Wayward Insane Asylum

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Red Rabbit, Jul 1, 2014.

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  1. OOC

    The asylum lights flickered down a hallway on the seventh floor in the East Wing as Cateline went to investigate a gurgled scream that had reached her closet-sized room. All the patients had started out in separate bedrooms to avoid any sexual behavior between them earlier in the year. The doors were to be locked at 10 PM every night, but the girl had gotten lucky and discovered the lock was broken a few weeks prior. After that, she had snuck out whenever she pleased despite the security cameras that monitored the main corridors. If the security tapes were ever checked, Cateline would probably be spotted in most of them, roaming in random directions and marking off the bottom corner of all the walls by chipping the paint away with her fingernails. She preferred exploring the less traveled pathways that were rarely cleaned and usually had too many spider webs for her comfort.

    The source of the sound was difficult to find, but it wasn’t long before she stumbled upon a fresh corpse face down in its own blood. The sight was enough to make anyone with a normal conscious cringe or scream, but Cateline only stood there, silently debating on what to do. It took half of a second before she came to the conclusion to investigate it for herself. There was a soiled medical band around its left wrist, which was enough to tell anyone that the victim had been a patient. She couldn’t read the print on it without her glasses and upon lifting the head by the deceased’s hair, she discovered that the throat was slit, the eyes had been gouged out, and the nose had been cut off; all missing but nowhere in sight. There was nothing she could do or say, so she simply turned around and went back to her room for the night.

    That was about five months ago and the number of disappearances had drastically increased since. Rumors about murder conspiracies began, but it was not started by Cateline’s mouth. The body she discovered had been removed and the hall thoroughly cleaned with bleach. It was never announced to the rest of the patients that someone died, but the staff didn’t seem bothered by the murder that was committed. Did they even know? If they didn’t, who was it that cleaned up the gruesome crime scene? Today, all of the patients and staff members were called into a room referred to as 'The Play Area' on the fifth floor to be addressed about new rules. Someone had overheard that all the patients were to be moved to the West Wing where they would be assigned a roommate, and every person in the facility would be tagged with a number to keep track of them.

    "What a bunch of bullshit!" Cateline exclaimed as she was escorted at an arm’s length to the room by an Orderly who knew better than to touch her unless necessary. Most of the patients had already been in the room once she entered, but it was just another fact she couldn’t care less about. It was far too early for her to be out of bed at 9AM. It was like that every morning. She never wanted to get up and be near other people, so she complained until it annoyed everyone within earshot. "Why can’t I just go wait in bed and have one of you summarize everything for me? There’s no need for me to be here and the room is far too fucking crowded anyway, I mean come on!" They just want you to suffer. Suffer, sufffer, sufferrsuffersufferrrssssh... She grabbed a fistful of hair closest to her scalp and pulled for a distraction from the voice that was turning to static in her ears. With the roll of her neck and a loud huff, she awkwardly began to squirm through the crowd of patients and staff members while doing everything in her power to avoid physical contact.​
    #1 Red Rabbit, Jul 1, 2014
    Last edited: Jul 1, 2014
  2. Arthur Prince sat in the so-called playroom, a thin cotton blanket covering his legs, and he did not play. His hands were busy clenching and unclenching, tugging at the tops of his fingers and pulling away all of the skin and dead flesh from his rotten cuticles. The arsonist, terrorist, and all around monster sat docile amongst schizophrenics, hysterics, and manic depressives - but he did not play with them, he did not engage in their games where they smacked their heads against the side of the white-painted walls, or looked lifelessly into the fog of a television set that had only static and smoke to connect the mentally ill to the outside world. Arthur Prince could make out the silhouettes of soldiers' boots, tromping through the mud, and the distant lights from a missile base that he suspected no longer existed in the world. But that was the opinion of Arthur Prince, who was not real, not alive, and had not been part of the world for three years now. Then again, neither had Caleb Norwill.

    Caleb clutched to his knees. He had gone three years without sight, and had not eaten or drank. He had journeyed with men and stood motionless as they all moved past him, hearing the voice of some somnambulist god but he had never seen it, never felt in tremble like a scared bird in his hands. When he rose up from the depths of the ocean, and his eyes were open, he aw nothing. And as he journeyed, blind and broken, he came to the shores of his salvation, and suddenly there shone around him a light from heaven. He heard a voice coursing through his mind; 'Why do you fight against me?' He had replied, of course; "Why do you want me?" And the voice had answered him with all of the grace of some sleeping, long buried thing. "Because I am that which you hate; but I have seen that you will rise and enter the city, and you will know what you must do." I have yet to walk into my city, but i have risen, and I will walk with my eyes unclouded, and I will neither eat, nor drink." That was from the Bible. Caleb knew that. He knew the Bible cover-to-cover, back-to-back, book-to-book. He had liked to read. Once upon a time. But that time was over, now. He could not read anymore. His eyes didn't work right any longer.

