The dinner announcement came as something utterly unexpected. Rather than Harrington's excited tones, the calm accented voice of the General drifted through the intercom speakers
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Heading back to his room without an idea of what to do with the coming night was enough to grate at Harvey's nerves. It wasn't that he needed other people to direct him; no, that was hardly the problem. He could go out into the halls and do whatever he damn well pleased, but part of him didn't know if there was a point.
At the same time, he couldn't stay in his room. He'd be stuck inside his head, reliving what he'd seen the night before and more than that, Rachel's last few moments
( ... )
'Code 1-8'? What did that mean? Or, more specifically: what did that mean for them? There was no use in trying to decode the message with so little context, and as such it seemed as though he'd have to rely on either tonight's experiences or testimony tomorrow- though his attempts to gather that today had fallen astray of his targets. The uncomfortable truth was, he'd found himself back in his room after breakfast, apparently asleep. He'd woken up in time to check the bulletin board during fourth shift, but it troubled him greatly that no only was he was making so little progress, he was also starting to fall victim to one of the more insidious fates that could befall a patient here. Death by disappearance, a shadow fading by morning
( ... )
As it turned out, Lunge wasn't even giving him a moment to breathe. The moment he entered the room, the first thing that came out of his mouth was about that. Harvey had done such a good job of avoiding discussion of this topic throughout the day. He'd made mentions of it, but he hadn't had to describe it in any detail -- and he realized that he was fine with that
( ... )
A little of Lunge's tension eased as Dent forced himself upright and up against the wall. Lying prone like that, it had almost felt as though he were a therapist interviewing a patient- though looking at him now, he wondered if it wasn't worse, as though the man hadn't the strength to support himself anymore. The look he received as the remainder of the bandages peeled away, the cynical answer, said as much.
Obviously, he was reading into it too much. It didn't take careful observation and analysis to suppose how this conversation was going to go; Dent had known Jones as well as he had, probably better. As cast-iron as Dent seemed, that he'd had the wind knocked out of him by his death shouldn't have been surprising.
Lunge sat down, and forced himself to consider that he'd left his emotions standing behind him. The man at the desk was a consummate professional.
Nonetheless, he started with the easier material. For chronology.
"What happened, once you gathered the shield and sword together?"
For once, the fact that Lunge was always straight to the point was actually a bad thing. The question he'd asked was a simple enough one to answer, but Harvey knew that it was just going to get worse and worse.
Still, he had to try and pull himself away from the situation and present the facts, like he was standing in a courtroom talking about a case; like he had no investment in the whole thing, hadn't even been there but had just heard it from another party.
"Well, nothing happened immediately. We had to go back down and take it to one of the doors in the ballroom. It's what allowed us into the final room."
That was all cut and dry, something easy for Lunge to follow and replicate if he was idiotic enough to want to follow in their footsteps. The man already knew that Jones had died as a result, but that was just one half of the story. He didn't even know the worst part yet.
If he was in any way smart, he'd know to stay the hell away once he heard about what Peter had done and how the rest of them had been forced to watch.
arghh, I'm really sorry >:herr_inspektorSeptember 9 2011, 14:28:29 UTC
Lunge listened, nodded. One of the doors in the ballroom- yes, it was hard to miss those ones. The white marble, the intricate carvings he hadn't quite managed to make out at a distance, all marked them out as obvious goals. He'd have been able to work out that much even if he hadn't spoken to Dent first.
But it was important to establish the the sequence of events in perfect order, if he was to replicate them with L soon enough. That, and... well. Perhaps there was a chance that in that chain of actions he would find a loophole- a way of outsmarting the system that would prevent them from walking into the same fate that Jones had.
Unlikely- Landel had ample opportunity to iron out the wrinkles in his games before he was taken away. Even Aguilar is thorough enough that, should he be the one running the basement now, it will be near-impossible to take advantage of the system in any way.His mouth twitched a fraction. "What happened when you walked through the doors?" This was the new territory- the part he hadn't had a chance to see
( ... )
This was where it was going to get hard. Harvey knew he was just going to have to keep it clinical, deliver the facts to get it over with and keep emotions to the side. He got the feeling that Lunge would prefer an explanation like that, anyway. So, after he realized that he'd been anxiously gripping at the sheets on his bed, he forced himself to stop and then looked over at his roommate.
