DAMNED || LANDEL'S INSTITUTE

A Multifandom Asylum RPG


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Day 46: Sun Room
rage; grrr!
human_sponge wrote in damned
Peter woke up suddenly, his body twisting in the bed and then forcing him to catch his breath in pain. Pain, which was coming from his middle because of the thing that had scratched him last night, and after that...

After that, Zach had jumped in front of him like some kind of martyr, like the exact opposite of everything Sylar stood for, to take the next hit for him. It got pretty fuzzy after that, so night must have ended right around then.

The man let out a pained grunt as he straightened himself up in bed. For some reason, he got the feeling that he'd slept in. There was no way for him to really tell without a window in the room, but he just knew. The fact that Sam's bed looked long since vacated was another clue.

Sam, but was he Sam again? Had the brainwashing worn off, as he and Roland had hoped, or was he going to have to go through this nightmare for even longer? He didn't know how long he could handle "Zach" and "Harrison" before he started going batty himself.

Pulling himself out of bed, Peter lifted his shirt and saw that he was tightly bandaged. The scratch most likely wasn't nearly as bad as the bite that "Zach" had received, but it still smarted. He let his shirt fall and then had to deal with a nurse chiding him for sleeping through the morning announcements. Not that Peter really cared at the moment. He was too busy thinking about last night and the fact that in a way, he now owed something to Sylar. Except it hadn't been Sylar. That was something he was sure of now.

Lost in his thoughts, Peter reached the Sun Room right as the rest of the patient populace was trickling in from breakfast. Sighing to himself, he headed over to the bulletin board and then saw a note written in familiar yet unpleasant handwriting. Holding his pen in a vice grip, Peter scribbled out a reply and then stalked over to an armchair and fell into it with a huff.

While Sylar was maddeningly frustrating, there was one good thing about the fact that he was himself again. It meant that Nathan was too.

[For Spock!]

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Scourge woke up, and fought back the urge to scream.

He remembered intensely what it had felt like when Starscream possesed him. He'd felt his body acutely (including the pain, gah), it had just been moving without impulses from his CPU to guide it. He'd still been himself, cowering and beating against the walls of his own mind, but he'd had that accursed jet in there with him laughing and forcing him around like a puppet. It had been near unbearable even without the parts where he'd fired upon Galvatron.

What they'd done to his body and his mind this time had been far, far worse because they'd taken away his personality completely and replaced it with something suicidally impudent and horribly, horribly organic. He'd take a time share on his body with Starscream before he let them scrape his CPU out of his head like congealed oil from the bottom of the barrel.

Scourge spent breakfast (tasteless in his mouth now, nothing but squish and crunch) hunched in the corner, avoiding everyone's eyes and trying to pretend he wasn't there. Lord Recluse had somewhat forgiven him, but Lugnut hadn't and no one else had replied to say he and Joshua hadn't been the same person and anything this body had done was null and void. He wanted to go home now more than ever, especially before someone showed up to beat him to organic mush and stuff him in one of the bathroom stalls until the cleaning drone came for him.

In the Sun Room Scourge again picked the darkest corner he could find and huddled in it. He'd snuck his bottle of claw paint out of his room in the little hip pouch of his pants, and once the nurses left him alone dug it out and began quickly but thoroughly repainting his nails. He'd originally had it taken off to better fit in with the other humans--but he wasn't a human. He was never going to be a human no matter how much this disgusting place tried to beat him down and if he had to half-drown himself in pink paint to prove it than by Unicron himself he was going to be pink.

[Scarecrow]

Feeling optimistic from his conversation with Mele at Breakfast, the Scarecrow waited quietly against the wall of the Sun Room, watching people going in and out and over to the bulletin board. Eventually, he caught sight of someone he'd been hoping to see: Scourge. He looked the same as he had the day before- the Scarecrow could only hope he'd returned to his normal state of mind, as Mele had.

He lingered on the wall a moment longer, watching the other man move to the corner of the room, trying to quell the nervousness. What if he was still bewitched? Mele seemed to have come out of it on her own, but could he really convince Scourge he was being tricked? It'd be doubly hard without his brains, but he'd have to try it somehow, if he was still under the impression his name was Joshua and everything he'd told the former strawman before was a lie.

Another moment, and he moved to that corner of the room, walking carefully and deliberately. He stood a few steps behind Scourge, not wanting to be rude by looking over his shoulder. "What are you doing over there?"

The brush froze in Scourge's hand--it took him a moment to recognize the safe, harmless sound of the Scarecrow's voice. Good, the one person he'd mouthed off to who wouldn't want his fuel--er, blood over it.

"Repainting," he announced, finishing up the edge of his fourth right finger. "Getting myself all Decepticonned up again, just in case I wind up forgetting again." That hadn't been it at all, he just wanted Scarecrow to know he wasn't Joshua anymore. He jerked his head slightly, indicating the Scarecrow should come and sit down next to him as protective cameoflage.