    Some of the depressives clutched at their books, or wrote in journals with felt-tip pens. They didn't give the patients with suicidal instincts real pens, for fear that they would jam the tip of the pen into their wrists, and spill their blood across the linoleum floor. He hadn't been given a book or a pen, not even felt tipped. Perhaps they were afraid that he would have tried to kill himself with either one of these objects, despite the futility of the operation. That was a strange assumption for them to have. He had never tried to kill himself here. He thought about it certainly, and had fantasized his death with increasing frequency, but everytime he thought about tying his bedsheets into a noose, he stopped himself. His death was not here, Caleb Norwill reasoned. Or perhaps it was Arthur Prince who reasoned that. Maybe that reasoning came from a strength that Caleb could not take any sort of credit for - maybe that strength came from something else. Somebody else. It was the strength of Arthur Prince ; a man that he knew that he now was. There must always be somebody like him, down to eyes and face and hair and bones and blood and teeth and gums and guts. Once you come to terms with the fact that you do not exist; life suddenly becomes far less essential. The dream of being alive, the memories that living stirs up no longer matter ; the idea that you continue on is the strangeness, and the thing that he struggled with. He tugged his knees up further, adjusting his hands on his knees. They were dirty, bruised knees beneath the scrubs. This, he knew.

    But the man who was both Arthur Prince, and had once been a boy called Caleb Norwill, did not play. What he did was dream. Dream and watch without sight. There had been a nightmare in the waking hours again, a nightmare that would last forever. It was a waking one - Caleb no longer slept. It was because he was dead. The dead did not dream any longer, they only could linger. He drifted along without knowledge or purpose lost in his mind and dreams. It always started in the same place, a military hospice with white-washed walls and sickbeds. He watched nurses with no faces wheel them away, wheel them to the ends of the earth. And Arthur Prince was there - the Other - with his golden hair and his wide smile, blue eyes like his. His smile. The smile of Caleb Norwill, the smile of the Prince - they were one and the same, which meant they were the same. And he spoke the words to him; words that Caleb knew had been his last words, Prince's last words or his own ; "No king rules forever." He had turned those words over and over, like the autopsy report for his own body. But that was when he could read, and he could not read anymore. It was all gone, now.

    His unseeing eyes saw the girl, dragged into the crowded room. Only now did Caleb inhale the strong scent of filth, of fecal matter and sweat. Many prisoners - or were they patients? Neither Caleb nor Arthur could tell the difference anymore. Many of them had not had fresh clothes in days. They had been locked away in the dark bowels of the facility, locked away in tiny facilities, locked away and ready to die, but still clinging to life. They were fungal. They were cavern dwellers in artificial holes - no more than vermin. Caleb was lucky, he supposed. He had been here for some time. Three years. They let him bathe, they let him see the light - he sat int he playroom with a blanket over his bruised knees and with his lank blonde hair falling infront of his eyes. He tried to keep anybody from seeing his face. Once they saw his face, they would see Arthur Prince. And when they saw Arthur Prince, they would see a terrorist. And he was not a terrorist. Not anymore What he was was a dead man, dying wrapped in a blanket, in a so-called playroom, with a dream running through his mind. His imagination was an escape for Caleb Norwill. Arthur Prince was his constant companion, who walked with him across his dreams, and whispered to him all of the secrets of a life he had never seen.

    Caleb sat in a playroom, but he did not play. He watched, instead. He watched the girl. She was a fighter, still. Fighting did not get you far. He rubbed the sides of his wrists, beneath the blanket. They were heavily bandaged - the bandages were not the result of his own work. They were the result of his captors. His doctors. They had cut up his wrists, and let him bleed out. There was nothing in those veins except for dust and fish-guts. He did not know how he was alive, but he did not care. He had long stopped fighting. He lifted his head, and said quietly, to the girl, in a voice that he almost did not recognize. His voice was flat and toneless. The voice of a proper dead-man, somebody who had been dead for a long time. And he had been. He'd been dead or dying slowly for three-years, and not even his words had escaped;
    "There's room, here." And it was true. Next to him, there was room. Perhaps it was the faint smell of decay and cancer that lurked around him that kept the other patients and prisoners away from him. Or perhaps it was because he had been here so long - he was now one of them. One of the evil doctors - in league with the devil himself. Caleb found himself wishing that he could pray to God - but Arthur Prince knew that God had long since abandoned him.

    It had been a long time since he had a friend.
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  3. Alice Dunn sat in the playroom, sitting in a chair among the others. To most, it would be uncomfortable. It was one of those plastic chairs without a cushion on it. She was fairly sure one leg was shorter than another as well, judging from the rocking movement it was making. However, If she was uncomfortable sitting in it, it would be impossible to tell. She was swinging her legs back and forth while rocking in the chair and humming a cheery tune to herself. She had been one of the first patients here, she was already up anyways. In fact, she didn't think she had slept in two days.

    Alice Dunn, was a bit of an oddity among the other patients of Wayward. She was cheerful, bright and almost disturbingly friendly and a bit flirty. Some might say she didn't belong here, but she was just as unstable as the rest of them. In fact, she was probably one of the more violent ones given the right circumstances. She was not to be given any sharp object, and orderlies were not supposed to argue or introduce her to high stress situations. At least today seemed to be a good day for her, and her schizophrenic tendencies seemed to not be acting up, just her normal mania.

