Wayward Insane Asylum

Status
Not open for further replies.
William rolled the wheelchair down the corridors in silence, his eyes flickering down to the Patient's head every now and again. There could be a million and three different things going through his head, but there could also be absolutely nothing. He carefully turned a few corners, careful to not bump into other inhabitants of the asylum before reaching the elevator. His ring finger was used to press the up arrow and when the doors opened, he backed in, pulling the wheelchair backwards with him. He didn't know what to say to the man; if there was anything to say. They reached the eighth floor and when the doors opened again, he pushed forward, his hands tensing around the handles of the wheelchair. "Where are you taking me?" William paused mid-step for a fraction of a second then moved the chair to the side of the corridor. It sounded like he was going to cry.

"You won't forget me again will you?" He looked down with a forced smile. It was difficult to express a positive emotion when in the presence of someone who was struggling to live, to be reestablished as a person in this facility. "I'm taking you to your new room, it's up here somewhere. Unless you need to go to the infirmary for something?" He glanced back the way they came. It'd be another trip on the elevator to the fourth floor where Dr. Blake would most likely be. With his gaze turned back to Caleb, he pursed his lips. How could he forget? The brief encounter was sure to haunt him for some time. "Of course I won't. We're going to have you back on medication in the morning. I'll discuss it with Dr. Vuuren after I find your file."
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Kira gazes at himself in the mirror, pale slender hands flutter up to his face like nervous butterflies. Plucking, plucking, plucking. Slender fingers traced across his jawbone, then against his high cheek bones. Moulding, shaping, trying. Gazing, gazing, staring. His head tilts a little to the left and then to the right, his green eyes search the mirror franticly. He looks intently, searching, searching, watching. "no.." he rasps, his dry lips part slightly as he leans close to the mirror. He leans close enough to kiss his own reflection, the modern day narcissus transfixed. He gently puts his hands on the mirror, breath coming out in short sharp gasps causing the mirror to fog up. "no, no, no no.." he croaks, growing more alarmed with each second that passes, his eyes are rooted to his reflection. His mouth tightens as he suddenly pulls back with a sharp intake of breath. "a-a scar.. a-a scar!?" he whispers as tears start to run down his cheeks. "o-on my b-beautiful face.. o-on m-my face..?" he puts his hands over his eyes as he starts to shake. "m-my beauty can't fade, it can't! I need to stay beautiful for him!" Kira grits his teeth and slams his fist into the floor. "I CANNOT BE UGLY!" he screams.


Kira goes through these strange bouts every day, his split personality seems to be fighting with itself all the time. However people are more weary of this Kira, the confident narcissus. In fact it hasn't being that long since he was took off sedatives and the strait jacket, now however it seems he'll be heading down that route again fairly soon. He continues to scream that this place will be the death of him, that they're making him ugly and there's no point in living if he's not beautiful. By 'they' it can only be assumed that he means the staff members, though one never really knows with Kira. Kira throws his head back and screams in wordless rage and sorrow, just the thought of not looking his best seems to aggravate him. Like a sullen child he works himself into a pure tantrum. "HOW AM I MEANT TO LOOK MY BEST WHEN I DON'T EVEN HAVE MY HAIR CARE PRODUCTS!?"


suddenly Kira stops and rocks on his feet a little, the look of rage is replaced with a look of nervousness as he gazes around. "what w-was I..?" he whispers to himself before quietly sitting down and hugging his knees, shaking a little. He's personality has totally changed, from loud mouth brat to timid young man. This is the nature of Kira, a living contradiction due to the split in his soul. This is the side most people tend to prefer, the side that doesn't answer back or question anyone.


