Asylum Meme

[deadguysjr]

Meme, Interrupted



"People ask, How did you get in there? What they really want to know is if they are likely to end up in there as well. I can't answer the real question. All I can tell them is, It's easy."


Well, you've really done it now. You're in a mental institution. Maybe it's a modern facility with a therapy garden, compassionate staff members, and a warm environment meant to help nurse people back to health, or maybe it's a glorified dungeon where the government shoves people they don't want to deal with and patients are abused by staff. Regardless of what it is, you're there, and it doesn't look like they're planning on letting you out any time soon.

Maybe you're actually not supposed to be there and you're trying to arrange for your release. Maybe you actually are meant to be there and you're struggling with your illness. Maybe you're not a patient at all and you're just there to visit or earn your paycheck. It's up to you.

Rules:

1. Post with your character's name, canon, and your preferences on the subject bar, and set up the situation.
2. Tag other people. Are you a visitor? A staff member? A fellow patient? A hallucination? It's your choice.
3. Have fun!

Comments

Kida Masaomi | Durarara!! | OTA

[kida]

He hasn't been the same since that day. It feels like yesterday; it feels like forever ago. He doesn't know anymore. Between the memories that always linger just below the surface, and the drugs he's forced to take to keep him calm, time has frozen, and Masaomi has frozen with it. Why wouldn't he, really?

He doesn't speak. Therapists talk to him, but he refuses to so much as make eye contact unless he's told to, and, even then, it may not be them he sees. Most of them can hardly believe he's capable of doing the things he was accused of - the reason why he's locked up here, now, in a straightjacket or other restraints more often than not - until those eyes come to rest on them, cold and deadly. Then, they believe every single word.

Those who make the mistake of wearing blue find out a lot sooner.

No therapist will handle him for long; nobody understands why he snaps when he does, but once he snaps, hardly anyone will give him a second chance. Even with the restraints and the drugs, he's broken more than a few noses. On one particularly violent occasion, when he'd been doing well and they were slowly granting him some more freedom, he'd picked up a chair and hit a male nurse over the head with it. Ever since, they've upped his dosage to the point that he hardly does anything but stare ahead anymore, and he's rarely let out of his room without some form of restraint. Nobody knows when he'll snap again.

And Masaomi... Well, Masaomi doesn't know anything, either. He doesn't think anything; he doesn't feel anything. It's probably for the best.

well, you did say ota...

[mellowyellow]

The Masaomi of now is vacant, an empty shell of his former self, locked behind white walls and drug haze and mental withdrawal. He probably knows it, recognizes the change better than anyone else ever could, would despise himself for it if he still retained the capacity to do so. Perhaps that's why, while drowning beneath the forced calm of tranquilizers, a shockingly familiar face slides into his limited view.

It doesn't take any introduction to recognize the Masaomi of before.

The contrast is startling, and the newcomer makes it ever more noticeable with every boisterous movement. He waves his hand in front of his twin's face before energetically plopping down in a seat directly in front of him. There wasn't a chair there before, but somehow, it makes sense that it's there now. After all, where else would he sit?

"Yo." He grins, and there's a condescending edge to it. "Long time no see."

Get out. You are way too handsome for this meme.

[kida]

The fact that he's noticing anything at all is more of a surprise than what he sees. There should be something shocking about it, worrisome, knowing that his sanity is finally slipping for good.

He really doesn't care.

His eyes focus on his other self - the illusion? that seems an odd way to separate them when the other is more him than he is right now - following his movements. There's something wrong about it. He shouldn't be here... should he? Maybe he should send himself away, try to save him. But is that really what he wants?

No. No, he deserves to be here. He just... doesn't want to see himself go through it all again.

Doesn't matter, doesn't matter...

"Long time," he echoes, and he's pretty sure that's true. It feels like a lot more than a standard expression right now.

sometimes i have to demonstrate my generosity by showing my face to the lowly masses.

[mellowyellow]

"Eh? That's the kind of welcome I get? After I went to all the trouble of coming out here to see you..."

He trails off in that way he does, as if expecting someone to interrupt with the perfect straight man's bit, and frowns at the husk watching him through half-dead eyes. It's not a pretty sight, not when it looks like him, and the supposed illusion leans forward to get a better look. Elbows dig into his knees, and he lets his chin rest in his palm as his head cocks to the side.