"So you're feeling better since yesterday?" the Scarecrow asked excitedly, taking a seat next to Scourge. Oh joy! Not only had Mele gotten her memories back, but Scourge as well!

"That's great!" he said with a pump of his fist. Yesterday had been pretty sour, but this day was getting better and better. "Oh boy, I was worried about you the other day, but it's fantastic to see you back to yourself."

"...worried?" Scourge sounded pleased, and even managed the slightest of grins at the Scarecrow. Huh. People getting worried about him, that was new (bar Piper...where was Piper, anyway, Scourge couldn't remember seeing him at all since two nights back.)

He redipped the brush, tapped it lightly against the rim of the bottle, and began working on his middle finger.

"Yes, worried!" the strawman replied. "I consider it pretty strange for someone to completely forget who they used to be just a few days before. One day, you're telling me folks made of straw and burlap can't possibly function because they aren't like you robot types, and then a few days later, you're telling me you never were a robot at all! Doesn't that seem strange to you?"

He leaned forward, trying to get a better view of Scourge's handiwork. It looked like he was painting the ends of his fingers- maybe it was some sort of a robot custom, though he'd never seen the Tin Man do anything like it.

In lieu of a beard to stroke (his hands were either busy or painted), Scourge nibbled thoughtfully on the side of his lip. His eyes flicked up to the Scarecrow as the semi-human bent over him, then looked back at what he was doing. Painting human nails was so much harder, you had to get the paint in the crevice just right or it smeared and looked horrible.

"Is that worried about me or worried for me? There's a difference. Me, I'm pretty worried about most people." Scarecrow didn't strike him as the sort of guy to use his fear wisely.

"I wasn't aware there was much of a difference," the Scarecrow answered honestly. "Let's just say that with you being a friendly acquaintance, I was concerned as to why you'd change your mind about yourself so radically."

He leaned back, deciding some questions about Scourge's current activity were better left unasked. "It turns out you weren't the only one like that, though," he continued. "Another friend of mine was under the same bewitchment."

"Bewitchment? It was reprogramming, is what it was, and I'll claw my own brain out through my ears if they try to do it to me again."

Scourge's brush wavered slightly staining those curious bits of flesh around the edges of his nails. He didn't glare at the Scarecrow for the comment, but he did give his nails a hard look for daring to have considered conformity with the natives.

"Oh, don't do that!" the Scarecrow said, head shaking. "You wouldn't want to be left without a brain! It's a terrible state, trust me. You just can't do anything right without it."

That was just one more reminder that he needed to get his brain back so he could really be of some use. He'd been lucky this far, but who could tell when another of his friends would be bewitched or reprogrammed or whichever term was correct?

"I'd rather lose it than let them turn me into a slagging human," Scourge growled, forcibly dunking the brush back into the tiny bottle again. Maybe later he wouldn't mean it, but right now he had the logistics all worked out.

The Scarecrow frowned. Losing his brain was a serious loss, but he considered losing his new-found humanity to be just as great. It was something he felt guilty about enjoying- he should have been wanting to go home much, much more than he had been, especially given the darker horrors of this place. Still, this sudden gift of a human body was one he wasn't sure he was ready to part with just yet, and that was a thought that made him uncomfortable.

"Is there nothing about being human you enjoy?" he asked quietly, genuinely curious.

"No. They're dirty, disgusting, squishy, horrible little things with no redeeming qualities and I want to get back into my metal as soon as I can so I can go blow up the entire planet." Scourge hunched his shoulders off, focusing almost obsessively on his nail painting so as to avoid any untoward thoughts.

There had been things he liked, true. The food, the sex, the interesting sensations were nice. Now he saw them for what they were, nothing more than tricks designed to seduce him into accepting his face rather than fighting wing and fist until he escaped.

Crossing his arms, the Scarecrow let out a small sigh. He got homesick thinking of humanfolk, especially ones like Dorothy and the people of the Emerald City. Being human had its advantages, but humans in general weren't nearly as bad as Scourge made them out to be. They could be kind, compassionate, clever, and inventive. The fact that they had brains and hearts and courage naturally was definitely in their favor.

Then again, being one of the robotfolk, maybe he was like the Tin Man and originally had no heart. It was probably tough for one like him to grow to care for humans. He gave a small nod, feeling some pity for Scourge. Feelings were surely a lot more complicated for him, just as thinking was for the former strawman.

"You've never had any human friends, then?" he asked, fairly certain of the answer.

Scourge opened his mouth to give the answer as no, then paused. His replacement wingmate counted, in some fashion, but he'd consider that more an overcoming of natural human faults than some endorsement of the race as a whole. "Just one. And he'd still be my friend when I go back to being myself," he grumbled, dunking his brush again. "It's not like I hate the whole fragging species, it's that I hate being one and I hate being forced to think that I am one, and I really really hate it when they try to make me like it."

The tracjer gave an annoyed huff. It was probably useless explaining it to someone who thought he could function perfectly well without a brain, and for the amount that the Scarecrow couldn't comprehend the way the world worked Scourge was starting to wonder if he wasn't so wrong.

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