Kira looks around and huddles himself in the corner of the room, trying to block out the sounds he hears by covering his ears. Kira would stay in this position all day if people left him alone, or until he became Kira Alpha the other aspect of his personality. He tries to block everything else out by rocking back and forth and squeezing his eyes shut, humming weakly and trying to ignore how sore his throat is. 'It's as though I've being shouting..' he thinks to himself. He gulps a little and whispers. "f-father.. please come and t-take me home soon, f-father.." his voice cracks tearfully. "I don't like i-it here.." the thin young man subconsciously starts to dig his nails into his thin arms, trying to ignore the dark thoughts in his head. 'you aren't pretty enough for father now, you're almost as thin as Sepiroth! You're almost as broken as Sepiroth!' Kira's stomach sinks as he's compared to the broken and emaciated thing that is his half brother, or rather was. Sepiroth committed suicide last year. Kira feels the bile rise in his mouth at the truth of the fact, he's not quite as thin or disturbed yet.. but in a few more weeks he will be, and then..


Kira's shoulders slump and he whispers. "am I..really that worthless now? Am I really..l-like him?" he pulls his hand back which are now stained with blood. "I-I must be.. I must be.." he whispers. to absorbed in his pain to notice anythng else.
 
Caleb frowned. Did he need to go to the infirmary? He could not remember whether or not there was anything medically wrong with him. He supposed that his hair fell out regularly, and that there was this strange, phantom pain around his chest, near where his heart should be. His wrists were covered in scars from where he had been bled. Not from his own hand. He could not understand the purpose of self-harm. He released his feelings in other ways, and perhaps he felt too much. I twas never about needing more stimuli, it was never about needing less feeling. It was always about how his emotions and memories enveloped him, and he became consumed with these thoughts, these ideas - ideas that he had never had before. His wrists were covered in nocked scars from where he had been bled by the doctors, before they had forgotten him. They had cross-analyzed his tainted blood with a wide spectrums of disorders - believing that his constantly regenerating flesh was some sort of tumor - or maybe, even, the cure to cancer. Caleb had cried when he had been cut, but it wasn't because of the pain. He wasn't sure why he had cried. It hadn't hurt. He couldn't even feel the needle in his skin or the pump of the machine that flushed his blood into the bottle. There had simply been tears. Maybe he was mourning.

Caleb had mourned the outside world and his role in it for a few months, before the tears had stopped altogether and he had simply stared into silence and darkness able to reconstruct the world through his memories and dreams. In this wheelchair, he tried to do the same thing, to retreat into his memories, real or imagined, his own or borrowed from somebody else, somebody with long blonde hair and blue eyes, who had killed and loved and lived. Caleb closed his eyes, lines appearing between his brows. He tried to imagine that he was one the back of a grand horse, with the sunshine streaming down upon them, as they walked through a forest. His family had always made roadtrips up into the Colorado Rockies, and there was a small, secluded horse stable there, where they offered trail rides for a reasonable fee. He always rode the same horse, a silver mare named Glory. She had bore him first when he was nine, and had continued to bear him everytime he went there. He had asked his father about buying her, but he had only clasped his son's shoulder and said that he was leaving to Westpoint soon. There was no reason he would need a horse in Afghanistan, no reason he would need a horse in the desert waste-land of machine guns and tanks. He had returned, months and years later to lead Glory from the stables in the dead of night. He shot the owner - a stout, pudgy woman with dark hair and a penchant for fleece jumpers - three times in the chest. And then he rode Glory through the woods, down the mountain side, and for the first time in Arthur's life, he felt free.

But Glory was gone too. There was only him and the chair, with the orderly wheeling him towards an unknown location , and the fear of losing himself to the darkness and the unknown was more. He cleared his throat once, and then folded his hands across his legs. His pale hands shook on the angles of his knees. His shoulders were shaking too, from the cold and from the anxiety that plagued his mind. Caleb stared straight ahead, at the flickering lights and the hallway that opened up like a hungry mouth, wanting so badly to swallow him whole. The small man did not look at the orderly, but addressed him all the same. His voice was calm and flat, but it sounded as if that calmness, that lack of inflection could vanish in a moment. "I'm going to have a roommate." Although a statement, there was a lilt near the end, an unasked question. "Who?"
 
ooc: It's so short ;-; I'm so sorry​

Elissa Kay LaCroix
Number 6313; The Six-Faced

Elissa was gone, asleep within herself, and the moment her consciousness faded the rest of her jumped up. The other pieces of her shattered self forced themselves up, one breaking the surface and taking control. The blank, hollow look vanished, and the girl blinked once. Her stormy eyes beheld the mirror, and she took a few short steps toward the washroom, watching her reflection as she did so.

