A Multifandom Asylum RPG

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Day 52: Lunch
[x] your tattered wings
purpletaint wrote in damned
[from here]

It was a race. A fight against patience and a Song's call. Still, the sedation's dredges churned through him. Two close at hand had a potent effect--much like the night that they were left in that town, and the morning after. Rubedo had came then. Came for them like something out of place, and wasn't that so ironic afterwards--when Albedo knew what he knew now? How many times would a twin appear to abandon him to harshly? How many times would Rubedo make promises only to break them--tear them to pieces like he did Albedo--in the perfectly precise way of those who knew how to break you down because they knew you so perfectly.

Was that how Rubedo had killed him? Or had Albedo forced him to it? His twin wouldn't say before, and asking now was too much like dead blood rotting in veins--he no longer cared, no longer needed to know how easily it was for his twin to rip him asunder. How joyous Rubedo must have been. If that night was any hint, his twin hated him with a passion to rival man's hatred toward god. And wasn't it the same. This. In ways it was the same. An existence meted out, for what it's worth, and then you were simply trapped in it. Trapped in it and stuck stagnant where you were, bound by that other, unless you forced your hatred forward to strike down the other.

To kill god? It seemed too quaint to entertain.

Be it that he woke as the last shift was ending, Albedo had been escorted to the cafeteria early. He took what was offered without a word, sat in the back without a sound, and sipped at the water put in front of him politely; a hand curled around the cup lightly, fingers loose. Eyes burned into the entrance--for Nigredo or Rubedo, either would suffice. The doubt that his twin would come to him was faulty--to ignore them for a week and then vanish as if they were nothing spoke of only distain, whatever Nigredo chose to believe. The eldest of them hated them both. This was truth. The only truth that Rubedo had shown Albedo, in thought, word, action, and deed, in the two weeks that they had shared here.

So Rubedo was to kill him. Well. Never say Albedo accepted his destiny. Yes, he would die by his twin's hand. But first he would rip Rubedo's throat out, claw out his eyes and press them into his beloved's mouth--see the lies you spew--lift his tenderly beating heart for all to see and then crush it.

This, Rubedo, is what you've done to me.

[...for the twin.]

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At least the conversation with the thus far nameless male had been a civil one. But the library shift came to its end, allowing Scar the pleasure of trying to eat human meals again. Though today's had been familiar from previous lunch times, the former lion couldn't quite say he knew what to make of it; random supposedly edible ingredients thrown together into some sort of supposedly edible container...what sort of mind thought of such things?

A few bites into his lunch after acquiring a seat were enough for Scar to decide that he wasn't hungry enough for this pathetic excuse for food, instead idly taking sips of what was the only good thing on the menu of these humans; milk.

With little to distract him, it was perhaps to be expected that he would begin thinking of things he'd rather forget. His thoughts led him to the question plaguing him all day, one that he was attempting to avoid but failing horribly at it.

Would it happen again? What if it would happen again?

He frowned at the barely touched food in front of him.

[The Scarecrow~]

[Sorry this is late!]

After a shift spent attempting to confer with one of the cats usually roaming about the Sun Room (and still being surprised that none of them seemed to be able to talk- he was going to have to get used to that), the Scarecrow couldn't get to the Cafeteria fast enough- he'd spotted Scar heading from the Library toward the end of the shift, and was bound and determined to make sure he was all right. With one more brief look at the bulletin board and a farewell nod to the cat, he followed his nurse to lunch.

The Scarecrow grabbed one of everything in the usual manner, his mind far too distracted for picking anything based on smell or appearance or what it could possibly taste like. Food collected, he made a beeline for where Scar was sitting all by his lonesome, nearly tripping into the seat across from the former lion.

"Scar! Thank goodness you're all right!" he exclaimed, returning the food that had slid across his tray to his plate. "You are all right, aren't ya?"

The Scarecrow leaned left and right, trying to get a better look at Scar's eyes. They didn't look any different than they had the night before, but he'd seemed all right walking through the Sun Room- surely he was better. If he'd refused to budge from the chair in Dr. Venkman's office, there was no way he'd wander through the Sun Room so casually.

Scar's eyes widened in surprise when something suddenly tumbled into his field of vision. After blinking, he noticed it had been none other than the Scarecrow who had nearly tripped into the seat across him, sending his food flying from the plate ont he tray. Had the former lion been in a better mood, he may have thanked his luck for avoiding any possible incoming food.

Immediately, the other man uttered an exclamation followed by a question. As touching as the obvious concern was, the former lion didn't wish to be reminded of last night. The blatant 'investigation' of his eyes earned the Scarecrow a glare in response. Realizing that he was required to answer, however, he said:

"...it would seem it was temporary," He attempted to keep his voice neutral, but he couldn't keep the bitterness seeping through his voice. Temporary or not, it was obvious that Scar wasn't pleased.

