St. Peter's Asylum discussion

((Jason: I told you you were fucked.))

"What's up? Well, let's see, honeybunch. The ceiling, that tiny little lightbulb, a beetle, some cracks..." Your blood. Sure, it wasn't up there yet, but it would be. Oh, yes it would be. He was damned if it wouldn't. Raven turned back to her then, a mocking, gentleman's smile in place. "I assume you meant what's on the ceiling, dear. And if you didn't I think you ought to specify."

Akantha glanced over at him, her dark green eyes nothing but slits. He's so weird. The most effed up one here, and he walks around loose. If I had a really cool weapon like a whip, I could take him and finally put him in his place. Damn, I need one of those.

Akantha ignored the thoughts swimming aimlessly in her head and focused on the conversation and its energy. So far, nothing out of the norm, other than Raven acting more off than usual, which she didn't think could be possible. It made her wonder what was up, and she realized she'd have to keep an eye out; Raven most likely had something up his sleeve.

"Nothing's really on the 'cling', as you so dearly put it." She held up the file again for him to see. "But this file sure is clinging to me, it would seem. Better?"

((Ceiling. I fixed that typo. XD))

For a moment, Raven debated throwing the knife straight through that file, shooting it right out of Akantha's hand. But only for a moment; there didn't need to be any massive, unexplainable tears in his papers, after all. Instead of indulging his runaway imagination, the Indian simply ambled over closer to Akantha. Now that they were closer--close enough for him to reach out and touch her, certainly--she might have noticed a sort of heat radiating from him, as if he had a fever. He did not have a fever, as if were, but adrenaline was shooting rampant through his veins, and that had a way of messing with his temperature.

"Yes," he said, in response to her comment. One step forward. "A bit better. But I'm not sure I like your tone, Akantha, darling. Why don't you change it for me? You know, just a bit. So I can actually bear to hear your voice without wanting to go in and rip out your vocal chords."

Akantha kept her poker face on, the snotty face that screamed how much she couldn't care less. But on the inside, she was skeptical, judging every little move he made. Something was off, like the heat coming from his body at their close proximity. The glint in his eyes was different from their previous visit.

"That sounds like a personal problem to me, dearest," she oozed with a sickly sweet smile. "One that doesn't effect me. Though, you know what would?" She tilted her head to the side, not expecting an answer but giving Raven a quick once-over. Her gut- which had saved her ass a few times through the years- was telling her not to trust Raven. Not that it was something she planned on doing, anyways. She found nothing and carried on. "The rumors people would spread when we get caught this close together in this itty bitty little file room. Your little firecracker will have her trusty arrows up both our asses in seconds." She smirked in a coy manner, wanting to push him back but thinking better of it. The further away from him the better. "So let's take a step back and let me have my space, big boy."

Something snapped. A very small something, a very trivial something. Otherwise, the damage would have been a whole lot worse.

She'd barely gotten those last words out before Raven's elbow was slamming hard into her face, and the he was up on top of the desk, not next to her but with her, and he had her by the hair with one hand. Her head came up, and then it was slammed back down, hard, almost hard enough to crack the wood of the table. "First of all, you bitch, that's my girlfriend you're talking about." Raven's voice was no longer a purr; now, it was a growl, a low, guttural sound. "So you shut your fucking mouth about her. Are we clear?" He kept his hold on her hair and raised her head again, just in case they were not clear and she needed to be told again.

[Well apparently Rosie has been a touchy subject today.]

It happened so fast she didn't have time to react, but now she was pissed. He. Grabbed. Her. Hair. That was not okay, and she was going to make that perfectly clear.

"Whether its your precious girlfriend or not, psycho, you better get your fucking hand off of me or it won't just be my mouth you'll be worried about. Kay?" Sh glared at him furiously, but oh, her face hurt so bad. Metal did not feel good slammed against the face that wasn't used to patients fighting back. But this guy just could never follow the rules.

"Let's make a deal, shall we, doll?" No matter what, it seemed Akantha wouldn't go down without her flirty personality. That just couldn't be beaten off of her. "Let go of me, and I won't go show the authorities my soon to be puffing face and tell them the tragic story of how I was trying to tidy up around the file room when you came up behind me and slammed my face against the cabinet I was dusting for no damned good reason."

