Lana hated to leave Ema behind, even when she was just going across the Sun Room, but she'd feel better if she had something to distract her, and Lana would admit she could use some of that herself.
She still didn't know what had really happened last night, on a scale larger than personal tragedies. That was, perhaps, the heart of how this place worked; keep everyone distracted by their own troubles, parceling out hope and suffering in unequal but sufficiently-balanced portions. That had stayed the same, despite the changes in management.
But one thing was clear from the first message she saw on the board -- dozens of patients had had a decidedly unusual evening, even by the Institute's standards. Hmm.
It wouldn't be a bad idea to ask a few questions of her own. See what turned up. She penned a few notes, tacked them up almost carelessly, and slipped off to an area where she could see the board and Ema but not be hovering in either's vicinity.
Gumshoe opened his eyes and ground his teeth together, sitting bolt upright with his fists clenched at his sides. And after all of the effort it had taken him to keep himself from getting sick! He raked his fingers back through his hair and let out a deep, frustrated sigh. Just their luck. The night that other "patients" had needed their help more than ever, and they hadn't had the chance to offer it! Not to mention the fact his mind was still reeling from what that girl had said.
"Something happened earlier tonight to release the binds on our powers. They put up a force field..."A force field! That was what that mysterious pink glow had been? But force fields were the kinds of things you saw in those futuristic sci-fi movies! If Tear had been right, how did the General and his crew get their hands on the technology that was needed for it? Oh man! He would have loved to know how it worked
( ... )
Listen, when there was that much blood at a crime scene, nine times out of ten there had to have been a murder. He hoped last night had been the exception, he really did! Hopefully the monsters had taken the brunt of it. But at the same time, he knew it wasn't wise of him to keep that hope alive. Not when experience told him otherwise
( ... )
Two people running up to her, both with the same question. It had gotten ugly out there last night, no doubt about it. Why they'd walked through it unscathed -- in fact, untroubled by anything other than mutual, though deserved, distrust
( ... )
Hearing her voice and how quiet it was gave Gumshoe a good indicator of how loud he was being, but it didn't have a calming effect. He did turn it down a notch once he'd gotten the answer he'd wanted to hear, though. Well, all except that part about Ema. That didn't exactly put his mind at ease.
Then she changed the subject, and the detective's shoulders sank a little. Was it just him, or were all prosecutors like this? Every time he asked one of them about their well-being, they did all they could to avoid the topic. Whatever got them through the day, he guessed. "I..." He briefly turned toward the bulletin, looking curious. "I haven't checked the board yet." His train of thought brought on another surge of anger, but he tried to keep it down as much as possible. His fists started trembling with effort. "But I saw more than enough evidence in the main hallway last night! You should have seen it! There was blood from one end of the hall to the other! Literally, Ms. Skye!"
She blinked. She'd seen the reports, but they hadn't quite painted such a lurid picture. They'd focused more on the fact that, evidently, the monsters hadn't been the only things with an inflated sense of entitlement last night.
"I think I'm glad I didn't, Detective. I'm more than happy to take your word for it." Clearly, they'd clearly made it back to the morgue before things had heated up. Quite possibly Gant, dead in his lonely drawer, had saved her life for the second night in a row merely by keeping her away from it.
"Were there very many injuries?" There'd been only the one report -- terrible, but singular.
"I..." he trailed off for the second time, before growing sheepish. A hand rubbed the back of his head out of habit. "I don't know, to be honest. There were dozens of animal corpses," the frown tugged at the corners of his mouth even more, "but I didn't see anything that came close to being human." And there had been the unfortunate problem of not having a flashlight with him, so he'd had to rely on the glowing walls for the most part. He'd leave that out of his report. Plus there was the fact he wasn't a forensic expert, but he suspected the lab boys would have had as little luck making heads or tails of the evidence as he had. Never mind the task of identifying what had been left over...
His face fell, and he stared at the floor. Stick to the facts, Gumshoe. "It was a real mess in there." He glanced up at her, looking solemn and sincere. "I'm glad you weren't around to see it."
"I did spend several years on the force, Detective," she snapped. Not that she relished such sights -- no one had, not even some of the detectives who'd been a little too eager for some action.
"I had more pressing business. The morgue, if you remember. I can confirm that Damon Gant is, and remains, deceased." The fact that that needed confirmation, when she'd been an eye-witness to his death, was absurd, but she'd done it.
"Where were you? Perhaps that would tell us something about where our captors felt was most critical."
