snowblindrpg | [log] Noisy Black, Part One [closed]

The room you wake up in is a jail cell. Well, it's a jail cell now. Looking around, this was probably an office building: boring grey carpeting still sits on the floor, the ceiling is tiled (though the tiles are unfortunately sealed shut), and the metal bars have been welded together in a very unprofessional-looking way, though they hold tight. Unfortunately, it looks like the windows have been covered up with large sheets of metal, but there's electric lighting. Each cell is about 8ft by 8ft, with a small attached bathroom. The toilet works, and the water in the sink even comes out warm. There's no shower, but don't worry--someone took the liberty of washing you off when you were asleep. All of your items are gone, even the clothes you were wearing: you're now in a hospital gown--good thing the building is heated. There's a plastic hospital bracelet around one of your wrists with your name on it and some gibberish-looking letters. You can't take it off, and even if you're the type of person who knows hospital code, the code being used on these bracelets is an unknown one.

But don't feel lonely! Looking out of your cell, you can see the other sinners in other cells and converse with them. Not that you know you're a sinner yet--but don't worry, you will.

The room you wake up in is a dormitory. You wake up on a bed, in a heated building--you wake up under blankets! It's probably nicer than where you went to sleep, even if the whole situation may be a bit alarming. All of the other converted are there as well, so you have company. All of your things are gone, and most of your clothes are missing as well: you've been stripped down to only one layer of clothing. That clothing has been washed, however, and so have you, so it's not too big a deal.

Exploring your surroundings, it seems like you're in an office building, judging by the grey carpeting, tiled floors, and large windows that look out onto what must be the industrial zone. There are symbols of the prophet under each bed and on the wall to the staircase and elevator. It looks like the elevator might work, but there's something strange: you have no urge whatsoever to leave the room. You can talk about how it's probably a good idea, how it would make sense to explore, how it's unsettling that you don't want to leave, how you need to leave, but you won't. You won't try to remove the prophet symbols, try opening up the ceiling, or damage anything at all.

At least for all of you there's three large bathrooms with shower stalls and hot water and a kitchen stocked full of food for all of you to eat. For now, aside from the little--quirks--you feel pretty normal. Enjoy that.

[Being in a hospital gown isn't new to House, at least. Nor is being in some form of temporary lock-up. The fact that he has memories of his most recent hallucinations back home jostling for attention in his head does nothing to help with the situation, though. Is he hallucinating? There's a good chance. The hospital bracelet on his wrist makes him frown, but when he tries to remove it, that's not possible. Great.

There are other people lying unconscious nearby, so House decides it's time to rattle the cage. He bangs on the bars and shakes them.]

Hey! Can a guy get a harmonica in here, at least?

[This is all very alarming and unsettling and America is very worried but also right now he is cooking hamburgers with about four cookies stuffed in his mouth.]

Oh 'y god, guys, 'ere's so 'uch 'ood!

[Don't talk with your mouth full, America.]

[Mycroft wakes up with a start. He's confused, vaguely assuming that this was all a dream, before reality lingers and comes into focus. No, everything feels uncomfortable and very real--but then again, what was real in this place?

A hospital gown. That's...not a promising sign, all things considered. He deduces what he can from the bars, the carpet, the fact that he was clean--it was a horrible thought that someone had kidnapped them in their sleep, changed their clothes, cleaned them and dropped them in what amounted to a cell--

--he kept his breathing steady, or at least did his best to. There was definite fear in his eyes.]

Hello? [He walks to the bars, and calls out.]

Doctor House!

[Mycroft calls out from a nearby cell. The older Holmes is clearly trying to keep calm and it wasn't working out all that well.]

[Magenta knows approximately three things about this situation: he's clean, someone took his hat, and House is somewhere in the distance, hollering some nonsense about harmonicas. He can deal with one of those items, and he does it immediately and at an equally high volume.]

Have you considered shutting your goddamn mouth? Nobody here has a harmonica. Asshole.

[...And then his skittish, paranoid brain kicks into high gear.]

Is that code?

[So, that's one Holmes accounted for.]

Oh, goody. Just who I needed for a cell block buddy. Got a hospital bracelet with gibberish code on your wrist, Holmes?

If it was a code, would I tell you it was a code, moron?

Yes. But in a code I can understand. Is you callin' me a moron your way of tellin' me that yes, that was a code? Because, if nothing else, I know that it's actually you. Nobody else is cruel to me like you are, you know.

[He hesitates.]

Are you missin' all of your stuff too, then? I lost my hat. And everything else, too, but I'm especially sad about that. It was a gift.

[The version of Davesprite that wakes in the jail cell is different than what those who know him would be used to: a perfectly human teenager, pale and about 5'10", with light blonde hair and a smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose and cheeks. And he wakes quickly too, having jolted at the first unusual noise around him—and let's face it, someone's bound to make their unhappiness known sooner or later. Moreover, without his sunglasses, it's possible to see his irises are distinctly red.]

[This is definitely not the funeral home. By now, though, he's well used to waking up weird places, and that fact keeps any residual panic on the inside. Nothing's too fucked up yet. It can always get worse, and he might as well enjoy what reprieve there is before the inevitable horror sets in.]