"Is there something wrong?"

Her grey eyes darted to the voice who called in as the male stuck his head into the room, her knocked on the door then, a rather pointless gesture, but it was an attempt to be polite. Blaise stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to say. She stood like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding truck, her body frozen in nervous terror. She couldn't handle boys. After another moment of silence she shook her head and looked away, trying to find her voice, "I'm.. fine...."
She murmured softly, she cleared her throat before looking back at him with an air of forced confidence, "Now that I've moved, what should... I...?"
She left the question hanging in the air, though her voice was louder now her belief in herself was waning quickly. She scolded herself silently. Though she hated how timid she got around the opposite gender she could never muster enough will to change it permanently, it was annoying to sound so very small.​
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Reinier thought he, or she, spoke as if they were going to cry " Split personality. I'm... I'm Jill ". In an attempt to save her from embarrassment Reinier stood up with the defiled toothbrush and brought out his free hand to meet hers (hers..?) " I'm Reinier " at the last second before their hands met he stopped and thought about it. Her classification scared him a little. What the hell, split personality, one of them probably killed someone. "Wait a second... " He recollected an event. Reinier pulled his hand slightly closer to himself then continued to move it back slowly " Aren't you the person who beat up a little girl today, the creepy kid with heterochromatic eyes? " Reinier was careful not to use the word 'guy' or 'man' in case it would set her off. He glared into her eyes in the attempt to see if he could tell Jill to be a serial killer, obviously just an assumption with no foundation.

Ever since his childhood, Reinier had believed he could tell certain characteristics and truths simply from looking at someone, he has always naively trusted his instincts and theories. Simply recalling how 'well' the situation turned out with Cateline bloom, the face consumer, his guesses weren't always correct. Reineir remembered the pain he felt, he could still feel it, the deep tooth gashes that had vandalized his face. His gums had a constant ache and pain which made it distressing to speak but he had adapted to it. He dropped the tooth brush in his left hand and hovered his fingers over his left sides bandage, knowing if he touched it the wound would only further mortify him. Where the hell is she anyways...? probably still under sedatives... maybe i could beat her face in while she sleeps. But it it will ruin her flawless symmetry... except for those damn bangs... maybe if I cut them off... he drifted into his inner-thoughts for a moment.
 
"G-"Jill's voice stuck in her throat for a moment at what Reiner said as her eyes widened. Was he going to judge her for what Jack did? What if he was some kind of psycho with some kind of twisted sense of justice, and he was going to punish her for what he did? "N-no! I-I sw-swear, th-that wasn't m-me!"she stammered, her knees starting to shake as she pushed her hands together on her chest defensively. "I-it was Jack! It wasn't me, I s-swear!"she continued with an almost trembling voice, inching back somewhat.
 
Luke eyed the room once the door swung back. Two beds, two dressers, a square table, it was what he expected for the most part until catching sight of the boy in the corner. It was obvious he was talking to himself, but Luke couldn't hear him. So Kira was one of those types, eh? It wouldn't be too troublesome to brainwash that one into worshipping him like a God if he could figure out his new roommate with the stereotypical beings he's encountered. He tossed a plastic bag with his stuff on a bed then crossed the room to the corner Kira was huddled in and crouched down. He wasn't a big believer in 'personal space' when it was everyone's space. Unless you have a plastic bubble around you, anyone could breach that area if they so desired to, so he did quite often to anyone he encountered. He grabbed a handful of his new roommate's hair and roughly tilted his head back to look at his face. "What are you whimpering about?" It was only then that Luke was able to see the bloody nail marks in Kira's arms, his lifeless eyes brightening with the new ideas that formed in his head.

