St. Peter's Asylum discussion

Places inside the asylum include recreational areas (the common, music, and art rooms as well as the hallway) showers, the basement, library, cafeteria, file room, infirmary, classroom, and doctor's office. Please specify where your character is in your first post.

Note: RPs which take place here are not canon (they do not count towards the actual storyline.)

Lenore was not generally a big fan of the common room. It was quite a big place, and crowded; always full of chattering mouths and curious eyes. It always brought Discomfort out of hiding, and she did not like to look at Discomfort, who was a hideous creature: malnourished and gaunt, with huge dark eyes too big for her long, narrow face and ratty dark brown curls always matted. Today, however, she was lucky. It was quiet in the large room, nearly empty, and the only Emotion around was Serenity: pale, blonde and blue-eyed, a tall and pretty figure. She sat in the corner, by the fire, and smiled; and Lenore smiled in return, just briefly. She did not mind the company of Serenity. Serenity never spoke, never touched, never commanded or taunted or ridiculed. She didn't even try to offer advice, as so many of her brethren did. The quiet in her head was lovely.

Had Mabel known how much the girl was enjoying her solitude, she would have never have interrupted it. Mabel knew all too well about the fleeting moments of solitude that came in this asylum, and she typically wasn't one to disrupt that silence. But the young girl walked in, with a warm smile on her face and her ratty brown locks falling further in front of her eyes as she walked. It was obvious that Emerson was nowhere to be seen; Mabel emanated warmth and friendliness, and there wasn't a sign of malice or dark intentions. Forest-green gaze landed upon the girl, and a hint of interest sparked in Mabel's gaze. She had heard of Lenore-- though of course all of her knowledge of the girl was Emerson's work. If she recalled correctly, Lenore had something to do with emotions, a type of schizophrenia where she saw them, Mabel thought. If that were true, it peaked Mabel's interest, and she offered a warm smile to Lenore as she quietly walked over towards the couch. "Mind if I sit?"

The voice startled Lenore out of her reverie, and Serenity shattered where she sat without a sound, breaking apart and fading away in a haze of color. Disappointment flickered briefly in the corner of the girl's eye, and then was gone.

{Who's that?}

That was Curiosity, a mischievous redheaded youth with bright gray eyes; Lenore could not see him, but she heard his voice. She shrugged in answer, then turned back to the stranger who had spoken. "You may sit," she replied. "We don't mind." And she scooted over to the left, so that there was room for the little girl on the couch, and then she brushed a strand of white hair behind her ear and folded her hands in her lap. Her head tilted, and dark eyes fixed themselves on Mabel, studying, scrutinizing. Curiosity faded into view and jumped up on the back of the couch to watch them, his own head cocked to one side. He opened his mouth as though to speak again, but Lenore gave her head a nearly imperceptible shake, and he quieted. This girl would talk when she was ready, she figured. She certainly seemed amiable enough.

We. If Mabel's interest was sparked to begin with, it was ignited now. Dark gaze was accompanied by knit brows and a slight cock of the head, a look that Emerson had perfected and Mabel had picked up on her own. But she offered a gentle smile, and murmured a thanks as she took a seat beside the girl with the white hair, folding her feet underneath her and pushing back her hair as she sat down. Emerson had looked at this Lenore's file a few times before, and yet all Mabel had picked up from it was her perception of emotions. And so it wasn't as if she knew this girl before she knew Mabel herself, which certainly made it a lot easier for Mabel to be genuine and warm. "I'm sorry if I startled you," she said with a little twitter of laughter behind her voice, quiet and breathy. Her voice was lowered, to accompany for the near-emptiness of the common room. "My name is Mabel." She offered a hand to the girl across from her.

"You did not frighten us," she replied, the impressions of a smile twitching at her own pale lips. It was rather difficult to startle her on any day, but when the Emotions weren't all clamoring together inside her head--and they had not been, today--it was nigh impossible. She took the stranger's hand in a loose hold and shook it once, then let go. She looked back at Curiosity, whose grin was bright as he looked at the brown-haired stranger. {Ask her why she's here,} he suggested, but the white-haired girl only shook her head at him. It would not be polite to do so, after all, and though Curiosity could be very persuasive at times, he was only a little boy. She had to remember that. We will not be rude, she thought to him, and knew he could hear her despite the fact she had not moved her lips (she had learned long ago that they could talk in such a way.) To Mabel, she said, "Our name is Lenore. We do not recognize you, Mabel." There was an unspoken question behind the phrase: Are you a friend or a foe?

She had to hold herself back from saying I know. Emerson would have, she would have said it and begun to pressure the girl and she would have done her best to pick a fight and get into trouble with the odd girl. But Mabel wasn't Emerson, and she wasn't interested in that. The two girls agreed on one thing, however, and that was the fact that the girl before them was an odd one for sure. The way she would look just to the right of Mabel and nod, or shake her head, and meet the eyes of some person that wasn't really there was eerie and a little strange to Mabel (though who was she to be talking about being strange?). But Mabel had become expert at masking these thoughts, and her expression showed none of her apprehension. "It's probably better that way," she said with another little laugh that added innocence and not suspicion to her words-- hopefully. "Some people have the unfortunate luck of saying they do recognize me."

"What do you mean?" Lenore raised one eyebrow, cocking her head to one side as if in confusion. Of course, she had some idea of what the young girl before her may have been talking about: there were some patients in this asylum who were very...unfriendly, and encounters with them were generally considered to be unfortunate. But the giggling girl with the messy brown hair did not seem to be one of those patients at all--just the opposite, in fact--and so she could not help but wonder exactly what she was talking about. Curiosity hopped nimbly down onto the couch cushion beside the two and moved in close, as though he did not want to miss a word (typical of him, really). But the white-hared girl said nothing, did nothing to indicate his presence; sometimes, she knew, showing too much interest in a person could end up spelling trouble, and she had had enough trouble in her life. She wanted none here, not when she had been doing so well about keeping on her fellow patients' good sides.