"You might want to rethink that story of yours, doll." The last word was almost snarled. "As you ought to know very well by now, I don't like liars very much." The knife came out then, and he brought it, very carefully and very slowly, around so that the wicked edge laid right up against Akantha's cheek; close enough to her mouth to be every bit of a threat. "Let's remake that story, you and I. Hmm? I think that would be a good way to make up for threatening to lie about me, don't you? Tell me the truth, now. Tell me the truth, doll."

Well, shit. Akantha, regrettably, found herself stuck. She tried to think of a way to possibly get out of such a situation, but none came to mind that didn't yet involve getting cut or giving in to what the Indian wanted.

"Oh honey, you know I'd do anything or you." The eyelashes batted, but the reproachful glare at the blade and Raven were hopefully not missed. "Whatever makes you happy, baby, an I'll do it." She tried to mover her head away as much as she could, just ever so gently. "How would you prefer our nice little story went, then? All offers on the table."

"The little story goes like this." Raven caught her movement, of course, and pressed both the knife and his body closer to the girl he now had pinned against the wall. "You were in here, looking around, tidying up the file room, as you said. But it wasn't me who walked in here. It was a little boy. A little boy with a knife in his hand and a gleam in his eyes that made them not blue but nearly black. You asked what he was doing, like any sensible person would, and he attacked you. He jumped up on that desk and tackled you from behind. That's how you hurt your face--he slammed it into the floor. Didn't he?" The idea to blame this entire adventure on Felix was just too tempting for the Indian to pass up; the boy was already nearly rabid, especially now, since the incident with the Frosts. This story he'd made up--what a hypocrite he was, lying! (He had to bite back laughter at the thought)--was plausible, entirely plausible. Especially these days.

And if Akantha knew what was good for her, she would follow right along.

"Blue eyes... Almost black?" Akantha raised an eyebrow and looked at Raven as if he had a sickly fever. "Okay. He's a little boy? Mind if I ask who?" Could I also ask you not practically cuddle with me while holding a knife to my throat? Thanks, you're a doll.

An idea popped into her head, though she highly doubted anything even so simple would be able to work. He had her trapped up fairly nice and tight. Any jerky movements would probably take out a nice chunk of cheek. Still, she hoped she'd have the opportunity.

Raven laughed. It was not at all a nice sound. "No, Akantha. Usually his eyes are blue. Very blue. But sometimes, when psychos go a little off their rockers, the eyes go dark. I bet you've never noticed; you've never had the pleasure of meeting with a true psychopath until now. Welcome to the game, girlie. Welcome to the fucking game." And as she asked who her fabled assailant was, the Indian pressed on the knife ever-so-slightly. Still, he felt the edge sink into flesh.

"I'll ask the questions, sweetheart," he murmured. "Okay? You just keep your pretty mouth shut and do as you're told."

Akantha grimaced at the blade on her skin, lightly cutting it. She didn't like this situation, especially now realizing that her window had closed. Unless she could behave just long enough to get him to loosen his hold.

"Okay. So very blue until he attacked me they were very dark. He attacked me after I asked him what he was doing in the file room I was cleaning up." She glanced at the files thrown all over. "Which, shit I actually have to do." She glanced back over at Raven, trying hard not to swallow for fear of the knife cutting her. It was getting hard to talk, without moving her lips too much to strain the muscles in her face and neck. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. He cut you, too." Raven looked the girl over, up and down and up and down, not entirely liking what he saw. His options were so limited when the girl had her back to him. So he decided to turn her around. Very, very carefully, keeping the knife at constant contact with Akantha's jugular, he wrapped an arm around her waist and turned her. Slowly, slowly. The knife blade pressed a little against her neck as Raven's swapped it from his left to his right hand, and then it was right back up against the slender curve of her vein. "The problem is," he continued, and now he was smiling, as a wolf might smile at a wounded doe before going in for the kill. "The problem is, Akantha, I can't quite decide where to cut you. Help me out here, babe: you know your body better than I do. Where do you scar best, hmm?"

"You can't be serious?" Akantha snapped angrily, eyebrows furrowing together in rage. If only she could jerk away, do something, but it was unprtunately impossible for the time being. She prayed for a way out of this situation before she really did get cut. This seemed to be her only shot, and if she screwed up, a little cut would be the least of her worries.