Anyone else would have called his jutting frown a pout. But the intent behind it was too critical for that. If anything, he was fishing.

"If I were Anri-chaaaan~ you'd at least pretend."

Hence the cloning? I see, I see... Let's face everyone all at once. But then, what about the back..?

[kida]

It does the trick, of course, and there's a distant corner of his brain that tells him he knew it would, so the other him knew it too, but shouldn't he have known that he'd know that he'd -...?

Be that as it may, it doesn't stop the sharp flicker in his eyes, enough anger to cut through the haze, even if the rest of his face - of his body - still refuses to catch up.

"Don't mention her. Don't -.."

But why not, he finds himself wondering. The lashing out is instinctive, Anri more a feeling or an abstract concept than an actual person, but somehow that makes defending her even more important, when she can't do it herself. (Can't she? He gets the sinking feeling that she can, but that's not something he wants to think about.)

"Not... here." It's not the whole story, he's pretty sure, but it's something he'll settle for, anyway. "... You shouldn't be here, either." But that's more sulky than an actual complaint, the vague unsettling feeling in his stomach more intuitive than defined. He doesn't want to think about these things.

clearly we need a revolving stage.

[mellowyellow]

Even that smallest spark is satisfying. It's something different; it's something human; it's something he would say. But that's not enough. You don't visit your future wreck of a self in a mental institution just for a chat, after all.

The sight is too frustrating, the surroundings too restrictive, the prevalent destruction of an ideal too overwhelming. It pisses him off. He's been here from the beginning, repressed and smothered and forgotten more and more with each day gone by. Once upon a time, Kida Masaomi had a future. This bastard sitting in front of him isn't allowed to take that away. Not without a fight.

He doesn't fight like he used to though. Now he fights with smiles and words and gestures. Those are what make the real difference in this world. They scare away lecherous teachers, they keep him on his feet when dealing with the impossible, they repel Izaya's cruelty, and most importantly he knows, he knows how thoroughly they've motivated him.

"And what, you should?" he drawls, unflappable. It's not like he has any consequences to worry about. What can anyone do to him now? "That's pretty annoying for someone like you to say. It's a boring story when the guy trapped in a mental institute doesn't want out."

His eyes narrow, but he's still smiling. If Anri's off limits... Well. He'll just have to hit harder, won't he?

"Before, you would've spent months planning the biggest break to ever whirlwind this dump just to surprise Mi-ka-do."

Now I'm imagining Panty&Stocking transformation with two Kidas whose scarves turn into crowbars.

[kida]

"Shut up. Shut up about him, just -..."

His nails are digging into the palms of his hands before he even realizes it, but it's still himself he's fighting, not the restraints or even the drugs - though the influence of the latter is quickly fading into the background, the more worked up he gets.

"He's better off without us." Suddenly it's 'us', perhaps to share the blame, because he doesn't stop there. "We've gotten him in enough trouble. Don't you think?"

The question was intended to be rhetorical when he started voicing it, but by the time it's out, he's not so sure anymore. Part of him would welcome an excuse to ignore common sense and just do it, but it hurts when the harder he fights, the more trouble he creates - for other people. Always for other people; hardly ever that badly for himself.

If he hadn't selfishly asked Mikado to come to Ikebukuro, maybe none of this would have happened. Mikado wouldn't have met Izaya, and he wouldn't have become a target for the Yellow Scarves. Mikado could have still had a peaceful life. The very thing Masaomi wanted for himself, and it was not enough to destroy it for himself; he had to ruin it for his best friend, too.

a-as long as you don't mind some semi-slow-ish-paced tags hurr

[worldwithoutcolor]

The staff are at a loss as to why Mikado even bothers. They never say it, but their looks and their tones of voice are dead giveaways; some are more subtle about their skepticism, but Mikado has a sharper eye for things these days than he did in the past. He never misses their doubt, but he never cares, either.

He's always punctual, always arriving at the same time every week. He'd come more often if he could, but visiting restrictions aside -- and even he is a special case; he's more daring now, more in control, and he can pull some strings where he needs to when he absolutely needs to -- he acknowledges that he has his own life to tend to. He can't live for both of them, as much as he tries.