As friendly as she was, Mabel still wasn't one to go around telling her back story to anybody, let alone a perfect stranger. Her cheeks flushed slightly as she realized the err in her previous words, and Mabel quickly shook her head as if to clear it. "I just mean that I don't really like people knowing me before I know them around this asylum." That's no problem in this case, Emerson was whispering in the back of her mind, and Mabel made a motion of flicking her hair out of her eyes, but also flicking Emerson out of her head. "That's all."

"We see." Lenore nodded, as though in agreement, but her eyebrows knit together and she wore a little frown. Mabel told her one thing, but the flush to her cheeks said another, and she did not like being mislead. Curiosity's gray eyes darkened slightly as he looked at the young girl--he did not like it either, it seemed. He turned his head to look at her, and she heard his words:

{She's not telling you something.}

Maybe not.

{Get it out of her.}

Why? There's no reason to push.

{You're going to let her mislead you?}

I don't want to.

{Then don't. Talk.}

The boy's gaze was narrowed, almost firm. Lenore had to admit: he may not have known much of the world, Curiosity, but occasionally he did make good points--he was leading her astray more and more rarely as time went on. Especially when he grew more serious, as he did now. So she asked, "But why not?" And her dark eyes were questioning, but not quite as friendly or distracted as they had been. She was focusing now, coming back into herself and reality. "There must be a reason that you said what you said. We do not understand; we wish to understand. Enlighten us."

Mabel decided very quickly that she shouldn't have interrupted Lenore's peace. As sweet as the girl seemed, her questioning was far more intense than Mabel would have wanted, and her constant we pronoun got stranger and stranger the more she spoke. Mabel's forest gaze widened ever slightly at the new sort of interrogation, and instead of forgotten in the back of her head, Emerson was right up front, and she wasn't very happy. Don't you dare tell her about me. She was saying, and Mabel knew better than to feed the fire once it began. Dark eyes focused on the curious girl before her, and her head focused on the furious one she couldn't see, and Mabel allowed her eyes to win. "I suppose you could say there's another girl in my head, and she isn't very nice. A lot of times, people meet her before they meet me."

...
...
...
Just you wait.

A wave of terror rose up in Mabel, and she pushed it down with a gulp.

The young girl swallowed hard as she spoke, and Lenore, sharp-eyed (and focused, for the nonce) as she was, picked up on it immediately. She looked at Curiosity, who before her eyes began to blur and shift: his red hair darkened to black, growing long and messy; his gray eyes turned to green and his small, childish form became long-legged and limber, and suddenly it was Concern, looking at her mildly, who was sitting on the couch. {Ask her if she's all right,} he advised, and the white-haired girl obeyed. Usually she did not so readily listen to the young man--she had learned that too much meddling in affairs which were not her own tended to cause problems--but now she felt it would only be the right thing to do. "Are you well?" she asked, allowing a small frown to pull at the corners of her lips in order to show her sincerity. What had she said wrong? Was the aforementioned unkind girl making an appearance now that she had been mentioned? The Emotions didn't work that way--in Lenore's experience, at least--but she had heard that there were people who had such problems.

Was Mabel well? Of course, she knew the answer and she knew it was no. It wasn't very obvious to any onlooker, but to Mabel it was quite figuratively screaming. Emerson wasn't happy, and yet she was silent. She hadn't said anything after those three words, those three words that could have very well been a death sentence. Emerson was terrifying when she was saying little, and when she was silent it was even worse. Again, Mabel gulped down the rising terror in her stomach, but she managed a nod. "Yeah, I'm fine," she lied, though her forest gaze showed honesty.

"Then why did you...what is wrong?" Lenore forced her frown to deepen, as though she were confused. She was feigning it, of course--the momentary distracted pause had been about as real as Mabel's response--but it was easy to act the part of a flighty girl. She was often told that she looked very much like your stereotypical mad young woman, and that made playing on people's perceptions quite simple, especially when it pertained to her insanity. On the inside, the girl was indeed frowning: but with unhappiness, and not confusion. Mabel was lying again, she could tell; or if not, at least withholding the truth (which was just as bad). Lenore did not like to be kept in the dark, and in the back of her mind she felt a sense of frustration building; but Concern won out, and pushed his hotheaded brother down (and he did not have to move from his position on the couch to do it, which was a good sign) and he urged her to be kind, not angry. If this girl was lying, there had to be a reason. She did not seem like one of the dangerous liars, after all. And for once, Lenore listened. Concern was soft--all of the other Emotions said so--but he often gave good counsel in situations like these.

"I can't tell you."

The words were out before Mabel even knew that she wanted to say them, and almost immediately after they left her lips her eyes widened and her hands flew over her mouth, as if she could catch the words and send them back inside. It was only getting worse as the time went on. Emerson hadn't liked the look of this girl when she first read her file, claiming that her record was too clean and unmarked, and so the sheer fact that Mabel was talking to her was enough. But telling these secret things, these truths instead of lies, irritated Emerson even more. And now she wasn't silent, she was furious.

What do you think you're doing? I've told you not to talk about me like that.

I... I didn't mean to. Please.

Sweetling, why don't we play a game?

And Mabel's stomach fell. She knew those words all too well, and she knew that once those words were said that she was gone. And in an instant, Mabel was a spectator with absolutely no control.

Emerson lowered her hands from her lips and shook her head as if to shake Mabel's pleads from it. "Why, nothing is wrong, sweetling. I'm just a little distracted by that other girl, is all. Why don't you tell me a little about yourself, Lenore?"

And in an instant, Concern was gone. Not fading and changing, as Curiosity had, but shattering like Serenity; and leaving in his place a man with several more years on him, with brown hair only a shade or two darker than his skin and shocking blue eyes. Suspicion.