    The redhead didn't seem to notice the other people. She was caught up in whatever fantasy was currently going through her head. What that fantasy was, was anyone's guess, but judging from her humming it was something pleasant, at least for her. She didn't even seem to hear the new patient being dragged in at first. It wasn't until Cateline used the f-word, that she seemed to notice everyone else.

    The cheerful humming had stopped, whatever fantasy she had been living in her head was gone. She watched Cateline move through the crowded room, her green eyes unblinkingly staring at her while giving the other girl a seemingly friendly smile.

    "You shouldn't use such language," Alice cheerfully said, once she was in earshot. "It's not nice!"
  4. "Cateline Bloom. Schizophrenia."Dr. Jakobus Van Vuuren thought to himself as he watched the young, late girl as she started yelling. The doctor was on the far left side of the room, but he had no trouble hearing little Cateline's voice. Out of all the minds here, she was among the more special ones. He had read her file when she arrived at the facility, and had immediately attempted to get her under his care, as such a fascinating mind demanded further study. He scoffed to himself as he remembered the reply in his mailbox, denying his opportunity to study Cateline, and doing it in such a manner as if they assumed he would simply accept it.

    As the girl continued to yell, Jakubus continued to look around the room. So many minds, each with their own little twist, their own little world, which he so longed to dig into every little nook and cranny of. Was he one of them? He had made an evaluation of himself, and the symptoms of psychopathy were undeniable. So was he one of them - one of these many crazies that filled the room? Perhaps he was, but that just told how well he was in his right habitat, did it not? `This was the job of his dreams. Only downside was being limited to a few handfulls of patients when there were so many available in the facility, it was a pain. Soon, the doctor turned his attention back towards Cateline, as she was for the moment the most interesting thing in the room.
    #4 Andalais, Jul 2, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Jul 2, 2014
  5. The sunlight blared through the Eastward facing windows, and bounced off the walls that were painted white to match the awful linoleum floors. The sunlight was unusual, it felt unnatural to exist in such a forsaken place filled with hopelessness. Cateline stopped in the middle of the room where she had a small bit of space to herself and adjusted the light-blue glasses on her face, lowering them along the bridge of her nose. She was groggy and starving. It'd been six days since she last felt the desire for food. "Hey, when the hell are they going to feed us?" She shouted at one of the Orderlies monitoring the room and received a shrug. "Tch." It took Cateline a moment to realize she was being spoken to amongst the constant, incoherent babble in the room and looked up. She was pretty short with an almost even 5 foot tall stature, making it slightly difficult to see in the crowded area.

    With bare feet she stood on the tip of her toes, craning her neck in one direction then another to look over people's shoulders. She spotted the male who had first spoken to her. Was it even him? Blonde hair that covered the face, fidgeting under some sheet; He didn't look like one to talk much. She mulled over the statement he had made while glancing for the source of the second voice that had made a comment on her language. Her traveling gaze met with one of the doctors across the room and her eyes narrowed. They all wanted to hear her mouth this morning, didn't they? "Quit fucking staring, there are other people to gawk at." It didn't take more than a second after that for her sight to befall on the redheaded girl, a scowl quick to surface on her features. Who the hell did she think she was? Glowering, she glared at the girl who had a smile painted on her face. It was as unnatural as the sunlight in the room to see a patient smile that way at her.

    "Why are you fucking telling me how I should speak? I'll say whatever the hell I want! 'Not nice' my ass, learn to get over it." Cateline grumbled and continued to slide past people to get to the free space offered to her earlier. She wasn't in a bad mood, but her exterior would disagree with that fact. The scowl was still plastered to her lips and her shoulders were somewhat hunched forward in the shirt that was far too large for her figure. If you can call skin and bones a figure that is. She just wanted to eat something sugary and go back to bed, but that wouldn't happen for at least another hour if the announcement wasn't long. Most of the faces in here all seemed unfamiliar to her, yet some were recognizable in one way or another. She never paid enough attention to anyone unless they sparked a bit of emotion in her, which was rare.

    Once reaching the man who seemed to be staring at nothing and everything, she leaned in to try and get a good look at the face, her lips pursed with suspicion. There was something off about him, but who didn't have that quality in an insane asylum? She reached the decision to say nothing at first, then climbed into the empty chair the wrong way with her spine in the seat and the underside of her knees hooked over the back. Cateline kept her upper body straight for a moment, staring at the man from the corner of her eyes. "Touch me and I'll bite your damn finger off. So don't fuckin' do it," She warned as she let her head drop back, her glasses falling from her face to the floor beneath her black hair now by the male's feet. There was no reason for her to pick them up, and so she left them there while watching a few pairs of legs wander back and forth with her blurred vision.​
    #5 Red Rabbit, Jul 2, 2014
    Last edited: Jul 2, 2014
  6. Doctor Blake yawned as he walked down the hallway to the playroom. He was not a morning person by any means. If he knew taking this gig was going to mean long, boring, monotonous hours then he would have told the person that hired him to go take a hike. At least he was getting paid a good amount for this. After this, he'd be able to retire if he actually managed to pull it off. That said, he had been here for months and had yet to find any concrete evidence to bring this place down. Oh sure, it had abusive orderlies, doctors, and all around a not very nice staff, but that easily went away with money. He needed names, dates, places. Ledgers, expenses, bank statements. In the months he had been here, he had gotten nowhere. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Now, he was in too deep to really get out, as they say. He had dug himself a whole that he couldn't get out of.