Gumshoe's candid expression didn't change after her response. Hmm... Right, right. It was hard to think of her as someone other than the Chief Prosecutor at this point. But he could see she'd taken it the wrong way. He hadn't meant to imply she couldn't handle the sight of a messy crime scene. It was just... To see what he'd seen last night? He wouldn't wish that on anyone, whether they had field experience or not
( ... )
Lana shook her head. "I'm afraid not, Detective. Not firsthand, at least, and not in detail. But if you take a look at the bulletin, a few things become clear." She stepped back over to it, flipping through the notes. There was a reply to her inquiry, though she lingered no longer over it than the others; it was in the handwriting she used for Christmas cards, not reports, and the good Detective had never been on her Christmas list. Perhaps she would send something to everyone in both departments, this year. It wasn't like she would have another chance.
"You know that many of our fellow patients claim magical and superhuman abilities, right?" If he couldn't figure it out from there and a veritable wealth of posts, she...well, she'd explain it to him. But she'd let him make another stab at it, first.
[Sorry for the delay!]Gumshoe followed her over to the bulletin board and waited patiently as she looked over the notes. He skimmed over a few of them, and... Well, there were a lot of messages from people checking up on others, but that was how it was every morning. Since that obviously didn't tell him anything, he turned to her again. She'd do what Mr. Edgeworth always did and help him out, right
( ... )
"Did you?" Before he could take what was clearly a rhetorical question between his teeth and pull the conversational reins entirely from her hands, she followed it up with another. "Did you see the discussion on mortality?" She tapped the first note in the sequence with a finger. "It seems quite a lot of our fellow patients found their abilities more akin to those they claim at home."
She still wasn't sure she believed claims of immortality, but she had no way of disproving them, either.
"Though most of them seemed more concerned with destruction than healing." That was undoubtedly more a function of who chose to trumpet their actions, but she couldn't exactly interview everyone.
She still didn't know what had really happened last night, on a scale larger than personal tragedies. That was, perhaps, the heart of how this place worked; keep everyone distracted by their own troubles, parceling out hope and suffering in unequal but sufficiently-balanced portions. That had stayed the same, despite the changes in management.
But one thing was clear from the first message she saw on the board -- dozens of patients had had a decidedly unusual evening, even by the Institute's standards. Hmm.
It wouldn't be a bad idea to ask a few questions of her own. See what turned up. She penned a few notes, tacked them up almost carelessly, and slipped off to an area where she could see the board and Ema but not be hovering in either's vicinity.
[Gumshoe]
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"Something happened earlier tonight to release the binds on our powers. They put up a force field..."A force field! That was what that mysterious pink glow had been? But force fields were the kinds of things you saw in those futuristic sci-fi movies! If Tear had been right, how did the General and his crew get their hands on the technology that was needed for it? Oh man! He would have loved to know how it worked ( ... )
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Then she changed the subject, and the detective's shoulders sank a little. Was it just him, or were all prosecutors like this? Every time he asked one of them about their well-being, they did all they could to avoid the topic. Whatever got them through the day, he guessed. "I..." He briefly turned toward the bulletin, looking curious. "I haven't checked the board yet." His train of thought brought on another surge of anger, but he tried to keep it down as much as possible. His fists started trembling with effort. "But I saw more than enough evidence in the main hallway last night! You should have seen it! There was blood from one end of the hall to the other! Literally, Ms. Skye!"
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"I think I'm glad I didn't, Detective. I'm more than happy to take your word for it." Clearly, they'd clearly made it back to the morgue before things had heated up. Quite possibly Gant, dead in his lonely drawer, had saved her life for the second night in a row merely by keeping her away from it.
"Were there very many injuries?" There'd been only the one report -- terrible, but singular.
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His face fell, and he stared at the floor. Stick to the facts, Gumshoe. "It was a real mess in there." He glanced up at her, looking solemn and sincere. "I'm glad you weren't around to see it."
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"I had more pressing business. The morgue, if you remember. I can confirm that Damon Gant is, and remains, deceased." The fact that that needed confirmation, when she'd been an eye-witness to his death, was absurd, but she'd done it.
"Where were you? Perhaps that would tell us something about where our captors felt was most critical."
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"You know that many of our fellow patients claim magical and superhuman abilities, right?" If he couldn't figure it out from there and a veritable wealth of posts, she...well, she'd explain it to him. But she'd let him make another stab at it, first.
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She still wasn't sure she believed claims of immortality, but she had no way of disproving them, either.
"Though most of them seemed more concerned with destruction than healing." That was undoubtedly more a function of who chose to trumpet their actions, but she couldn't exactly interview everyone.
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