A Multifandom Asylum RPG

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Night 50: Main Hallway, 2-West
Step one!
gald_digger wrote in damned
[from here]

When they stepped into the next hallway, Anise was wearing her usual smile once again. "So, Tem... you said you're a sergeant, right?" she asked, looking to make some (hopefully) less awkward conversation with the man. Work was usually a safe subject, right? Besides, with how soldier-like the man was in his appearance and attitude, she figured he'd be open to talking about his career.

The girl continued, cheerfully. "That's a neat coincidence. We're the same rank!" Well, maybe not exactly the same, but about equal, anyway. Fon Master Guardians were technically sergeants, after all. Anise was proud of how impressive her full rank and title sounded, but saying the whole thing at once would be a little too tiring for casual introductions, so she usually didn't mention it when meeting people at the institute.

Well, that was just one reason for it. The other was simply that it was fun to surprise people by mentioning her position long after first impressions were made.

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[from here]

"I wonder what'd happen if you lost it? Everyone has flashlights, and they give us new shirts if we tear them all up." He hadn't turned all of his spare clothing into makeshift all-cotton rope, but he'd done a lot of it over time. "Then again, you could end up with neither." He shrugged, and looked out at the hallway.

"Looks clear." The last time he'd turned right here, he'd been dying of liver cancer. Cheery thought. No amount of armlinking and skipping down the corridors would make that a less gut-twisting thought. He gritted his teeth a little and went back to his mental set of bullet points to nail to Martin Landel's door.

Edited at 2010-07-15 10:25 pm (UTC)

The Scarecrow hadn't considered what would happen if he lost his light entirely, and he wasn't sure he wanted to pursue such thoughts as they entered the Horrible Hallway. There were far, far worse things to worry about than being left without a flashlight: the somethings that skittered around the floor in the dark, the Mangled Witch, the strange creature lingering above the Sun Room, or maybe something worse he'd not yet met. He could feel his legs shaking beneath him at the mere thought of what could be out there- creatures far worse than lions and tigers and bears, that was for sure.

He peered into the hallway cautiously from the stairwell and saw that Sangamon was right: the hallway did look unoccupied- well, aside from a few passing patients. He took a few small steps, attempting to hold his jittering hands still enough to get a decent look at his map under Sangamon's light.

"W- which way do you think we oughta go now?" he asked in a timid whisper, unsure of both where they'd find a player and if he really wanted traverse the Horrible Hallway to find one in the first place.

The Scarecrow was getting twitchy. Afraid of something? Low blood sugar? S.T. wasn't sure, though the question raised a likely theory. He didn't want to go over by the M-U rooms. Understanding and white-hot rage were not, as some people might think, mutually exclusive. Giving a kid's-show inspirational character PTSD was like the press catching Mr. Rogers in a strip club. It went beyond the pale.

At least it was a distraction from thinking about anything else. "Down this way. We'll hit the training room first."

[to here]

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