    Well, he had been in worse situations. Being a private investigator landed someone in some very high-stress situations every now and then. It wasn't often, but he had been shot at before. Thankfully he had never been hit, but it had been one of the scariest moments of his life. Ah well, that was a thought for a different time. He had things to do.

    He opened the doors to the crowded playroom and observed the patients. Most were calm and orderly, though there was always that one troublemaker. "Cateline Bloom. Paranoid Schizophrenia. Violent, generally not too friendly and...uses too much profanity." He thought to himself, as he scanned the room, eyes meeting a Doctor by the name of Jakubus Van Vurren. A real piece of work, he was. He didn't care about any of the patients here, just his little experiments. Probably got paid good at least. He yawned again, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand while covering his mouth with the other. Today was going to be a long day, he could tell.

    Alice simply continued to smile at Cateline, not seeming to even flinch at her words. However, her mind was a jumble of thoughts that not even she could entirely comprehend. It was like her mind had two different people trying to speak to her, yet no one was even talking. "She's not a nice person. Maybe we should help her, ehhe? Nonononono. She might be nice. We just have to make her nice! We should heeeeelllp her. That wagging, vulgar, profane tongue will get her into trouble. We should make it so that it doesn't trouble her! Yesyesyes! Soonsoonsoon. Need sharp. Little pieces of metal. white coats won't let me near them. Must take one! Take the white coat, kill the black one! Soonsoonsoonnnnnkekeke..."

    The last voice in her head turned into maniacal laughter, that manifested only in a small giggle from Alice. That entire conversation only took a few moments to complete, but by that time Cateline was already gone. She tilted her head in slight confusion. Had the girl even been real? No no, she was certain. She had seen her before. She would have to get her alone, and help her with that pesky tongue of hers.

    However, at the end of that train of thought, she noticed someone she was rather familiar with. Dr. Vurren. He was a nice person! He was a good person that wanted to help people feel better like she did! She gave him a friendly wave and grin.
    "Morning doctor!" She shouted above everyone else, making sure the doctor could hear here.
  7. Zack wasn't troubled at all by the early summons. In fact, he had already been up for two hours. He was the "early to bed, early to rise" type, preferring the beautiful colors of the early morning to the dreary, dark night. He almost never slept with a blanket to cover his bare chest with; the cold comforted him, helped him sleep. He could never really explain why. Not that he ever felt the need to. People poking their noses into his business was always such a troublesome annoyance...

    He felt a sort of satisfaction as an orderly led him down the hall, making sure to keep her distance from the taller man. It had been that way ever since he'd managed to forge a shiv from stolen medical tools and had successfully gouged out exactly seven eyes from four nurses in total (he was irritated at not being able to reach the eighth, to make it even) before he and his weapon were separated. They had been asking too many questions, trying too hard to "cure" him. But he didn't want to be cured of this blissful state of mind. He was superior, better than any other human being. He answered to no one. Any acts of kindness or obedience were illusions, acts designed to manipulate those around him to his will. It was a subtle dance, growing increasingly beautiful with each step. And he liked it that way.

    At his request, he'd stopped wearing a shirt shortly after being admitted. He thought it odd that the doctors didn't restrain him in a straitjacket 24/7, given the "symptoms" of his "disorder," but he certainly couldn't complain. His tattoo was on display for all to see, not to mention the muscles in his arms that he flexed whenever someone looked at him with potentially malicious intent. As he cast his gaze around the room, locating the exits -- all guarded by orderlies but still there -- as well as the most dangerous patients, his attention was caught by two particular people. The first was the dark-haired girl swearing up a storm as she was dragged in. Detestable. Those who act without reason or direction, drawing unneeded attention to themselves, were one of Zack's biggest pet peeves. The other person was Dr. Van Vuuren. He liked that man. The doctor was often calm and upbeat despite Zack's actions, and Zack felt like he could relate to him. Something about the man was just...comforting. He was one of the few people Zack actually looked forward to seeing, and the two had met many times.

    Satisfied with the mental image he had of the room and the escape routes he'd come up with should the need for them arise, Zack found a seat on the floor far away from Cateline and waited patiently for the supposed announcement that was to come.
  8. Hearing a familiar voice across the room, Jakobus looked to his right and saw Alice Dunn waving at him with a grin stretching ear to ear. She was a nice girl, Alice. She was an interesting girl, a fascinating one. Something about her demeanor always made the day somewhat brighter. With a warm smile, Jakobus raised his hand from his arms tied together at his chest and waved at her, not not wanting to shout.

    Unlike most people in the room whom were all sitting, Jakobus was standing leaned against the wall by a window. As such, he could easily see every newcomer that stumbled into the room, including Christopher Blake - a fellow doctor - and Zack Kori, a patient of his. "Christopher Blake. Doctor." Jakobus was never quite sure what to think of Doctor Blake. He was professional, something he respected, but was also boring and unsocial, something he did not respect. The man was a grey zone, which Jakobus did not appreciate; the world was far more beautiful in black and white.