{Why did she call you by that name?} he asked, eyes narrowing as he looked young Mabel up and down. Lenore could only shake her head at him--she did not know, but she had a gut feeling it was not because of anything good. The tone of the girl's voice had changed dramatically--she sounded inexplicably pleased with herself, even smug, and the airy "amiability" with which she asked her question was so unlike the nervousness she had shown before that it was impossible not to question it. Even her physical appearance looked just a little different: there was a gleam in her eyes that was not there before, and a growing smile on her lips, as if something in her had awakened and was very pleased to finally meet the day.

Suspicion gave her a sharp glance, and the sense that she had to be careful, play this safe, overwhelmed her. {Do not answer,} he warned, and the white-haired girl nodded almost imperceptibly in assent. And then she said, "What would you know of us, Mabel?"

Emerson had gotten used to answering to the other girl's name, and yet she was on such a high that it took her a few seconds to answer. When was the last time she had been out? Two weeks? Three weeks? Four? Emerson didn't know, but she knew it felt wonderful to stretch her legs again. Out of as much her habit as Mabel's, Emerson lifted a hand to brush her hair back, a coy grin on her taut lips and no glimmer of apology in her gaze. She then realized she had been addressed, and feigned innocence. "Oh, I'm sorry, I zoned out there for a moment." Not a lie; she had had to listen to Mabel's screams and pleas and whining countless times before, and yet it still distracted her. Emerson offered a shrug, and when she spoke her words were softer, more like Mabel's. "Whatever you'd like to tell me, sweetling. Why don't you start with your little friends?"

Little friends. What on earth did she mean by that?

{Us, Lenore,} said Suspicion gravely. He looked at her, then at Mabel, then back to her. {She wants to know of us.}

Lenore gave a start--perhaps it was too brief to notice, but she doubted it. There were more pressing matters on her mind: how on earth, for example, this innocent young girl (who by the minute was becoming less and less innocent) knew of the Emotions. She did not often speak of them, so she did not think her condition had circulated through popular gossip or nurses. But there was only one other place she thought the girl could have learned of her companions, and that was the files.

{She is not what she seems. I don't want you to trust her.}

Again, the white-haired girl found herself looking at the dark-skinned man beside her rather than the real girl who had spoken. Suspicion's bright blue gaze bored into hers, mistrust radiating from him. He wore a deep scowl as he looked at her, as though concerned she would not listen. You're quick to judge sometimes, she told him, a little frown becoming present on her own lips (though it was there and gone so quickly one could wonder if it had been there at all.) Too much like your brother. Mistrust had a few years on Suspicion, and his skin black as onyx rather than deep brown. But they had the same hair--brown and almost wooly to touch--and their eyes were identical: bright, blue, and grave. Indeed, the two were very much alike, and Lenore did not usually take counsel from either of them; but today, it seemed smart to make an exception. I will heed you this time, she thought, and Suspicion nodded with approval.

"Our little friends?" she repeated, finally turning back to Mabel. She knew she could not feign confusion, for it was obvious that she had thought about the other girl's words, but that didn't mean she had to give an outright answer, either. "We are confused again. Do you mean the Emotions? Why would you have us speak of them?" And her eyes were dark and focused when she looked at the girl with her little smile and glittering eyes, and beside her, Suspicion put a finger to his lips. She said nothing more.

"For Curiosity's sake," was the answer Lenore received, and it was obvious from Emerson's tone that she meant to use the emotion as a name. Emerson then also heeded the warning Suspicion had given Lenore, and she too said nothing more, leaving the madwoman to hit the ball back into her court. In the moments of quiet that ensued, Emerson's head was anything but quiet. Mabel was in tears; all that girl ever did was cry, Emerson thought.

Please, Emerson, you have to--

And since when has begging me accomplished anything, sweetling?

Emerson. Just listen--

And you're ordering me around? Tsk tsk. I thought I taught you better than this, Mabel, darling.

Emerson once again shook her head, tossing Mabel around and hopefully shutting her up for a while. Dark, endless forest gaze focused on Lenore with an expression that both feigned concern and showed interest. Who knew what she could pick out of this girl?.

You can't! Emerson, please!

Oh, but I can.

Answering Mabel's questions would not sate Curiosity--the redheaded boy was long gone, tucked away wherever the Emotions went when they weren't with her--and she had a feeling that the young girl knew that. Suspicion's expression was growing darker with every word that came out of this not-so-innocent girl's mouth, and she had a feeling that at any time he would morph into his older brother, Mistrust.

{She's trying to get a reaction out of you. Keep your face clear.} Lenore obeyed, mastering herself so that her knowledge did not show in her eyes or the way she smiled at Mabel: a small smile, like the automatic expression of a young child. Innocent, unassuming, and most of all, naïve. "Curiosity?" she repeated, in a voice which held its usual soft, gentle tones rather than the suspicion she was feeling. "Well, we can't answer questions that you haven't asked." The little smile grew on her pale lips, as if she were amused and reminding young Mabel that she had, in fact, forgotten to ask a direct question. "But you may ask," she added. "We don't mind." And she did not glance at Suspicion to see how she was doing (though it took all of her will to avoid doing so, she was so used to looking to the Emotions for confirmation and guidance). She had to act as if he wasn't there, had to pretend that there was no third party available--even if she was the only one who could see it in the first place. She was not so flighty as to ignore her instincts. No, the white-haired girl looked right at Mabel, a caricature of patience. But unbeknownst to the brown-haired girl, she was listening to her own voice:

{Good. Keep it up. She can't hurt you if you're blocking her blows.}

Emerson's coy little grin remained, but now it had a darker touch to it. Her eyes narrowed slightly as the girl feigned innocence and patience, and it was obvious to all the people in the room (really the two girls, though) that Emerson was growing irritated. Normally, Mabel couldn't sense anything when Emerson shoved her into the back of her own mind. Her eyes would work, and her ears would work, but nothing else would. This time, Mabel found herself surrounded by darkness, but with a small window of the world outside in front of her. She had always understood when doctors told her she had an odd mind, but this? This was stranger than most. Mabel was prepared to quiet Emerson, and to plead with her, and yet she paused. If she got involved, she wouldn't see the light of day for weeks, maybe even a month or two. What would Emerson really do? She wouldn't hurt the girl; Emerson hated solitary confinement as much as anyone else did. Maybe Mabel could sit back and watch. Emerson wouldn't do anything.

