DAMNED || LANDEL'S INSTITUTE

A Multifandom Asylum RPG


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Night 43: Hall M91-M100
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oldestremnant wrote in damned
Loz immediatly sat up in bed when the intercom went off. Most of what the voice said confused him, but when the door clicked unlocked, he immediatly forgot about it and started grinning.

Night had finally come. It was time to go out and have some fun.

Not even sparing a glance at Tem, Loz grabbed his light-rod and practically leapt out the door. Everything was dark, with not even a window to let in moonlight. That was a little creepy, but Loz wasn't scared. He just turned his light on and scanned around the hallway with it. No one else was out here yet. Loz wasn't really sure where he should go, since he wasn't exactly sure where the big room was. Shrugging, Loz decided on a direction and just went that way.

As he walked, he could have sworn he kept seeing something, but when he turned his head to look, nothing was there.

[to here]

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[from here]

Asch shifted the pipe's weight on his shoulder. He used the handle of the shears to knock on the door. The exchange probably wouldn't take too long, and then he'd go off to see Admiral ZEX. He wasn't sure what other plans he had beyond that; not many, without a sword. He'd get the Admiral's input and they'd go from there. For now, that was all he could do.

Alfred looked up from taking inventory of his belongings - mostly to ensure that he still had his medical supplies - when there was a knock on the door of his room. That must be the boy from this morning, although there was the possibility, he supposed, that it might be Richard.

He left his things on the bed and moved to open the door, standing just to the side of it. "Good evening, young sir," he greeted Asch. "If you wouldn't mind stepping in or a moment it shouldn't take very long." Alfred remained by the door, hand on its knob, ready to close it behind his visitor.

"Evening," Asch said, following Alfred into the room. If Alfred had a roommate, he wasn't here. Good. That was one less awkward thing that Asch had to deal with. Hopefully the Admiral's roommate would be gone by the time he got there, as well.

"These shears seemed rusty when I picked them up last night, but I could have been wrong," he said, offering the shears to Alfred. They looked fine to him now. No rust, no zombie goo.

"Odd occurrences do seem to be rather normal around here." Alfred closed the door and took the shears, examining them briefly before setting them on his desk. He moved to retrieve the meat cleaver that he'd promised to Asch. It was still under his pillow, untouched. He pulled it out and, holding it by its sheath, handed it to Asch, handle first. It looked better now than it had last night as well. Perhaps it was simply the improved lighting, but that was somewhat doubtful.

"If you don't have any use for the cardboard and plastic, would you mind leaving them with me? I'm certain that I'll be able to make use of them for something."

Asch took the cleaver from Alfred and pulled it out of the wrappings. Cardboard, plastic. Those were words he didn't know, but he ignored that; the man had to be referring to the wrappings. It hadn't occurred to Asch that he had no idea what some of the materials here were called until now. Hopefully, it didn't show on his face.

"You can keep them," he said, a bit absently. The cleaver was sharp, and he was glad to have it. He'd just have to be careful how he carried it; it wasn't like a sword with a sheath.

"Thank you, young sir." Alfred picked up the materials, setting them on his desk. He would put them someplace else once Asch left, but he wasn't in such a hurry that he needed to clean up his things right now.

He wasn't sure when Richard would come along, but there was the possibility that his room wasn't located in the immediate vicinity.

"Thank you for the shears as well. And as for the cleaver... make sure that you use it well." It wasn't an outright dismissal, but there wasn't much else that needed to be said.

Asch nodded. "I was a soldier once," he said, sort of as an explanation. "I'll be fine with it until I can get a sword."

He turned to go, then added, "...Thanks," over his shoulder. He didn't wait for a reply; instead, he adjusted the pipe and walked back the way he'd come, on his way to ZEX's room.

[to here]

Edited at 2009-09-01 07:58 am (UTC)

I was a soldier once.

Alfred looked after the young man as he turned and left the room. He wondered, for a moment, where he'd come from and what his life had been before he'd found himself here. There seemed to be plenty of speculation about people coming from entirely different times and worlds - and other instances of those who weren't even human. Perhaps there was something behind these rumors after all. There wasn't a great deal of places in the world that Alfred knew where a young man with long red hair would be a sword wielding soldier.

He turned his attention back to the medical supplies, storing the extra in his closet, while the ones that he was more likely to need went into his extra pillow case.

[from here]

Was this it...? As his raised his hand to knock on the door, Bart had time to wonder just where Robin had sent him. He'd said he knew somebody here...But who had he even had time to meet in this place?

Oh god. He hadn't sent Bart to Batman, had he? No, it couldn't be...Even the new, older and angstier Robin couldn't be that mean.

Still, Bart was ready to bolt as he finally knocked on the door. One sign of the Bat and he was so out of here, because he just could not deal with another lecture right now.

Alfred raised his head as there was another knock on his door shortly after Asch's departure. He glanced through his supplies once more before moving towards the door. His new visitor was probably Master Richard, but he opened the door with some caution. He did have a roommate, after all.

