toothless dentists, cops that kill

[goryteller]

WHO: Katurian Katurian and you!
WHERE: NoHoPE
WHEN: Monday the 17th to Friday the 21st MAKE THAT WEDNESDAY. Both visitors and current patients/doctors are free to tag in. Please specify date and time when you do!
WARNINGS: I'll add them as they surface. General malaise.
SUMMARY: Katurian is recovering in NoHoPE.
FORMAT: Whichever you'd like!

By Saturday afternoon, Katurian knew the shadows he saw shouldn't have been able to speak.

Auditory hallucinations. It was one of many reasons he was in the hospital now, gone already from what he thought was his proper sphere of punishment. But unlike his last hospital stay, with Desire pounding at his head every second of the day, the medication worked, at least in part. He spent more time sleeping and less time with his thoughts spiraling downward into panic and anxiety, but his writing still wouldn't come. He was out of place in this universe, like a fired employee still sitting at his old desk, like a child wandering the halls of his old school. Crafting stories here felt inappropriate. Insulting. Somehow.

So he slept and he read and he made polite, mundane conversation with the people that talked to him. Mostly he kept to himself. On Monday, he sent letters to the people that mattered most to him, telling them that he was no longer in prison, that he was somewhere else now, and he gave each person the address instead of the name of the institution. The Norman Osborn Hospital of Psychiatric Evaluation.

Of course, he was an import criminal, he thought numbly. A confessed murderer. It was probably on the news, anyway.

Comments

monday morning: 9:30 am.

[tothecloud.livejournal.com]

There was something about the sterility of the place, the whiteness of it that made her feel uncomfortable walking the hallways. It felt so unlike the outside world, as if she'd passed through the front doors into another dimension.

In her arms, Abby held a book to her chest. She was delivering a gift of sorts today. She followed an orderly back to Katurian's room, waited patiently while they knocked on the door, then pushed it open for her. He said something about being just outside, in case. But she wasn't really listening.

Abby leaned into the doorway. "Um. Can... I come in?"

[goryteller]

Katurian heard her voice and knew just what she meant for him. He liked Abby. On his first day in the City, when he was trapped in a closet surrounded by nothing but the undead and his own overwhelmed thoughts, she was the one that rescued him. When he confessed to murder, when he begged to go to prison, she asked if he was okay, and, better still, she truly seemed to care.

Today, he knew she had his book. Another save.

"Come in," he said, straightening his back in his chair. He was already in a uniform of sorts: beltless pants, shoes without shoelaces. He was excited and nervous and his voice trembled, just slightly.

[tothecloud.livejournal.com]

She hesitated just a moment, then let herself in, curious eyes exploring the room before coming to rest on Katurian. There was a second where she seemed unsure what to do next-- but after a beat, she just smiled, waggling her fingers in a tentative hello.

"Hi." Abby nudged the door shut behind her before wandering over, extending Katurian's book to him in offering. "Er-- I brought this for you." A light pause, then with a little laugh somewhere between happy and anxious, she added, "It's cool to see you in person without zombies involved."

[goryteller]

Katurian knew Abby was speaking, but he couldn't hear the words. He took his book in both his hands and held it to his face, to his nose, where he could feel the hardcover indent his skin. He closed his eyes.

"Ever since I was a little boy, I wanted nothing more than this." His voice was a wavering whisper.

[tothecloud.livejournal.com]

And for a passing second, she felt like a witness to something too private, as if the moment should have been only Katurian's, without her sharing it. Uncertainty showed on her face, as if she were unsure whether he was pleased or not, if she should answer him.

A hesitation, then her voice came quietly. "Are you happy?"

monday, 3 pm. - hope this is all right!

[osreborn]

The recreational room at NOHoPE was almost as stark as the rest of the hospital; lines of tables lined with books and innocuous activities with a cold marble floor and tall orderlies supervising. For such a freedom, they really had less of it here than they might in their cell.

Norman sat at one table, jigsaw puzzle laid out before him. It was 1000 pieces, half completed -- he'd been working for thirty minutes, or so. It was a mindless sort of task with which he kept himself occupied but not distracted, really focusing more on the door. He had heard Katurian had been transferred, and Norman had quite an inclination to speak with him in person.

After the last time they'd met, Norman wasn't going to let this sort of opportunity escape.

He didn't know if the man would even be led in here; Norman himself normally didn't find himself in the rec room, sedated or not. But in the interest of socializing, here he was.

He placed another piece, attaching the head to a swan.

it's awesome! :>

[goryteller]

Normally, somewhere like the recreation room would be hell for Katurian. All of those people with all of those messy pasts, onsets and offsets, familial arguments and disorienting breakdowns, blurring and pressing themselves into his retinas. Usually, he couldn't help himself: feeling at someone's past was as natural as looking at them. In the prison cafeteria, Katurian took to closing his eyes. The medication soothed the urge, though, made it possible for him to look at large groups without marking the bumps and sharp edges of their lives.