"We ended up in a--"
And then, before he could actually say anything useful, it was as if his throat had closed up. A hand shot up to his throat as he tried to swallow through it, force past it. He didn't think he was choking up or anything like that. There was no way this was nerves. He coughed, shook his head, and tried again
( ... )
Had the traumatic segment of their night really began so early? As Dent's explanation broke off Lunge's hand flattened for a moment, mid-type, and he raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly. It seemed unlikely that Jones should be killed so suddenly, without any sort of explanation or lead-in- that just wasn't in keeping with Landel's attention-drawing style at all. And yet at the same time, it didn't seem in keeping with Dent's style for the man to get so obviously nervous
( ... )
At least Lunge was smart enough to follow what he was saying almost immediately. At this point Harvey hardly had the patience for trying to explain what was going on and so he only nodded firmly in response to his roommate's question. How was Aguilar even doing this? It had to be some sort of hypnosis or mind control, and the idea that someone had messed around in his head only made his hatred of the general grow.
Of course, now Lunge was trying to get more out of him, and while the very thought of trying to push past the mental barrier again was exhausting, he could understand why the man was trying to look at it from every angle.
And so he tried again even though he already knew that it was futile. "Well, I didn't--"
But he couldn't even say that much, couldn't even admit the fact that he hadn't been a part of what had happened, had instead only watched. He sighed and dragged a hand down his face. "No, sorry, I don't think I can tell you anything about what happened after we walked through that door." He wondered if he would be
( ... )
At the same time, he couldn't stay in his room. He'd be stuck inside his head, reliving what he'd seen the night before and more than that, Rachel's last few moments ( ... )
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Obviously, he was reading into it too much. It didn't take careful observation and analysis to suppose how this conversation was going to go; Dent had known Jones as well as he had, probably better. As cast-iron as Dent seemed, that he'd had the wind knocked out of him by his death shouldn't have been surprising.
Lunge sat down, and forced himself to consider that he'd left his emotions standing behind him. The man at the desk was a consummate professional.
Nonetheless, he started with the easier material. For chronology.
"What happened, once you gathered the shield and sword together?"
Reply
Still, he had to try and pull himself away from the situation and present the facts, like he was standing in a courtroom talking about a case; like he had no investment in the whole thing, hadn't even been there but had just heard it from another party.
"Well, nothing happened immediately. We had to go back down and take it to one of the doors in the ballroom. It's what allowed us into the final room."
That was all cut and dry, something easy for Lunge to follow and replicate if he was idiotic enough to want to follow in their footsteps. The man already knew that Jones had died as a result, but that was just one half of the story. He didn't even know the worst part yet.
If he was in any way smart, he'd know to stay the hell away once he heard about what Peter had done and how the rest of them had been forced to watch.
Reply
But it was important to establish the the sequence of events in perfect order, if he was to replicate them with L soon enough. That, and... well. Perhaps there was a chance that in that chain of actions he would find a loophole- a way of outsmarting the system that would prevent them from walking into the same fate that Jones had.
Unlikely- Landel had ample opportunity to iron out the wrinkles in his games before he was taken away. Even Aguilar is thorough enough that, should he be the one running the basement now, it will be near-impossible to take advantage of the system in any way.His mouth twitched a fraction. "What happened when you walked through the doors?" This was the new territory- the part he hadn't had a chance to see ( ... )
Reply
"We ended up in a--"
And then, before he could actually say anything useful, it was as if his throat had closed up. A hand shot up to his throat as he tried to swallow through it, force past it. He didn't think he was choking up or anything like that. There was no way this was nerves. He coughed, shook his head, and tried again ( ... )
Reply
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Of course, now Lunge was trying to get more out of him, and while the very thought of trying to push past the mental barrier again was exhausting, he could understand why the man was trying to look at it from every angle.
And so he tried again even though he already knew that it was futile. "Well, I didn't--"
But he couldn't even say that much, couldn't even admit the fact that he hadn't been a part of what had happened, had instead only watched. He sighed and dragged a hand down his face. "No, sorry, I don't think I can tell you anything about what happened after we walked through that door." He wondered if he would be ( ... )
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