Raku
Four Thousand Club
(WIP)
The Asylum
- Thread starter Raku
- Start date
WolfSol
Brain cashew smooth
Location: Head Warden's Office
Perfection, the only word that could describe the office room. Each picture frame was adjusted just right, each stack of paper was tucked together like the pages of a book, each pencil was upright in the metallic pen holder, each cable for the computer was aligned neatly on the back of the desk and walls in a way where they could not be seen, the books in the mahogany bookcase were organized by size in alphabetical order, the glass desk's face is free of prints and smudges, the white drapes are free of wrinkles and dust, the pristine wooden floor and white carpet are seemingly untouched by time, human, and dirt, and the chairs in front of the desk were set a profound ninety degree angle. It's the epitome of perfection, everything even and organized and clad in some form of white. In fact, it was almost as if man had never stepped foot into the office... it was just how Henrietta Feria liked it.
The look and feel of cleanliness was almost euphoric to her, and above all else it kept her at ease. Of course, it wasn't a surprise as like her office, she to was the portrayal of perfection. Her features were rigid and cold, much like the edges of a glacier. She held her head high with a sharp, low nose, long and thin lips, hollowed cheek bones, and a jutted chin, all resemblances of her esteemed father. Each strand of winter hair twirled and curled like the swirl on an ice cream cone, not one strand standing out from the style, and her eyebrows, though darkened from eyeliner to where they did not quite match her white hair, were thin and long. Just as the drapes, her knee-cut dress was white and wrinkle-free. It fell upon tight covered legs like silk, but did little to distract the painstakingly tall, white heels strapped to wrinkly feet.
Feria, the only name she went by after her father's passing, tapped a long, manicured nail on the desk's glass top. The tapping was precise, rhythmic, and almost mimicked the cadence of a waltz. Her other hand was preoccupied with a phone, and it seemed that her conversation was becoming incredibly irritating. Her stone cold face had screwed up in a look of frustration, lips mashed together as her eyebrows knitted together. After all, the phone call had lasted forty-five minutes.
"My company has continuously supported you, but the media is getting too interested, Feria. I'm afraid I can no longer allow my livelihood to be threatened. After all, your experiment failed, again. Where's all my money going, to failures? I think I can give my money elsewhere."
She refrained a sigh or even a groan to display her frustration. The results of her institute's failure was supposed to be kept under the covers... apparently she'd have to find the rat and strangle him. This had been the fifth call today, and all of them had been in regards to the subject that had committed suicide days before. They'd been so close to perfection... yet now they were back to square one. "Listen, chairman," she spoke sweetly, a voice that dripped with honey, "it was merely a false rumor. Why, we're close than we've ever been. I apologize, but it seems you've been terribly misinformed. Now, you know as well as I do that the media is just a bunch of horny dogs. They'll hump anyone's legs for a tidbit of juicy information. It's no surprise that they're finding interest in Blackwell as we are one of the most renowned asylums on the market."
"That may be so, but I'm not taking any chances. You always say you're closer than before... I call bullshit."
Feria gave a dry chuckle, a smile absent from her lips as she said, "You act like my facility is the only one doing 'dirty deeds' here. Goodness, wouldn't it be a shame if your company was brought into the limelight a bit too?"
"Are you... threatening me?"
"You're damn straight."
Location: Boat Docks | Booking
To say he was scared shitless was an understatement. To think that his father would go this low... then again, he shouldn't be surprised. Nevertheless, to an asylum, to Blackwell of all places? "I told you, I'm not insane!" His own words were becoming a mantra and the more he repeated them the more the escorts grew annoyed. He'd already driven one up the metaphorical wall with his denials to the point that the burly man had turned to swat at him. Ryan face was still sore from that swing too, but he felt it urgent, necessary to express his predicament. This was especially so when he spotted the tall towers of the asylum off in the distance. The boat, a small Crownline, had been leading him to his demise for about forty-eight hours now.
He'd tried numerous times to talk to the boat driver, but the woman ignored him. In addition, he'd tried countless times to jump off the boat and swim... of course, that was incredibly stupid. He was in the middle of the ocean and was a rather weak swimmer, but the idea of an insane asylum scared him to no end. On his fifth attempt at fleeing, his escorts had put restraints on him.
He stood up from his seat on one of the chairs in the cabin, hands straining against the cuffs at his back, "Please, listen to me! I'm not-" his head snapped to the side as a force pushed him backward, his butt landing back onto the seat.
"If you say one more damn thing, one more, then I'll knock the living daylights out of you, you hear me?" Ryan flinched, eyes blinked long and hard at the sudden pressure that welled up at his cheek for the second time in just a few hours. The burly man from before was back, screaming in his face and shaking his fist. "I don't give a shit if your sane or not, rich boy. Now shut up and stay there."
Location: Recreational Room
The recreational room of Blackwell was, like the rest of the building, dressed in white. Much like the cells of the patients, the walls and floors were padded and what little windows covered the expansion of wall were barred. It was spacious despite the attractions that littered the room, all of which were set up in a show of perfection and cleanliness. Chess, finger painting, 5lb dumbbells, basket ball with foam balls, a small radio that could only pick up one station, a tiny television that could only pick up ten channels of static, and a bolted-in bookcase full of religious, self-cleansing, paperback texts, two bolted-down desks with locked computers that allowed one to only surf on an educational site, a bolted-down rack of the daily - mostly four months outdated - newspapers from around the world, and a multitude of sofas... the only room that offered patients a way to enjoy themselves and socialize. Yet it was rarely lively and rather quiet. The line of guards that overlooked from the balcony above the door and aligned the expanse of wall made the idea of fun short-lived. The guards of Blackwell were incredibly unpredictable and that made patients incredibly wary.
Austria twisted a finger in a thick, unruly strand as she hummed a meek tune. She hated, hated, hated, hated, hated the rec room almost as much as she hated the laboratories. Of all the things, she hated men the most and the recreational room exposed her to such monsters. Without a doubt they were all looking at her, and that very paranoid notion scared her. It drove her to bite into her lips, to rock back and forth, and to take interest in the corner of the stuffy yet spacious room. The desire to hole up in her cell was killing her, but she knew better than to confront of a security guard. She'd done it before when she was still a "noob." The guard had struck her, claiming she had been trying to bite them.
She wasn't a dog.
And so she took to the corners despite the vulnerabilities they offered. To her, corners offered a way to be unseen as she wasn't out in the open. Besides, there was many creative and logical activities for her fellow, crazy monkeys to partake in rather than actually bother her. Nevertheless, with each passing male she found herself gasping for air.
Why are you so pathetic, Aus? The voice that echoed in her head, that interrupted her thoughts, brought a whine to her lips. It had been a few hours since she'd heard her other half's voice... the damned bitch. Although she valued another's company, she didn't particularly favor her sister. Not now and likely not ever as it was her fault she they were in here in the first place.
Location: Laboratory
"And how much has the patient ingested?" Schwarzen peeled back a lid, waving a flashlight in the patient's eyes. The pupils gradually reacted, but the response was too slow. It resembled the patient's breathing, slow. It didn't cause fear in his chest at the idea of losing a life, but more or less it caused anxiety over the drug used. It was supposed to settle the nerves while the removal and replacement of the torso took place, but the heartbeat had dropped to low when they'd managed to amputate the leg successfully. Of course, it may have helped if they hadn't done the experiment live. The drug had only repressed the nerves from firing, but the patient had been fully aware, alert, during the process. Yes, the practice was cruel, but he found it necessary. He'd rather not have a patient panicking once they awoke with a different torso... that and he wanted to gauge their reaction.
"800 milligrams, doctor," a nurse came to his side, a clipboard in hand, "should we put them in the infirmary?"
He glanced up at the monitor, reading off the results with a sigh. It would be the best thing to do as multiple results similar to this session had caused failures before. A full amputation of the torso and full replacement had yet to be accomplished, and even when they were close things always backfired. Maybe he should try it on a different patient? "Yes, for now. Give them three doses of painkillers when they become fully alert and when their heartbeat is no loner irregular."
Aur0ra
Crazy
[SIZE= 18px]Dawn Rivers [/SIZE]
[SIZE= 18px](Location: Laboratory)[/SIZE]
There is no way of telling whether it was night or day when you've been locked in your cell for more than thirty six hours straight, no privileges except for going to the bathroom twice a day and the only food you're allowed to have is the iv attached to your neck.
- if you are running drugs that irritate veins at high concentrations or that cause damage when leaked outside of the vein (e. g. norepinephrine or chemotherapy), you want a neck IV - it is less likely to fall out of a fat vein and the drug is diluted more quickly due to the higher volumetric flow in the larger vein. -
Ropes hanging from the ceiling attached to hand cuffs, chained a figure dressed in a clean white uniform in the middle of a cleaner white cell. The only contrasting color was Dawn's dark hair falling to her back. A faint smile was present on her lips, they were really pissed off this time it would seem. She manipulated a patient to kill another then bite his own tongue and commit suicide. No body could prove anything though, and Dawn was ever since stripped from her privileges and chained in her cell for what felt like an eternity.
The sound of keys unlocking the doors brought her back to reality as she raised her head slowly to look at the new comers, a guard and two nurses. With out saying a word to her they unchained the weak woman, allowed her a trip to the bathroom, then escorted her out of the cell and into the laboratory for blood pressure measurements among other things. Little did this patient need restraining though, she was always so willing to undergo the experiments and to make passing comments on the scientists and doctors' findings, what made them disgusted by her was her manipulative murderings which she got out of for lack of evidence, and for the fact that she never committed the murders with her own hands.
Dawn lay on a cold white examination table, her hands and legs were chained with belt like restrainers. Out of the corner of her eye she could see a patient being transferred out of the laboratory, his leg was clearly amputated. Dawn sighed hoping that she'll get out of there with all of her limbs intact as a nurse now approached her, measuring her blood pressure and her heart beats and preparing an experimental hallucinogenic drug as she waited for the doctor in charge to come take the lead.
[SIZE= 18px]General Alexander Malkovich[/SIZE]
[SIZE= 18px](Location: Booking)[/SIZE]
Giving orders to six guards who stood in front of him to stand by, General Malkovich stood, hands behind his back waiting for the new patients to arrive. A handfull of patients were supposed to arrive that day, and the general was going to scold the guards responsible for bringing them in for being fifteen minutes late. He kept checking his watch and cursing out load at the lack of punctuality this facility was showing lately. The General always took charge of new patients, to show them that any misconduct will lead to sever consequences at Blackwell, and that no lenience is tolerated.
When some of the boats started arriving, the general started shouting commands to his guards and nurses to be ready. Whenever a boat would dock, and if the patient is awake, the general would read them their new rights.
''You have renounced the right of free will the minute you set foot at Blackwell. You are now a property to the Asylum. You are to obey all orders without question. Any misconduct or mistake will result in punishment. Welcome to Blackwell'' When he'd finish, the general would allow the nurses and the guards to admit the new patients in, taking them up for inspection, changing their clothes, giving them name tags and sending them to their new cells. He'd then shout at the guards for being this late and punish them properly.
AI10100
Expert Lurker
Yuuji Ajusaki
Location: Recreational Room
Blackwell. The place made him want to laugh. Have you seen the interiors? Plain white. It was meant to break the patients. Yeah, he's heard of solitary confinement before. White everything and you didn't even have someone to talk to - made people go crazy. Then again, what did they think they were? Sane? Weren't they admitted here because they were insane? What did they hope to accomplish with these white walls? And he didn't want them pulling up some bullcrap about it being the 'usual hospital room'. From what they've been doing in there, it beat its purpose. If these weren't white walls, then they wouldn't have to worry about blood everywhere! He should know all about this. He did, after all, used to do some bloody business. He still would have if not for the fact that he was caught.