    Zack, on the other hand, was a much more interesting mind. "Zack Kori. Psychopathy; elements of superiority complex and narcissism."his thoughts scribbled down as if in a mental logbook. Although the man had never said it, Jakobus knew that Zack preffered him to other doctors. The reason why was up to speculation until he could delve deeper into his psyche.

    The doctor then turned his attention back to the front of the room, waiting for whatever was going to start to start.
    #8 Andalais, Jul 3, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Jul 3, 2014
  9. Caleb was told to stop staring, stop gawking, but it was all he could do after three years without sight, without food and drink. Staring was how he evaluated he world now even of the vision was imperfect, half masked by a curtain of white blonde hair. Prior to coming to this place, it had been truly blonde, dirty and streaked with brown, but to deprive it of the sub was to deprive it of chroma and hue. Arthur's hair had been sunshine when he played with he neighbor kids, laughing as Fourth of July fireworks went off around a Labor Day table. His hair had gone white when he appeared on the television set, his military camo bloody, the skulls of his beloved squad adorning the sides of his utility belt. Caleb had killed them, one by one, shooting them in their beds with a standard military issue assault rifle. He hadn't bothered with a silencer. He wanted the others to know that he was coming for them- that he would find them, shoot them, and then they would be dead too, ornaments for his camouflage. The only place it would keep him hidden now was in a warzone. Severed heads and bloodstains made for better protection than any amount of brown green smears on canvas clothes. But he had no uniform now, no armor to protect him. Caleb had a curtain of hair to serve as a shield from the outside world, but it could only keep some of the ugliness out.

    The doctors didn't notice him or talk to him. Caleb had long suspected that they had forgotten he existed, that he was still alive: their attention went instead to the loud and stupid. Caleb stared at the girl who sweated and resisted and shouted. She was wild. Did that mean that he had been tamed? He supposed it did. Every morning, before coming to this playroom, an orderly slit his wrists and collected his blood in a beaker. Only when the beaker was full up to the 2/3 of a cup mark did the orderly seem satisfied. He marked down the time on a little sheet- five in the morning, with little variation. The wounds slowly closed up. And the orderly left. Caleb had dreams of killing the orderly. Arthur's hands would clasp the soft parts of the orderlies throat, and they would find the valves and tubes that kept the orderly breathing, and cut them off. Then, he would twist. But instead, the orderly would leave his cell. He never said a word to Caleb, and he suspected that he never would. It was merely a routine. Then again, be suspected that beyond the orderly, he had been forgotten. He looked forward to the orderly coming. When he looked at him, and drained him of blood, Caleb felt like he had been seen. In that moment, he was important. He mattered.

    But he didn't matter now. He was ghostly. The girl had looked at him, when she berated him, he feared for one terrible minute that somehow, she knew. He was thinking about his face. The face that was Arthur Prince's face, the face of the notorious traitor who had betrayed the states in favour of extremists. He could not cover his face with his hands. They were too busy peeling away the bandages that had covered his wrists. They were too busy, beneath the blanket, scratching at the scar tissue that had covered his wrists in rings. But then, he didn't realize why he should be so afraid. The girl had not looked at him closely, and his hair covered his face. He was hidden, and he was not seen. Even the doctors did not see him. They saw her they saw the giggling maniac next to her - they saw the bulimic who was trying to puke up food she hadn't eaten yet, they saw the half-naked man who flexed his muscles like some strutting peacock. He listened to the girl shout "GOOD MORNING" and the sound was so loud it made his ears ring with sound and chaos, sound and fury. Caleb's hands shot out from the blanket to cover his ears, his tattered bandages flapping from the force of the gesture. They were the banners of his one-man-kingdom.

    He didn't say anything, now. They wouldn't have heard him, even if he did. Had they before? Caleb doubted it.
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  10. Cateline's nose wrinkled as the sound of that girl's voice rang through her ears a second time. Who the hell talks to doctors unless they have to? She didn't see the man beside her cover his ears. She shut her eyes and listened to the room, her scowl now replaced with thoughtful, partially parted lips that had a purple-ish hue to them. The door had opened and shut again, but there was no point for her to look at whoever may have entered. She wouldn't have been able to see who it was anyway in her odd sitting position. Her heels began to tap against the back of the seat in a lazy rhythm. 1, 2. 1, 2. It was done absentmindedly as the intercom cut on, giving off a static buzzing noise. It nearly made her cringe. There was no voice, not yet, just the shuffling of papers from someone trying to find their script.

    "Attention and good morning all Patients and Staff Members of the Wayward Insane Asylum!" The voice was that of a woman's, nasal-y and forced into a happy sing-song tone meant to put people in better spirits. It made Cateline's stomach tighten with annoyance. The voice was worse than nails on a chalkboard in her opinion.
    "Today we will be assigning all patients to rooms in the West Wing of the facility along with a roommate of the same gender. We are also assigning new rooms to our lovely staff on the West Wing for safety purposes. After 10 PM tonight, floors 6-12 of the East Wing will be temporarily put on restriction." Cateline nearly fell out of her seat. Why were they suddenly moving everyone to the opposite side of the building? Why the bloody hell are they shoving us together in one room, don't they believe in alone time? The thought put her on edge, she could barely tolerate being around people during the day as it is. "This morning, all those in the building will receive a four digit code for our new filing system. The patients with a corresponding first digit will be sharing a room..."