"Boy, is that a relief to hear," the Scarecrow said with a growing smile. "For a while, I was worried it might not come back at all." Or worse, that something would have found them while they waited for it to do so- worse than trying to get a frightened lion to face his fears was having one who couldn't even see said fears if they were only an inch from him. The Scarecrow supposed he could have taken Scar's arm and tried to pull him in one direction, assuming he'd budge. Who knew fetching a diploma could be so-

The diploma! In the mess of the night before, the Scarecrow had completely forgotten about it. He seemed to be thinking okay for now, but who knew how long that would last? He'd have to try again another night. For now, there was a conversation at hand.

"You'll have to be more careful at night, you know," the Scarecrow said, taking his fork and knife in hand and trying to figure out how he was supposed to cut the meal. "If that were to happen to you again while you were alone, you could be stranded in the dark with no guide to safety. I'm lucky I've not lost my sight yet from when they took me for the Sleep Studies, but now I know it is a dangerous possibility."

"I realize that quite well, thank you," Scar snapped, his voice still retaining the prior bitterness. The thought had been going through his head all day, and the mere idea of experiencing something like that again filled him with dread. The anger wasn't necessarily directed to the patient seated in front of him, but that hardly stopped the former lion from snapping; he wasn't in the state of mind to even care.

He leaned back in his chair, glaring at the barely-touched food in front of him as he prodded it with an eating utensil as if it could leap off his plate any moment, before he heard something of interest. Gladly taking the opportunity for a distraction (more or less), Scar asked on a calmer tone:

"You have had sleep studies as well?"

He may not have had a brain, but the Scarecrow could tell by the tone of his response that Scar wasn't feeling much better, despite the fact that his vision had returned. He wasn't too hurt about it- the lion had been through a harsh ordeal, what with having been through the Sleep Studies and finding himself stricken blind without warning and all.

Remembering how horrible his own experience had been, the Scarecrow found himself surprised that Scar would ask about it at all- maybe it was just his own that left him sour. The Scarecrow couldn't blame him; after all, he'd been the same way until Sangamon convinced him to talk about it. Some people had techniques and skills to help defeat the Wizard Landel- as for the Scarecrow, he was among those who could simply offer what they had learned as aid for the cause, and even that was questionable when coming from a man without a good brain.

"That's right," he answered, his fork and knife settling into his hands as he paused. "It was five or six nights ago now- it seems so much longer than that sometimes. They opened up my head, right here." He pointed to the spot on his head, the hair there still shorter than the rest. "Thank goodness my roommate came looking for me- I was in a terrible state, and would have never made it back without him."

"How terribly lucky for you," Scar commented bitterly, the glare worsening. He had hoped changing the subject from him to someone else would've made him feel better, but it just so happened to be the contrary. After all, no one had bothered to come for him, and the former lion had never been able to deal well with those more fortunate than he was. Even if - realistically speaking - no one could have known with that useless lump of a roommate being asleep for the whole time.

And there was only one other person who could've known, but he'd rather die than having von Karma come to his rescue.

His own head still throbbed painfully, though the pain had began to lessen a bit. He released a sigh, once more making an attempt to move the conversation (and his train of thought) away from his own experience.

"So they messed with your head?" he asked, not looking up from his glare to the meal. It was a miracle the food hadn't caught fire by now.

"Cut into it," the Scarecrow said, doing just that to his taco, attempting to saw it in half with his fork and knife. He found he wasn't very successful, the contents spilling all over his plate from the open ends. "Then stitched up the hole like a piece of cloth, but not before putting in a clever little thing. The whole thing was undeniably fascinating..."

He paused, his smile fading. Though it had been days since his Sleep Study, he couldn't help but feel that tingling in his back as he thought about being strapped to the table, unable to move, the stiff frame of his body working against him as he struggled against the restraints; there was the doctor's cold tone, his senses fading, the screen- much like the one on which he'd seen himself in The Wizard of Oz- and the dreaded rattling. The memory of that night was scarred into him.

"... and at the same time, very frightening," the Scarecrow finished quietly. All that had occurred before he learned he could die- he couldn't begin to imagine how different his perspective would have been if he'd had that fact on his human brain.

"...I see," Scar responded a bit uncertainly before growing silent himself. The experience was scarily similar to his own, making his attempt to steer the subject away from said experience quite the failure. He'd much rather forget about the whole thing, pretend it had never existed, that no one had cut open his head and had done something to his brain, that he hadn't-- that he hadn't...

They had messed up everything! His grip on the eating utensil tightened, stabbing a stray piece of food lying on his plate as a pathetic attempt to release some of his anger. They did this to him!

"It is all their fault," he said in a low, angry whisper. The comment was audible enough to be heard by his lunch companion, but it was hardly directed at anyone.

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