Unlike most of the patients here who lasted more than a year, Yuuji was full of pep and energy. No matter how many times he got beaten down and experimented on, a smile could be seen on his face. He was not a masochist, oh no, but there was just something seriously wrong in his head. He had never shared it with anyone else but he always did wish for one of those experiments to succeed on him. He was sure that the end result is something like a superhuman or something like that. If he were to attain power like that... well, he would more or less be unstoppable. He was sure that these scientists... doctors wouldn't mind being on the receiving end of the pain.
Right?
He looked back down at his opponent in chess. A man in his late 40s, been here for five years. He was always an interesting man. He told Yuuji that he wasn't really insane but no matter how hard he tried to convince the big woman, she wouldn't let him go. The man then continued to tell him that this was probably the doing of one of his siblings who were always so jealous about his success. Yuuji wouldn't put it past other people to do something like that and Blackwell was always so accepting of newcomers. Yuuji then shared his own experience, detailing every single one of his kills to the male. The man simply looked at him, shrugged and went back to the game. Ha, this place must have broken so many people. Here, morals weren't a thing. The only rules were to follow what the guards, doctors and the big woman said. Other than that, nothing. He could beat one of the patients up, but not killing them, and he would still be fine. Despite everything, he had began loving this place. It was a place where he belonged.
Hansel Kaiser
Location: Booking
As per the usual routine when they had newcomers, Hansel was posted near General Alexander. General Alexander was the head of the security guard - so basically his boss. He had to listen to all the guy's orders. Though thanks to the years he's been doing this over and over again, he got to pick up multiple signals from the man. Right now, he was angry. From what he knows, the patients should have arrived around fifteen minutes ago. Hansel repressed a sigh. Poor guards who made it a slow ass process. Now they'd be reprimanded too. Once he saw the ships, he sent Jakob forward to inspect the ones coming out. The military-trained dog sniffed each and every one of the patients before trotting back to Hansel.
"All clear." He told the nurses who nodded and then took them away. The main reason he was here was to check if these patients managed to sneak anything in. Weaponry was something they were always on the lookout for; however, there was only one in a hundred chances that they would be able to sneak one in but they can never be too careful. Hansel watched as the nurses walked off with the new patients. He had heard one of them claiming that he was sane. Honestly? Hansel believed the guy. When you spend two months here, you would begin to realize that this place isn't a normal asylum - it was for the mentally sane and insane with only one goal - the creation of a super soldier. They didn't care who they experimented on. As long as they had the mice, they would't bat an eye.
Not that he particularly cared about that. They could do whatever they wanted to. As long as he was being paid, he wouldn't really care either way. Once General Alexander was done reprimanding at the other guards for their incompetence, he turned to him and asked, "Should I take point at the cells and patrol again sir?" His usual routine ended at the checking of the patients. Now, it was either he was asked to stand guard at the recreational room or patrol the cells and have Jakob sniff around and see if some of these insane but smart patients found out that they could make a weapon from whatever they had. That was another unlikely thing but they couldn't be too careful.
MoxxyMoxx
the enby autist
Beau Jackson
Location - Recreational Room
Voices. Voices. Voices. They were the only thing that ran through his head anymore. The only thing that mattered at least. He was a prisoner to the voices. The two distinct voices repeating the phrases that dragged him into this asylum in the first place. He barely knew what was real and what wasn't anymore. He knew he was close to turning into one of the schizophrenic patients who are just straight up terrifying due to the amount of things going on in and outside their heads. He didn't want to be like those and any other terrifying person. He had to keep his sanity.
But who was this 'he'? He was a kid. Well not really a kid but everyone always has treated him like one. His name was Beau Joseph Jackson. He was 19 and he'd been stuck in this hell hole for 2 years. It wasn't fun and he preferred to just avoid everyone as, at this point, he didn't know the difference between people and delusions; which was why he was sat in the corner of the Rec Room not talking to anyone, having his knees up to his chin and mumbling incoherent words and shaking from nerves.
Last edited by a moderator:
CoolGuy
Half decent.
SAMUEL COY
IN: REC. ROOM
Samuel despised the interior decorating of Blackwell. Granted, that seems more like a personal issue than an overarching dislike, but he hated how dreadfully dull it all was. It agonized him more than any perceived insanity on his part. He was far from a vain person, but he liked being able to differentiate between any two places. The interior of Blackwell would drive him insane in a thousand ways more than any prior issues. And really, why the white walls? Blue was a much more soothing color, or red would allow them to excuse any blood to reporters, or heck, even yellow would irritate their eyes. White just made them question themselves. He could go on for hours describing the ways he hated Blackwell's walls. The way it made him feel uncomfortable, as if they were in purgatory, waiting for a cure that would never come, the way it reminded him of who he was, but he was better than that. He could hate other things.
Samuel always hid himself away in a corner, sitting in a chair, pretending to be catatonic. No expression on his face, simply a blank stare ahead. It worked, giving him a vantage point to judge everyone else in the room. Each day, trying to further discover the intricacies of his fellow inmates. After all, if they were all insane, then he really needed to be paranoid.
The ones in the corners were the only sane ones. They weren't trying to make friends, or have fun, they were just trying to survive this microcosm of this dog eat dog world. If he pitied anyone, he would pity them. He never bothered trying to examine or understand them. They were of no threat to him. The ones he tried to understand were the ones who seemed kind. If people acted cruel, at least then it was all on the table. The kind ones were simply liars, and it was up to him to discover why and to what magnitude.
For instance, he'd been trying to understand the young Asian man playing chess with an older man for a month. That person frightened him. He'd been there longer than him, he knew, and, if Samuel had to guess, he'd been there far, far longer. His overwhelming kindness belied the complete lack of emotion behind his eyes, and Samuel knew that the man was the only kind of person that would make it in the real world. The complete sociopath who wouldn't let anyone's happiness get in the way of his, and, in a way, Samuel respected him for that. In another way, Samuel hated him for that. If Samuel were omniscient, this person would be omnipotent. The only thing he'd been able to discover was that this person was more than he seemed, and that was obvious to any passive observer.
WolfSol
Brain cashew smooth
((I love you guys, all the intro posts were beautiful
))
Location: Head Warden's Office; Booking
Long, bony fingers took to rubbing her temples, the phone back in its cradle beside her wide, curved monitor. The call had lasted far longer than she had anticipated, and was, quite frankly, a waste of time. Then again, most calls from her supporters was. The supporters, greedy little mongrels, were her institute's main source of income. Although the funds were incredibly illegal, the government never batted an eye. After all, Blackwell's research had done the world some good. If there was a need for a cure, Blackwell had it out within seventy-two hours, and sold it relatively cheap with a promise to continue their antics. Of course the government didn't have an exact idea of Blackwell's procedures, but... they held an understanding. As for her supporters, that was a different story. They constantly wanted to pull away for fear of being found out, or they wanted to try and pry profit from her facility. It was a give and take situation that her father had built with them long ago. Give the necessary resources and Blackwell would turn around and sprinkle some money your way with what came from a successful experiment. Thankfully not one had pulled away from Blackwell's shadow due to the fact that most of the organizations were just as crooked.
If Blackwell falls then its supporters fall with it. In addition, she did have some juicy details of each organization that she kept in the safe, a bulky, metallic mass of security that hid behind a line of white coats in her office closet. Realistically, joining Blackwell was like selling your soul to the devil. Once you shook hands there was no going back. Chairman Pichai of Google industry was a good example as he was always fickle and the definition of a worry wart... yet even his "innocent and aspiring" company had its dirt. It had only taken five minutes of threatening, blackmailing, for him to crawl back into his hole and disregard his decision to withdraw.
Feria glanced at the clock on her monitor, sighing once more. 11:15a, the usual time for new patients. She stood gracefully, her long dress falling over skeletal legs as she sashayed with an air of additional grace to the door. With a quick stride she left her office and headed to the elevator where she descended down to the bottom level. The ride from the fifth floor would have been quick and comforting, but the elevator music was stuck on repeat and there was a smudge of dirt against on of the immaculate walls of white. It made her brow twitch, made her jaws tighten, and made the hollow of her cheeks gain depth. It seems the janitors were incompetent these days, to miss such an awful blemish. Yet no matter how much it bothered her she dared not touch it. In fact, right as the doors slide open she stalked out of the elevator.
She ended up at the boat docks, the cold air that rolled from the waves tangling in her hair, just in time to catch sight of the boats' arrival. There were four today, but so far only two were present from what she could see. Wonderful, tardiness... unacceptable. She'd have to make sure the boatmen and the escorts - her guards - were reprimanded as tardiness was far from perfection.
It was amazing how she was able to walk over the rocky terrain of the short in her heels. She made it seem incredibly easy, as if balance wasn't an issue in stilettos. "General," as easy as the honey that dripped from her voice. Such a wicked voice that could not be hidden with sweetness. The general, one of the few officials of her institute that she held with high regard, was busy with the procedures of booking in a patient. He seemed flustered just as she. When she strode closer to the man she gave a tight nod to the dog handler, oh what was his name... Hansel. She eyed the dog in acknowledgement, but her gaze showed clear displeasure. She was not a fan of animals, but a dog handler was a necessity. They had very few on hand, and out of all the mutts, Hansel's dog had the most experience.
"How many patients do we have today, Malkovich?" Feria questioned, eyes roaming over the few patients that had already arrived, "And please do give the tardy ones a physical warning. I do not care for lateness, it's unacceptable. It's rather frequent as of late and I fear that a verbal reprimanding will do no good."
Location: Boat Dock; Booking
Even with the big man's threat still ringing in his ear, he struggled. Ryan struggled with all his might against his restraints and escorts as the boat neared the docks. The towering institute that was Blackwell filled him with dread. It stretched high overhead and blotted out most of the morning sky, obscuring the sun from view with its size. With just a glance at the ominous structure he knew... he knew that this would be he last taste of fresh air. How could his father do this to him? To his own flesh and blood?
"No, I'm not crazy! I'm not, please!" An innocence coated his tongue, strangled his syllables as he wriggled and writhed. Desperation drew him to push against one of the men with his shoulder, eyes set to the boat railing. That's it, he'd rather drown at sea then be admitted to an insane asylum, but both of the men grabbed his arms and pulled him to the floor of the boat in one swift move. It hurt, his forehead connecting with the wood, and during the process he'd accidentally bit down on his tongue. Nevertheless, he wriggled and writhed.
His boat sided the docks, Blackwell's employees clad in vests and defensive weaponry quickly coming to the boat's aid and tethering it to the dock. The procedures of Blackwell commenced quickly, not because the boats were late as the man at the shore continued to inform, but because patients were unpredictable. It was best to tend to them as fast as possible and bring them into the confines of Blackwell. In quick succession he was pulled from the boat and forced down onto the dock's flooring to undergo a dog search and nurse check up. All the while he frantically begged and pleaded. He wasn't insane, he wasn't. Fuck, why didn't they listen?
-----------------
"Are you or have you ever been diagnosed as insane," the clerk asked as she tapped the end of the pen on her clipboard. She'd looked like the grim reaper, flesh clad in gray and the hollows of her features deep and dark. Despite the look of death that coated her, even in her steel eyes, her hair was a bright and blinding red. A color akin to blood.
"No, I'm not. I am rational, I'm sane, honest! You've got to believe me! This is crazy, stupid. I shouldn't be here!" Ryan leaned against the table, eyes wide in fear, but the restrains that strapped to his arms and legs only allowed him to move forward a few inches.