William slowed to stroll while reading the numbers taped to the door. What was that number again? 8...98? He nearly scowled at the fact he's already begun to forget the one thing he needed to remember. Silently cursing himself, he almost asked for the number again until the Patient in his care spoke up again. "I'm going to have a roommate." Even though it was obvious he couldn't see the man's actions, he nodded, tapping his thumbs against the plastic handles a bit. He knew what he was really asking, but even the Orderly was unaware of whom it might be. He shared what he did know instead. "Yes, you're going to have a roommate. It'll be based on the new system we've been installing for a while now. Your number-" William paused, expecting (and hoping) that the man in the wheelchair might chime in with those four digits. If not, it'd leave a moment of silence before he continued with, "and your roommate's number give us the ability to keep track of you, as well as change roommates should they be signed out."

"I'm.. fine...." The Orderly watched on with suspicion until he heard, "Now that I've moved, what should... I...?" The person speaking to Elissa LaCroix shook his head to suppress a laugh. It was funny to listen to her speak to him like a timid child might, especially after dealing with the majority of ones who screamed whatever was on their mind. "I couldn't tell you that. The schedule's a bit off, but," He pulled away from the door and looked down the corridor at a clock hanging on the wall before sticking his head back in. "Three forty-five is usually for individual meetings with your Doctor, but since the group meeting was missed, I'm assuming that will take place instead. It's nearly three, so do whatever you want until then. Just keep out of trouble or I'll throw you in a cell." He attempted to joke with the seemingly lucid patient and flashed a tired grin. "Is that all?"
 
Kira senses his personal space being invaded and tries to press himself into the corner a little more, he keeps his head down and bites his lip a little as he hopes the person will go away. When the person doesn't and grasps Kira's hair in his fist and roughly jerks his head up, Kira let's out a small whimper and cringes. "I-I.." he stutters, unable to look at the other male. "I-I just want to go home." he whispers quietly, shaking a little and taking deep breathes to calm himself down. Kira's never had a roomate before and is easily intimidated by this person. "now p-p-please let g-go of my h-hair." he says, not a demand but more a plea then anything else. In this personality, Kira's meek and easily pushed around by others- since he'd often depend on his father or brother Vendetta to protect him. Vendetta may have let him down, but his father never did, he wishes his father was here now. Kira risks a glance at his new roomate's eyes and notices they seem to be brightening, Kira feels a shiver run down his spine. "u-umm.." he starts, averting his gaze and looking down at his arms. His hands twitch as he feels the need to claw at himself again, he licks his lips nervously. "y-you're making me n-nervous.." he says after a few moments.
 
Elissa Kay LaCroix
Number 6313; The Six-Faced

The boy looked at her with a dash of surprise flashing across his features, which then lightened into a smile. He shook his head, as if to dislodge an idea or thought from his head. She saw his shoulders shake ever so slightly and Blaise cringed. She felt mocked, and looked down upon. It was degrading, yet he had no such intentions. In any case the offense was soon forgotten when he spoke, "I couldn't tell you that. The schedule's a bit off, but,"
He pulled away from the door, glancing down the corridor and giving Blaise a break from his gaze.

She sighed ever so slightly, a soft and subtle sound. It was as if a small weight had been lifted off her chest, but the moment he looked back at her it returned, along with her rigid figure.
"Three forty-five is usually for individual meetings with your Doctor, but since the group meeting was missed, I'm assuming that will take place instead. It's nearly three, so do whatever you want until then. Just keep out of trouble or I'll throw you in a cell." Blaise blinked in surprise at the humor in his tone, and observed his grin silently for a moment, her cheeks pinkening mildly, "Is that all?"

