DAMNED || LANDEL'S INSTITUTE

A Multifandom Asylum RPG


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Night 52: M11-M20 Hallway
he never loses the hat
its_the_mileage wrote in damned
The mines tonight. Indy dressed quickly in his usual clothes and picked up his flashlight, machete and whip. He added his journal and a pen to one jacket pocket, so he could map the area as they went. Thinking of the minotaur from the other night, he was half-tempted to bring a ball of string, but of course he didn't have one. The journal would just have to be enough.

He took a last glance around the room to make sure he hadn't missed anything, then headed for the door. He had a lot of ground to cover before morning. Better get started.

[to here]

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[Continued.]

"I'll say," Edgar agreed, pondering over Landel's words as he resumed his work on modifying the stringed trimmer. Whatever Landel had in the works, it couldn't be good. At least it didn't sound like he had anyone in his clutches on the other side of the intercom... not yet, anyway. The night was still young, but Edgar had a feeling the mad doctor would be too busy toying with his collection of prisoners to be torturing anyone else during the evening.

"Be careful out there, Gren," he said, knowing the man wouldn't do otherwise.

Gren picked up the ring from his desk, sliding it on a finger before double-checking the knots in the sling he'd made out of the sheet and picking up his flashlight.

"Take care," he replied as he walked to the door. He was sure Edgar would manage just fine, especially with a friend along, but a little extra well wishing never hurt anyone.

With Gren gone, the room fell into a thick silence, disturbed only by the occasional sound of metal clinking against metal as Edgar worked on his contraption. He paused briefly, rotating his shoulder. Putting a hand under the neck of his shirt, he ran his fingers along the stitches in his shoulder- the area was still tender, but there was definitely some improvement over the past two days. He hoped the healer could at least help him be rid of the sling- it was more of an annoyance than an aid at times, especially when working.

Edgar moved his tools around his desk, making more room for the trimmer as he attempted to install the blades. A string wouldn't do much against the thick hides of Landel's creatures; however, the blades would be sure to cause some damage to anything that dared attack him.

[Locke]

[From here.]

Well. That was easy.

Except Locke knew the rest of the night wouldn't be so easy. He didn't bother knocking, and instead, slipped through the door like an experienced treasure hunter would at any given time, letting out a soft whistle. "Ever consider a side job as a decorator?" he started. Though, all jokes aside, Locke had one or two things in mind to speak with Edgar. Kind of. Maybe not without a joke and jab, but nevertheless, serious things had to be discussed.

Leaning against the wall of the room, close enough for Edgar to acknowledge his presence but far away from whatever it is he was working on (he'd give him time to refine his weapon, tool, machinery... whatever it was at this point), Locke crossed his arms and rubbed the back of his neck. If this was going to be his entire day regimen for the next couple of days, he wouldn't be getting much sleep, for one, and second, he wouldn't be getting much done.

"Anyway..." Onto something more important, yeah? "You find someone who can heal yet? If you didn't... you're obviously not thinking of all the ladies you'd drive away with a lame arm."

Edgar had just finished scribbling a few notes about the announcement as the door opened, the following whistle announcing the identity of the visitor. "Once I have this finished, I'll be decorating my room with the hides of Landel's beasts," he remarked without turning, switching off his flashlight for now. The tone of Landel's surprise broadcast had been enough to catch Edgar's undivided attention; the fact that Landel had someone in the room with him- Jill was one of the rebels, if his memory served him well- and that she was likely being tortured made the king's blood boil.

Edgar sighed, tightening the last bolt. At least the lights, a welcome change from the dark hallways, were put to good use. Rising from his seat, he took hold of his new toy in one hand. "Hopefully, I won't be lame for much longer. I did get in contact with a healer over the bulletin board." He swung the now-bladed trimmer from side to side, testing the weight. Even with two working arms, it'd need a strap for easier carrying when he wasn't using it.

"I'm supposed to meet her tonight," he continued, carrying his invention to the closet and stuffing it behind his clothes. He grabbed his shovel while there. "Hope you don't mind- we can talk on the way, and some while there. We might have to save some of the more... sensitive topics for when we're alone."

He listened quietly, eyes closed at the sound of the whimpering woman (and he wished he could do something about the things that went on here, wished he was as resourceful and knowledgeable back home), allowing Edgar to finish. "Great," he said, pushing himself off the wall. Pausing momentarily, he watched Edgar's movements as he moved (and he'd never admit it, but even with his injuries there was a fluidity that he could never pin on anyone else other than the King), Locke once again opened the door, taking note of the flickering lights.

"—as long as we keep together, that's fine." Because as Locke was loathe to admit, even with a weapon he wasn't so sure about taking some of the monsters in this place. It wasn't safe, and it went against productivity—funny, how his situation had flipped around so easily. "And... we can save the important parts for tomorrow." If there was one, anyway, but it was his way of saying that they'd somehow make it tonight.

Somehow? No. They probably would make it through the night. He had enough faith in their teamwork, and granted it had been a while since they had gone without magic by their side. A little inconvenient, but before Terra and even Celes, they had managed somehow, right?

"Which room is it?"

Edited at 2010-10-18 01:35 am (UTC)

"F18. Shouldn't be too far," Edgar said as he put the last of his tools into the closet. He tucked his radio into his pocket, the flashlight and his journal going into the sling. At least it was good for something. "Let's hope Landel's threat is empty and that we make it there in one piece. I'd hate for our healer to have even more work on her plate."

With one more look to make sure everything was hidden, he entered the hallway.

[To here.]

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