A Multifandom Asylum RPG

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Night 47: M41-M50 Hallway
hes_deadjim wrote in damned
McCoy listened to that crackling intercom with some concern. A "Mr. Radio?", "P.A.I.L.?" Coupled along with the smugness and that cackling, he had to say it sounded like this head Doctor had gone off the deep end himself long ago. Somehow it made sense. Only a mad man could conjure up all this.

Well, he was as ready as he was ever going to get. McCoy took one last second to check things over. He was armed with a flashlight, that primitive radio, a bulky winter coat unearthed from that closet and the pillow case stripped off his bed. He tucked the last two both under an arm, feeling more like he was seven again and about to go trick-or-treating than something a lot more serious. It was the pillowcase. It was fit for Halloween, not carrying around medical supplies in them. It was risky, possibly carrying around delicate liquids and tools like that, and something he'd never thought about considering until now. But there weren't too many (or any) alternatives at the moment.

It'll be blood-letting and leeches next, McCoy silently grumbled as he started down the hall. Things could only get worse.

He didn't remember seeing any orders, but Mr. Spock had mentioned his room number earlier. He could report to him, maybe bring up his concerns about the rec field incident in the meantime.

[to here]

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Wishing his roommate well, the Scarecrow decided he'd have some of that dinner after all, and made for the desk. The usual sounds of the evening- people moving up and down the hallways, flashlights clicking on to fight away the darkness- were muffled behind the closed door. They trailed away as the patients moved on, leaving the strawman alone.

After a few awkward bites (this meal wasn't easy to cut into neat pieces), he found himself not terrifically hungry- maybe it was the oddly stifling silence, or maybe the multitude of worrying thoughts that had plagued him throughout the day. A part of him knew Depth Charge and his own first instincts were right- he really ought not wander around with his brain in this condition, sort of half-working and complaining an awful lot. It kept him from putting a lot of thought into his actions- nothing good could surely come from being rash in this place. The last thing he needed was the Mangled Witch or any other something to strike at him from the dark. He didn't need his brain and his body broken.

On the other hand, what Sangamon had said at lunch was also right, and he'd even thought this himself: the patients needed to put their heads together in order to defeat the Wizard Landel. Despite the dangers and human bodies and witches lurking in the corridors, everyone else was out there, gathering information, trying to find ways out and home, and maybe even looking for the Wizard himself.

And what good was the Scarecrow doing for everyone else by hiding in his room? Why, none at all! If he was just going to sit around and waste time, he didn't deserve the brains he did have- he'd be better off tied to a pole and failing to scare birds. If he really put his mind to it, maybe he'd do a better job at getting some answers to those questions he'd been asking since day one.

That thought in mind, he grabbed his flashlight and headed for the door, pausing as he took hold of the doorknob- no feeling. He could worry about that- and that niggling guilt about what Depth Charge might think if he learned he'd left after all- later.

[To here.]

Edited at 2010-02-12 04:49 am (UTC)

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