She tried to smile back, it was a small grin. Awkward on her features yet surprisingly sincere, "Y-yeah. Thank you"
She waved slightly, and felt a small flash of pain. She flinched and scowled at the floor, Deziree never had been subtle in her advances, and the other persona hated to watch Blaise pass up yet another decently attractive boy. With that she moved to the door quickly, shooting the male orderly yet another smile-- albeit more apologetic yet no less awkward-- before looking down and beginning to close the door on him in hopes of napping or reading, or simply being able to breath properly.
​
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Caleb frowned, wheeled towards his destiny. His cell awaited him, and his roommate. He hadn't had a roomate since he shared a bunk with right other men, their smells and sound intermingling and becoming something altogether other; toxic and unknown. That was the sensation rising in his chest as the orderly rolled him down the hall. Everything was toxic and unknown, from the taste in his mouth to the anonymous roommate that he would soon share air with. The idea was toxic and unknown too- all of the other people he had shared air with were either dead or dying. The orderly that pushed him, with his tightening knuckles and failing memory was dying. He just didn't know it.

But Arthur knew it. He knew that all that got too close to him were doomed to die. His first murder had been his mother, who had birthed him on a torn and bloody bed. He had never known her, but he suspected that Caroline had always blamed him for their mother's death. That was normal. That was understandable and natural. But what had been disgusting and abnormal was that his father never had blamed him for her death. His father saw her passing on Arthur's face, everytime the boy smiled or laughed or cried or screamed but he didn't hate him for it. In the end, that had been what had killed him. The fact that he kept forgiving his son for all of the things that he had done, blind to the truth of the matter; death was in him, and everything was doomed to die.

"Eight-three-ninety-eight." Caleb gave the number mechanically; not even looking back at the orderly. The man was already beginning to forget his charge. He'd forget the number first. Then he would forget the words that Caleb had said, from the inflection and tone to the words themselves. He would forget the way he had felt, looking at this broken and mutilated body that Caleb could not in good conscience call his own. He would forget the horror and sorrow, he would forget pity. And last of all? Caleb's face - Arthur's face - would slide away into the dark recesses of the orderly's brain until it too was gone. There would be nothing of Caleb left, not even the memory that he existed. It was inevitable.
 
What kind of person am I for judging 'her' anyways? even if shes killed someone. Reinier stuck his hand out fully to her. I mean look at me , I like a human piranha, no i fucking don't, I killed a few people, but that was at my worst... when 'It' happened... He lost his cold self that had been questioning the poor girl " Okay, I believe you, You didn't murder the facial structure of that little brat, I'm sorry " he said with a snicker hanging off of 'sorry' " You can just never be too careful here, right? " He smiled, attempting to make his words rather humor-filled. Reinier was good at that, being funny to normal people. Besides what's the harm in finding an asset (?) in this place?

Reiniers eyes lay oh his hanging fingers that were preparing to touch hers, wait touch hers, she looks clean but that's not saying much. Reiniers other hand dived for a small well-used bottle of hand sanitizer in his waistband, he then continued with squeezing a portion of its contents onto his hands and rubbing them rapidly together until they were dry. " Sorry again, i'm a bit of a neat-freak if you couldn't tell " Why was he insulting himself to impress a person whos mind had been shattered into different people? I'm not a 'freak'. I AM SIMPLY BACTERIAL AWARE! Reinier finally put his hand out, this time, not taking it back until she reached hers out to greet with him.
 
Jill looked at Reiner's outstretched hand for a few moments, not sure in the slightest what she was going to do. She still didn't trust this young man to not murder her as soon as she got within arm's length. Then again, he seemed quite civil, if a bit obsessed with cleanliness. Another moment passed, before his expression changed from Jill's scared, wide-open eyes and barely opened mouth, putting on John's polite if discreet smile. He took Reiner's hand and shook it ever so gently. "That's alright."he said, looking his new roommate in the eyes. "I'm John. Sorry about Jill - she's shy, and scared to death of just about everyone in this place. Seems like we'll be roommates; you don't mind if I crash my stuff into a corner while I get the rest, do you?"
 