You're wrong.

And quickly, Emerson shoved the thought of Mabel from her head, tossing her around in their with hopes to disorient her into silence. Even her thoughts were irritating. With a roll of her eyes, Emerson gave the girl across from her a condescending look. "Don't play dumb with me, sweetling. I'm just a curious girl trying to see what the files don't tell, you know? Tell me a little about yourself, if you all don't mind that is." Emerson made a point to glance around the room, focusing on a few of the spots that Lenore's own gaze had frequented. Of course, she saw nothing, but Lenore did, and she could make a point to those figments of Lenore's imagination.

And then it was done. Suspicion was gone, and Mistrust in his place: tall and black as new earth and blue-eyed, scowling. {Get out of here. Now.} The Emotion's voice brooked almost no argument, and his hands were clenched firmly in his lap. He did not like this girl, he did not like her at all, and Lenore nearly flinched at the sudden wave of negativity that crashed over her. But she mastered herself just in time, and managed to turn it into a toss of her head, as if she were only trying to get the hair out of her eyes. For a moment, she considered speaking, scolding him aloud--sometimes that helped loosen their grip on her, if only a little--but just as quickly the idea was dropped. Something told her that drawing more attention to the Emotions could not result in anything good, and the darkness to Mistrust's shocking eyes only confirmed it. {Now, Lenore!} he snapped, and the words nearly exploded in her head; but again the white-haired girl refrained from answering, or indeed giving any reaction at all. "The files," she repeated. Her voice was smooth, carefully devoid of any sign of distress. If anything, it was almost stern, even firm. Her dark eyes were trained directly on Mabel's, and there was a righteousness in them, a sense of confidence that she had not displayed before. Who was this girl, to start demanding anything of her? They were of the same station; patients, in an insane asylum. Mabel was not better than she, and she deserved nothing from her. Lenore intended to tell her so. "You are not supposed to read the files. It is forbidden, and we know this. That means we owe you nothing, for knowledge you have gained unfairly. No answers, no games. Nothing." And there she glared a challenge at the brown-haired girl, daring her to step further. Mistrust's heavy presence retreated slightly from her mind--he could not get hold, when she became upset. And she was bordering on it now.

Oh, look at what we have here. Something has angered our little friend.

You need to stop.

And who are you, to tell me what to do?

And unfortunately, Mabel had no answer, or if she did, she didn't give one. Emerson offered a smirk, and tossed her dark hair over her shoulder with a cruel little smirk in place. "You don't scare me, Lenore," she said with a certain coldness to her voice, but that coldness was joined by a sense of mockery. Stop. "If the files weren't forbidden, as you so sweetly put it, then there would be know fun in knowing what was in them, correct?" Emerson. Emerson's eyes narrowed. "What do you have that's not in those files, sweetling? Why don't you tell me?" Emerson, stop! There was the hint of a threat in her tone. Emerson opened her mouth to goad her on more...

... And Mabel shut it. Her eyes were wide, and in an instant the coy smile was gone and was replaced with a hand over her mouth and eyes as wide as a deer caught in headlights. "Oh no," Mabel said quietly, her voice muffled by her hand, but absolute terror was radiating from her. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, what did I do?

You're done for.

"Because it is no business of yours!" Lenore shouted. Fury shot through her gut, forcing her to her feet, and her eyes were blazing when she glared at the terrified young girl. In an instant, Mistrust shattered, and Anger appeared by her side as a wolf, blood-red with white eyes burning like fire. He snarled at Mabel, and Lenore snarled in turn. "None! At all! We will speak no more of this, Mabel! What right do you think you have, to know about our past? Our life? Our secrets? Let us tell you something now, and the girl you fear so badly too, she who lives in your head. You have no right, and we will not fall prey to your petty little games!" And then, just as quickly, the rage drained out of her, and the white-haired girl lowered herself more slowly, more gently, back down onto the couch. Anger growled, prowled for a moment around her feet, and then lowered himself onto his haunches, the fire in his eyes beginning to fade as it faded, in turn, from hers. Mistrust, who had been banished so suddenly, spoke in her mind, and his voice was one with the woman Caution's: {You may have just made a mistake. Be careful.} And Lenore nodded slowly. Yes, she thought. Perhaps that outburst had been uncalled for--after all, it was clear that something, once again, had changed within the brown-haired girl. All the sudden, her smug smirk was gone and replaced by an expression of horror. Her eyes were wide where they had once been narrowed in agitation. Indeed, it was as if she was looking at a completely different girl (and perhaps she was). Beside her, Anger's form became less distinct, faded, just slightly; as was always the case when she got herself back under control after an outburst. Still, she would not apologize. There was no need to. In her mind, all the words she had said were corrected and well-deserved.

After those last words, that last threat to Mabel herself, Emerson was gone, and Mabel was just a poor fourteen-year-old girl scared for her life and her well-being. She would have to take more pills. The nurses would find out. Maybe they'd even put her into solitary, and that would only make it worse for her, because the minute she was alone Emerson was going to let her have it. Mabel's eyes were wide and her heart had fallen to her stomach and the white-haired girl yelling only made it worse. Her head was pounding, because as the girl yelled Emerson grew angrier and angrier, and even though Emerson was gone her emotions stayed behind and pounded against Mabel's temples. "No, no, I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Her words were quiet, and almost inaudible, and her hands went up to rub her head and her eyes that were starting to well up. Mabel took a few deep breaths, cleared her eyes and pushed the pounding of her head back to deal with later. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." She did. "I'm sorry." The apologies were a constant once Emerson was done with her games, but this was the first time Mabel had pushed Emerson away herself. Her eyes were wide and they were full of terror, but they were her eyes and not Emerson's.