"Mr. Kaiser," she glanced down to her notes with a sigh, "it's been reported that you have a dangerously progressive intermittent explosive disorder. You're incredibly unstable and suffer from a form of bipolar disorder. This cannot go unnoticed, Mr. Kaiser," she met his gaze once more with a stoic expression, "you've also been reported to have murderous intentions toward your friends and family members. You attempted to murder your father. In addition..." she droned on, each word that rolled off her lips pulling at any hope that remained within him. Such lies yet the more she spoke, listing off each progressively falsified report, he lost the will to talk back. He should've realized it on the boat... they didn't care. They likely knew his words were true, but they didn't care.
Location: Recreational Room
Austria's gaze wandered over the few inhabitants of the room. It was unnatural for her to be so active with her gaze as she usually took to drowning herself in the white of the room, but boredom and the desire to ignore her alter ego were stronger than her desire to become nothing. She noted those that took to the corners, like her, and knew that they too wished for solitude. No one but those that lingered in the limited activities wanted to be here. The cells were much more comforting to most as there, they knew that they would have up to fifteen hours to themselves... alone, pain free, and conscious.
Her eyes settled on the two playing chess, the only two that ever seemed to play chess on a daily basis. She knew not of their names, but she knew of their faces. An older patient and a boy, a young one, were two of the few that partook in any logical activity of the room. Austria only watched them for a moment till the cold shiver of fear prickled up her spine. The fact that they were males scared her, and it encouraged her to look away less she suffer a possible panic attack. Panic attacks meant high doses of medication which would only lead to her other half's freedom, Aussie.
Seems Mr. Asian Smile is just as chipper this morning, aye? Austria shuddered at the voice. Each time Aussie spoke, it interrupted Austria's thought processes. It made her mind blank out to where she could only focus on that one, single voice that reverberated within her. Why don't you go make friends? She grimaced at the idea, a panic settling in her heart.
Hell no.
Location: Laboratory
Schwarzen instructed for the next patient to be brought in as he took to washing his utensils free of the previous experiment's blood. Usually his nurses tended to his equipment, but he preferred to care for his belongings himself. "So, what is on the agenda for the next patient?" He asked, scrubbing away at a scalpel as it still had muscle residue on the blade. Perhaps his hands were getting shaky as of late, it was rare that he cut into a body and scrape a muscle by accident. "A Dawn Rivers, doctor. She's undergoing experimentation with a hallucinogenic drug that will, if all goes according to plan, enhance her logical process and decrease emotional responses." The doctor glanced up at that, frowning at the name. Ah yes, the influential crazy. They'd had to tape her mouth shut numerous times as her influence was abnormal. Surely, the definition of charisma was her. He'd never seen such influence, never heard of it, and even when he saw his coworkers do as she suggested, he didn't believe it. Then again Blackwell contained unpredictable and dangerously talented criminals. Rivers was no exception.
"Make sure to check her restraints and sedate her. We don't want another accident to occur. I'd rather not have to deal with Feria's wrath again... or the general's for that matter." The nurses nodded in agreement, backing away to fulfill his order.
The nurses did just as instructed, restraining Dawn Rivers down with thick straps. They tightened the restraints until the pressure would slightly restrict breathing. Then came the sedative, the drug inserted via a vein in her arm, and then came the drug that Rivers's experiment was always revolved around. The drug itself was still being tested and it had failed countless times before. Each time the bacteria and chemicals had to be eradicated and restarted, their membranes and materials having to be reconstructed and grown. It seemed that each time, the formula of the drug was either too weak or too stable.
Aur0ra
Crazy
Dawn Rivers
(Location: Laboratory)
interaction: @WolfSol
: @AI10100
The restraints began getting tighter, Dawn could feel her heart beating in her throat. With a voice so smooth it could put a lion to bed, and beautifully long lashed coffee brown eyes Dawn looked at one of the nurses: " it's no fun when the subject can't even breath! Do you guys want to kill me before we start the experiment? I bet old Feria would be furious" A sweet smile that played on her lips made the nurse loosen the restraints just enough for Dawn to breath, "it's not like you're going anywhere" the nurse shrugged as she prepared the sedative. Dawn nodded repeating her words: "it's not like I'm going anywhere, I came down here at will didn't I? Thank you Amanda! Do tell me, which doctor do I get the pleasure of working with toda....."
"AMANDA!" Dawn's question was interrupted by another nurse who looked bothered: " you know Shwarzen hates it when she pulls information out of people !"
Dawn's eyes closed slightly : " Ahh it's Eric then, i really hope he doesn't screw me up with those shaky hands of his, the man's divorce really took a toll on him. Someone should suggest he participate in one of those caffeine addiction programs" she opened her eyes smiling at the furious nurse who now injected Dawn with the sedative "that won't shut me up gentlemen" her response came slowly and drowsy. It was followed by the experimental drug that burned through Dawn's veins despite the sedative: "Don't make me sleep. You people need to document my reac....Ahhhh"
Her screams filled the room as Dawn struggled against her restraints, the sedative sure muffled her movement but not her pain reception, her body started shaking slightly: "I'm.. I'm cold this time, the last time it made me feel hot...I don't like this"
Dawn was always very cooperative when it came to experiments, always documenting the reactions and progress of other patients. She even suggested to a lower ranking doctor to update her on the experiments and take all the credit of her findings. The doctor was fired when Feria found out of course.
Dawn's chest started burning, her breathing became shallow but she didn't stop talking: " your formula is too weak you bastards. It only causes.....PAIN" Her heart which was beating too fast now slowed down, Dawn's eyes shot open, blood trickling down her nose: "hold on, something's different, I feel better. Hello doctor! How's the little girl? Amanda here tells me she's still in Africa" Dawn's voice became cold now, her emotions dimmed, her chest still hurt but not to the point where she'd scream, " She looked at Schwarzen: " how exactly do you intend on testing this drug doc? Trivia? Math problems? Archery?" She grinned coldly: " should I make all these nurses conduct autopsy on each other?" The last suggestion was a joke, but the nurses' expressions told her they didn't get it
General Alexander Malkovich
(Location: Booking)
interaction @WolfSol
Just as he finished admitting another patient, the general looked at Hansel, his dog stood as professional as ever "Recreational room Kaiser, I don't trust Astredege there as the commanding officer, not after the last incident with that female patient." Shaking his head, Malkovich looked at the late guards : " STAFF ROOM IN FIFTEEN MINUTES, I better teach you punctuality over again, this is not a circus we're running here" his words were met by a unified "yes sir"before the guards scattered back to their work. "Kaiser" the general spared the dog handler one last glance: "should Astredege give you any trouble send him down to the staff room."
Most of the guards became more stressed as a figure dressed in white started approaching, they all left whatever it was they were doing and saluted the warden.
"About fifteen patients mam" the general respectfully replied, his lips curled in a smile when she ordered the guards to be reprimanded: " oh when I'm done with them, they'll be better than alarm clocks mam" his head nodded respectfully to the warden who looked like the ultimate picture of perfection.
The general was brought back from his thoughts by a young man pleading that he wasn't insane. Malkovich didn't interfere however, he only observed how his guards handled the situation making mental notes to correct the mistakes they were making later at the security meeting which he held every evening.
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Shadow
Akin to a Fool
Location• Recreational Room
It wasn't a long walk from his cell to the recreational room. However, when one is being pushed, pulled, or otherwise man-handled the entire way, it does tend to make even the shortest of walks seem like an endless nightmare. Not to mention the fact that the final destination was a room full of people, which automatically put a suffocating feeling in Click's chest. He flinched when the metal doors slammed behind him, positive that every eye would now turn to him. His eyes were practically glued to the floor as he made his way over to the most isolated chess table. He had never learned to play chess, but he used to enjoy watching the other patients' games. Most of the patients that actually used to play were dead now, except for the middle-aged man and the Asian boy. Other than that, someone usually had to be really, really bored to bother with the chess tables at all. But he still remembered those days when he would sit against the padded wall and watch the others play. Those days were almost good memories. Or at least they would be, if all those people he remembered hadn't ended up dying horribly. While he had only witnessed a couple deaths in his time here, he knew most people died after a visit to the laboratory. And he also knew, from personal experience, how horrible the laboratory was.
Click carefully moved his own white pawn two spaces forward, remembering what he had learned from watching others play. He stared at the black pieces and trying to imagine what an opponent's move might be. It was almost funny, imagining himself actually playing with a real person. Even if they didn't make him want to run to a corner to hide, he didn't know the actual rules of a real match; only how the pieces moved. He glanced up slightly to scan the room, making pointless little mental notes about what some of the other patients were doing. Reading the newspaper, crying on the couch, staring blankly at the computer screen, sitting in the corner. He looked back down at the table, suddenly realizing how exposed he was, sitting in the middle of the room. Several of the other patients might be watching him, which made an icy sensation run down his spine. He pushed on the table slightly, but he already knew that it was pointless. Everything in this room, except for the patients, was bolted down. He shuddered slightly, but tried to ignore the feeling that everyone was staring at him.
After a moment, Click nudged another pawn forward as if he was actually playing a game with someone. He knew perfectly well that that wasn't the case- he wasn't that's insane yet. But somehow it made him feel better to pretend that he was doing something with purpose, even if it was just in his head.
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Raku
Four Thousand Club
Nathaniel Hues
Location: Docks | Booking
Nathan smiled as the boat arrived at the island. Saying he was scared would be in the completely wrong direction. Off the docks the officers escorting him continued to push him along, sometimes they had to reach a bit. Nathaniel wanted to tell them to stop, but he knew that if he did he would probably be tazed. Nathan would without a doubt be known here. His trial was one of the biggest of the year.
AI10100
Expert Lurker
Hansel Kaiser
Location: Booking --> Recreational Room
Interacting with: @Aur0ra and @WolfSol
Hansel nodded and let out a, "Yes sir." at the general as he was given the proper orders. Ah, so it was to the recreational rooms now hm? As he was about to depart, a familiar person came striding towards them. His body tensed as he stood in attention with a salute - Jakob doing the same by sitting down and then lowering his head. Madam Feria. If General Alexander was his boss, then Madam Feria was was practically god. In these walls, Madam Feria's word was law and every order should be followed. If anyone, he feared her the most. He could say that he was just as psychopathic as the patients inside. A single word from her could send a doctor to the laboratories... as one of the patients. Her mere presence is enough to make you nervous to hell and back. He also wasn't blind to the fact that she didn't exactly like animals. With her obvious OCD, that much was... well, obvious. That's why he made sure that Jakob behaved at all times. Animals had their moments after all but Hansel could usually control him. After all, one mistake and he wasn't sure what they'd do to Jakob.
Once Madam Feria and General Alexander began talking, he quickly made his way to exit the booking area with Jakob standing up and following after him only a few moments after his departure. Before he entered the facility once again, he took one last look at the outside. Ha, when you worked in this asylum, you would grow to appreciate seeing color. Their bosses just loved the color white too much. He let out a single hollow chuckle and then proceeded inside the building. Stepping through the doors and into the asylum. He had to pull out his key that he carried around to enter and exit the facility and then punch in the Control Tower entry code before he got inside, despite being known as one of the few dog handlers in the asylum. Right, the dog handlers. There were few in between and all of them had five or more years serving law enforcement or the military under their belts. All the dogs were well-trained and ruthless. Jakob was originally intended to be a tracking dog, but over the years he has been spending training him, he became an attack dog along with being a tracking dog. Apparently, they were extremely selective of the dog handlers they let enter as all of them had these skills. Dogs that could go on a frenzy and rip one's guts out but can be stopped with a single command. That was how their dogs worked.