    The announcements went on for a few minutes longer, telling everyone the weather was sunny and giving the meal schedule for the day. They decided to skip breakfast and instead feed everyone an early lunch at 11, which made most people groan in unison. It wasn't the first time to have a meal skipped for the patients. Cateline sat upright in her chair and picked up her glasses, cleaning them off with the bottom of her shirt as she watched blurry patients line up on the right side of the room before a few orderlies to get new numbered medical bands around their wrists. A few staff members were receiving new ID cards with their own number code off to the left. She placed the glasses back on her face and stood to get in line as well, she didn't want to be cooped up in this room any longer.

    Glancing around she spotted the few people that stuck out most to her; The smiling redhead, the creepy doctor who always had a look of awe on his face and the less enthusiastic one, the shirtless male patient with a tattoo, and finally the person she had sat beside. Unable to see any form of indentification on him she was forced to speak, keeping her voice about as high as a whisper. "Name?" Cateline raised an eyebrow, looking everywhere except for who she was speaking to. She didn't want someone to assume she was actually moving her lips for a reason, but she wasn't even sure if the person paid attention to what was going on around them.
    #10 Red Rabbit, Jul 3, 2014
    Last edited: Jul 3, 2014
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  11. "Shared rooms?"Van Vuuren mused as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a finger. "I hope they have planned this well; it would be a lot of work if things turned violent. At least it will be interesting to see, nonetheless."he said silently with a smile on his face, his voice drowned out to anyone but himself by the noise in the room. He then moved to stand in line for his new ID badge.


    Meanwhile, John Bouley - no, it was Jill Bouley now - was just about trembling in her shoes as she walked in the line to the number bands. "Share a room?"she thought to herself, her voice practically screaming inside her head. "Am I gonna share a room with one of these maniacs?"she came up to the orderly whom put the band around her wrist, and she could only look on it in horror. "Oh god, I'm going to die tonight, I swear!"

    Realizing she hadn't even looked at what number she had gotten, she glanced at the band hugging her wrist to see what numbers were controlling her fate.
    #11 Andalais, Jul 3, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Jul 3, 2014
  12. By the time the announcement was being made, Alice was already back in her own little world, smiling happily and legs rocking back and forth in the rickety chair. Her small earlier episode seemed to have completely vanished from her mind, the voices were gone for now, or just quiet, and waiting for a chance to say something else. Either way, she was calm. Well, as calm as a manic could be. She thought briefly about jumping up in the chair and doing a little jig. However, she finally noticed the announcement being made and was quickly cut off.

    "Today we will be assigning all patients to rooms in the West Wing of the facility along with a roommate of the same gender. We are also assigning new rooms to our lovely staff on the West Wing for safety purposes. After 10 PM tonight, floors 6-12 of the East Wing will be temporarily put on restriction."

    "Oooh, new rooms!~ I wonder which nice person I'll be put with!" She thought aloud, speaking with her normal not so indoor voice. "I hope its the grumpy one!" She giggled, looking over the crowd, trying to find Cateline. She found the other girl in line behind her, looking as grumpy as always. She grumbled slightly at this, but decided to focus on getting her new number. Well, focus as much as she could. She immediately went back to humming a pleasant and catchy tune, much to the dismay of some of the other people around her.

    Chris, listened to the announcement. This had bad idea written all over it. Putting these psychos in the same room together was just asking for a bloodbath. Unless, of course that's what these people wanted. If so, there would be enough evidence he could get so he could shut this place down for good. Then again, whoever ran this place was smart enough to not leave a whole lot of concrete evidence behind, so he suspected they had some sort of plan. The thing that interested him the most, however, was the East Wing. He took a notebook out and began to make a few notes.

    "After ten PM huh? something must be going to happen up there...." He thought. He would have to check it out. It would be a bit dangerous, especially if he got caught, but that came with the job. Perhaps he could finally get somewhere in this investigation of his and get the solid evidence his employer was paying him for. With a grunt, he walked to the line for his new ID badge, giving a nod of acknowledgement to Vurren as he took the spot next to him.
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  13. Zack stared up at the ceiling as the announcement rang over the crowd, as though he were challenging the voice to come down and say these things to his face. Sharing a room? No chance. He refused to put himself in the lottery of maniacs and risk getting someone like Cateline as a roommate. The very thought of sharing his perfect sanctuary of a room was unthinkable. He didn't even budge from his seat on the floor, just watched all the other patients get in line like sheep. He wouldn't be taking place in this system unless his life depended on it.
  14. "Did something interesting pass through your mind just there?"Jakobus asked as he stood next to Chris, looking straight ahead towards the end of the line. The ceiling lighting bounced off his glasses and turned them into shining white facades, through which his eyes could not be seen. He then turned to the man with a smile, his eyes now again visible, but that was no comfort, as there was something strange about his gaze, as it had always been. "It must have been interesting, mustn't it, for you to write it down in such haste. You almost dropped your pencil, do you know that?"he spoke, his smile slowly turning into a smirk, eyes unblinking.
    #14 Andalais, Jul 3, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Jul 3, 2014
  15. Name? She was asking him his name. And what was Arthur Prince going to say, what was Caleb Norwill going to say? It was so hard to find the words to explain that there was no name that he could really be called, that there was nothing that could be said about him. Caleb Norwill was a dead thing, something dead and long forgotten, who had been slain with a military issue assault gun to the side of the head, and it had been Arthur Prince's white hand that had squeezed the trigger. He could picture the man's smile, the tug of teeth away from his face, the smile of a school-shooter. Caleb Norwill would never smile like that, but the man who bore that name had smiled like that before - when he had killed some... somebody. He couldn't even recall his first murder. He suspected that even if he could remember, the memory would do nothing except exacerbate the feelings of nausea and fear that lurked so deeply within him. It wasn't normal to fear nausea and fear after being asked a name, was it? There was something wrong with him. A normal person would have simply smiled and said that their name was John Doe, or some other assorted syllables and letters. But he wasn't like that anymore - he was immortal. He wasn't one of them anymore.