Lenore took a moment to calm herself, waited until Anger had disappeared completely before she spoke again. "It...it is okay," she said, much more quietly and calmly. "We understand that you cannot control it, just as we cannot control...this." She raised small, pale hands to gesture down at herself, indicating her mind and actions and everything which had just happened. "Do not fear, Mabel," she told the frightened girl. "We did not encourage the other one. The other girl. We will forgive you her, if you will forgive us this." And now her head tilted, and for once, there was no Emotion present in her head or around her, for the white-haired girl did not precisely know herself what she was feeling. Fading anger, a desire to leave, some vague sense of concern or perhaps sympathy. Then, all at once, she offered one hand to the girl, a sort of physical as well as metaphorical olive branch. Under the circumstances, it seemed like a reassuring and kind thing to do.

Mabel took a deep and shaky breath. Her dark forest gaze focused for a second on Lenore's hand, and she placed her own within in for a second before offering a fleeting smile, nothing like the one that had been on her lips when she first entered the common room. "I... I need to go." Mabel, too, wanted to leave. She had to report to her nurses. She had to get more medication. And she had to get around people she knew and trusted so that she could keep Emerson from coming back out. "I'm sorry. I hope I can run into you again, Lenore. You truly do seem to be a fascinating card." The words were said in earnest, and did not have the tone of jest in them as they would had Emerson been speaking. She stood, offered a small nod and smile to the white-haired girl, and Mabel made her way out, shaking ever so slightly. Her head began pounding again, and as she left the sight of the girl her head was full of a stern voice.

((Fade.))

A cat-like figure prowled the room as seen through glassy green eyes, a cat-like figure with a beautiful woman's head, a head of long golden hair that matched the fur of the lion's body and the brightest of blue eyes. The sphinx's smile, though, was less reassuring, a fanged grin hidden behind luscious, full lips, and yet the sphinx wasn't necessarily smiling as she curled up in front of the fireplace of the common room and flicked her tail with slight agitation. Aspen herself sat across the room, in a small arm chair with her feet crossed underneath her and her gaze curiously scanning the room. Her red hair was pulled up into a bun, a hairstyle that she frequented with the sphinx's presence, and her eyes seemed less focused on the lazy creature than they had on the dragon not too long ago. A little bit of the white creature's irritation had carried over into the sphinx herself, seen only by her flicking tail and hidden by her lazy yawn. Aspen smiled slightly when her eyes fell on the cat-lady, who seemed rather at peace, though only because Aspen was alone in the common room.

But as was usually the case in St. Peter's asylum, she was not as alone as she thought. For there was a form watching her through the windows on the doors, hands on hips and lips drawn down, just slightly, into a frown: Erin was worried, now that she had finally managed to find her patient. Aspen did not usually like to play hide-and-seek; most of her sides were not straight-up pleasant, it was true, but when they weren't they were generally bold or luscious or confrontational, not sneaky. Indeed, the nurse knew of only one side to the redheaded girl who liked to play cat and mouse, and that side was part a cat herself: the sphinx. Tricky and cryptic and smooth, it was the side to Aspen Erin least liked to encounter--the young girl was hard to deal with, when the cat-woman was whispering riddles into her head. For it to be out now (as she was almost sure it was) could not have been a good sign. "Aspen?" A brow was cocked as Erin called the girl's name through the door, and she rapped sharply on the wood. "What are you doing all alone in there with the door shut? I've been looking all over for you." The knob turned, one double-door eased open, and then the tall young woman was walking into the room, fixing Aspen with a green-eyed stare that spoke clearly of disapproval. "Lunchtime was half an hour ago," she told her, "and you know just as well as I do that you were supposed to meet me in the cafeteria. Why are you here instead?"

Oh, look, the lion-tamer has come to get us. The sphinx often referred to Erin as "the lion-tamer", mainly due to the fact that the sphinx herself was never able to stay around long once Erin came into the picture, and she herself rolled over with another irritated flick of her tail. The sphinx rolled her eyes at Erin and her nagging, and yet didn't move, instead looking at the nurse and the girl from upside down. Why don't you ask her the same question, darling? How can she expect you if you cannot expect her? More often than not, the sphinx made almost no sense-- to Aspen or to anyone, really-- but Aspen never questioned her; she became frighteningly metaphorical when questioned. "If it was half an hour ago, then why are you just now coming to see me? Where else would I be?" The sphinx rolled over after Aspen spoke, and nodded at the girl with the glassy eyes when she looked towards her for approval. The sphinx did not like Erin's "disapproval", and eyebrows knit over her pale blue eyes as her tail flicked behind her, dangerously close to the burning fireplace. The big cat then moved, and Aspen's eyes followed her, and the sphinx leapt up onto the couch that was beside Aspen's seat, placing her head on the arm of the couch and offering a warm smile to the redhead. Why does she expect us in the cafeteria? Every day, she tells us we were supposed to be there at lunchtime, and yet we never are. Why does she act surprised?

