Barnaby Brooks Jr. [Bunny] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
baniichan) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
damned_institute2012-02-28 09:56 pm
baniichan) wrote in damned_institute2012-02-28 09:56 pm
Day 62: Breakfast
A misplaced sense of familiarity met Barnaby the moment he opened his eyes, and the sight of the blank, white ceiling from yesterday morning greeted him. After rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, Barnaby sat up and felt around for his glasses. Had he blacked out again and wasted an entire night? Where was Kotetsu? And what had become of the man who had seemingly vanished before his very eyes at the end of dinner?
Once Barnaby slipped his frames onto his face, the world came into clearer focus, even if he didn’t get any answers out of it. He was in his room, and someone had apparently stripped him out of his street clothes in favor of the hideous hospital pajamas. Barnaby wasn't sure what he found more offensive -- that someone here had once again touched his things without his permission, or that he’d been undressed while unconscious for the second time since his arrival.
The thought made his skin crawl.
Just as he looked over to find a lump in the bed next to him, though, his assigned nurse came to retrieve him. He would have to confirm Klavier Gavin's whereabouts later. For now, he had no choice but to allow the nurse to escort him into the cafeteria. Strangely, she seemed to be under the impression that he and the other patients had slept soundly the whole night. While he might have assumed it was an act, Barnaby got the feeling that she genuinely believed what she was saying.
Regardless of her intentions, he knew she wasn't going to be any help. Instead of trying to ask her anymore questions, Barnaby left a note on the bulletin board concerning his roommate. If his observations from yesterday were any indication, he'd get some responses, at least. While he could have taken the time to leave something for Kotetsu, Barnaby didn't feel inclined to do so, especially when he knew he probably wouldn't check the board anyway.
He had no appetite this morning, but his nurse wouldn't leave him alone until she'd assembled a tray of fresh, fluffy pancakes for him. Honestly, Barnaby didn't see why some people felt the need to butt into his personal choices like this. At least there wasn't anyone forcing him to eat -- for now, at any rate. He sat down at an empty table close to the wall after setting his food down, privately hoping that she wouldn't try to find a "friend" for him to eat with this morning. He was tucked out of the way, so maybe she would forget about him for a few minutes as long as he didn't draw any unnecessary attention to himself.
Hands neatly clasped on the table, Barnaby didn't look at anyone in particular as patients filtered into the cafeteria for their morning meal. There were too many questions buzzing in his mind for him to focus on the names and faces of people he didn't care about. If Kotetsu wanted to find him, he could. It wasn't like Barnaby was going anywhere.
[For Kotetsu.]
Once Barnaby slipped his frames onto his face, the world came into clearer focus, even if he didn’t get any answers out of it. He was in his room, and someone had apparently stripped him out of his street clothes in favor of the hideous hospital pajamas. Barnaby wasn't sure what he found more offensive -- that someone here had once again touched his things without his permission, or that he’d been undressed while unconscious for the second time since his arrival.
The thought made his skin crawl.
Just as he looked over to find a lump in the bed next to him, though, his assigned nurse came to retrieve him. He would have to confirm Klavier Gavin's whereabouts later. For now, he had no choice but to allow the nurse to escort him into the cafeteria. Strangely, she seemed to be under the impression that he and the other patients had slept soundly the whole night. While he might have assumed it was an act, Barnaby got the feeling that she genuinely believed what she was saying.
Regardless of her intentions, he knew she wasn't going to be any help. Instead of trying to ask her anymore questions, Barnaby left a note on the bulletin board concerning his roommate. If his observations from yesterday were any indication, he'd get some responses, at least. While he could have taken the time to leave something for Kotetsu, Barnaby didn't feel inclined to do so, especially when he knew he probably wouldn't check the board anyway.
He had no appetite this morning, but his nurse wouldn't leave him alone until she'd assembled a tray of fresh, fluffy pancakes for him. Honestly, Barnaby didn't see why some people felt the need to butt into his personal choices like this. At least there wasn't anyone forcing him to eat -- for now, at any rate. He sat down at an empty table close to the wall after setting his food down, privately hoping that she wouldn't try to find a "friend" for him to eat with this morning. He was tucked out of the way, so maybe she would forget about him for a few minutes as long as he didn't draw any unnecessary attention to himself.
Hands neatly clasped on the table, Barnaby didn't look at anyone in particular as patients filtered into the cafeteria for their morning meal. There were too many questions buzzing in his mind for him to focus on the names and faces of people he didn't care about. If Kotetsu wanted to find him, he could. It wasn't like Barnaby was going anywhere.
