St. Peter's Asylum discussion

She'd heard of him before? Probably not anything good, London thought. He kind of wanted to hear it now, gossip or not. At least to see what people were saying about him -- even if he did already know it was something awful. And, wait, files? "They let patients read the files?"

"It's my fault." It was, somehow. And London had talked too much for today already. He was beginning to feel worn out. "Do you...remember the gossip?" He may as well ask, as long as they were having this conversation.

Hope wrote: ""Oh!" Alayna looked over at Stephen, surprised. She'd thought she was the only one in the room. "I'm sorry. I wanted to see how heavy it was." Quickly she picked up the book and put it back into it..."

"Are you going to kill someone with it?" Stephen asked, in his own little pathetic attempt at humor. Then he realized she might just, he kept forgetting about the social aspects of patients here. He was used to calm nurses and war patrons coming by for a visit.

Alayna raised her eyebrows. How had he known? "Perhaps," she answered honestly. "I don't really want to kill a person with it though, it would take too long." She shrugged. "I like to keep it short when I can, you know."

Stephen blinked, and then mumbled something.

"It's not your life to take." He then said. "I mean, it's a form of theft. You're stealing something that is rightfully theirs." It seemed to make sense to him. But the topic of death had been infested in his mind lately like a parasite.

"Maybe you're right," said the girl. "But I can't stop. I have to kill. I like to. I need to." Alayna understood what he was saying, to an extent: that she shouldn't murder. But would he understand what she was saying? Probably not, if past experience was anything to go by. Adults--no, most everyone--thought taking anothers life was not okay. She didn't understand that. Not at all.

"Perhaps you could find another hobby. Like painting. Red paint, I suppose." He surprised himself how casually he was talking about this. Death was average on the battle field. But she was a little girl...
He bit his lip and forced away thoughts that would get him nowhere.

"I can't stop," Alayna repeated. "I won't be able to stop thinking about it if I stop. I would try to kill anything around me with anything immediately available if I stopped. You ask the doctors, sir. They know."

"Sir." Stephen snorted a little, dark eyes trailing around the room. Despite this girl's dialouge he didn't seem particularly worried. Not because he was cocky, but because his life wasn't something he particularly valued at the moment.
"Music can take your mind off of things." He suggested. "Or board games."

"I've never played a board game," Alayna admitted. "There weren't any where I grew up. As for music..." she trailed off. "I do have this one song I like, but it reminds me of murder. So it doesn't work with taking my mind off of things."

"Oh. Well, there's other music. Like Hannah Montanna and Taylor Swift." Those were good non-violent choices.

Alayna smiled that little half-smile of hers. "I've never listened to Swift, but people have told me how amazing she is." Another shrug. "I just don't mind time for music, I guess. I'm normally busy...thinking."

"Stop thinking, then. Fill up your thinking time with other things. You can stop and think, that's what makes everything unravel." This was advice that his father had given him. You can't think about what you're doing, as long as you know it's right. Because then you'll start to think about the big picture, and wonder what the meaning life is. Then you'll never get anywhere.

"How do you stop thinking, sir? If you stop thinking, you're dead. Or just brain-dead. Either way, you aren't technically alive. I don't want to die."

"Well, don't stop thinking completely. I can't really tell when I'm thinking, it's not a feeling. Just block out your thoughts with other things." He struggled.

((Gtg, dinner. Bb30min))

((Why is he struggling?))


"I'm not good at that," Alayna muttered. "My thoughts always jump where I don't want them to even if I try to distract myself."

((Struggling to find the right words to say. Sorry I was gone, I had to practice piano after pasta.))

"I find it when you try to avoid thinking about something, it's all you can think about." He agreed, nodding a little.

((Ah.))

"But maybe it would work." Alayna shrugged, then said, very hesitent, "would you...would you like to play a board game with me then, sir?"

He nodded. "Sure. I'm pretty sure they would have them in the Common Room or something." She didn't seem like a killer. Just like a misunderstood child, with a plea for attention. Of course, he only based this off of what he knew of her.

((Do you still want to have the meeting with Stephen and Maia, paradox? Or fade this out, and RP the boardgame later?))

((Oh, Stephen. If only you knew...))

Alayna smiled. "Okay then. Come on." She turned towards the door and headed out silently.

((Let's made this out and do Maia-Stephen. Can you post in 'is dorm?))

Stephen followed obidently, wondering how he had just made some kind of friendly companionship with a young girl. He shrugged it off, it was better than being with a cold doctor.

((Okay.))

Maia breathed in and out as she stood in the middle of the library, a smile decorating her lips. She loved the musty, leathery smell of old books. It made her feel at home. Across the room she spotted a lone girl by the doorway. "Hello," she said softly, more of a surprised word than a greeting. She'd thought she was alone.