"Oh, I don't know. Where you were expected, maybe?" Sarcasm dripped from the words, and though Erin did not roll her eyes as she might have around anyone else--she knew the sphinx could be touchy--her raised brow did remain cocked, and her expression unamused. "Isn't that generally how this thing works? I scratch your back, you scratch mine?" Of course, the favors she could extend to her patient were not many, being in such a place as they were--a flexible schedule, time to herself when she asked for it, the occasional admittance out of her room past curfew--but it was more than a lot of the staff gave their own charges, and the nurse certainly tried her best not to be like her colleagues (most of whom she regarded with utter distain). "Come on, Aspen," she said, more gently. She moved to sit beside the glassy-eyed girl, her stern expression softening a little. "You know I want you in the cafeteria so we can talk. We do that every day, and usually you don't have a problem with showing up. What makes today different than any other? Have your sphinx riddle me that." A slight, almost sly smile was given now as the nurse referenced Aspen's guide for the day; it wasn't a smart remark, but rather one meant to amuse. Erin knew as well as anyone that Aspen was no fan of the cat-woman--she acted as though she was, when the creature was around, but when other sides came out she often companied of the monster's presence. Just occasionally, little quips like this were enough to calm her a little, even bring out a smile. There was no reason not to try her luck today.

The sphinx gave an irritated screech as Erin sat down, and flicked her tail out from under the nurse before curling her giant paws underneath herself. Pale blue eyes were focused on Erin and not Aspen, and the cat-woman rolled her eyes at the nurse. Aspen smiled slightly, swallowing it back as much as she could, and even that brought a turn of the head and a glare from the sphinx. She's a bore. Go ahead and tell her what you were doing that was much more important. Aspen's eyes were focused only on the cat in front of Erin, and not the nurse herself, and even as she opened her mouth to speak Aspen did not look up. "I was in the library during lunch," Aspen said simply, and she wished she could have left it there, but the sphinx flicked her tail and Aspen had to continue. "I was with some guy. He was rude, and then I left and came here. I didn't have time for your ridiculous check-ins." The last words were not Aspen's, and Erin would know that, but the expression on the redhead's face was so convincing that it very well may have been Aspen speaking. The sphinx was a master of taking Aspen's words and expressions from her, and more often than not she herself was doing the speaking. Tell your darling nurse that she should not expect us there every day, the sphinx purred, and Aspen announced this aloud as she leaned back in her seat with an expression that matched the lazy one on the cat-woman's face.

"Right," Erin said, her tone and the nod that she gave making it very clear that she was buying nothing her patient was selling today. She had seen that little smile, as quick as it had come and disappeared, and she knew her patient too well to be fooled as it was. She was a smart woman sober, and she hadn't been near a bottle in weeks. "Well, Aspen, how about you do me a favor? Just to even the score a little." Green eyes slightly narrowed and now shining mischievously, the nurse threw a glance back at the spot the redhead was looking at--she could see nothing, of course, but she knew Aspen was watching her sphinx, and she tended to be rid of it faster when it was addressed directly. The lazy cat-woman could not hold up for long under direct contact with anyone; that was not the creature's style. "Tell kitty-kitty to go find a man to snap at, would you?" A smirk, thrown the monster's way, of course, and not towards the girl herself. "Everybody knows they're easier to trick. I like to think I'm just a little too smart for her and her silver tongue, see." Now she did look at Aspen, and as she turned her smile became warmer, secretive--as though she was her patient's age, a good friend sharing a secret. There would be no harm in trying to bring out that little smile again. "And between me and you, I know it's not made of silver. It's old and rusty by now, just like the rest of her."

Aspen's expression remained neutral, but her eyes seemed wide and a little afraid of the cat-woman, who didn't react to Erin's words with anything other than to begin licking her paws. She thinks she's so clever with her words, but she is miniscule and unimportant. She thinks she has power over us (the us was given with hesitation; the sphinx hated comparing herself to Aspen) but she is miniscule and unimportant. She is funny, thinking she can make me go away with a stern look and a bite. Tell her that, darling. Tell her she's funny. Aspen then removed her gaze from the cat, who didn't move, but instead told the girl to focus her eyes somewhere else. Playing games was always fun, yes? And the sphinx could pretend she wasn't here. On second thought, don't tell her that. Pretend I have left; pretend to be someone else. The unicorn, perhaps, could pay a visit. I do love that creature. And, with the convincing acting of the sphinx, Aspen's eyes focused on a blank spot in the room, just the height of the unicorn, and Aspen smiled a soft smile. "I apologize," she said quietly as she ran a hand through her hair. "That one's a little... outlandish. Difficult."

You bet your ass she is, Erin thought but did not say. The surprising thing was, the sphinx was so outlandish that even Aspen's other personalities took notice, and there was no hint of the familial protectiveness so common in cases like hers--and that was why, though the redheaded girl was looking just at the spot where another creature's head might be (the fairy, or the unicorn, perhaps) the nurse was immediately suspicious. Aspen and her familiars--for lack of a better term--weren't as close as one might expect them to be, but Erin certainly didn't know them to ever actually apologize for each other's existence. She hadn't been working with her patient very long, that was true, but she had exposed herself to enough of the girl's alters that she could recognize a faker when she heard one. "You're right, Aspen," she agreed with a nod, careful not to acknowledge her as the cat-woman at all this time, "she is pretty difficult. That's why she's trying to bullshit a bullshitter, isn't it?" And she said the words firmly, without a hint of doubt, so that the glassy-eyed girl would know that she'd lost the game almost before she'd started playing. Sometimes it was best to deal with these matters directly. "Don't answer that. You and I both know I'm right. So here's a little piece of advice, kiddo, all right? Don't even try it. I'm the absolute queen of bullshitting, and you're only gonna waste your time and mine playing games."

Ooh, she's a clever one, isn't she? Well, we will simply have to work around that, now won't we?

Aspen knit her brows together, in more of a worried expression than an agitated one, though irritation was apparent in her gaze. "You may have been the queen before you came here, Miss Erin," said the sphinx through Aspen, with a gentle purr to her voice and a flick of her tail that matched how Aspen tossed her fiery hair over her shoulder. "But you don't know me, and you are no queen. Not anymore. Get that, honey?" And Aspen narrowed her gaze and dropped it to the sphinx, who lay, pleased with herself, and licking her paws with a little smirk across her beautiful features. Don't you chicken out on me now, girlie. The liontamer is good fun.