He arrived a little after three. He had been there once on Sunday briefly and so he already knew that he didn't need to close his eyes, but he still didn't see Norman as he moved to the puzzle table and started shuffling through the pile. He grimaced at scenes of rainbows. Kittens. Green fields and rivers without the slightest ounce of character. They could do better.

[osreborn]

Norman regarded Katurian silently at first, watching him sift through the stack of jigsaw puzzles. They all had similar peaceful (read: boring) themes to them likely to keep the patients from getting too excited. They certainly did their job in that regard.

Restraining his smile, Norman put another piece to his puzzle; the foaming edge of a river. "Katurian," he said without looking up. "Isn't this a pleasant surprise?"

[goryteller]

Katurian had been picking up the puzzle boxes one by one, examining them, and then switching them over to his other hand so that he could dig deeper into the pile. He had gone through four.

When Norman said his name, he dropped the every last one of them.

They didn't fall far - at least not most of them. Most of them landed on the table just underneath, but one of them, the one on top, bounced off the others and tumbled to the ground, spilling cardboard pieces every which way.

"Oh Jesus," Katurian murmured.

Wednesday; 3:00

[enigmaestro.livejournal.com]

His footsteps thudded with an eerie hollow sound, a sharp jolt that skirted anticipation. A trumpet of privilege. He knew he wasn't bound to these pale walls, these bleached floors. Unlike the institute's captured minds, Edward Nygma knew what freedom he was owed. That burning entitlement alone seared away the memories of his own caged madness.

There was little to fear, here.

"Hello, Katurian." He pressed a palm against the glass divider, that small window lodged in the door that temporarily separated them until Eddie chose to enter that world, fully. The moment's choice was acknowledged, savored. Flaunted. He then nodded to his escort -- a large orderly muscled enough to incite Eddie's distaste -- to open the door.

Eddie breezed inside, wary and alert and smug. The door closed behind him, gently. Soundlessly.

"Is it true, what they say? 'Sanity is not statistical'?" He tone possessed no trace of that smugness so innate.

In his hand he carried a secondhand copy of Orwell's 1984.

[goryteller]

The book was illegal where Katurian came from. Banned, like all books that were political, that prodded at the government, and it was no wonder. He focused on this book in Edward's hands because if he didn't, he'd have to focus on Edward, on those deceptively friendly eyes and the creases in his face and that innate dramatic flourish to his words. Mere days after seeing the shadows of his parents, it was even more obvious to him, how Edward reminded him of his father. He didn't know how he missed it before.

"You came," he said. He didn't know why he invited Edward. Maybe to show him that he wasn't afraid. Maybe to kill him. He pried his eyes from the book and forced himself with all his will to look up at Edward's face.

[enigmaestro.livejournal.com]

"Of course I came," he said in measured words. "Why wouldn't I?"

The faded cover in his hand sported a pale, staring eye. Edward edged the book towards Katurian, caution coloring his actions. The show was for the orderly peeking in, Edward explained, so try not to find it patronizing. That wasn't his intent at all. And didn't Katurian like Orwell? The copy had come from a secondhand shop -- Eddie had thought he'd appreciate that, appreciate knowing that human hands had touched those pages, and human thoughts had picked at the ink. That someone had read this very book before Katurian.

"Someone who had always existed."

Eddie's smile never faltered.

"Tell me, Katurian. Humor me for a moment -- do you really believe you belong here?

[goryteller]

Katurian heard all the words unsaid. Every insinuation. Every dangled idea. Edward was crafting a work of art in the empty spaces and Katurian was privy to just enough to feel it, but not enough to fight back. He could pretend to be stronger than Edward, but it wouldn't work, because just like in their communicator conversation, the other man's words stab into him like pikes. Someone who had always existed.

He was going to be sick.

He took the book. Felt the worn, scratchy cover. He didn't know if he'd be able to read it. He was sure there would be just as torturous a message inside it.

Any answer he gave was guaranteed to be the wrong one.

"I believe I belong back home." He kept his voice even. "But what I believe doesn't matter much, does it?"

afternoon

[wrong-sometimes.livejournal.com]

She knew it would happen sooner or later, not that she'd seen seen it, not like that, but she just knew. He didn't belong in prison, he needed help. Whatever that freaky power of his was, it did a number on him. She could relate. The things she saw, hell, sometimes she thought she should be locked up.

It took some doing, but she finally convinced the guards to let her in with the few things she'd brought. Nothing that could be harmful, just... colorful. Heading to the rec room, she settled herself at a table and started unpacking. Play-doh, crayons and paper.

It was craft day.

[goryteller]

Katurian had seen visitors in the rec room before, distinguishable from the patients by their soft words and their tendencies to stand, but he recognized Cassie immediately. He had only seen her twice - once on her first communicator message ('if you see this face...') and once when she came to his apartment to take his gun away - but he could never forget her.