[For Kotetsu.]
no subject
Again. Just when things were looking up for him, some random shit had to happen again to pull his mood down. This repetitive cycle of feeling a little up, like he was actually accomplishing something, and then having his spirits trampled upon again. And again. How long was this madness going to go on? And how many more cryptic messages was he going to be forced to listen to every night and day by the head asshole here? Just the sound of that man's voice was enough to induce headaches...and speaking of headaches, the one from last night was still around, with no sign of going away anytime soon, and...
Sigh. Right now, Byrne didn't feel like eating anything or even dragging himself out of bed. He considered pretending to be sick and trying to get away with sleeping in a shift or two - hey, Landel did say there was a bug going around - but in the end, he decided it would be better to get something in his stomach. Even if he wasn't hungry, it wouldn't do him any good to starve himself until lunchtime.
On the way to the cafeteria, though, he stopped at the bulletin board to leave an important note. That hallucination - what had caused it? The prosecutor still refused to believe it was only a 'black magic', or a trick of the Institute. There had to be some other, more physical explanation. Drugs or his own mind dying away, or something. Had anyone else experienced such a thing here? He hoped the note would help him find that out.
For now, breakfast. ...If the small plate of fruit Byrne got for himself could be considered a meal, anyway. He chose a seat by himself and sat there staring at the fruit, lost in thought. This...didn't feel like it'd be a very good day.
[Free!]
no subject
And then he realised what had happened to him.
Depth Charge's first instinct was that he was going to throw up- that he'd never had a mouth or a stomach to throw up in his original body (the same body I spent all of last night--) didn't get in the way of recognising that. Maybe it was all in his head, though, because by the time he'd made a break for the bathrooms all he could do was lean heavily into the sink, breathing shallowly and staring down at the cold, hard porcelain under his hands.
At first it seemed as though his memories were fragmented into blips and images and sensations, but the more time he spent avoiding his own reflection, the more Depth Charge knew that he couldn't pretend he didn't know what he'd done. What he'd let himself do. The Scarecrow's face seemed to burn into his mind, blotted with fear and uncertainty, and suddenly he wondered if that was why he'd run from their room. Stupid, cowardly thing to do.
The only physical trace of what had happened was the taste in his mouth: faintly metallic but without the coppery tang of blood.
Probably there was something about self-pity that attracted other lost sparks on the verge of a meltdown, because when he finally managed to drag himself into the cafeteria he ended up in a seat opposite a guy who looked more or less as worse for wear as he did. Saying nothing, Depth Charge picked up his glass of juice and started to chug, willing it to wash the taste away. Then he wiped the back of his mouth and croaked, "You gonna drink that?"
no subject
Company who (ignoring the uh, blue hair) looked worse than he did, honestly. Wow, way worse. This guy looked like he was either sick or that he'd had a rough night - and if it was the latter, Byrne could empathize completely.
So what did the man just ask about, again? He wanted to know if Byrne was going to drink his glass of water? (Water - a perfect thing to go with a tiny plate of fruit. Just as empty and boring. But anyway.) On any other day, the prosecutor would have refused to give up his drink, as it was his and he was kind of thirsty right now. But this guy looked and sounded like he needed the water way more than Byrne himself did, so...
"Go ahead," he said, gesturing to his glass.
no subject
His breathing had felt unsteady before, but now he could feel himself settling back into something more regular and even. After a moment his grip loosened on the glass and he forced himself to look up at the man.
"Thanks," he managed, a little gruffly, avoiding making eye contact. He wasn't used to being grateful anyway, but now it felt as though he had his face on a wanted poster around the place; even if he didn't recognise the man at all, Depth Charge still couldn't shake the feeling that people knew what had happened last night. Even if they didn't, he probably looked rough enough to give it away anyway. "Got a name?"
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If anything, he looked more like he'd done something he was quite ashamed of. Byrne knew that look from years of interrogating criminals, and it never meant well. Something terrible must have happened to the man...and knowing this place, that could be almost anything, unfortunately. Would he want to talk about it? Perhaps a sympathetic ear could help him.
And a friendlier person to talk to, as well. It wouldn't help matters if he was acting just as gloomy as this guy. Time to pretend he was feeling better than he actually was. (It sometimes helped, didn't it?) Byrne tried his best to smile, even if that smile ended up coming out less than his best. "Byrne Faraday. You?"
no subject
"Depth Charge," he said, in a way that suggested it was less an answer and more an admission. Still, if the smile the man had given him was as genuine as it looked- who would fake a smile that half-sparked anyway?- he wasn't about to start churning out any awkward, ill-advised comments or questions. Something about a slagged-up day (or night, in this case) seemed to turn up a guy's sensitivity radar.