Hansel watched as nurses wheeled in yet another patient into their laboratories. He's never been inside one of them nor does he wish to. He may not care for their experimentation but perhaps seeing them firsthand would change his views about it. Though the doctors weren't exactly secretive of their efforts. After all, everyone in this asylum knew about it - patient and staff. When the doctors were on their breaks, they usually chatted about their findings and what new experiments they came up with. Of course, they didn't really talk about it in hushed voices and they typically let the security guards know about it. He isn't sure if they were trying to boast how smart they were or how insane they could be. Though it may seem unfortunate to some of his co-workers that they couldn't beat patients up too much. After all, they were necessary components - lab rats - for their experiments.
The walk to the recreational room wasn't the longest walk he's had in this place and thinking made it all the more faster. However, in these short walks, he seemed to always end up thinking about when he'll get out of here. His mother was still in great need of money and his father was also growing ill. At this rate, he would only get out one way or another - either by being discharged because of some health issues and be buried under mounds of oaths of never telling anybody anything or by getting caught in some illegal stuff in this asylum and ending up as one of the patients. He could only accept the former as Jakob would most likely be killed at the latter situation. He turned to the dog walking beside him, eyes forward and ears up. Attentive, just like what he taught him to be. Hm, he's getting too attached to that dog. Well, he supposed that does happen when you're a dog handler and you're required to raise and train a certain dog.
Stepping inside the recreational room, he scanned it. Right, all of the patients were present save for a few in the labs. Guards were posted around the room, in the watching areas and at the hallways. The one entrance he entered from also had a guard and they acknowledged each other's existence by nodding at each other. Seeing the commanding officer - Astredege - standing around, he casually approached the male. He then told him what General Alexander wanted him to do. He raised his eyebrow but before he could argue that he was doing just fine, Hansel continued on to tell him that if he were to make any scene or give him any trouble, he would be sent to the staff room. Astredege looked around, sighed and then nodded. With the message told, Hansel ordered Jakob to stay alert and then stood at attention there as well.
Yuuji Ajusaki
Location: Recreational Room
Interacting with: @Shadow
Eyes. Gazes. Stares. He could feel the attention. Scrutinizing eyes pass him. There were only a few things that could be done in this place. It was either you talked with other patients, played chess, read some educational stuff online, stare at static, read books, listen to that one radio station or do some finger painting or whatever that was called. Or, you know, stay at one place and observe the other patients - that also worked too. Now he knew why some people had been trying to figure him out. After all, despite being here for four years already, not once has his smile faltered. He knew of a few people like him. Maybe they weren't smiling but they weren't broken either. Dawn Rivers, ha, now that was a person. Cool and calculating, she was certainly someone to be interested in. She willingly goes to the experiments. The thought that maybe she was trying to achieve the same thing as him crossed his mind. To attain what the scientists wanted to attain - a superhuman.
Again, this was all speculations on his part but he would guess that they were trying to make the perfect pawn. With a serum like that, they could sell it for millions... no, maybe even billions of euros just for one serum. A human whose strength, speed and reaction is above everyone but follows the orders of its masters. Ah, now wouldn't that be the perfect soldier? Whoever gets a hand on this serum would definitely be the world's power. He couldn't hide the grin that was forming on his face as he thought about it. That much power on his hands... he could definitely start enjoying himself again. He would finally feel the ecstasy of slicing someone up and hearing them scream.
"Thanks for everything."
A face flashed in his mind. He clicked his tongue and then leaned back on the chair with his arms crossed. The man looked at him oddly but shrugged and let him think about what he was going to do as the man thought Yuuji was having trouble with what move he should do next. In reality, he was having an internal struggle. It was the first time he's ever felt the emotion of regret. He couldn't forget how he trembled in sadness when she drew her last breath. He couldn't forget that horrible feeling - the feeling of his chest tightening up. He wanted to scream. He had been in a slump at those times. He rarely came out of his room and he hadn't been eating well. His parents were beyond worried.
What had happened to the man who was all smiles?
He wondered about that in that state of his. How could he have grown pitiful in such a short amount of time? Yuuji had to do something. He can't live with himself like this. So he set out, put his charms on and had his hands on another girl. However, his usual thinking process wasn't working and he had jumped straight to it. He drugged her and sent her to the warehouse where he promptly did his torturing. However, he couldn't get the feeling of depression out of him. Frustrated, he left... and forgot to lock everything up. That was when she escaped and he got caught. That was stupid of him. Extremely stupid. He never wants to go back to that... state ever again.
"Oi boyo." The man before him called out. He looked up and saw the man impatiently tapping the table. "It's already been two minutes."
He held an apologetic look and then gave him a smile, "Sorry, sorry." He then picked up the bishop and moved it. The man gave a grunt of approval before pondering his own move. Right, he had to focus on the here and now. There's no need to think about that time. That time was long gone. He would never go back there. He knew it. A few more moves and he found himself in a corner.
"Checkmate kiddo." The man said. Yuuji sighed but gave the man a smile and then thanked him for the game. He nodded, thanking him as well. There were only a few people who played chess nowadays... or rather, they were the only ones who did. He could even say that in the month that they had been playing together, they had found out each other's life stories. It made him think of what he would do once this man disappears for good - cremated to ashes because of a failed experiment. Now wouldn't it be terrific if someone who at least had any semblance of knowledge with chess stepped up?
He leaned back as the man left and decided to take a sweep of those around him. As always, the same faces with the same position. Hm, isn't this usually the time when they'd get new patients? Ah, he couldn't wait to meet with them. His eyes lingered on Austria for a second too long. He never had the chance to talk with her. She seemed adamant on not talking with him or any other boys. Must be a past trauma or something. Shame, such a nice face too. He then changed his gaze and it landed on Click who had taken a seat on one of the chess tables and started playing by himself. Click, a paranoid man. He was here even before Yuuji got admitted inside. He hasn't really interacted much with him. Maybe the occasional glances that would count as an 'interaction' in this asylum. Anyhow, he stood up and then headed to the opposite side of the chess table.
"Isn't it better to have an opponent in chess?" He asked, a kind smile present on his face. If there was anything he learned in his life, it was that a kind face is rarely ever seen as 'dangerous' or 'scary' by inexperienced people. Now in this asylum, it was best to be as nice as possible.
Location: Booking --> Recreational Room
Interacting with: @Aur0ra and @WolfSol
Hansel nodded and let out a, "Yes sir." at the general as he was given the proper orders. Ah, so it was to the recreational rooms now hm? As he was about to depart, a familiar person came striding towards them. His body tensed as he stood in attention with a salute - Jakob doing the same by sitting down and then lowering his head. Madam Feria. If General Alexander was his boss, then Madam Feria was was practically god. In these walls, Madam Feria's word was law and every order should be followed. If anyone, he feared her the most. He could say that he was just as psychopathic as the patients inside. A single word from her could send a doctor to the laboratories... as one of the patients. Her mere presence is enough to make you nervous to hell and back. He also wasn't blind to the fact that she didn't exactly like animals. With her obvious OCD, that much was... well, obvious. That's why he made sure that Jakob behaved at all times. Animals had their moments after all but Hansel could usually control him. After all, one mistake and he wasn't sure what they'd do to Jakob.
Once Madam Feria and General Alexander began talking, he quickly made his way to exit the booking area with Jakob standing up and following after him only a few moments after his departure. Before he entered the facility once again, he took one last look at the outside. Ha, when you worked in this asylum, you would grow to appreciate seeing color. Their bosses just loved the color white too much. He let out a single hollow chuckle and then proceeded inside the building. Stepping through the doors and into the asylum. He had to pull out his key that he carried around to enter and exit the facility and then punch in the Control Tower entry code before he got inside, despite being known as one of the few dog handlers in the asylum. Right, the dog handlers. There were few in between and all of them had five or more years serving law enforcement or the military under their belts. All the dogs were well-trained and ruthless. Jakob was originally intended to be a tracking dog, but over the years he has been spending training him, he became an attack dog along with being a tracking dog. Apparently, they were extremely selective of the dog handlers they let enter as all of them had these skills. Dogs that could go on a frenzy and rip one's guts out but can be stopped with a single command. That was how their dogs worked.
Hansel watched as nurses wheeled in yet another patient into their laboratories. He's never been inside one of them nor does he wish to. He may not care for their experimentation but perhaps seeing them firsthand would change his views about it. Though the doctors weren't exactly secretive of their efforts. After all, everyone in this asylum knew about it - patient and staff. When the doctors were on their breaks, they usually chatted about their findings and what new experiments they came up with. Of course, they didn't really talk about it in hushed voices and they typically let the security guards know about it. He isn't sure if they were trying to boast how smart they were or how insane they could be. Though it may seem unfortunate to some of his co-workers that they couldn't beat patients up too much. After all, they were necessary components - lab rats - for their experiments.
The walk to the recreational room wasn't the longest walk he's had in this place and thinking made it all the more faster. However, in these short walks, he seemed to always end up thinking about when he'll get out of here. His mother was still in great need of money and his father was also growing ill. At this rate, he would only get out one way or another - either by being discharged because of some health issues and be buried under mounds of oaths of never telling anybody anything or by getting caught in some illegal stuff in this asylum and ending up as one of the patients. He could only accept the former as Jakob would most likely be killed at the latter situation. He turned to the dog walking beside him, eyes forward and ears up. Attentive, just like what he taught him to be. Hm, he's getting too attached to that dog. Well, he supposed that does happen when you're a dog handler and you're required to raise and train a certain dog.
Stepping inside the recreational room, he scanned it. Right, all of the patients were present save for a few in the labs. Guards were posted around the room, in the watching areas and at the hallways. The one entrance he entered from also had a guard and they acknowledged each other's existence by nodding at each other. Seeing the commanding officer - Astredege - standing around, he casually approached the male. He then told him what General Alexander wanted him to do. He raised his eyebrow but before he could argue that he was doing just fine, Hansel continued on to tell him that if he were to make any scene or give him any trouble, he would be sent to the staff room. Astredege looked around, sighed and then nodded. With the message told, Hansel ordered Jakob to stay alert and then stood at attention there as well.
Yuuji Ajusaki
Location: Recreational Room
Interacting with: @Shadow
Eyes. Gazes. Stares. He could feel the attention. Scrutinizing eyes pass him. There were only a few things that could be done in this place. It was either you talked with other patients, played chess, read some educational stuff online, stare at static, read books, listen to that one radio station or do some finger painting or whatever that was called. Or, you know, stay at one place and observe the other patients - that also worked too. Now he knew why some people had been trying to figure him out. After all, despite being here for four years already, not once has his smile faltered. He knew of a few people like him. Maybe they weren't smiling but they weren't broken either. Dawn Rivers, ha, now that was a person. Cool and calculating, she was certainly someone to be interested in. She willingly goes to the experiments. The thought that maybe she was trying to achieve the same thing as him crossed his mind. To attain what the scientists wanted to attain - a superhuman.
Again, this was all speculations on his part but he would guess that they were trying to make the perfect pawn. With a serum like that, they could sell it for millions... no, maybe even billions of euros just for one serum. A human whose strength, speed and reaction is above everyone but follows the orders of its masters. Ah, now wouldn't that be the perfect soldier? Whoever gets a hand on this serum would definitely be the world's power. He couldn't hide the grin that was forming on his face as he thought about it. That much power on his hands... he could definitely start enjoying himself again. He would finally feel the ecstasy of slicing someone up and hearing them scream.
"Thanks for everything."
A face flashed in his mind. He clicked his tongue and then leaned back on the chair with his arms crossed. The man looked at him oddly but shrugged and let him think about what he was going to do as the man thought Yuuji was having trouble with what move he should do next. In reality, he was having an internal struggle. It was the first time he's ever felt the emotion of regret. He couldn't forget how he trembled in sadness when she drew her last breath. He couldn't forget that horrible feeling - the feeling of his chest tightening up. He wanted to scream. He had been in a slump at those times. He rarely came out of his room and he hadn't been eating well. His parents were beyond worried.