Luke flashed a less than genuine smile of apology, but his devious eyes remained a minute longer on Kira along with his grip on the poor boy's head. "Right," He said slowly as his fingers loosened then smoothed his hair; fixing it. "My apologies, Kira." Speaking the name as if they'd been friends for years came easily from his lips, his tone less menacing than before. "Forgive me? I'm angry, I shouldn't have tried to take it out on you." Luke stood, extending his hand down to his new roommate. Surely this was the type of person he could manipulate with just a few kind words and actions. Of course, in an asylum, that wasn't always true. He'd have to play his cards carefully if he wanted to brainwash this boy like others before him. "I didn't mean to make you nervous." Hesitating, he nearly didn't ask, "Why are you here?" Upping the deceit, he quickly added, "You don't seem crazy."


"Y-yeah. Thank you." The Orderly standing at Elissa's door chuckled at the quick wave and short smiles she gave. Hopefully - though it wasn't very professional to be - he'd see the girl again. It'd be a nice break from all the other Patients who were never polite or quiet despite the medication. It was never that way with most of them unless they were placed under heavy sedatives, and it was a pain in the ass to carry them to cells. When Elissa moved forward, he stepped back, speaking up just before the door closed. "Enjoy your day, Miss." He shot her an uncertain look through the crack as if he were going to say something else, then turned and to continue about his day.


"Right," William said a bit too cheerfully to the Patient in the wheelchair he was pushing down the hall. Eight. Three. Nine. Eight. The Orderly repeated those words in an almost chant-like rhythm in his head. He'd kick himself in the gut should he forget again. The paper on the doors turned out to be more than helpful as they soon came to a stop outside one of the doors. There he could read that the number eighty-three, ninety-eight belonged to a Caleb James Norwilll. That was his name. "Here it is, Caleb!" There was a brief smile on his face until he read the name just above his. Zack Kori. Who didn't know that name? The guy had blinded a few nurses before. Peering into the small rectangle of plexiglass above the sheet, William could see a female Orderly trying to calm the patient in a straitjacket. A slight relief found him at the sight of the restraints. Caleb should be okay if that remained on. "Ready to meet your roommate?" The tone of his voice was suddenly stiff.
 
Kira relaxes a little, not seeing that the smile isn't a true one. Though he does feel edgy that the other man's eyes and grip remain on him longer then what he would have liked. He flinches slightly as the other man loosens his grip and smooths his hair back into place, the intimate action both agitates and soothes Kira. Kira tilts his head as the man speaks his name with such familiarity. 'have we met before? I don't remember him.. but..' he blinks and smiles weakly, nodding his head. "y-yes, I f-forgive you.." he says quietly, taking the other man's hand cautiously. "i-it's okay, I-I get nervous around e-everyone.." he says quietly in an attempt to reassure his room mate. His eyes widen little when the other man tells him, he's not crazy. "y-you're the first person to tell me that.." he tilts his head. "m-my step father p-put me in here, b-but I don't know w-what's wrong with me."
 
Alice walked down the not so well kept hallway of Wayward. She had a bit of an extra spring in her step...endeavor. She was looking for her room, they had told her it was on the sixth floor. She briefly pondered why they had put the patients higher up than the doctors, but she didn't give it much thought. She was too busy humming a little happy tune and not caring about the fact that her hair was a complete and utter mess.

Thankfully, it didn't take her long to get to her designated room. She didn't have many 'important' belongings in her previous room. The doctors didn't let her have a lot of things, mainly out of fear of her fashioning it into a sharp object. She wouldn't, but she didn't need a lot of things anyways. Besides, now that she had a roommate, she'd just play with whatever they had. She threw open the door to the room, pleasantly surprised to find Eli there behind it. Was she going to be her new roommate?

"Eli!" She happily shouted, practically tackling the other girl. "You're my roommate?"
 