    Caleb Norwill's hands crawled down the sides of his face, and tugged at the limp strands of white-blonde hair. Some of it came away, thinning from malnutrition. He didn't have to eat anymore. He used to love hamburgers, he did. He recalled a fourth of July barbecue, his sister leaning against a door-way and handing him a sparkler. His chubby-child-hand closed around the firework, and he ran through the house, waving it like a magic wand. His father caught his arm as he came around the couch, the general's hand closing around chubby-child-biceps. He remembered his father shouting at him. What had Arthur been thinking? The house was old - almost a hundred years old. And he was going to burn it all down. Their fourth of July barbecue dinner had been launched into silence, into fear and worry that had curdled the cheese on the burger bun. But he had loved that burger all the same. How long had it been since he had eaten? He couldn't recall eating in his time here. They had stopped bringing him meals altogether, when they were turned away, uneaten, the pills that were hidden in them carefully plucked out and laid to the side next to the plate. Some of the orderlies had thought that he was on a hunger strike. But then they stopped thinking that when he said nothing. It was hard to take a stand when your words were gone.

    The nasal woman's voice rung in his ears, long after the intercom had been shut off. He had dreamed of her. He had seen her in his dreams. The intercom had used to be more frequent. when there was the still idea that it was important for those in charge to understand those below. He thought of her, curled up in a thin blanket. Caleb had never seen her, but he could imagine her. In his dreams, she wore a grey skirt and white shirt, and the shoulder-pads of her sensible suit jacket were sharp enough to cut through glass. Her hair was pulled severely back from her face, straining the tendons and muscles of her face. She wore glasses that reflected the flourescents and kept her eyes from ever really, truly being seen. Her heels were knives, and her fingers were claws. In Arthur's dreams, she had Brienne's face, laughing and red-cheeked, released from the hospital after recovering from her surgery. Caleb's fingers curled on his face, and he felt his nails sink into the papery skin of his cheeks.

    He dragged his nails down, and skin peeled off from his face in long, thin strips. They floated to the linoleum like moths drawn to a flame. A room-mate and a question. He would be paired with somebody of the same sex, and he would have to give his name then too. What was he going to say? Caleb - he could say. Or Arthur. He suspected that it wouldn't make a difference. But then again, who hadn't heard of Arthur Prince? Certainly not anybody from him generation; the name had been on all of their lips, the mass-murdering, terrorist son-of-a-bitch. And he was him and he was not him. That wasn't an answer to the question though - that was a statement. Who was he?

    He dragged his nails down farther, and felt his fingertips press against the muscles in his neck. He took a deep breath. Did he have to even breathe anymore? Caleb couldn't remember. He then, folded his hands delicately across the sheet in his lap. Behind his curtain of hair, his blue-eyes flickered in the dim light, like candles stirred by a breeze. His voice came to him, quiet and low, keeping attention off of him,
    "I'm..." He trailed off, still unable to formulate a name for himself. His fingers flexed on his knees, twitching with the bottled up uncertainty. "I'm not anybody." He said, finally, and his words sounded foreign, even to him. They were the words of a man with a semi-automatic, who smiled when his friends died.
  16. "Hmph. Just noting that I'm going to have more patients now." He gruffly stated, quickly formulating a reply to his statement. "Made a note to get more medical supplies. I don't know what their thinking, but it means more work for me. Putting psychopaths in rooms together is not something I would recommend as a doctor." Not that he didn't enjoy his work. Quite the opposite, he always wanted to be a doctor. Circumstance and bad luck had prevented him from becoming a real one. Now he was a part time journalist and a private investigator. He may be in a bit over his head right now, but a challenge was something he had never run from. "What do you think? I'm not a psychiatrist, but putting them in rooms together seems like trouble."
  17. "You are partly correct."Jakobus stated, turning his attention back towards the very front of the line, where someone seemed to have some kind of problem with the ID badges. As he turned, his shoe squeaked slightly against the linoleum floor, prompting the doctor to look around the room, searching for a reaction, as he knew how some patients were terribly irritated by those little squeaks. Upon learning that the sound had gone unnoticed, the man turned his attention back to his colleague, but his gaze turned back in front of him. "But the overwhelming majority of people with mental illnesses are completely harmless. There may be some complaining and surely some fighting, but if you just pair the patients right there won't be too much trouble. But, at the same time, I'm sure not everyone will have to share rooms, as some would just be hopeless. I'm sure things will work out in the end, but tonight there may be blood."he spoke. Then there was silence between them. The sound of muffled voices, grunts, the moving of chairs and the dragging of feet grew all more dominant. The patient lines were flowing on well, but the staff line seemed to have stopped. Jakobus could not see why from where he was, though.
  18. Zack gazed around at the herds of patients, moving as they were told, automatically, content with his seat on the floor. He had to press his back to the wall to keep from being stepped on by the masses in the dreary playroom, though if anyone got particularly close, he looked up at them with his cold, unfeeling eyes -- two icy blue pebbles wedged into nerveless sockets -- and they usually backed away relatively quickly.