He knew that from personal experience, at least, because sitting across from Byrne now he could guess that the guy was probably taking pity on him anyway. In any other circumstances it might have riled him up, but- well, scrap, it wasn't as though he didn't already feel sorry enough for himself. "So what's your story?" he asked bluntly. If he asked first, he wouldn't have to give his own account. "You look like slag."
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The prosecutor continued to smile, however, although he decided not to be entirely forthcoming with his answer to the man's question. There was no reason to spill all his troubles out to a stranger....even if he had no problem with Depth Charge doing just that to him. "Oh, it was just a rough night last night," Byrne answered simply, setting his elbows down on the table and then leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands. "Y'know. The usual 'fun' that tends to happen around here, messing with your head and all."
He paused a moment in thought, keeping eye contact with Depth Charge. "What about you? You don't look very good, yourself."
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Truth was, the part about it messing with your head? Yeah, that had hit a little too close to home for his liking. Better to be sarcastic than honest.
Depth Charge still managed to keep up the smile at Byrne's question, even if his mouth twitched for just a moment as he struggled to come up with a reasonable way of brushing off what had happened. "Same thing, or there abouts." Only he'd messed with someone else for it. He swallowed uneasily, forcing down his revulsion. "Can't leave you alone for five nanokliks here, huh?"
no subject
Hmm. Depth Charge didn't seem so willing to discuss whatever happened to him last night, either. With both of them being sarcastic and vague, the conversation wasn't about to go anywhere, was it? Ah, well. Perhaps instead of gently encouraging Depth Charge to talk openly, Byrne should change the subject instead? Then neither one of them would have to think about recent events. Yeah, that would work. But what to change the subject to?
Maybe to something that was becoming pretty obvious. "Nanokliks," he mused, slightly raising an eyebrow with curious interest. All of these weird terms he'd never heard of, Depth Charge's name, the uh...blue hair - it was all pretty convincing evidence. This was one thing Byrne wanted cleared up, just to know if nothing else. "I can't help wondering--and I apologize if this isn't true or if you're offended by this question, but--were you not human before you came here?"
no subject
So when you got a guy who looked like he'd been kicked around the place a few dozen times the night before? It was pretty safe to assume that they were either a particularly sensitive newbie or fresh back from the Pit- and Byrne definitely hadn't only just woken up.
But that was Byrne's business, not his. He wasn't about to hold hands and put together a hug circle or something over it.
Instead, he gave a flat, unhappy smile. At least Byrne had the guts to ask it straight up. "Uploaded and upgraded on Planet Cybertron. Guess I'm what you types'd just call a 'robot', to keep things nice and simple. Take it that means you're an Earthling?"
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...Or maybe it was better to not think too hard about this and the whole 'non human' thing in general. Just accept it as it is and nod your head, Faraday. That headache doesn't need to get worse than it already is.
"Yep, just a regular sack of meat n' bones." Byrne's smile was becoming a little more natural rather than forced now - this change of subject was a good idea after all. It was starting to lift his mood, if only by a slight amount, and if only because it prevented him from thinking about last night. "I'm still trying to get used to the fact that there are other worlds and non-humans around here, so bear with me," he said with a small chuckle.
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Slag. How long had it been, anyway? Weeks? Felt more like cycles in this place. Even the Decepticon's face seemed to be fading a little around the edges in his memory circuits: the impression of a squared, blocky, serious face, as big and unwieldy as the 'con himself.
Getting sentimental there, DC... and about a Decepticon, too, he scolded himself silently. Watch yourself. Better sentimental than reminding himself that he'd spent all of last night getting reacquainted with old metal, though, and he managed a shrug. "All the dregs of the universe in one tidy pile. Makes for more interesting conversation, at least." He gave a short laugh. "Who'd have guessed that magic existed, huh?"
no subject
"Not me, that's for sure," he replied, shaking his head. "But how else can you explain half the things that go on around here? Unless everyone's just on drugs or something, which is highly doubtful at this point." Wouldn't that be nice, to still be able to blame everything on drugs. Hah!
It was too easy to simply blame every single thing that happened here on the uncontrollable or the unexplained. The information Renamon had given Byrne yesterday, Renamon's powers, the monsters - all proof that there was something else at play, reasons for the things that happened around here. Drugs didn't create giant scorpions that could actually harm you. (Although, what happened last night specifically might be thanks to drugs...but Byrne wanted to quit thinking about that nightmare for now.)