This is the only time when Mikado unplugs himself from the world he's become so wholeheartedly a part of, arguably addicted to: his cell is off, left at the front desk. He's made some sorry mistakes in his life, but neglecting what's left of his best friend isn't going to be one of them. Not again.

He enters the visitors' lounge (lounge isn't the right word; more like a chamber, if he had to choose a better one), and the smile he gives as soon as he sees Masaomi is genuine. Not patronizing, not forced, certainly not fake -- there's a touch of sadness in it that he can't quite do away with, but it's obvious to any, skeptical or not, that he's not forcing himself to come here.

Out of old, ingrained habit, Mikado doesn't sit down right away -- but they're too familiar for him to beat around the bush with unnecessary formalities, either.

"Hey, Masaomi." It's all he says, testing the waters; even he can't predict how well- or ill-received he might be on any given day.

Never! Slow is fine.

[kida]

It's not until he hears the voice that Masaomi notices, too used to ignoring the blurred shadows that are so often moving around him, never wanting or needing anything to do with him. Things rarely end well when he pays attention to them, anyway; he's better off keeping to himself.

But he knows that voice. It's old and familiar, and if it comes with a low sting that he can't seem to understand just now, he's happy to ignore that, too, and hope it goes away.

"Hey." His voice is soft, out of practice, and there's something like surprise in it. Something's off. Why can't he seem to figure it out?

"You were here, before. Just now?" It's a question to himself as much as Mikado, and he thinks - hopes - that that's where the problem lies. Seems like Mikado just left him, and he's back again already.

\o/

[worldwithoutcolor]

The disjointed, off-kilter response is nothing new. That's not to say it doesn't bother Mikado, but he's used to it enough not to let it show anymore.

"Ah, that was last week," he says easily, casually, as if the conversation's nothing but normal. "I was hoping I could get in an extra visit before now, but..." His smile's a shade apologetic now, whether or not Masaomi sees it.

He approaches the table between them -- bolted down, like the two chairs, and he still wonders if it's a special case -- and reaches out to rest one hand on the tabletop, still not sitting just yet. Still gauging whether his presence will do more harm or good. Some probably think him crazy himself, getting this close.

"How've you been?" he asks in the same conversational tone. A pointless question, maybe, but a question -- something, anything, to get Masaomi's mind working, if only slightly and briefly.

[kida]

Last week... Is it really that long ago? Masaomi shakes his head, not denying so much as not understanding. Nothing adds up anymore - and it's important, that thing that he's forgetting. Something.

The question should be easy, it's so common, but Masaomi has no right answer, dropping his head a little.

"I don't know. The medicine, it's -... Makes my head fuzzy."

He doesn't like it. At the same time, he doesn't usually object to taking it; he knows what happens if he doesn't. And he really doesn't want to feel that much, anyway.

"Maybe I fought again..." It's a guess, nothing more; it would explain why he's this badly doped up, anyway. But it's just as likely that he's simply remembering how things went when he first ended up in here. It's been a while since he hasn't been drugged up to his eyeballs - and not without reason.

[worldwithoutcolor]

Mikado's smile eases over into something more serious -- calculating, even, as he figures that it's a likely possibility. Even if he's practically the only visitor, he's still not technically family and thus has no legal right to reports or anything of that nature. If he ever wants to know the real details of Masaomi's behavior, it has to come from Masaomi himself -- fat chance of that -- or an orderly who's feeling particularly generous. Today, it seems, Mikado's getting neither.

Finally, he sits, hands in his lap as he takes the lull in conversation to study the person -- the shell -- across from him, wondering, as he does every time, how it came to this. He knows, but at the same time it's not satisfactory knowledge; how can it be? Especially when the possibility of his having prevented this himself chews him up every time, without fail.

"I'm not sure how you do it." There's a friendly kind of humor in his tone and smile, even if it doesn't reach his eyes. "I don't think anyone else would stand half a chance of starting a fight in here."

The humor fades, and Mikado's gaze drops to the table thoughtfully.

"I know the medicine makes it hard to think, but... do you remember why, Masaomi? Do you remember why you fight them so much?"

[kida]

Fighting, fighting - it's all he's ever been good at. Never without a purpose, but that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy it. Not so much now, but there's still something wonderful about those flashes of freedom.

