the bro was a hoe, but the Death God just brought so much flare to everything he did. He was more unpredictable than a fellow Nobody. It brought... life. And the threat of extinguishing it, which was always entertaining.

Cat removed from the bed and boots now on, the Gambler took out those small rings of silver and... what was the man doing? X rose an eyebrow at the other blond as he placed his earrings in. "Is there a particular reason you've decided to molest the radio with a pen?"

Edited at 2009-08-28 06:20 am (UTC)

A game, hm? It sounded twisted, even if it was an interesting premise. And who would be running such a game, one where survival was some sort of a key element? The king could wager a guess. It took a special kind of man to revel in the thrill of death, whether it was the death of ones self or the death of another.

With the way he was talking, Edgar was willing to bet this cellmate was one of those people. Being a diplomat for a number of years gave him a lot of practice in reading people. No matter- this man wasn't the first of those types he'd met, and he probably wouldn't be the last. At least he wasn't painted like some sort of harlequin.

"I'm seeing what's inside," he answered. He grinned as the rear panel on the object cracked off the frame with a pop, revealing various wires and components. Edgar wasn't sure what the majority of the components did, but the process of discovery was half the fun. He started prodding some of insides with the pen, shifting the jumbled wires to get a better look. "And who is running this so-called game, might I ask?"

Ah, earrings in place and ensemble complete. He felt so much better now, being dressed this way. It was a small comfort in a boring prison, in the very least.

...Luxord was unsure what it said about his last roommates when the simple gesture of this one opening his radio to see what was inside made him miles further in the interesting department than the rest of them. Following one's curiosity was always something X saw as a positive and the lack of silence, awkward discussions about charges, and uninspired greetings were all in this man's favor. If this meant there was a possibility there could be some form of entertainment between the two of them, X would be completely fine with this arrangement.

So perhaps he was warming up. Perhaps. Unfortunately, the more X did not dislike someone, the less use he was. It may explain why he had so little friends.

"That would be implicit in the name of the institute, wouldn't it?" he responded with a smirk, shuffling his playing cards from hand to hand as he watched the other man's actions with the radio. He could always ruin the fun he was having by explaining its function, if he felt the need to.

Another crack, and Edgar had managed to pry a metallic something out of place. He imagined it might be the fuel cell, but he wasn't going to make any final judgments just yet. He placed it on the bed for safe keeping as he continued his work.

"It is, in a way," he said without looking at his cellmate. "Still, that leaves me with only the name of the person behind the game. That doesn't tell me what sort of a person he or she is, or why they would be running this venture in the first place. I suppose having all the answers might ruin the purpose of the game in the first place, though."

Edgar stuck the pen in his mouth and used his fingers to pull another still-attached working from the device. He turned the circular piece over in his fingers, now forming a more complete idea of the purpose for which this device was designed. "It's an audio amplifier of some sort," he observed, speaking through the corner of his mouth. He was starting to wonder if the room held miniature versions of his other tools, as well. A tiny chainsaw could come in handy.

"Indeed." He nodded his head. "But must you really know everything about the dealer in order to win?" That was a silly thing to suggest. Martin Landel was an unimportant man with a strange, self-important way of thinking. He was mad, power-hungry, and Luxord was well aware that the only men he enjoyed the company of who were of that caliber was himself. Even then, he was not that power-hungry. He just liked to play.

And in the light of recent events, it was easier if dear Roommate just dealt with what this I.R.I.S. device gave him. The Gambler was not about to hold his hand and tell him everything. If he found that sort of dissecting amusing, he could have his fun while Luxord found some of his own.

Speaking of, X tilted his head as the man dismantled the radio, allowing Tyche to sit in his lap as he continued to shuffle. "I do hope you've enough competence to piece that back together. I am not giving you mine." Not that he used it. It was still his, however.

"I'm rather fond of putting machines back together," he said with a smirk. "Let's call it a hobby. Besides, if you gave me another one, I'd just take it apart as well and see how I could reuse the parts, or perhaps combine them into something even more ambitious." On that thought, now he did want his roommate's device. Well, maybe not his specifically, but another one just like it.

"I assume all prisoners get one of these, then?" he asked, gesturing with the device's frame still in his hand. "They've got to store the spares somewhere. Any idea where that might be?" He was already forming a list of items he wanted recovered- might as well add onto it things he might want for experimentation purposes. He'd hopefully find out more once the door opened and he had his chance to escape this wretched place- if the door opened, that was.

...that was actually a fascinating idea. To think of the things that could be made from those useless devices... He still was not using the Gambler's, however. Perhaps a fun endeavor, but it was Luxord's radio, so shove off.

Before X could open his mouth to answer that question (or pointedly say something that was completely useless, either way), the intercom crackled to life once again and the voice went on some more about Next-Waves and experiments. Hadn't they an actual replacement, by now? Like a boss of some sort, someone of higher power than Landel? Or even Nurse Lydia, she seemed competent. This IRIS program was malfunctioning in the most obnoxious manner.

"My, my. Is it that time already?" That went by much more quickly than it usual did. Ah well.

He said nothing more, leaving both his kitten and roommate behind to venture off. Time to have some fun.

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