Caleb felt his stomach clench as he was led to what would be his home, his prison for the next years. Or decades. He wondered how long it would be, that he would be trapped in there without anybody seeing him or knowing who he was. Then again, he would have a room-mate for the first time in his life; perhaps that meant that he would be found and recognized because his room-mate could be seen - they were not a ghost. Caleb craned his head, wishing that he had a few more inches so that he could see over the orderly's shoulder - he wanted to know what he would be put with. Perhaps like Caleb - they weren't mad at all, just a lost soul within the confines of this place, somebody who didn't belong to this world anymore than Caleb did. He wished very much that his room-mate would be somebody sane, somebody he could talk to. he also hoped that they had never seen or head of Arthur Prince, so Caleb could walk without fear hanging over his face. He wished for that, but he knew what he would get instead. He could see it in the orderly's posture, the tensing of shoulders and clenching of fists. The orderly was frightened of the thing that laid behind the door. He was frightened of Caleb's room-mate, and that made Caleb afraid.

Arthur didn't know why he was afraid. What could happen to him? He couldn't be killed, so he had no death to fear. He could be hurt, certainly, but those hurts only lasted for a moment, even though the memories lasted forever. Perhaps that was why Caleb was afraid - he was afraid of making new memories, and having those memories be ones of pain and suffering, and the only things that Caleb was able to retreat into. He had so many memories, now. Some of them didn't belong to him, so of them belonged to his Other, the pale eyes and the pale face that went with pain and death. He remembered in the National Forest, laying on his stomach with a gun nestled in the crook of his arm. His father was crouched there next to him, and a white-speckled fawn nibbled on the grass infront of them. His father looked at him, solemn and grey-faced, one hand reaching out to adjust where Caleb was aiming. He steadied the barrel with his hand. "There you go, Arthur." His father had said. "Just shoot." Arthur's hand had knocked the safety off, and squeezed the trigger. The bullet left the barrel with alarming speed, and hit the fawn right in her flank. Her legs folded beneath her. His father smiled at him. Arthur smiled back. Together, they watched the fawn die, and they called it fun. They called it a past-time. It was noble.

Caleb shook his head limply from side to side, sheet of white-blond hair waving in the man-made breeze. The orderly had been categorized in Caleb's mind as something closer to friend than foe, more prey than predator - though Caleb knew he would never hunt again. But the orderly's tone, which had been sing-song as he said the name 'Caleb', had become stiff and unfamiliar. He was so afraid, Caleb thought. Did he know that his death was in that cage - the same cage where they would stuff Caleb? Caleb wondered if he was going to be responsible for the orderly's death, or whether it would be his room-mate's doing. Either was, that room held the orderly's death, and Caleb thought that his chaperone realized it. The patient planted the palms of his hand firmly on the sides of the wheelchair, pulling himself upwards, out of the chair. His legs shook and seemed as if they would buckle underneath him, but like the fawn, he stayed upright for a long time, despite the burning pain. Caleb swayed as he stood, the filthy hem of his hospital gown hardly disguising the quivering of his knees. His blue eyes twitched towards the orderly, the faint sheen of them half-masked behind the strands of his hair. "I..Thank you." He looked down his long nose, staring at the tiled floor. There was a faded stain - a smear leading to the door of his new home. It was the rust colour of dried, congealed blood. "I... I don't even know who you are." Caleb stammered out.
 
Reinier twitched at Johns words taking his hand back but passing it off as a cough. He brought his elbow to his face and faked a wheezing noise. '..Crash my stuff..' '..Into a corner..' Did he not see me on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor to a decent shine? Would he not assume I NEED ORGANIZATION. Wait... " Do you see what Jill sees? As in, if I had a conversation with her or she saw me doing something would you also " He didn't know why he was so curious, a civilized man with a shattered mentality must have been fascinating. After Johns reply he continued with the box 'issue'.