    He considered simply leaving the room and returning to his quarters. How likely was it that he would be noticed? Quite likely, he decided. And then he would be forced to speak for the first time since entering the playroom. He felt somewhat irritated all of a sudden. He wondered if the sharp piece of plastic he had hidden under his mattress was still there. Deciding it was worth the risk, he simply got up and started for the exit, moving with a confident gait, like he had somewhere to be. And he did. It just wasn't here.
  19. Cateline waited, albeit a bit impatiently for the man to give her a name. During the long period of silence he produced, she continued watching the room. The tattooed male hadn't moved more than an inch and she wanted to kick him in the ass to get him moving like some old piece of broken equipment. The giddy girl was obnoxiously humming on and off as the lines moved. If Cateline weren't waiting on a reply, she'd shove a sock down that girl's throat. She wasn't looking forward to being on the same side of the building with her. "God don't put me in a room with that," she thought while tapping her fingers silently against her outer thigh. There was another patient in line who looked like he was ready to die on the spot, which was amusing to say the least. The doctors on the opposite side of the room were chatting but she couldn't hear them. Even though she was staring rather intently, she was only able to make out the words 'supplies' and 'blood'. It brought a second scowl to her lips that morning. "Shady assholes, they must know something that the patients don't."

    They know, they know. They know you're filthy. Filthy, filthy, filthy girl! Her left eye twitched behind her glasses, an almost unnoticeable tick that came about with the sound of this bodiless voice- this demon living under her flesh. Your skin- It's your skin. It shows them all of your sins. Cateline crossed her arms, scratching mindlessly at the visible part her visible forearms with chipped nails. Peel it away, rid yourself of your sins! She bit into her tongue until it bled. Here and now was not the time nor place for her symptoms to be acting up. She had to keep it together for just a little while longer. Frantic, her eyes darted about the room- face, face, face. Tattoo. Her eyes stopped on the shirtless patient once more. She'd seen him before, always flexing like he had something to prove but she didn't pay him any mind before today. Now her eyes were glued to what she could see, concentrating on the ink embedded into his skin until the voice had faded into a hiss.

    She rocked back and forth on her heels and dropped her clawed arms to her sides, her eyes catching a glimpse of something falling to the floor at the silent man's feet. Skin? Her eyes squinted slightly as she watched his fingers dig deeper into his face. It wasn't really bothersome until she got a good look at him. He looked like death. Did he even hear her?
    "I'm..." So he had paid attention to her question! She pursed her lips, leaning down to hear him better. "I'm not anybody." That took her by surprise. It angered her. Gritting her teeth, she curled her hands into fists. "You can't be nobody, you dumb ass." She growled the words out as low as possible, trying to suppress her anger at the answer he had given. How hard was it to give someone a name?

    "I was going to thank you for not touching me, but I can't do that properly without a goddamn name, now can I?" Cateline glared at him from the other side of his thin curtain of hair. That was bothering her to no end, so she blew air at him, hoping to push it back without actually touching him. "Are you going to give me a fucking name or not?" She tried to keep her voice low, but it had risen to an almost normal volume which made her even angrier. This was already starting off to be a bad day.

    The patients who were in line received medical bracelets with a four digit number that started between the numbers 5-9, the staff members getting the first 1-4. An orderly at the door spotted the patient Zack Kori heading out without getting one of the bands that was now a requirement. Sure they had heard the stories about the 20-year old gouging eyes out, but he had never seen any proof that those stories were real in the short time he'd been there. The Orderly known as Ivan stepped out in front of the male, a practiced, calm smile on his face. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you out of the room until you have your new medical band on. If you'd please just get in line," He gestured over to the small amount of patients left moving forward slowly but surely. "We'll have you out of here shortly."
    #19 Red Rabbit, Jul 3, 2014
    Last edited: Jul 3, 2014
  20. Zack's reply was a calm, flat "No." His tone was always almost entirely absent; he sounded more machine than man. "Excuse me." He tried to step past Ivan, moving towards the door. If the orderly refused him again, there would be trouble; everyone who'd ever spoken with him for long enough knew that. Shame Zack didn't have any weapons on hand. So many people, always thinking they had some sort of advantage over him, like gnats flying just above his head. Irritating. Despicable, even.
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