What had happened to the man who was all smiles?
He wondered about that in that state of his. How could he have grown pitiful in such a short amount of time? Yuuji had to do something. He can't live with himself like this. So he set out, put his charms on and had his hands on another girl. However, his usual thinking process wasn't working and he had jumped straight to it. He drugged her and sent her to the warehouse where he promptly did his torturing. However, he couldn't get the feeling of depression out of him. Frustrated, he left... and forgot to lock everything up. That was when she escaped and he got caught. That was stupid of him. Extremely stupid. He never wants to go back to that... state ever again.
"Oi boyo." The man before him called out. He looked up and saw the man impatiently tapping the table. "It's already been two minutes."
He held an apologetic look and then gave him a smile, "Sorry, sorry." He then picked up the bishop and moved it. The man gave a grunt of approval before pondering his own move. Right, he had to focus on the here and now. There's no need to think about that time. That time was long gone. He would never go back there. He knew it. A few more moves and he found himself in a corner.
"Checkmate kiddo." The man said. Yuuji sighed but gave the man a smile and then thanked him for the game. He nodded, thanking him as well. There were only a few people who played chess nowadays... or rather, they were the only ones who did. He could even say that in the month that they had been playing together, they had found out each other's life stories. It made him think of what he would do once this man disappears for good - cremated to ashes because of a failed experiment. Now wouldn't it be terrific if someone who at least had any semblance of knowledge with chess stepped up?
He leaned back as the man left and decided to take a sweep of those around him. As always, the same faces with the same position. Hm, isn't this usually the time when they'd get new patients? Ah, he couldn't wait to meet with them. His eyes lingered on Austria for a second too long. He never had the chance to talk with her. She seemed adamant on not talking with him or any other boys. Must be a past trauma or something. Shame, such a nice face too. He then changed his gaze and it landed on Click who had taken a seat on one of the chess tables and started playing by himself. Click, a paranoid man. He was here even before Yuuji got admitted inside. He hasn't really interacted much with him. Maybe the occasional glances that would count as an 'interaction' in this asylum. Anyhow, he stood up and then headed to the opposite side of the chess table.
"Isn't it better to have an opponent in chess?" He asked, a kind smile present on his face. If there was anything he learned in his life, it was that a kind face is rarely ever seen as 'dangerous' or 'scary' by inexperienced people. Now in this asylum, it was best to be as nice as possible.
Insane
I N S A N E
Kat Mystique
Location: Docks | Booking
Interactions: Open For Interaction
Scared was a strong word to use on Kat. After everything she had been through she honestly found it hard to be scared anymore. Infact she was rather calm while traveling on the boat. Calm, but in edge. As if she was ready to attack. One could simply describe her as a guard dog on a leash. Always alert. Always searching for danger. She surely did sense the danger in her current situation. The boat could simply sink, and that would be the end. She would die, the guards would die, the driver would die. So much death at what cost? Her eyes trailed the crystal clear waters as if planning on jumping out though she never did. They where too far from land.
Her eyes trailed up from the water and to the guards. They weren't intimidating. She knew intimidating, and these guys were far from it. She found it quite pathetic actually. Wouldn't anyone who had been face to face with death. She felt as if nothing could scare her anymore. Those thoughts quickly turned when she saw movement at the front of the boat.
"You're pathetic Kat, and you always will be." The booming voice that would be unheard to anyone else sent chills down her spine. She was suddenly very uneasy, moving around a little more than usual. The guards didn't think about it much and remained quiet though gave her odd looks. Kat kept her eyes off the man whom didn't even exist, though that didn't stop the voices. "You let yourself get captured by the enemy, how could you be so stupid." He barked which caused her to jump. She shuffled back some and closed her eyes. "Go away." She muttered. The guards glared at her and jammed the butt of a rifle into her gut. She squeaked and fell back.
"Stay calm maggot and remember what I taught you!" He yelled before jumping off the boat. There was no splash. No indication that anyone was even there. She shook where she stood and tried to hide her face. It was too much for her to handle. She had tried to jump off the boat but was to slow and was caught easily.
It wasn't long before they had finally arived, not far behind a few others. She was restrained and being lead by the guards to what she would soon find out to be her worst nightmare.
0stinato
In Bhaal's name.
Location: His own little room
If the Rec Room held things that Rüdiger would have found actually interesting and useful, for example proper professional-level painting materials, sketching pencils or any kind of good-quality art-creation substances, perhaps he would have been in there more often. Whenever people found out that art was his thing - his only thing setting him apart - they'd often ask if they'd see him in the Rec Room or anything. Or why they hadn't seen him in there. Rüdiger always gave the same straight answer - well, most of the time.
"You tell me when they get in something other than shit kid acrylics, then maybe I'll go in there."
The other answers he gave, the answers that qualified for outside of the 'most of the time' position, was actually more boring than he liked. He'd simply invent an excuse that he's "thinking about what to draw next." In reality, he had so much he wanted to draw. Why, just the other night in the lucidity between conscious thought and sleep, he'd seen a skull-creature, completed up in a three-piece suit and seated at a typewriter, hands flailing across it while spittle and blood flew from its long, crackling snout. That would've made a great oil piece for sure. The thick and suffocating texture of the paint, as well as the vivid and dark colours... but no, no, Rüdiger had not painted properly in months now. And that was driving him more insane than they said he was.
Rüdiger knew he was fine. Yes, psychologically he had something pretty damn wrong with him, but otherwise he was fine. He could think, look after himself to a degree, take a walk without wetting himself unlike some of the people he'd seen here. He had bodily and mind control. He had everything he needed. And, more important of all, he wasn't mad. Or crazy. He just saw things a little differently. Liked a few things others would label as "sick". But he was by no means the sickest one here.
He didn't lie there screaming about what he saw or anything did he? All he would do was converse with the friendlies and escape the scaries. That was it. Who could fault him? And, since he'd not painted, things had, much to his utter surprise and shock, got worse. Everything came at him in doubles now.
The Dart, for example, moved twice as fast and was twice as infuriating, always staying just - just, goddammit - out of the reach of his eyes. The Shadow would come up very close to him and, if it wasn't doing that, would sit wherever Rüdiger had intended to sit, be it the narrow bed or a chair he'd selected mentally. So he sat on the floor a lot. But that was fine. Just was a case of waiting until the Shadow decided to move. But everything was happening doubly and it wasn't welcome.
But what the hell could he do about it, nothing. The Rec Room was shit, he'd learned very quickly that even attempting to draw on the walls, to sketch anything using any available medium, would get him a harsh psych evaluation in the next day or two, and no one had intelligent conversation for him.
Though, that could be because, for 80% of the time he had spare, Rüdiger would hole himself up in his little room, not doing much at all, just noting that he needed to trim his beard or wondering when the next time he'd get to shower was. Talking to the Shadow was hard to do here as well what with the guards who'd yell if he spoke too loud to something they were too stupid to see for themselves. Rüdiger never listened to what they called him. He'd not grown up been verbally abused by strangers so it had never instilled a fear or anger into him. So why start now? Just let them say what they want, they'll move along to the next 'crazy' once they realise he's not worth their breath.
And leave him to whatever he wanted to do. Whatever he wanted to talk to the Shadow about.
(My sincerest apologies for not getting an introduction up sooner - I know some people are already getting started with things. Anyway, I'll be sticking around a lot more frequently and regularly now, it was just a case of settling into a new job and roleplay had to be put aside for a while, especially a new one like this. I'll find somewhere/someone to interact with I'm sure.)
If the Rec Room held things that Rüdiger would have found actually interesting and useful, for example proper professional-level painting materials, sketching pencils or any kind of good-quality art-creation substances, perhaps he would have been in there more often. Whenever people found out that art was his thing - his only thing setting him apart - they'd often ask if they'd see him in the Rec Room or anything. Or why they hadn't seen him in there. Rüdiger always gave the same straight answer - well, most of the time.
"You tell me when they get in something other than shit kid acrylics, then maybe I'll go in there."
The other answers he gave, the answers that qualified for outside of the 'most of the time' position, was actually more boring than he liked. He'd simply invent an excuse that he's "thinking about what to draw next." In reality, he had so much he wanted to draw. Why, just the other night in the lucidity between conscious thought and sleep, he'd seen a skull-creature, completed up in a three-piece suit and seated at a typewriter, hands flailing across it while spittle and blood flew from its long, crackling snout. That would've made a great oil piece for sure. The thick and suffocating texture of the paint, as well as the vivid and dark colours... but no, no, Rüdiger had not painted properly in months now. And that was driving him more insane than they said he was.
Rüdiger knew he was fine. Yes, psychologically he had something pretty damn wrong with him, but otherwise he was fine. He could think, look after himself to a degree, take a walk without wetting himself unlike some of the people he'd seen here. He had bodily and mind control. He had everything he needed. And, more important of all, he wasn't mad. Or crazy. He just saw things a little differently. Liked a few things others would label as "sick". But he was by no means the sickest one here.
He didn't lie there screaming about what he saw or anything did he? All he would do was converse with the friendlies and escape the scaries. That was it. Who could fault him? And, since he'd not painted, things had, much to his utter surprise and shock, got worse. Everything came at him in doubles now.
The Dart, for example, moved twice as fast and was twice as infuriating, always staying just - just, goddammit - out of the reach of his eyes. The Shadow would come up very close to him and, if it wasn't doing that, would sit wherever Rüdiger had intended to sit, be it the narrow bed or a chair he'd selected mentally. So he sat on the floor a lot. But that was fine. Just was a case of waiting until the Shadow decided to move. But everything was happening doubly and it wasn't welcome.
But what the hell could he do about it, nothing. The Rec Room was shit, he'd learned very quickly that even attempting to draw on the walls, to sketch anything using any available medium, would get him a harsh psych evaluation in the next day or two, and no one had intelligent conversation for him.
Though, that could be because, for 80% of the time he had spare, Rüdiger would hole himself up in his little room, not doing much at all, just noting that he needed to trim his beard or wondering when the next time he'd get to shower was. Talking to the Shadow was hard to do here as well what with the guards who'd yell if he spoke too loud to something they were too stupid to see for themselves. Rüdiger never listened to what they called him. He'd not grown up been verbally abused by strangers so it had never instilled a fear or anger into him. So why start now? Just let them say what they want, they'll move along to the next 'crazy' once they realise he's not worth their breath.
And leave him to whatever he wanted to do. Whatever he wanted to talk to the Shadow about.
(My sincerest apologies for not getting an introduction up sooner - I know some people are already getting started with things. Anyway, I'll be sticking around a lot more frequently and regularly now, it was just a case of settling into a new job and roleplay had to be put aside for a while, especially a new one like this. I'll find somewhere/someone to interact with I'm sure.)
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MoxxyMoxx
the enby autist
Beau Jackson
Location: Recreational Room > Cell
The voices. The obsessive controlling manipulating down right deceiving voices. They were always there. They never left. He wanted them to leave. Instead they stayed pestering him, trying to proof something. He knew what the something was. He was just too scared to admit it. Admit what an awful brother, friend and person he was.
"Why didn't you save us, Beau?"
"It's all your fault Beau."
"You're the reason we're dead."
"You made the others come on the trip."
"You coaxed them into a false sense of security. "
"And you let them play the prank on me making her go after me."
"It's all your fault. It's all your fault. It's all your fault."