He peered at the bin that would 'contaminate' his new sanctuary, but was surprised at his reaction. Instead of sneering in disgust at the faulted arrangement inside its cardboard walls, Reinier was... stunned (?). He noticed a few paintings half-emerged from their disorganized collection. " You know what, I'll just put these, I mean this, box, on your bed, you go get the rest of your stuff " Reinier sounded casual although in his thoughts he knew he was almost desperate. They reminded him of something, yet he couldn't be certain of what until he was alone with them. He laid his hands flat out in front of him creating a 90 degree angle, his palms facing the ceiling. He expected to be handed the box with his limbs posture resembling that of a forklift.
 
"Uhh...sure."John muttered after a moment of hesitation, before picking up the box and placing it in Reiner's palms. This guy was definitely off his rocker, but he seemed harmless. "And yeah, all of us hear, see and remember everything the others do. You could say it's always me, only I, uh...change in personality and how I identify myself, but at the same time we see each other kind of as siblings. It's...it's complicated."he spoke, awkwardly scratching the back of his head, mostly at Reiner's odd behavior. "Anyway, I'll be off to get the rest."he added, his tone hinting at his relief to get going. He then backed out of the room and headed back down the corridor, back towards his old room.
 
Elissa Kay LaCroix
Number 6313; The Six-Faced

As the door creaked closed he called one final quick message in her direction, "Enjoy your day, Miss." She hesitated for a moment as she closed the door, peering at him through the crack with unease. She gave him small smile and closed the door with a click as he turned away, letting out a sigh she leaned against it for a moment before taking a pace toward her bed. She hadn't taken three small steps when the door burst open again. She stiffened and turned over to look at the small dainty frame and sloppy red locks. The girls green eyes found her and widened,
"Eli!" She happily shouted, lunging forward and hugging her. Blaise managed to keep her balance, but teetered slightly, "You're my roommate?"
Blaise blinked, nodded and broke away from the hug, much more loose now that she was around another girl, "Yeah, I'm your new roommate. The name's Blaise, Eli is away at the moment."
She let that sink in for a few short seconds before speaking again, "Just so you're aware, Eli suffers from Dissociative Identity Disorder."
Blaise smiled as she explained casually, "We're all in here for something, right?" She yawned, "So need any help getting settled?"



​
 
He waited until he was sure John had cleared the hall " ...great, already making the main personality uncomfortable... " he muttered to himself " ... and since they all can see... damn... ". Reinier pondered while walking a few steps to the door, he nudged it close with a napkin. He attempted to hurry before John got back, he had to make sure. He tried his best to be swift but what can you do while trying to be cleanly at the same time. Reinier turned to his fastest method, he called it the rubber-speed-cleanse. He dove his hand for the brand-new gloves, poured half a litre of sanitizer in each and shook them, he was going to be putting his hand in those things after all.

After racing to the bathroom and throwing the revolting-to-most, excluding Reinier, liquid stench of the bacterial disinfectant in the sink he rushed to the box which lay on Johns bed. He pulled out the painting that had caught his attention earlier " No... it's nothing like the one she had... the one he wrecked " Reinier looked down recollecting an obviously torturous memory " He always wrecked everything... and he finished her " Reinier held the painting while his grip tightened. Wishful thinking to mistake the two, his mother would have been lucky to get her hands on such a beautiful piece. " She's gone... ". Reiniers thumb pressed against the stunningly painted canvas, his thumbs popped mirroring holes through it before realizing what he'd done.

His eyes widened, Reinier didn't want to end up like the little brat whos blood decorated the play room floor. Haven't I suffered enough pain today!?. He scrambled to think of something when he heard foot steps steadily making their way near his room. In all reality it could have been anyone, but it seemed Reiniers mind liked to wander into dangerous expectations. The 'Mr. Hyde' to Johns 'Dr. Jekll' could break in at any second and ruin the other side of his face. God forbid i got a crooked nose! He struggled to find a place to hide it. Maybe i can fix it eventually. His unlikely hoping changed to shoving the art piece under his pillow, neatly of course, after hearing a creek a few feet outside of the door. "... be casual...".
 
Status
Not open for further replies.
Top Bottom
Back