"They talk about things. I don't -... I don't want to talk about those things. Don't make me, Mikado." In spite of the good intentions behind it, it's as much a threat as a warning. "I don't want to fight -..."

And that's when he remembers something - not the whole story, but it still strikes him with tremendous force, has him sit up with an alertness that has hitherto escaped him.

"... you. It's you, isn't it?" The one he's meant to fight; his enemy. But how can his enemy also be his best friend?

I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not sure that I am.

[deputes]

Considering Masaomi's noncompliance, it's shocking that the asylum staff hadn't thought to bring in a certain girlfriend of his to try and convince him to behave. But perhaps there's a good reason for that decision. A reason that's about to make itself apparent.

"Masaomi..."

The voice in the corner of the room is hoarse and weak, as though the speaker had been yelling for hours. Or screaming, as it were. Unable to walk, she crawls into view, dragging herself pitifully across the floor with her forearms. Her injured leg trails behind her, bruised and broken at an impossible angle. Her face is pale, as if all the color has drained from it, and yet despite the tremendous trauma that has been inflicted on her person, the apparition of Saki Mikajima still manages a pained smile as she looks up at Masaomi from his feet.

"Masaomi," she implores yet again, brushing his leg with her hand. The heavy dosage of medication that he's kept on would make it difficult to tell if that touch is real or imagined.

"It hurts."

Never be sorry.

[kida]

Everything is always faint, distant. Everything around him, all his senses dulled - but that voice cuts through everything, has his eyes shoot wide open to look, to meet hers, instantly. It's as clear a sign as any that she's not really here, even apart from the obvious, but sometimes he thinks he's not really here either. She's still more real than anything has been for him in weeks - too real, the touch to his leg making him pull it back in towards himself instantly, because he can still move his legs. Somehow it makes that rejection of her touch twice as harsh, but he can't help it.

"No... No, you're not -..."

Isn't she, though? He swallows heavily and tries to retreat further, pulling his legs up against himself as far as they will go, but he's already quite literally got his back against the wall, and his arms are trapped in a straightjacket, making it nearly impossible to get to his feet.

[deputes]

She continues to smile, though her expression becomes forlorn, as if made lonely by the rejection of her existence. Her hand is withdrawn, and she slowly pushes herself up into a seated position, supporting herself on shaking arms. Her breath comes and goes in short pants, every little movement that jostles her leg seemingly wracks her entire body with excruciating agony.

"...it hurts.." she repeats, sounding close to tears. Without looking away from him, she continues to fix him with a sad, empty stare.

"It really hurts, Masaomi...."

[kida]

He can't bear to see her like this, but he can't look away either, his mouth moving silently for words that will not come. He knew, of course; he knew exactly what she would have looked like, what she would have sounded like. Only the scream was something he could never have imagined - but then, he didn't have to.

"Saki, please -..."

But what exactly would he be asking her for? That's the world upside down, isn't it? He knows exactly who owes who. But he'll never be able to settle that debt, to make it right. Never.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

[deputes]

Saki would never ask him to apologize for that. The nature of her love is one of total acceptance: she loves him for everything he is, hero or not. But the broken mess in front of him is only a simulacrum: a reflection of Masaomi's darkest, guiltiest thoughts.

"So why didn't you make them stop...?"

Though it isn't a plea, her tone is close to that. Biting her lip to stifle any pained noises, she struggles to bring herself just a little closer to him, but muffling the sound of her suffering doesn't extinguish all of the traces of its existence: it's all there for him to see, in the beads of cold sweat trickling down her forehead and the ragged breaths she keeps drawing. She ought to be passed out unconscious from pain, but hallucinations aren't accurate depictions of reality. Cautiously resting her face against his leg, she closes her eyes and trembles for reasons that have nothing to do with the ambient temperature.

"Don't you care about me?"

hello, stranger. hope you don't mind.

[valhallan]

Even the most unruly of patients can be granted visitors. With no relation to the patient, however, they'd be asking Masaomi's permission. ("An Izaya Orihara has come to see you. Shall I let him in?" That wouldn't go over well, he thinks.) That's why Izaya lies. He says, "I'm his big brother" and somehow he's able to go on long enough to make that convincing, because he's been out of the country, away at college and poor Masaomi has been unstable and made everyone in the family worry.