Beau, during the voices speaking, stood up and moved to the other side of the room. He leant against a table the anger building up inside him. He snapped, pushing the table over and walking out of the Rec Room. He went back to his cell and opened the door before slamming it after walking inside. He paced for a while before yelling out of anger. He kicked his crayons and sat in the corner, trying not to think about anything that would cause them to come back.
0stinato
In Bhaal's name.
Rüdiger groaned at the sudden loud noises that invaded his little bubble of upset pouting. First the harsh tattoo of a slamming door not too far away from him then - of course - a little addition of a bit of yelling. Ahh well. That wasn't unusual at least. Being shoved in the Schizo sleeping area so all the guards could know they were dealing with people with the same problem. Rüdiger knew Schizophrenia wasn't that simple, wasn't that obvious to call all schizos the same; he'd done intensive reading on the subject when Tuesday had first informed him of what he thought could be "your problem, Candy."
Short bastard. But it was probably good to know. He wondered who was doing the screaming before eventually deciding to just see if he could check. He'd not seen a guard go past recently and also decided to make a mental note of where they'd be. Inmates weren't usually allowed in other inmates' cells but sometimes guards pretended they didn't see. Pretended so they could bust into said cell and haul the two inmates' arses out into the open. Or, if a fight broke out between inmates, beat them mercilessly and call them animals.
Well, Rüdiger wasn't intending to be an animal, so, as long as whoever was doing the bloody yelling wouldn't be too... disagreeable, he'd be alright.
He stood, examining himself for a few seconds before brushing dust off himself - had he been sitting there that long or was it just the corner? - and moving carefully to the door. Yes, the yelling wasn't a strange occurrence, but the slamming of doors was a bit off. They weren't built for being slammed. And most of the inmates became all docile and kittenlike after they had their meds, or whatever. And lots of them were scared of the guards.
Hell, lots of them were just scared constantly.
Rüdiger knew how horrendous attempting to live in this place was. He knew that a guard would turn him round and punch him if they'd had a bad day so far. He knew they'd be more than likely to break up a little friendship brewing in the eating area or rec room just because they didn't like seeing people happy, under the guise that the friends weren't "good for each other." But still. Did everyone have to go around with that same fucking look on their face? That little wide-eyed stare. The tensed shoulders around the jaw. Eyes darting all over the place as the slouched around trying to avoid people.
Rüdiger didn't really feel fear. That thing, the Sitter, that was scary for him, that was the most terrifying thing he'd experienced from his mind this far. But nothing in the world, nothing he knew as real really scared him. Which wasn't great... after all, the real-life things were the ones that might kill him.
He just wondered why so so so many of these schizos were so scared. They probably saw and heard terrifying things too, but yet, even when they clearly weren't having an episode, they'd still look like that. Like deer.
He opened the door to his cell and decided to stop thinking about all the things he disliked. Instead, he thought about finding the source of the slamming and yelling. Although he doubted it, maybe whoever was the source would have something interesting to tell him. Probably not though, probably just going to be sitting in a corner of their little square of hell and whimpering. He left the room, not noticing any guards in his vicinity which was good. He walked along the row very slowly, pounding his knuckles against each door he passed in turn.
(@MuffinRPs thought I'd jump in with Beau, he sounds interesting.)
Short bastard. But it was probably good to know. He wondered who was doing the screaming before eventually deciding to just see if he could check. He'd not seen a guard go past recently and also decided to make a mental note of where they'd be. Inmates weren't usually allowed in other inmates' cells but sometimes guards pretended they didn't see. Pretended so they could bust into said cell and haul the two inmates' arses out into the open. Or, if a fight broke out between inmates, beat them mercilessly and call them animals.
Well, Rüdiger wasn't intending to be an animal, so, as long as whoever was doing the bloody yelling wouldn't be too... disagreeable, he'd be alright.
He stood, examining himself for a few seconds before brushing dust off himself - had he been sitting there that long or was it just the corner? - and moving carefully to the door. Yes, the yelling wasn't a strange occurrence, but the slamming of doors was a bit off. They weren't built for being slammed. And most of the inmates became all docile and kittenlike after they had their meds, or whatever. And lots of them were scared of the guards.
Hell, lots of them were just scared constantly.
Rüdiger knew how horrendous attempting to live in this place was. He knew that a guard would turn him round and punch him if they'd had a bad day so far. He knew they'd be more than likely to break up a little friendship brewing in the eating area or rec room just because they didn't like seeing people happy, under the guise that the friends weren't "good for each other." But still. Did everyone have to go around with that same fucking look on their face? That little wide-eyed stare. The tensed shoulders around the jaw. Eyes darting all over the place as the slouched around trying to avoid people.
Rüdiger didn't really feel fear. That thing, the Sitter, that was scary for him, that was the most terrifying thing he'd experienced from his mind this far. But nothing in the world, nothing he knew as real really scared him. Which wasn't great... after all, the real-life things were the ones that might kill him.
He just wondered why so so so many of these schizos were so scared. They probably saw and heard terrifying things too, but yet, even when they clearly weren't having an episode, they'd still look like that. Like deer.
He opened the door to his cell and decided to stop thinking about all the things he disliked. Instead, he thought about finding the source of the slamming and yelling. Although he doubted it, maybe whoever was the source would have something interesting to tell him. Probably not though, probably just going to be sitting in a corner of their little square of hell and whimpering. He left the room, not noticing any guards in his vicinity which was good. He walked along the row very slowly, pounding his knuckles against each door he passed in turn.
(@MuffinRPs thought I'd jump in with Beau, he sounds interesting.)
MoxxyMoxx
the enby autist
Beau Jackson
Location - Cell
Beau was calmer now but he could tell he was close to snapping again. He picked up his crayons from around him and began to draw on the walls as he'd do every day. It was therapeutic for him but at the same time it could also cause him to do bad things. He was a complex person but then again everyone was. He drew them as he'd drawn them thousands of times before. This time he was writing more words above their heads. He wrote in big bold lettering to try and make sure it would become [SIZE= 1.3rem]ingrained into his head. It needed to be. He couldn't keep them in his mind.[/SIZE]
You're not the reason they're gone.
[SIZE= 1.3rem]Beau put the crayons down and mumbled to himself the words over and over again whilst rocking himself back and forth. Maybe if he could speak it he could believe it and they could go away. He internally smiled. This was a good idea. He kept mumb!ing the words. He needed this badly. He needed it so badly it seemed his life depended on it and it did. The only way out of this place was if you died.[/SIZE]
[SIZE= 1.3rem]( @0stinato cool cool.)[/SIZE]
WolfSol
Brain cashew smooth
(( @MuffinRPs Patients are not free to roam around at all times. Blackwell institutionalizes their patients to the point where it's almost pathetic. A patient can be escorted to their cell for misconduct and moved from the room, but promptly leaving it as a patient is not a thing. Sure, you can try, but you will be stopped. Remember, patients in Blackwell are considered to have no freedom or will. However, to increase interaction between characters, the leaving of a cell in Candy's case, @0stinato's character, is all right if it is done silently and secretly and if it is mentioned that there are no guards in the vicinity beforehand (which will be a rarity). Guards won't always care, but remember, your patients get told when to go piss and scratch the itch on their arm practically. If this was a regular occurrence then it would defeat the purpose of Blackwell being known as inescapable. Heh, this should be interesting, two schizos in a tiny room. ))
Location: Boat docks - Booking
A lithe grin split across her face, Malkovich's response like music to her ears. If anyone understood her desires of attaining perfection, it was he. "Good man," she praised, her cheery disposition drawing a few glances from the guards. It wasn't long before the last boat of patients - shipment - arrived. Fifteen all together, just barely enough to cover what they'd lost to bad test results for the week. If anything, it seemed that the medical staff were more incompetent than her security guards. "Make up for the lost time, general," she watched as one by one, the patients were slowly lined up and escorted off the docks to the rocky terrain. Today would be their last day under the morning sun, tasting and feeling the breath of the sea, and witnessing the bluest of skies overhead. "It seems our supporters have grown wary, we don't have time for delays, even for this. As soon as possible, get every patient booked in, interviewed, dressed, and sent straight to the laboratory." The order was unexpected, rather uncommon. Blackwell tended to be relatively considerate of its new denizens. New patients had leeway, a chance to get comfortable for two weeks before the experimentation began.
What was even more off was that Feria was letting the doubt and concern of her supporters get the best of her. Then again, the subject who had gotten close to becoming what they required had committed suicide only days ago. The failure was clearly still fresh on her mind, still a damper on her pride. Of course, even with her order, the medical staff and Schwarzen would surely find a way to weasel out of it. Speeding the process made them scatterbrained and scared.
"And be sure to send out the first wave of letters to our new patients' families." The last order was the usual practice. A multitude of generated letters based on gender were sent out once patients were received. They acted as the initial communication to the families, informing them that the patient had arrived safely. Blackwell tended to make it from the patient's perspective in hopes to ease any curiosity or troubles that a loved one may have, and they would do it periodically before slowly coming to a halt on the letters all together. Only then would letters be sent out if the family in question began to ask, their count of sent letter piling up in the postal office of the institute. The second wave of letters was rarely necessary.
She nodded to Malkovich before gliding back to the facility, namely booking, making it a cakewalk over the rocky terrain in high heels.
The room for booking mimicked a waiting room in the doctor's office with blue, plastic chairs aligning white walls and end tables full of outdated magazines that were only for decoration. In each chair, a patient sat with a guard not too far behind while a clerk sat behind a counter across from the new Blackwell denizens. Booking was a tiring procedure as each patient had to be interviewed, their mental and physical interaction recorded, and their clothing assigned. It was tedious as, naturally, the interview took the longest. It was for Blackwell's records, the patient's records, and to help the patient reclaim their sanity with the first step: acceptance. To accept that one had a problem was the first step to becoming relatively better. That and when a patient realized their situation, it made them easier to handle... they appeared more docile and willing. When a patient denied their actions, it made the interview longer, harder and made the process of actually healing a patient near impossible.
Of course, Blackwell had a low rate of mental improvement amidst its patients. There had been a few they'd released back into society to prove that their funds were going to the greater good, but compared to the influx of the insane... the numbers never matched the results.
((I'm in class so I will reply with the others later in the day, sorry!))
WolfSol
Brain cashew smooth
Location: Booking - Cell
"Mr. Kaiser," his eyes glanced up from the table hopelessly at the mention of his name, "you have a problem. To society's standards, you are irrevocably insane, but don't worry... Blackwell was made for you. Blackwell exists for you, Mr. Kaiser. We will help you attain your sanity." Was it really that easy to label someone as "insane?" Ryan leaned back in his seat, staring the woman down with a look that could kill. With her words of assurance, it made him feel as if he was being forced to join a religious cult. It was as if he needed saved from past sins, to gain the approval of Blackwell, and that without Blackwell he was dirty. He hadn't done anything that bad, had he? Sure, he'd struck his father and had fallen into a late stage of teenage rebellion, but that was not enough to title him as "irrevocably insane." He would've spoken it aloud, denied it more, but he felt exhausted. Each time he'd spoken against her judgement, she'd placed another supposedly bad deed he'd done to further decrease his mental state. Already he had discovered that what she knew of him had been falsified. Being bipolar may be true, but he was not suffering from fascination with extreme violence, he was not a victim of intermittent explosive disorder, he was not caught twisting the necks off small animals, and he was not caught lusting after his bitch of a sister.
The interview ended after his long spell of silence. Two guards, not the ones he had traveled wit on the boat, grabbed him by the shoulders and hoisted him up. One shoved clothes at his chest, a loose white shirt and gray sweatpants, and then directed him back to the waiting room. "Bring Miss Mystique in next, would you?" The woman called after them before the heavy door slammed shut.