[Still, the uniforms sucks.]

If nobody's seen my pants, does anyone mind helping me figure out bipedalism?

[His voice, at least, is the same as ever.]

[For now he's going to crawl on over to the bars and pull himself up so he can stand with some support. The least he can do is lean on them and the walls and make a circuit of his cell to see what he can. There's nothing actually wrong with his legs; he's just not used to balancing on them.]

Edited 2017-07-17 15:35 (UTC)

[ This is an unfortunately familiar situation for Sylar, but at least Level Five wasn't a makeshift setup. Pretty much all of this screams that something terrible is going to happen soon. Great.

He lets out a loud, overdramatic sigh and starts poking around his small, designated area. ]

Hey, warm water in the sinks! At least we've got something.

Hey, House. Do the symbols on the bracelet mean anything to you?

[ He's guessing not, but hey- they've got nothing to do but theorize right now. ]

Relative to its size, the barnacle has the largest penis in the animal kingdom. And yes. That was code. [Code for 'I'm screwing with you.']

I'm in a hospital gown and nothing else. You get a hose-down? Usually that only comes after death.

Edited 2017-07-17 15:39 (UTC)

[ British, but he's not sure beyond that. He tries to push up against the bars, see if he can see anyone. ]

Gotta give me something more than hello. Who're you? I'm Gabriel.

Edited 2017-07-17 15:39 (UTC)

[ Is that Davesprite across the way? Harder to tell without that distinct orange. Sylar waves. ]

I'd be more help if I could be over there, but sure. What else do we have to do right now?

[Being Magenta Magenta is a difficult way of living, because sometimes it entails having to do absolutely inane things just to see if you can. Immediately after waking up and assessing the bare bones of the situation, he attempts to break down the bars using assorted parts of his body.

After a few minutes of haphazardly running into the bars, he decides that maybe he should stop: an unusual display of restraint. Only then does he really process that there's other people around.]

...Good news, fellas! You can't bust down those bars. Just thought I'd go ahead and let y'all know.

[And then:]

Ow.

[Joker paces his cell, eyeing the walls and ceiling for a trace of anything familiar.

It feels like Arkham but he doesn't dare hope that it actually is Arkham.

When he looks out of the cell and sees movement he feels agitation well up inside him. There are other inmates and none of them are talking to him or about him.

Well, there's a way to fix that.]

WAKE UP!

[It takes Stephen a while to wake up -- he gets little enough sleep in general that the forced unconsciousness and relative warmth are enough together to keep him out until other people are up and making a bunch of noise. The first bleary minutes of wakefulness are spent calling back to the others and taking stock of his immediate neighbors. It's weird to hear so many voices in one place, to know that he isn't alone for once, and yet to feel more isolated than ever in this prison cell.

When he's been awake a little while, Stephen turns his attention to a very, very careful inventory of his surroundings. He paces the walls of his cell, testing every weld, putting his shoulder to the bars here and there and pushing as hard as he can. He's awkward in the gown, all long limbs and a keen desire to be covered up better than this, but he's probably going to flash someone anyway when he starts trying to climb the bars to reach the ceiling and test that, too, struggling to get a grip with his shaking hands.

On the bright side, the babbling of the last few days has stopped. It's almost weird not constantly hearing his own voice.]

Edited 2017-07-17 15:50 (UTC)

Gross. But I'll keep that in mind, I guess? Sure.

[He hums thoughtfully, mind slowly following the curve of the conversation.]

Yeah, you're right. Did we die? I don't really remember where I was at before I was here. Don't remember dyin', though, and that seems like somethin' I wouldn't forget, y'know?

[It's the first relevant thing anyone has said. And oh, boy. It came from the serial killer-turned-serial babysitter.]

No. If it's medical code, it's nothing I've ever seen before. Doesn't look like a patient ID, medication list, or diagnosis. Who wants to bet we're in one of the sealed buildings in the industrial zone, though.

[Davesprite turns, hands still holding firmly to the bars, to look better off his way. He releases his grasp with one to return the wave.]

'Sup, Gabriel? If I have to give this place points, at least I've got warm air and carpet to scoot around on. Thought I was going to be doing hard mode straight out the gate and into the snow. Not looking forward to damp knees, you know? And there I had pants and everything, but I guess our benevolent overlords saw fit to grace y'all with the sight of my pasty gams.

[Stephen, who'd still been asleep on the floor of a nearby cell, gives a wild, full-body jerk as the shout catapults him into consciousness. The look in his eyes is wild, too, in that early morning confusion amplified by waking up somewhere unfamiliar. He scrambles to his feet, breathing hard as he turns hurriedly in place, frantic gaze flicking here and there over the interior of his cell.]

What in the --

Izzat you, Steve?

[Joker raps on the wall with his knuckles.]

We're stuck somewhere but I bet we can find a way out if everyone--

[Deep breath]

WAKES UP!

If we died, this is the crappiest one I've woken up from. I don't even get some alone time. And that would be a new record for me. I've only been alive again for a day. And I just set my two-day record.

We probably just got bit by the spider brigade and hauled off.

[log] Noisy Black, Part One [closed]

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