An eyebrow shot up as soon as Alfred saw who was on the other side of the door. It appeared to be one of Master Timothy's young friends, although Alfred was fairly certain that... No matter. Stranger things seemed to be happening, after all, with Batman's presence at the institute.

He opened the door a little more, inviting Bart into the room an taking in his apparent injuries in the dim lighting. "Why don't you step in for a moment, young sir? I presume you were sent to see me?"

Okay, not Batman. That was good, because it meant Bart wouldn't have to deal with being glared at and lectured. But it was also bad, because now Bart had no idea who he was dealing with.

"Er, maybe?" he asked hesitantly, scratching the bandages on one arm. "I was supposed to meet Robin later tonight...he sent me here to wait for him." Without giving him any information beyond the room number and the fact that apparently Robin knew one of the people who stayed here. How was Bart even supposed to know he was talking to the right guy?

"I see." Alfred paused for a moment before motioning Bart into the room, "Perhaps it would be best to discuss this inside, young sir? It would seem that there are people here that are not entirely trustworthy and I'm sure that Master Timothy will be along shortly."

Bart looked younger than Alfred remembered last seeing him as, but he was certain that Timothy had revealed his identity to him. Alfred himself had never had much interaction with Robin's teammates, but he'd met Bart once before, although the younger boy seemed to have forgotten - or perhaps he was more focused on other things.

"Okay..." Well, whoever this guy was, he knew Robin's real name; so Bart supposed that must mean he was in on the whole secret identity thing. He stepped inside the room, looking around for a moment before turning back to the old man. Seriously, he looked older than Max. Who was this guy?

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, Bart was just about to explain the time travel thing and ask for an introduction -- when it suddenly clicked. "Wait, I know you!" he gasped, eyes widening. "You were with Tim at the ski resort!" And since he now knew Tim was also Robin, that meant -- he still didn't really know who this guy was. Did Batman have assistants?

Alfred closed the door behind Bart. There was no sense in keeping it open, really.

"So it would seem, young sir. Alfred Pennyworth, at your service. If I recall correctly, you're one of Master Timothy's friends. Is there anything that I can do for you?" He paused for a moment, considering the food supply that he'd started working on. If there were any more speedsters around the idea of stockpiling food would be laughable. "Perhaps you'd like something to eat? I believe I have an apple around here somewhere."

For first time in what seemed like forever -- and had probably been far too long in any case -- Bart grinned. Partially it was because of the reminder that he was one of Tim's friends. Not that he'd ever doubted it, but with everything that was going on and how different Tim was acting, it was nice to be reminded. And partially -- okay, mostly -- it was because of the offer of food.

"That'd be great," he said. Even if he wasn't in any danger of passing out tonight -- which he'd made sure of, during the day -- it couldn't hurt to eat a little more. "And my name's Bart, by the way," he added, to be polite. Most likely Alfred already knew everything about him; he was probably the world's third greatest detective or something, if he worked with Batman and Tim.

Once Timothy had joined Bart, Alfred left his room, heading out into the hallway. Richard hadn't made an appearance yet, which was rather worrisome, but Alfred would simply have to trust that the younger man was all right. He was, after all, very capable of looking after himself.

However, more of the night had passed than Alfred would have liked, and he'd promised glitter to Honey, so it was best that he get going. At the very least he should make sure that he got the glitter for his breakfast partner.

Tim was later getting to Alfred's room than he'd meant to be, but hopefully Bart was waiting for him already. He knocked on the door with the closet rod and wished he had a more compact thing to carry around. Not being able to collapse the rod made it kind of a pain in the butt to get around. He liked having two free hands, but now he had none. One had the flashlight in it. The other...had the damn rod in it. This was obnoxious.

He felt unnerved by the time he got to Alfred's room. He thought he'd seen Kon for a minute, but he was older, wearing the black shirt with the red S. When he'd looked, though, there hadn't been anyone there. No Kon, no nobody.

Later, he thought he saw...no. That was impossible. He wasn't thinking about this. He was not thinking about this.

This place was just getting to him, giving him the creeps or something. That was all.

He shifted his weight restlessly, waiting for the door to open.

Sitting alone in that room after Alfred left, listening to the intercom get weirder and weirder, had given Bart a whole new appreciation for the difference between video games and reality. After all, it was one thing if weird things happened in video games; you could always turn the console off when you were done. But even if he was just stuck in VR again, he had no way to turn it off, and no idea what was happening.

And he'd already known that not knowing what was going on could be pretty scary.

So it shouldn't have come as a surprise that, no sooner had he heard the knock on the door, then he was off the bed and answering it at what passed for superspeed in this place. Anything was better than sitting there and listening to the intercom, even fighting an actual monster. But it wasn't a monster; it was Tim, and before he'd had the chance to speak or most likely even process Bart's presence, Bart was hugging him in sheer relief.

Tim tensed up almost immediately. Bart was hugging him. Uh. Okay.