------------
They had told him they'd run out of room in the wing that held the patients who suffered from high levels of anger, and so, as a temporary fix, they placed him in the wing with who they claimed were the imaginative patients. He'd shuffled in-between the guards, listening to their brisk explanations of his new home, and became suffocated in the washed, white walls. It made him stressed, the endless bleached faces that stretched on as far as he could see.
With all the white walls, metallic doors, barred windows, and geared up guards, it was a bit surprising when he heard the agonizing squeak of a door open and a patient waltz out. He glanced behind him, past the guard at his back, to catch the man glancing around before moving to the adjacent cell. "Ah, Candy is being sociable again," the guard commented at his front with a shake of her head.
"Leave him be. Beau is his neighbor, yeah? Maybe Candy'll knock some sense into that idiot and shut him up for once. Getting tired of all that screaming and tantrum throwing Beau does," the guard at his back replied, pushing Ryan along.
Location: Recreational Room
Interactions:
Austria's chin settled on pulled up knees, her eyes meeting one of the patient's for a moment before she withdrew her gaze. The stare of man was scary, dangerous, but when she looked away, she felt Aussie stir within her. Her other half was growing bored. After all, the recreational room was much too quiet today... despite one patient storming out, drawing the undesired attention of the guards who trailed after him only to return back in equal silence. That patient... Beau, wasn't it? She mentally shivered, his infrequent outbursts always scared her. Then again, most things in the room that happened startled her. It was expected to remain quiet, to relatively move slow with calculating steps. It was like prey slinking past predators, patients the prey and guards the predators. As it had been proven before, quick movements attracted attention from guards.
Why don't we try finger painting? Draw something bloody just to mess with all the scientific quacks in here. She shook her head, but her gaze unwillingly lifted to the easels not far off from where she sat. Finger painting was nice... sometimes, but the easels were close to the chessboards. It was close to men.
Yet when Aussie was bored, Austria's will was no longer hers. With a mental sigh, a sigh that did not belong to her, Aussie's voice pressed against her, Come on, Aus, get the fuck up. Stop being deer, so damn predictable. I'm bored. At her words, Aussie pushed her will forward and forced Austria to lean forward and crawl toward the easel. It was an odd sight. Her long, angled hair obscured half of her face, and her dark eyes and thin cheeks contrasted brightly against the shadows cast from her thick hair. With her jerking movements, partly from an attempt at resistance and partly from acceptance, she appeared as the Grudge.
Location: Laboratory
The interaction from Dawn Rivers was always the same. Schwarzen'd grown used to it, but every now and then the truth behind her words stung him, like now, but instead of talking back he simply scrawled notes on down on a notepad. Her reaction was definitely different today, but it wasn't a good "different." The formula was indeed too weak, if it had any affect then it would have done more than agonize its host before devolving into something akin to euphoria. When she tried to pry on how he would test her, he simply offered a smile. "Increase the dose by one hundred milligrams, but keep an eye on her heartbeat and blood pressure," he instructed as he watched one of his nurses wipe the blood that trickled down from Dawn's nose. "Get a second sedative ready, we may need it soon, depending on the body's reaction to the dosage."
"And I'm not particularly in the mood to listen to you today, Rivers, so either explain how the drug feels to you or be silent." It was a usual line that he spoke as the less vocal interaction he held with a patient, the less time it took for the experiment to proceed.
((Pardon me if some of the wording or sentences seem odd or short... multi-tasking between a geology lecture and this))
Raku
Four Thousand Club
Nathaniel Hues
Nathaniel, on the docks, locked up and the towering asylum he was about to call home. He gave a whistle as he looked at it. "So, this is the asylum" he said. One of the guards hit him in the back and shouted "Shut it!". Nathaniel only smiled when they hit him. Pain was a distant memory to him, he enjoyed pain and injury. Looking around he saw an older woman wearing a white "dress" who he assumed was the warden because of her clothes. He couldn't wave due to the fact he was in cuffs, but he wasn't wearing a muzzle, yet. "Hello Miss warden I assume. Nice day-" he was cut off by a guard hitting him again. "Quiet!" the guard shouted and pushed Nathan along the dock.
Aur0ra
Crazy
Dawn Rivers
(Location: Laboratory)
interaction: @WolfSol
"Right away doctor" one of the nurses responded and increased the dosage, the other prepared the sedative but refrianed from giving it to Dawn just yet, waiting for her reaction. "What is it?" Dawn started with a sly smile playing on her lips: " Did you guys forget to give him his morning dose of coff..." The very talkative Dawn now stopped completely, it felt as if her body stopped responding to her brain. She wanted to talk, but words didn't come out, wanted to move, but couldn't. All she could do was move her eyes around like a wild animal. Her heart beat increased, but nurses suspected it was from fear, for her blood pressure remained stable.
A few minutes of sheer disprientation passed before Dawn was finally able to move, she started kicking and tossing against the restraints in pain, though she couldn't do much. Shaking, her breath became shallow again as every inch of her body hurt, her bones, nurves, skin,nails, head, chest, everything felt on fire with pain.
''I know why he killed himself'' Dawn's eyes were fixed at doctor Shwarzen, her sarcastic tone disappeared completely, and she stopped kicking after she was given the second dose of sedatives, her body still hurt, the pain didn't get affected by the sedative what so ever, it only made her feel to tired to fight.
"It hurts.
It hurts so much,
make it stop!
Please!
It hurts!
I'll be good, I promise I'll be good!
make it stop or KILL ME , kill me..''
The nurses looked surprised, it was NOT like Dawn to break down, whatever they've tried, she'd took it, she never begged, and even when it became too much for her she'd simply scream and pass out. This was new however. The sencerity in her voice, the fear, and the tears that now trickled down her cheeks made them look at the doctor confused for directions.
General Alexander Malkovich
(Location: Third Floor Security Staff Room/Out side {western side of the island})
To the general, it was very important that his guards were feared by the patients. That was why he never reprimanded or humiliated them in public. However, it was also important that they feared him, and respected him.
General Malkovich left the docs and headed to the third floor. He opened the door of the security staff room and entered. The late guards were already standing in the middle of the room, waiting for him.
''Fifteen minutes.'' He started, his usual frown upon his face: ''not two, not three. You were late Fifteen fucking minutes. Do you realise how badly that affects the institution?" The guards knew better than to answer that question, they also knew, that whatever reason they gave for their tardiness wasn't going to be accepted.
The general left the room, behind him the guards followed without a word. Leaving the building, the general walked to the western side of the island, sat on a rock and motioned to the sea. '' you'll hold your breath under water for two minutes, I shall not tell you when the two minutes are up, you predict that yourselves, if I see any head above water before the two minutes are up, the head's owner will spend two nights in the cells, not as a guard. We shall continue this exercise for the next fifteen minutes, don't you think that's fair boys?'' The general's words were met by a ''Yes Sir'' before the guards threw themselves to the water under his command.
0stinato
In Bhaal's name.
Three doors down, Rüdiger came across the source of the noise. Faint, but audible, he heard muttering of what sounded like the same muffled phrase over and over. He couldn't make out the words. But he was going to pin the noise on this one stranger in his row. Giving the room a quick glance-around to check the guards weren't caring too much - two were talking together and another was examining her sleeve - Rüdiger gave a quieter knock on the heavy door.
Just keep knocking until the door opened, that was his plan. It would be too hard to tell someone to shut up from this side of the door and, anyway, it'd been a while since Rüdiger had had a good talk and he was getting somewhat desperate. Chatting with the Shadow as all well and good, but it rarely replied, and it would only let Rüdiger talk about things he already knew. It'd bow its stinking head if he mentioned his art in a sort of respectful nod, as if to say yes, you're good at what you do. Rüdiger already knew this, he didn't need anyone to tell him.
He'd made money off his art. He was, for some arguments, professional. Properly painting and having things sold. He wasn't present for any of the selling or anything - Tuesday had taken care of that. If Tuesday had come over or phoned or whatever - that was where Rüdiger had his chats that he was missing - he'd always mention how Candy could make money off what he did. Of course, there were some paintings Rüdiger never wanted to part with, but there were numerous he felt less attached to. Finally, he'd agreed to let Tuesday take some.
Two weeks after that had happened the first time, Tuesday gave him a fistful of notes with a happy smile. Told Rüdiger it was all his. Told Rüdiger he didn't want any percentage for just taking the painting and doing... whatever he'd done with it to get it sold.
And that was how it had worked out. Occasionally Rüdiger would place his painting into a cover and Tuesday would take it. Whenever anything was sold Tuesday'd give him the money. He was an honest man, but, for some reason, Rüdiger found that hard to respect. If Tuesday had taken some of the money, Rüdiger would have been a little more impressed with him. But no, he was just too honest. Too honest. It made him sort of - well, quite - angry. What use did Rüdiger have with money? All he needed was enough to buy his supplies and that was it. Didn't need any more. Tuesday had a family, best he could do was keep some of the money for his own pockets.
But Rüdiger would give the little he had just to talk to Tuesday on the phone again. But this place wasn't really kind enough to let him. Occasionally, if you got lucky, you could book a day and time where you could talk on the phone and make an outside collect call for ten minutes at a time. But that was only if your latest three evaluations had been positive and the guards were happy with allowing a patient to do so. He'd never made a call. Never done anything he wanted to.
But now it was going to change - with another couple of knocks on the metal door to the cell, Rüdiger decided he was going to - had to - have a conversation - just any conversation - with the patient in this room. Whoever they were, Rüdiger was going to talk to them. Or risk talking in circles with the Shadow again.
@MuffinRPs
Just keep knocking until the door opened, that was his plan. It would be too hard to tell someone to shut up from this side of the door and, anyway, it'd been a while since Rüdiger had had a good talk and he was getting somewhat desperate. Chatting with the Shadow as all well and good, but it rarely replied, and it would only let Rüdiger talk about things he already knew. It'd bow its stinking head if he mentioned his art in a sort of respectful nod, as if to say yes, you're good at what you do. Rüdiger already knew this, he didn't need anyone to tell him.
He'd made money off his art. He was, for some arguments, professional. Properly painting and having things sold. He wasn't present for any of the selling or anything - Tuesday had taken care of that. If Tuesday had come over or phoned or whatever - that was where Rüdiger had his chats that he was missing - he'd always mention how Candy could make money off what he did. Of course, there were some paintings Rüdiger never wanted to part with, but there were numerous he felt less attached to. Finally, he'd agreed to let Tuesday take some.
Two weeks after that had happened the first time, Tuesday gave him a fistful of notes with a happy smile. Told Rüdiger it was all his. Told Rüdiger he didn't want any percentage for just taking the painting and doing... whatever he'd done with it to get it sold.
And that was how it had worked out. Occasionally Rüdiger would place his painting into a cover and Tuesday would take it. Whenever anything was sold Tuesday'd give him the money. He was an honest man, but, for some reason, Rüdiger found that hard to respect. If Tuesday had taken some of the money, Rüdiger would have been a little more impressed with him. But no, he was just too honest. Too honest. It made him sort of - well, quite - angry. What use did Rüdiger have with money? All he needed was enough to buy his supplies and that was it. Didn't need any more. Tuesday had a family, best he could do was keep some of the money for his own pockets.
But Rüdiger would give the little he had just to talk to Tuesday on the phone again. But this place wasn't really kind enough to let him. Occasionally, if you got lucky, you could book a day and time where you could talk on the phone and make an outside collect call for ten minutes at a time. But that was only if your latest three evaluations had been positive and the guards were happy with allowing a patient to do so. He'd never made a call. Never done anything he wanted to.
