Night 55: M71-M80 Hallway
Awkwaaaaaaaard.
After about five minutes of radio silence from the intercom, Peter was expecting to hear some heavy mouth breathing or other inappropriate stalker sound effects. Instead they heard nothing. And they continued to hear nothing until twilight hit.
All he could imagine now was whoever this Aguilar guy was just. Sitting there. Staring at the microphone, eyes steadily bulging over the span of fifteen minutes until he attained Muppet status. Fortunately, the beginning of the night was marked with at least some hint of humanity behind the speakers.
'Your actions will determine ours...' In what sense? he wondered. Peter raised a brow up at his speaker. He could hope to god that if the patients spent the night garnishing the trees and decking the halls that the soldiers would give them a Christmas miracle, but that would be a sad waste of hope. Happy wasn't allowed here. They sniffed it out with happy detectors at every entrance and confiscated it before letting you in.
...Though on second thought...if Indiana Jones was real here, did that mean that Santa Claus was too?
Holy.
Shit.
Okay okay, so that was totally ridiculous and he could not focus on that right now. But as Peter excused himself from dinner and gathered his costume into his trusty pillow case, he couldn't help feeling a little giddy. Because...well...it was stupid, but it so could happen here. He'd met the Scarecrow of Oz, for frick's sake. Santa was only like, two steps away from that level of utter silly. Right? Oh god, it was so stupid, but a man could dream, goddammit. There had to be a universe with a freaking Santa Claus; that jolly old blubber ball made a guest appearance in at least half of everything that aired on public television. And other things. He'd shown up in Narnia, right? Was there a Narnia universe somewhere?
Peter slid out of the closet, pillow case full of spandex and suddenly reminded of just how low on his list of concerns the existence of Santa Claus was. Standing in the darkness with a feeble flashlight could do that to you.
"Well. I guess that's as cheery a goodnight we're going to get from this Aguilar guy." Peter shook his head at his roommate, trying to quell the niggling feeling in the back of his head. He already knew that this was 'bad news'. Everything was bad news here. After a while you just had to learn that panicking about it every single second of every day would get you nowhere. Keep on Trucking was the survival motto of Landel's.
He smiled at his roommate's shadowed form and shrugged, then fished his magic ring from his desk. Tonight, he was going to figure out how that doomahickey worked. It was about damn time. Thank you, random bulletin post, for showing him the light.
"Have a good sleep, okay?" Peter gave a wave, swinging the door open and slinging the pillow case over his shoulder. "Lock the door behind me."
There was a click of the latch, and Peter was gone.
[To here.]
After about five minutes of radio silence from the intercom, Peter was expecting to hear some heavy mouth breathing or other inappropriate stalker sound effects. Instead they heard nothing. And they continued to hear nothing until twilight hit.
All he could imagine now was whoever this Aguilar guy was just. Sitting there. Staring at the microphone, eyes steadily bulging over the span of fifteen minutes until he attained Muppet status. Fortunately, the beginning of the night was marked with at least some hint of humanity behind the speakers.
'Your actions will determine ours...' In what sense? he wondered. Peter raised a brow up at his speaker. He could hope to god that if the patients spent the night garnishing the trees and decking the halls that the soldiers would give them a Christmas miracle, but that would be a sad waste of hope. Happy wasn't allowed here. They sniffed it out with happy detectors at every entrance and confiscated it before letting you in.
...Though on second thought...if Indiana Jones was real here, did that mean that Santa Claus was too?
Holy.
Shit.
Okay okay, so that was totally ridiculous and he could not focus on that right now. But as Peter excused himself from dinner and gathered his costume into his trusty pillow case, he couldn't help feeling a little giddy. Because...well...it was stupid, but it so could happen here. He'd met the Scarecrow of Oz, for frick's sake. Santa was only like, two steps away from that level of utter silly. Right? Oh god, it was so stupid, but a man could dream, goddammit. There had to be a universe with a freaking Santa Claus; that jolly old blubber ball made a guest appearance in at least half of everything that aired on public television. And other things. He'd shown up in Narnia, right? Was there a Narnia universe somewhere?
Peter slid out of the closet, pillow case full of spandex and suddenly reminded of just how low on his list of concerns the existence of Santa Claus was. Standing in the darkness with a feeble flashlight could do that to you.
"Well. I guess that's as cheery a goodnight we're going to get from this Aguilar guy." Peter shook his head at his roommate, trying to quell the niggling feeling in the back of his head. He already knew that this was 'bad news'. Everything was bad news here. After a while you just had to learn that panicking about it every single second of every day would get you nowhere. Keep on Trucking was the survival motto of Landel's.
He smiled at his roommate's shadowed form and shrugged, then fished his magic ring from his desk. Tonight, he was going to figure out how that doomahickey worked. It was about damn time. Thank you, random bulletin post, for showing him the light.
"Have a good sleep, okay?" Peter gave a wave, swinging the door open and slinging the pillow case over his shoulder. "Lock the door behind me."
There was a click of the latch, and Peter was gone.
[To here.]