"Oho!" Erin could not help the chuckle that escaped her, could not force away the smirk that claimed her full lips. "Is that how it is? Who's usurping me, huh, sweetheart? You?" And she laughed, very softly, at the thought. "Oh, that is rich. A fifteen-year-old girl thinks she's hot enough shit to make more steam than my twenty-eight-year-old alcoholic self. Damn funny, kiddo. That's damn funny." Of course, in the back of her mind the nurse was keeping careful tabs, checking herself; she knew it was never too great of an idea (not to mention against general protocol) to get into catfights with patients, especially not volatile ones who made a habit of changing moods faster than the moon did phases, but she had a feeling she was all right for now. Aspen's sphinx was a tricky creature, yes, a wordsmith; but she was arrogant and full of it and utterly vain, so much so that the Erin could usually get into full-out arguments with it without Aspen ever being the worse for wear or taking anything personally by the time all was said and done. It was a courtesy they afforded each other, the casual brush-it-off attitude; Aspen understood that she put her through a lot of stress, and Erin in turn recognized that it was something she never meant to do, a thing which was completely out of her control. That was why she did not guard her tongue, and that was why she was not worried about upsetting her wordy little patient: nine times out of ten they balanced each other out in almost just the right way, and interactions were made easier, and everyone remained (more often than not) perfectly happy. It was a tedious relationship to maintain, sometimes, and she knew full well that it occasionally put strain on both of them; but in the end, it was generally nothing they couldn't knuckle on through together.

And the sphinx hissed, and she dug her claws into the cushion which made Aspen stiffen slightly. Her brows knitted for a moment, a slight ounce of concern peeking through the cat lady's façade, and then they were narrowed into slits. The sphinx was a clever creature, not a hot-headed one. She could feel her own powers dwindling over the girl, and a sudden cold provided the threat of the banshee, a cold felt only by the sphinx and her person. The big cat may have been a hassle, but the banshee was another story entirely, and even the sphinx didn't want to stand up to that woman. Aspen's gaze darted to her left, where she saw the fleeting image of a wraith-like figure, and then she returned her glassy gaze to the sphinx. It was habit to look at her hallucinations as she spoke, and she hardly made eye-contact, and it was even more important when one was threatening to arrive, as was now the situation. The sphinx, however, kept on purring through Aspen and flicking her tail, and she smirked. "I'd be careful if I were you, Miss Erin. I doubt the liontamer would like to meet the only one of us she hasn't seen yet." Another moment of freezing cold, and another flash of the silvery woman. Even Aspen shuddered a little, and the sphinx shrugged with the girl. "Its your funeral, I suppose."

You gonna come? Erin thought smartly, but this time she did not speak despite how strong the urge was. She knew just as well as the sphinx herself--and Aspen too, she was sure, whoever the poor girl happened to really be, deep down inside her own head--about "which one of us" she hadn't yet met, and that was the banshee. An odd threat, all things considered (wasn't the banshee the one familiar of Aspen's who had not ever shown her face more than once?) but, nonetheless, not one the nurse was willing to disregard. From what she had read of her patient's file, the banshee was a vicious thing, as cold and ruthless as the creature it was named for; and the one time it had shown its face, there had been problems. Fairly big problems. And though Erin had the feeling she could one-up every kid in St. Peter's, Aspen included--she didn't think any of them had ever given into the paranoia-induced desire to take self-defense classes--it didn't mean she was going to throw caution to the wind. "Guess it is," she replied then, with a purse of the lips and a little shrug. There was no reason to give the sphinx any inclination that she had won what she was sure remained a petty game. "Doesn't mean it'll need planning some time in the near future, though, does it, hon? I've got a life on me now, and I'd like to keep it there. No reason to bring in any screamers." And then she chuckled, very softly--gallows humor? She could not be sure.

And as quickly as the cold had come, it disappeared, and no more fleeting sights of the wraith-like woman could be seen. Erin was good. Aspen and her creatures knew that. Erin was kind, and Erin was patient, and Erin kept the more difficult creatures at bay, like now, with a few condoling words and the end of an argument. The way Erin said it made it clear that the petty fight between lion and liontamer was through, and that was that. And Aspen smiled a little bit, as she saw the cat woman roll her eyes and retract her claws. She's a smart one, that liontamer. At least she knows where her boundaries are, yes? And Aspen nodded in answer (it was never good to ignore the sphinx) and then spoke: "Well, I suppose I should apologize for not being there at lunch then." The cat lady was tired, and she was through playing games-- the fleeting sights of the banshee had ruined her appetite for riddles and games. "So I'm sorry, then."

Erin nodded approvingly. "It's okay, Aspen," she told her--trying to be patient, and trying to be kind. "Things come up, I get that. So I'll tell you what we'll do: I'll leave you alone for right now and you can keep doing whatever it is I interrupted when I came barging in here, and I can come to see you after curfew before I go home. We can talk then, okay?" She gave a little smile, to show that there were no hard feelings. The nurse always tried her hardest to understand her patient--and the other patients, but especially hers--and she could realize that sometimes meetings were miserable, nurses were bitchy, and creatures unpredictable. She could forgive Aspen for her occasional misbehaviors; after all, she always came around in the end, and no one was perfect. Nobody knew that better than her.

((Shall we fade?))

((Fade.))