But now it was going to change - with another couple of knocks on the metal door to the cell, Rüdiger decided he was going to - had to - have a conversation - just any conversation - with the patient in this room. Whoever they were, Rüdiger was going to talk to them. Or risk talking in circles with the Shadow again.
@MuffinRPs
MoxxyMoxx
the enby autist
Once Beau heard a knock on his door he immediately shut up. No one ever talked to him. No one ever came near him and he was happy with that. This didn't necessarily help with his sanity. They call him borderline insane for a reason. He's not fully one way or another and the shutting people out, not talking to anyone, writing on the walls and mumbling to himself made it so it was easy to diagnose him as insane. But then again; a psychiatrist who didn't work for them, specifically his ex psychiatrist, would diagnose him as schizophrenic due to a deep loss and self blame for the said loss.
And, like his mental health, there are two decisions to be made about the person at the door. He could open the door. This could be good. It might be a nice person and he could make a friend; or it could be bad. The person might've a guard, the warden even, who will see everything he's drawn on the walls and send him for a psych evaluation which could never end good for him. He could also keep the door closed. This could be good. He can remain in his own comfortable space and he'd never have to deal with anyone. This could also be bad though. What about that nice person who could be behind the door? He couldn't risk meeting someone awesome over a fear.
Beau took a deep breath and worked up the courage to stand. He walked over to the door and opened it slightly. He looked out of the slight gap he left and looked up. It was a patient. He trusted patients, even the criminals, more then the guards at this institute. He scampered back to the corner of the small room and left the door as it was as an open invitation to come in if he wanted to. The shy boy sat on the floor and picked up a crayon and began to doodle on the floor.
And, like his mental health, there are two decisions to be made about the person at the door. He could open the door. This could be good. It might be a nice person and he could make a friend; or it could be bad. The person might've a guard, the warden even, who will see everything he's drawn on the walls and send him for a psych evaluation which could never end good for him. He could also keep the door closed. This could be good. He can remain in his own comfortable space and he'd never have to deal with anyone. This could also be bad though. What about that nice person who could be behind the door? He couldn't risk meeting someone awesome over a fear.
Beau took a deep breath and worked up the courage to stand. He walked over to the door and opened it slightly. He looked out of the slight gap he left and looked up. It was a patient. He trusted patients, even the criminals, more then the guards at this institute. He scampered back to the corner of the small room and left the door as it was as an open invitation to come in if he wanted to. The shy boy sat on the floor and picked up a crayon and began to doodle on the floor.
Shadow
Akin to a Fool
Location• Recreation Room
Click glanced up at the guards again, for no other reason but that they were watching him. He noticed the head guard changing shifts with another guard who had a dog, although it didn't really matter much. Some of the lower ranking guards might let the patients get away with some things, but the higher ranking guards were all equally unyielding. Not that he had any intention of doing something he wasn't supposed to do. Still, watching the guards who constantly stared down their noses at him, it certainly wasn't hard to daydream about doing something to fight back. But that wasn't who he was supposed to be. He was that shivering, mumbling wreck who sat in corners and didn't move. He was the person who always did what he was told and never questioned why. Of course, that's what landed him here in the first place; doing everything he was expected to do.
He had been staring out of the window while lost in thought, but now his attention returned to the real world. Although, honestly, the 'real world' wasn't much better than his memories. Unfortunately, the point of this place wasn't to help him hide or escape from his problems. That had been made obvious the moment he stepped foot on the island. Staring down at the chess board, he ran a shaking hand through his hair. About now, the isolation of his room seemed like a welcome retreat from the endless stares of the guards.
Suddenly a shadow fell over the chess board and Click cringed slightly before glancing up. "Maybe, but I don't really play." He said softly, running his thumb lightly over a castle piece. He looked back down at the ground. "I've seen you playing...you're pretty good." Click continued just as quietly. He wasn't sure why he was still talking. Nervousness, perhaps. Keeping his eyes down, he pushed the opposite chair out with his foot as a silent invitation for the man to sit down. He honestly didn't know why he was doing it, especially since he wasn't in the mood to talk or play chess. Maybe he was just tired of watching people and not interacting with them.
0stinato
In Bhaal's name.
Rüdiger "Candy" Giehl
Location: Beau Jackson's cell
Rüdiger would have stayed outside the unfamiliar cell awhile if he wasn't getting paranoid about the guards. They were probably waiting for something to happen so they could drag out and lay a few kicks into the ribs of inmates who weren't doing as they were told. He glanced around again, but all he could do was hope that the guards didn't care enough to do anything. Hope. That's all he had now, that's how low he'd got?
He remembered telling Tuesday - "Hope is what the weak say to keep themselves going. But hope only makes the inevitable hurt more." Like hoping your pet wasn't going to die at the vet's. Or hoping you got a B on that French Speaking Exam. Or hoping the guards didn't see you as you went into a cell that wasn't yours at a mental institution where you didn't even belong. Rüdiger didn't think he was supposed to be here. He wasn't crazy.
But, without refraining to think about it anymore, he accepted the invitation and slipped into the room, his thin frame making it easy to get in without having to open the door much. And, once he saw the inside of the cell, he was glad he didn't open the door any more. He might have disturbed the... inmate in this cell. He might have disturbed what he was doing.
Rüdiger well knew this was the part of the institute for Schizo types. A few bipolars and schizotypals thrown in too, as well as some others, but basically whoever had the same symptoms got put in roughly the same place. So. This man was like him, was he? In more ways than one - clearly. As Rüdiger looked around slowly at the floors, at the walls, he saw the crayon doodles everywhere. Some areas of the wall were discoloured where crayon had probably been before, but had been cleaned off by the staff... covered up by layer upon layer of sweet-smelling scribble.
And, in the corner, sort of penned in by his own pennings, was the occupier of this cell. With eyes that implied their owner hadn't slept in several hundred years, hair that, like Rüdiger's demanded a shower. Soft features, kind of effeminate in a way. Rüdiger tilted his head, knowing he'd have to be the first - he was always the fucking first - so say something. But it was probably worth it. At the very least, he could ask the drawer what art he liked.
Try and be nice, don't be an arschloch about it. Sure, sure... he'd try and be nice. Whatever 'nice' was. Was 'nice' compliments? Rüdiger couldn't compliment this, it was a mess. Or was 'nice' just holding back blunt thoughts. So it wouldn't be 'nice' to point at something on the wall and say, "What the fuck is that meant to be, a lion?"
So Rüdiger didn't point at the wall and say that. Instead, he tried to keep his feet off the marks, but it was hard to. There were only some places where the scribbles weren't. But he still tried his best, more out of respect for the... "art"... than anything else. He knew that, if he was in this little crazy's position himself, he'd abhor anyone who stepped on his artwork. Though Rüdiger would be wielding the crayon with more skill for sure. Or... he assumed so. He wanted to know about the crayon. Where'd he got it, how was he allowed to keep it, why was he allowed to draw on the walls when Rüdiger got psych evaled whenever he did it?
Maybe though it was because of the manner of things Rüdiger was putting on the walls. A quick sketch of a normal looking body with the head just... hanging off the neck. Macabre indeed, and it was an art form Rüdiger was beginning to like, but being so inhibited was infuriating.
But at least he could try to talk shop with this neighbour of sorts. He cleared his throat to draw the man's attention, before glancing once more around the room, "What's your intention with this?" he asked. Trying his hardest not to sound too hard with his words. He was genuinely curious, he didn't want to berate the man with his words.
@MuffinRPs
Location: Beau Jackson's cell
Rüdiger would have stayed outside the unfamiliar cell awhile if he wasn't getting paranoid about the guards. They were probably waiting for something to happen so they could drag out and lay a few kicks into the ribs of inmates who weren't doing as they were told. He glanced around again, but all he could do was hope that the guards didn't care enough to do anything. Hope. That's all he had now, that's how low he'd got?
He remembered telling Tuesday - "Hope is what the weak say to keep themselves going. But hope only makes the inevitable hurt more." Like hoping your pet wasn't going to die at the vet's. Or hoping you got a B on that French Speaking Exam. Or hoping the guards didn't see you as you went into a cell that wasn't yours at a mental institution where you didn't even belong. Rüdiger didn't think he was supposed to be here. He wasn't crazy.
But, without refraining to think about it anymore, he accepted the invitation and slipped into the room, his thin frame making it easy to get in without having to open the door much. And, once he saw the inside of the cell, he was glad he didn't open the door any more. He might have disturbed the... inmate in this cell. He might have disturbed what he was doing.
Rüdiger well knew this was the part of the institute for Schizo types. A few bipolars and schizotypals thrown in too, as well as some others, but basically whoever had the same symptoms got put in roughly the same place. So. This man was like him, was he? In more ways than one - clearly. As Rüdiger looked around slowly at the floors, at the walls, he saw the crayon doodles everywhere. Some areas of the wall were discoloured where crayon had probably been before, but had been cleaned off by the staff... covered up by layer upon layer of sweet-smelling scribble.
And, in the corner, sort of penned in by his own pennings, was the occupier of this cell. With eyes that implied their owner hadn't slept in several hundred years, hair that, like Rüdiger's demanded a shower. Soft features, kind of effeminate in a way. Rüdiger tilted his head, knowing he'd have to be the first - he was always the fucking first - so say something. But it was probably worth it. At the very least, he could ask the drawer what art he liked.
Try and be nice, don't be an arschloch about it. Sure, sure... he'd try and be nice. Whatever 'nice' was. Was 'nice' compliments? Rüdiger couldn't compliment this, it was a mess. Or was 'nice' just holding back blunt thoughts. So it wouldn't be 'nice' to point at something on the wall and say, "What the fuck is that meant to be, a lion?"
So Rüdiger didn't point at the wall and say that. Instead, he tried to keep his feet off the marks, but it was hard to. There were only some places where the scribbles weren't. But he still tried his best, more out of respect for the... "art"... than anything else. He knew that, if he was in this little crazy's position himself, he'd abhor anyone who stepped on his artwork. Though Rüdiger would be wielding the crayon with more skill for sure. Or... he assumed so. He wanted to know about the crayon. Where'd he got it, how was he allowed to keep it, why was he allowed to draw on the walls when Rüdiger got psych evaled whenever he did it?
Maybe though it was because of the manner of things Rüdiger was putting on the walls. A quick sketch of a normal looking body with the head just... hanging off the neck. Macabre indeed, and it was an art form Rüdiger was beginning to like, but being so inhibited was infuriating.
But at least he could try to talk shop with this neighbour of sorts. He cleared his throat to draw the man's attention, before glancing once more around the room, "What's your intention with this?" he asked. Trying his hardest not to sound too hard with his words. He was genuinely curious, he didn't want to berate the man with his words.
@MuffinRPs
MoxxyMoxx
the enby autist
Beau remained quiet mostly when the stranger was in his room. He normally didn't get visitors so this was strange. This man seemed to have an interest for him for reasons Beau didn't know but wanted to. Beau wasn't extremely interesting, he didn't think so at least, so why would anyone else want to even look at him.
Beau looked up at him. He assumed it was only polite to answer questions. He did just throw a tantrum which caused another inmate to come to his room. He just spoke what he felt. It was the right thing to say. "The message might eventually drill into my brain that I'm not crazy," he said and looked down again. "I-I mean they call it borderline insane for a reason though, right?" He continued to draw on the floor to preoccupy himself. He would be lying if he said he wasn't scared.
Beau looked up at him. He assumed it was only polite to answer questions. He did just throw a tantrum which caused another inmate to come to his room. He just spoke what he felt. It was the right thing to say. "The message might eventually drill into my brain that I'm not crazy," he said and looked down again. "I-I mean they call it borderline insane for a reason though, right?" He continued to draw on the floor to preoccupy himself. He would be lying if he said he wasn't scared.