"Hi," Maia greeted the girl. "What's up?"

A raise of one dark eyebrow. "Again." Maia frowned thoughtfully. The list of patients that were supposed to have a nurse with them at all times was slim, but there. "Say, what's your name?"

"Azalea," Maia muttered. Great. "All right then. I'm Maia." The coffee-skinned girl sat down on one of the plush chairs, crossing one leg over the other.

"So why'd you come to the library?" Maia asked, leaning back as well. "It's kind of an obvious place to be, isn't it?"

"Yes, well regardless of that," Maia said. "It'd be one of the first places I'd look if I heard a patient was missing. I mean, it's big and there are lots of places to hide."

"I know you better than you might think," Maia replied. "I'm a nurse, remember? I know the dirt on just about everybody here." She didn't like Azalea's attitude much. It was grating on her nerves. The fact that she was purposely trying to throw off the other nurses didn't help either.

((:O This chick's gotta meet Alayna.))

"The nurses know you," Maia assured the girl dryly. "Trust me." She uncrossed her legs, sat up, and stood. "Now, if you don't mind, I have patients to attend to. Goodbye." With that she walked away and was soon out of sight.

((I was derping. Fade?))

After finishing with the other twin-- a new aquaintance, she decided-- Petra found herself wandering the shelves in the library. Crimson nails danced along the spines of the novels, the books, the memoirs and encyclopedias. A small smile crossed the girl's lips; one thing that had never changed in her was her love for reading.

Margot was bored out of her mind. Luckily for her, Dolly Miss Molly had given Margot and idea, though when Molly spoke to her, it was always more of an order. She was looking for a magazine for girls. Who knew why, really.

A cock of her head; Petra hadn't noticed the stranger. Hand twitched to her whip instinctively as her mantra ran through her head: Hurt them before they hurt you.

The girl leaned against the bookcase, near Margot. "Hello," she murmured in a sickeningly sweet tone, inspecting her long crimson nails.

Margot didn't need her doll's advice to tell her that this woman was not someone she wanted to be around. Unaware that she was doing it, Margit clutched Dolly Miss Molly closer to her chest. "Hi." Ger voice had hardly any emotion, her voice was robotic and stiff.

A nod at the doll. "You must me Margot, I presume? And that's Dolly?"

Margot felt her dark green eyes widen in surprise. She wasn't aware that she was widely known at St. Peter's. She wasn't even sure she wanted this dictator knowing her name at all.

"Yes," she said evenly enough. "And you're Petra, I presume?"

Confident smirk crossed her lips. "What, am I that predictable?"

Margot shook her head, ratted locks of dark brown snacking her in the eyes. "No, I've just heard of you around the cells."

Petra nodded slowly, and turned her head to face the young girl. "How much do you know about me, Margot?"

"You carry a whip around, and killed your father with it. Or at least something like that." Listening to Dolly's instructions, Margot forced her tone to be light, nonchalant. She'd never really met a patient that was extremely dangerous.

"My brother, as a matter of fact, killed him. But it's nice to know how much you all know."

Well, that made the situation a little bit better. Just a little, though.

"So he must be here as well."

A nod. "Yes, he is."

[*~Has Faded RP Above*~]

With a long-sleeved flannel shirt carefully covering his bandaged wrists, Peter slowly walked along the aisles of the library, jaw set, eyes puffy and haunted-looking. He hadn't stopped thinking about what had happened at the peach tree, and with all sharp objects out of his reach, he had resulted into biting his lips raw and bloody, and clawing at his arms and legs with unkept fingernails. All in all, Peter was a wreck.

[gee, this is nice. XD]

Hidden almost entirely by a book, Timothy sat in one of the overstuffed chairs and was unaware of the boy wandering the aisles. Legs were pulled up underneath him, and head of flaxen locks was hidden by the cover of the book, a Stephan King novel.

[Stephen King? If Peter doesn't want him, I'll take him!

Isn't it, though? XD]

Peter, a lover of the king of horror, approached the book, its owner undefined. "{Insert novel name here}? I love that book. Glad to see I'm not the only one."

[XDD]

Grey eyes peeked over the top of the book. "The people who don't are out of their minds," Timothy agreed.

[Lol *chooses random novel that I liked* IT?]

Peter had smiled. A weak one that disappeared immediately, irises of ice meeting those of steel. Panic flashed across them, but he stood his ground, eyes downcast to focus on the floor. "Oh. It's you."

"Well, gee. Happy to see you too."

Peter opened his mouth, only to blush furiously and have it snap shut again, his jaw making an unpleasant snapping sound. He refused to look at Timothy, or he'd give in again. He stayed silent, after all, what was he supposed to say?

A small smirk. "I'm kidding. How've you been?"