Alys Tulane did not like wandering the asylum. It was a small building, but to her it seemed very, very large, decked in its stern and white and gray; foreboding, unforgiving, nothing at all like the warm and cheerful place she had imagined when her mother had hugged her and told her that everything was going to be okay, she was going to go to a place where she could recover, where she would be safe. Away from that which had turned her life upside down. Away the sharp gray eyes of Micah Stark. No, St. Peter's was almost the exact opposite of that place--and while the young girl couldn't say she minded all that much, she was certainly surprised at what she'd found. Reserved, almost indifferent nurses, guards armed with night sticks and truncheons around every corner, patients who stared at her with eyes that were cold or hostile or--and she had only seen a few of these--downright vicious, anticipatory: as though she were a small, unsuspecting mouse who had just wandered into a house full of starving cats. Indeed, there were times when she felt rather unwelcome--and so she did her best to stay out of the way and inconspicuous, keeping to her dorm or the less-frequented places of the asylum. Here in the music room, for instance, surrounded by a thick quiet and type after type of dilapidated instruments. She herself was not a musician, but she liked it here in this small, windowless room. It was a good place to be when you wanted to think, a good place to be when you were new. To the newer than new, it was a lovely little haven.

There was a gentle knock on the door of the music room, the only thing that shed any sort of natural light into the secluded area, and the nurse peeked her head in with a warm smile and a welcoming expression. Melanie did well with the more meek of the patients, and Alys Tulane was no exception to this list. The girl was new, and Melanie herself remembered when she had first entered the gray walls of the asylum that had become her new home, and how terrified she had been. From Alys's story, she would not be feeling any more comfort. And so Melanie was here to provide a familiar face, though she had only seen her patient once before, when she admitted her into the asylum. She wasn't used to having a patient to check up on, to make sure they were okay, and to be honest, Melanie could hardly even remember Alys's room number, let alone all of the little details about her life. But still, Melanie was here, and she was trying. "Alys? Do you mind if I join you?" Her voice was soft and warm, and she waited for an approval from the patient before moving from where she stood, barely peeking through the door.

Alys jumped, just a little, at the unexpectedness of the voice; but it was quickly replaced with a small smile and a wave to match--a young lady was nothing without her courtesies, her mother had always taught her. "No, of course not," she said politely, shaking her head a little to give yet another round of confirmation. She probably wouldn't have objected if anyone had walked up to the door, really--she was a very nonconfrontational girl, and she was not one to make a fuss over anything, much less tell anyone where they could and could not go--but it was an especial relief to see a familiar face on the other side of the window. Melanie was one of the few people she'd seen here thus far with kind features, a warm gaze and dimpled cheeks and a smile almost always present on her lips. The nurse was very young (Alys thought that she couldn't have been much older than she herself) but she seemed to know at least a little about what she was doing, and that was more reassuring to her than anything else at this point. If she was going to be spending the next chunk of her life here, she wanted to do it with at least one or two allies at her back. Her time with Micah had given her strength, but not even her lover could compare to some of the patients she'd seen about. It was good to know that she wasn't entirely alone.

And so then Melanie entered, wearing blue jeans and a pale green tank top that made her eyes seem even lighter than they already were. She had her hair pulled up into a bun, with a pencil stuck through it-- she had been taking notes, reading through Alys's file and trying to learn everything she could on paper about her patient. Her brother had laughed at her, calling her a nerd and ridiculous, and telling her to just go out and get her like he did with Anna, but she had to tell him it was a very different story with as frail of a patient as Alys. She had to be careful. She had to say the right things. And so, understandably, Melanie was a little hay-wired at the moment, and she proceeded to close the door behind her quietly and take a seat across from Alys, still offering her a warm smile and pretending as if she knew what she was doing. "How have you been doing, Alys? It's been a few days. Are you feeling more at ease?" Melanie knew the true answer would be know; nobody felt comfortable in here, be it days after moving in or years. St. Peter's wasn't really a home, despite what many of the patients said. It wasn't comforting. And it wasn't anything like where most of the patients had previously lived.

Alys took a moment to consider her answer, lips pursing and red brows knitting slightly together. "I...I think so," she said, though sounded unsure, and though she did not realize it she was looking at Melanie questioningly, the same way she used to do with Micah--as if asking for confirmation, as if checking to see if this was the correct answer. "People have told me to kind of lay low for a little while, until the other patients get used to seeing me around and I'm not as"--What word had she heard thrown around?--"interesting. I've been taking their advice." She could see no reason not to--if patients and nurses who had been living and working here for months or even years wanted to offer her tips, she didn't know why it would make sense not to listen. She was new, after all, and ignorant in the ways of this place; she needed all the help she could get to find her feet, her way around, a comfortable niche to operate in. And until she did that, Alys would much rather be in the back corner of everyone's mind than in any sort of spotlight.

Melanie nodded, relieved that she had apparently been getting advice from the good patients and not the bad. "That's good. There are definitely a few people you want to keep away from. The lower you lay, the better." The types of patients her brother dealt with, such as Anna, Raven, Jason, and the works, loved to mess around with Melanie's preferred patients, which instilled this sort of hierarchy in the asylum that was just sort of understood. And Alys would most definitely fit into that lower category. Hopefully she would continue to go unnoticed. It was safer that way, and Melanie was scared for the day when she found Alys with knife woulds or bruises that she could do nothing about. "How are you doing, though?" Melanie shook her head to rid the thoughts she had, the worries that were worth nothing, and she replaced them with a look of concern. "Are you adjusting okay? I know it's a lot to take in."

Despite the nurse's gentle, encouraging look, she did not say what she thought then: that she did not like it here, that she was frightened of this place and, yes, some of the people in it. That she was having a hard time sleeping easily, even though the only person who had ever troubled her sleep before was now completely gone from her life. That she felt lost, afraid, had no idea what she herself was doing. No, these were things that Alys Tulane had taught herself to internalize. Letting your emotions go at the wrong times could be dangerous. People might catch you in a lie, start to ask questions, people might learn. And while she wasn't paranoid about the idea, it certainly wasn't an appealing one, either. So Alys nodded a little, and looked Melanie square in the eyes, and said with a voice that betrayed no secrets: "I'm all right. Once I get used to everything, I have a feeling things will get a whole lot easier, too." And she even smiled, with the words. Small but pretty, ladylike, so very Alys. So very good at guarding the truth.