On one hand, he doesn't expect a pleasant reception. But on the other, he's not sure Masaomi has it in him to care. His suspicion that his presence would hardly be regarded is a boring prospect, and he's hoping to be proven wrong. That's why he's come today. There are things he'd like to clear up. Izaya's interest in Masaomi has long since run dry. There are plenty of others he could use for nearly the same purposes, and plenty who would fit his specific needs better. The only reason that he bothers, takes this chance to meet with him, is because he's always found it hard to let go of a good thing. It had been a lot of fun, you know?

The door to his room opens to a nurse who informs him his brother is here. Izaya steps through in her wake, with the casual kind of smile edged in a healthy dose of worry that any brother would have. Of course, he isn't his brother, and it's a convincing look only in the most sinister of ways from the right perspective.

"Yo."

Izaya braces himself in intrepid anticipation for the reception.

On the contrary! ♥

[kida]

Masaomi looks up blankly at the message that his brother is here. As drugged up as he is, it doesn't even register that this is impossible - he doesn't have one, of course he doesn't have one, but they say so many strange things in this place - until he sees who it is that has shown up. Feelings come before memories, trying to stir under the haze, not quite making it through.

"You..."

It's him - him - and the more Masaomi remembers, the more he knows it's all that guy's fault, everything. His fists clench, powerless in the restraints. If he had the presence of mind, he could get rid of Izaya: call him out on his lie, even simply tell the nurse he doesn't want any visitors. That's not something his brain is capable of working out right now, though.

"You!" And that's all he manages to get out, everything else far to complicated and painful to put into words. He doesn't want to talk about it; that's why he hasn't talked about it.

ilu <3

[sharkbaby]

How Aoba got in is a secret. If it involved a combination of threats and favors, it is certainly going to be worth it, for this particular game. After all, this person is someone he is jealous of, in the end. Even though Kida has been sitting here in a mental institution, rotting away with jello for brains, the person Aoba spends most of his time with still has the audacity to worry over him and be concerned about him.

Well.

Aoba is just going to take care of that right now, or at least take out his anger about it on someone. And who better but the cause himself, this piece of shit who couldn't even do anything properly and yet still somehow has all Mikado's attention?

When Aoba slides into the room to make his visit, he's smiling sweetly, of course. He's also wearing a very familiar (stolen) green and white jacket. He approaches Kida slowly, but there's nothing truly hesitant about it, just a show. "You're... Kida Masaomi, right?"

That too is a show, of course, that lack of certainty about the other boy's identity, about what he's doing here.

</3

[kida]

It's more the voice that gets his attention than the words; someone not familiar, not professional, not afraid. Masaomi blinks to get his eyes to focus, because something seems off, but he's seeing fine already; it's something else that's out of place. The jacket.

"That's -..."

Isn't it Mikado's? He thinks it is, but on this other boy, suddenly he's not so sure. Everything's a little off these days.

Still, he stares at the jacket, rather than at the boy's face, and waits for a click in his brain, something certain and definite, that refuses to come.

[sharkbaby]

Aoba smiles, because of course he was right about the jacket. He tucks his hands in the pockets in the exact way he's seen his senpai do it, then tilts his head, takes another step into the room.

"He gave it to me," he says, lying. It doesn't matter, really. He's just here to play, after all. An old school friend... except that Kida had been gone from school a long time now.

Aoba doesn't hold back or try to be polite; in fact, he walks himself right over and finds a place to sit, perched on the edge of a little end table rather than in any kind of proper spot. He grins and stretches his legs out before him.

"You don't know who I am, do you?"

[kida]

Masaomi's eyes follow the other boy, just alert enough to manage, though nothing else moves even a little bit. Between the drugs and the restraints, he's gotten used to not even trying, saving his energy for more important things.

"No." No, he doesn't know who this boy is, but there's at least one clue: that jacket. That, and the fact that not many people come to visit him in the first place. "Are you a friend of Mikado's?"

[sharkbaby]

"Mmhmm, you're on the right track so far."

Aoba swings his legs merrily, the table he's sitting on wiggling a little under him, obviously not meant to hold a human being's weight. He leans in a little, peering at his prey curiously.

"I'm so sad you don't remember me. I thought we could be friends too, but you and Mikado-senpai and Anri-chan only think about each other, I guess."