To be fair, he'd pulled this same crap on Kon a few days ago, like a total moron. Bart was freaking out because of whatever had gone on in the sleep study, Tim was sure of it. Of course, he couldn't bring it up that way, but he'd had a sneaking suspicion after everything he learned.

The intercom was behaving strangely, acting weirder as the night went on. It made Tim feel a little tense, but he tried to keep it together. Cassie wasn't here, so that made him the leader...or something. It wasn't a position he wanted at all, but he figured he could live with it for awhile if he needed to. Anyway, Bart was counting on him, so he had to keep it together, despite what he'd seen in the hallway, and despite the fact that he was still not really sure what to do about how Batman was acting.

He patted Bart a little awkwardly with his free hand.

"Okay, let's get inside and close the door before something finds us out here in the hallway, huh?"

"...Okay," Bart mumbled, voice muffled by Tim's shoulder. He held the hug a half-second longer -- which translated into minutes for him -- then let go, moving back far enough to give Tim room to enter before shutting the door behind him.

All of a sudden, he wasn't sure about this idea. He wanted to find out what was going on with his arms; didn't think he could stand to not know much longer. But now that it was time to actually share his concerns and ask for Tim's help, he hesitated.

Better just to get it all over with, before he could change his mind. "I think there's something wrong with my arms," he blurted out, not realizing that he was scratching again. "They're taking way too long to heal, even with my speed reduced. I'm worried they might still have glass stuck in them." That was supposed to impede healing, wasn't it? Bart just hoped he hadn't picked up some nasty infection or something.

It wasn't that long for Tim, but Tim was well aware of how time moved for Bart. This was a big deal, wasn't it? He wished he was better prepared for this. Every contigency, right? Well, yeah, except for one of your dead best friends somehow not being dead, and OH YEAH, being younger again, and scared out his mind, and in an alleged mental institution crawling with zombies and apparitions and bleeding walls and...

Okay, that was more than enough of that. If he continued on that train of thought, he might actually become certifiable!

Concern immediately took over. Tim actually even looked concern, though part of that was that without the mask, emotion in his eyes was more visible. He didn't care about that right now, though, and didn't bother to guard it.

"What the hell, why didn't you say something sooner? It's really not healing?" That didn't make any sense. Could they really slow Bart's metabolism so much that he wouldn't heal? That didn't even seem possible. Back home, they hadn't been able to fix his kneecap properly after he'd been shot, because it was healing too quickly. How would slowing down his healing rate to that of a normal person even be possible? It was one thing to dim down powers like that, but what Bart was talking about...

Wait a second.

"Glass? How would you have gotten glass in your arms?"

And without rapid healing to push it out, that was incredibly dangerous. Had Bart really been running around for two days like this? Didn't the staff even care enough about their so-called patients to not let something like this happen?

It was a good thing they were in Alfred's room. Chances were that the man had some medical equipment in here.

"Let me see," Tim said, almost an order. It was easy to fall into that role, to just be like Batman and try to control the situation. It was second-nature, especially after spending all this time with Batman missing.

He was no Alfred, but he knew enough med stuff that getting glass out wouldn't be a big deal. He just hoped there wasn't any kind of infection under those bandages.

"I've had a lot on my mind," Bart said, a trifle defensively. To be honest, he might not have noticed anything was wrong at all, if it weren't for the itching. He'd never had much use for bandages before, but since he didn't really have anything to do with their upkeep, he probably would have quickly begun to think of them as just another article of clothing, not too different from the buckles on his costume. Which was...actually kind of a scary concept, come to think of it. What if something had gone seriously wrong, and he hadn't had the itching to force him to pay attention?

"I don't know if it's actually glass, though," he said, obediently holding his arms out for Tim to check. "That's just a guess...Falling on all that broken glass was how I cut my arms in the first place, you know." Assuming that had really happened, of course. But if he hadn't really been cut by glass, if it had been the doctor's scalpel, for example, where was the itching coming from?

Tim had a bad feeling about all of this. Batman had more or less confirmed what he thought; Bart had been subjected to one of the so-called sleep studies. But Bart was so sure that something was wrong, that he actually had glass stuck in his arms. If he did, Tim wasn't sure what to do. He'd just have to cross that bridge when they got there.

He started unwrapping the bandages and looked down at Bart's arms. He let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding; there was no visible glass just sticking out, causing issues.

"Bart, I really don't think there's glass in your arms."

[I'll rewrite if you need; I meant to ask what Tim would find under there.]

[a whole bunch of smallish, irregular cuts, about three quarters healed. Let me know if you need anything more]

Bart winced as the bandages were unwrapped, for some reason intensifying the itching sensation. Unlike Tim, he didn't feel any relief over the apparent lack of glass.

"Then why does it itch?" he asked. "It's starting to hurt!" A faint whine entered his voice; he didn't have any experience in dealing with this kind of injury, and it was beginning to show. "Maybe it's stuck under the skin," he added, helplessly.

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