A Multifandom Asylum RPG

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Night 46: Main Hallway, 1-West
sneak sneak
quickdrawbkiddo wrote in damned
[from here]

Beatrix had walked this path to the Sun Room so many times, she could do it in complete darkness. Which was exactly what she was doing. Knowing the way, there was little need for light as it would only draw creatures and other unwanted attention. Silently counting her steps, at the right number, the assassin headed left and down the hallway.

[to here]

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[From here.]

Being human had given the Scarecrow lots of memorable experiences, but this one seemed to be clinging tenaciously to every fiber in his body, despite his best efforts to push it from his mind. He would be sure to write off 'extreme pain' as a human sensation he could live without when he had the brainpower to dwell on it.

For now, he kept his teeth clenched uncomfortably and stared at the floor as they walked, distressed that he couldn't think clearly for anything. "I... don't mean to manage things, but are we close?" he asked.

It was, in a faint, vague sort of way, a relief to hear S.T. back him up with this one. The amount of times Depth Charge'd heard the words 'smelting crazy crusade' over the last few stellar cycles was starting to grate. Musing on just how 'crazy' he was could wait for when he wasn't in the middle of a rescue op.

"Javert?" That caught his attention for just long enough that he forgot to turn down the volume. He tried again, dropping his voice. "It's a small Institute after all. Yeah, I know the guy. Will do."

It was strange to think how many of the people he'd met here had been put through the works. Like knowing that the enemy was slowly but surely closing in on him- only when he'd felt that before he'd actually almost enjoyed it. "Close enough. We'll be there in no time." He glanced at the Scarecrow, frowning a little. "Does it hurt?"

If Depth Charge had said that aloud, Sangamon would have been forced to admit that his entire life, post-Mass Anal, was best described as a crazy crusade. At least three articles in the past six months that had led with a variation on the theme, plus two non-ecologically-minded references to windmills. No Jesus comparisons; not even a Gandhi this time around, before he'd faded back into obscurity along with the fresh paint on the Zode.

But first things first. They were in familiar territory. He slouched and tucked his shoulder into the Scarecrow's armpit. That took a substantial amount of weight off his unsteady feet, with the option of more. Except that he didn't know which way to head. "What's your room number?"

Still failing to grasp the words to describe just how he felt, the Scarecrow nodded numbly. "We're in M, um." He paused awkwardly for a second, trying to concentrate and remember his room number- he'd not really paid a great deal of attention to it, as he was the sort who knew where he stayed by walking there time and time again. Aside from that, there was the obvious distraction.

"There's this thundering pounding in my head and this... racket I can't shut out," he said, his irritation bleeding into his voice. "I can't think with it going on!"

"M42," Depth Charge finished succinctly as his roommate's voice trailed into what sounded like silent confusion- what looked like it too, based on the shadows slowly creasing into the Scarecrow's face.

But they were still going strong, even if the man's responses were getting more and more worrying by the nanoklik. His own expression darkened a touch. A thundering pounding, a racket, whatever, he didn't want to try and explain it while they were still exposed, and especially not when understanding anything was obviously hurting so bad. "Then leave the thinking to us."

He'd never been much of a thinker. Thank Primus S.T. was here.

[To here]

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