Wordlessly, he walked up to the table where Cassie was unpacking her supplies and sat down, as natural as a patron at a restaurant. He took a green crayon.

[wrong-sometimes.livejournal.com]

She was sketching, nothing important, but she'd been crashing some local art classes (don't tell her roommates) and her skill was improving... a little. Right now it was a simple landscape, mountains, a lake, happy trees. She didn't say anything for awhile, letting Katurian get settled at the table, not rushing anything.

"So, better here?" She figured the answer would be yes, couldn't well be worse than the prison, could it?

[goryteller]

He slid a piece of paper to his place with his bandaged hand.

"It's more open," he admitted. He wasn't entirely sure what to do with the paper in front of him. He pressed the crayon down, but didn't draw. It left a faint green dot. "And I think the beds are actually real."

He began shading. Circles of green. He filled in every space.

"Did you need the letter to know I was here?"

tuesday, 10:00 am;

[spiritgun]

Yusuke hated the hospital on sight. It was all sterile white walls and long endless hallways, and hushed, smothered voices. It was lifeless. Yusuke hadn't felt so uncomfortable anywhere in his life; the idea of Katurian actually having to stay here was rage-inducing.

"Katurian?" His voice felt too loud in the quiet, but Yusuke didn't lower it, shuffling his feet awkwardly in the doorway as he hesitated, one hand on the knob.

Belatedly, he thinks he should have brought something. It's too late now, but still, he feels vaguely sorry he hadn't.

[goryteller]

"You can come in," he said. He was sitting on the edge of his bed and trying to see what he could out the window. Some ivy. A brick wall, which was probably one of the opposite wings of the hospital. When he wasn't sleeping, he was aimless, and he knew that was going to need to change, too, if he wanted to last more than a week.

When Yusuke entered, he made sure to stand up. After all, a guest was a guest. He needed some normalcy.

[spiritgun]

"Hi." Yusuke shut the door behind him, after giving the nurse and orderly who'd trailed him to Katurian's room a filthy look. They'd been giving him the same flat-eyed look that people back home had given him when he was a little boy, the look of judgement and distaste. It would always get under his skin in the worst way.

"So this is it, huh?"

[goryteller]

"It's not so bad." He approached the entrance of the room where there were two innocuous plastic chairs, each bolted down to the floor. He tapped on the top of one. An offer to sit.

"Thank you for visiting," he said, as though he forgot. A nervous smile flickered onto his face. "It can get lonely. Sometimes."

tuesday afternoon

[mobius-bound.livejournal.com]

Cameron took the bus to NoHoPE. She wasn't certain how well this visit would go, or what sort of state she would find Katurian in. She wasn't certain of much of anything regarding this arrangement. Unlike a prison sentence, there was no pre-set date for Katurian's release from the hospital. His state of mind, from what she remembered, was not one necessarily lent towards allowing him to be 'cured' or whatever it was that psychological medicine was expecting to do for him.

Functioning, she thought, would be a great improvement. Perhaps that was what she should be hoping for.

She'd asked John what sort of things one brought to someone in a mental hospital when they went to visit and that had been a slightly awkward conversation for him; she'd ended up choosing books. Complicated world-puzzle books and a few others. One history, one horror, one contemporary poetry. Because she had no idea what else to get.

She stood near the nurse's station, waiting for someone to tell her where to go or for Katurian to arrive through one of the sets of doors and decided that mental hospitals were entirely too sterile of an environment for anyone to be comfortable in.

[goryteller]

The nurses would have her mark her name in a sign-in sheet, and after she did, Katurian would be notified and give them permission to escort her to his room. When he heard the news, he agreed immediately, yes, of course, and made sure that his bedroom was in order, smoothing the sheets, clearing his books from the chairs. For whatever reason, Katurian always felt obligated to impress Cameron. Maybe it was because she saved his life a year ago, twice, or maybe it was because he still felt guilty for how he treated her after Desire made her break his hands. He knew that Cameron couldn't remember any of this, but it still manifested in his behavior, this longing for a second chance.

[mobius-bound.livejournal.com]

Even if she did recall his treatment of her, or those events in general...Cameron would see it as a failure on her part. So now, in the moments between the door swinging open and looking to find Katurian putting something away and turning towards her she wondered if she was doing enough to be a friend. If books were really what he needed right now.

If she, stunted as her own emotional development was, really could be of any help to him at all.

All that was folded neatly and tucked aside when she smiled at Katurian. "Hello. I brought you books."

[goryteller]

"Books." He returned the smile. It wasn't particularly bright, but it wasn't a lie either. Cameron was gone when he was sent away, and he thought he'd never see her again, that he'd never say goodbye. Seeing her now was one of those small, cheery things he liked about being back. (Although now that he had, he thought glumly, he probably wouldn't mind flickering away all over again.)

He offered a hand to take the books.

"You know, I'm sure I'll need a lot of these. I'm sure they're one of the best ways to pass the time." He met her eyes. "Thank you."