"Do I look like I'm not serious to you?" Raven still looked startlingly amused--the rabid glitter hadn't left his eyes--but his smile had widened, and now it was not a wolf smile but a shark smile: all teeth and no humor. "Sweetie, if I were joking, don't you think I would have at least brought in a shorter knife? Seven inches is a lot of steel to stick in a girl, you know. Quite a bit of steel indeed." Raven cast an almost fond look over the knife, and then he turned back to Akantha. If not for the shine in them, one could have compared his eyes, too, to those of a shark: but there was a shine. There was a fevered, rabid shine. "I'm serious as a heart attack, baby doll. Now be a good girl and answer my question, before I get upset." He leaned in closer, the knife pressed harder. "I assure you," he whispered into her ear, "you don't want to see me get upset."

"Nowhere, damnit!" She hissed back, and her leg shot out, hit something solid, what she hoped to be his stomach, but she didnt look at check, and Akantha attempted to get out of his grasp. Once out, who knew, maybe she'd lock him in the file room until she could get her hands on a nice weapon that would make his knife look like a toothpick. But first, he had to get out.

The blow was surprising--she did indeed hit his stomach, and knocked the air out of him, too--but this shock lasted for about three seconds and then Raven was laughing. It hurt to laugh right at this moment, yes, but he just couldn't help it. He could read this girl's thoughts as if she were an open book. His left hand--his free hand--shot across her chest, barring her way forward (and to the side, for now he stood in her way.) The knife, held in his right hand, sliced a sizeable gash in Akantha's neck for that move; and though he was still laughing the only emotion in his eyes was flat, dead rage. "Easy, big girl." Despite the short laughing spell, Raven's voice was firm and surprisingly threatening. "What did I tell you about doing as you're told? I certainly didn't tell you to struggle." But she could struggle if she wanted, sure she could; the back part of his mind, the wolfish part, said that that would be wonderful. It would give him an excuse to really cut her up, if nothing else--and that would be just fine. Just fine indeed.

A small yell escapes Akantha's lips at the suddenly sharp pain that was coming from her neck. Oh God, did he get the jungular? She wondered hysterically as she slowly subsided to being still in her captive's iron hold.

Akantha now wasn't sure if she was ever going to get out of the file room. If she did, it most likely wouldn't be accomplished by walking. If she was lucky, she could crawl. It had to be accepted. But it was also a deal breaker for her.

She didn't beg, she didn't plead. Raven would have enjoyed that, but this was not Raven. It was some sort if animal in his body. One that probably would meet listen to her, no matter what she said. Akantha stared back into the dark animal eyes, knowing that something would be done soon and she simply awaited it. He would be bored soon, or satisfied, and it would be over. She could touch it out until then.

((Aww. Good for you--accept fate.))

Raven was surprised at the sharp pang of disappointment he felt when Akantha seemed to realize that resistance would get her nowhere. He'd been hoping--part of him had been hoping--for her to squirm, or yell, or maybe even try to hit him again: all of those would have given his actions more context, and more than that, they would teach her something: trying to resist him would bring nothing but pain. It was easier (and more fun) when they walked away with injuries caused by their own actions. It broke them a little. It made his life more amusing.

But, upon seeing that the older girl was indeed going to behave, Raven simply gave a mental shrug. Suit yourself, pretty girl. "You know," he said, and as he spoke the knife moved up from her neck to her face. "You seem awfully worried about your physical appearance, Akantha. Are you afraid of scars?" And the unspoken question in his eyes was Are you afraid of me?

Her eyes- falling green- stared back into his unflinchingly. Raven, she was not scared of. If they wanted, yet could even possibly be allies at this asylum, and they could terrorize people together. It would be their haven. No, it wasn't Raven that scared her, but whatever thing that pretended to be Raven did give her unsettling feelings, even a tiny bit of fear. This creature seemed to have no boundaries with humanity.

"Well, after all, other than looks, what's a pretty girl like me got?" She drawled out with another raised eyebrow. If he did cut her, it would only be a little splice, she assured, it was nothing some vitamin E gel couldn't take care of. She hoped.

"Well, there's your tongue." And as he spoke Raven brought the knife down again, a long cut across Akantha's cheek this time, ending right at the corner of her mouth. "Which you really ought to learn to control, speaking of. Because I...well, I don't draw very many boundaries for myself, you know. Not right now, and certainly not like this. If you're not careful, I might just decide to cut that tongue out." And he would do it, too, maybe--if she talked enough. If she pushed him far enough. Raven, too, was in his right mind enough so that he could realize that it was the sadist who had control of him now; the sane man was far back in the corner of his mind, watching. It seemed--for a moment, at least--that that sane man had been thrown right under a bus.

Akantha winced, clenching her jaw against the pain. That was two, and she planned on making it up for each individual potential scar he gave her. "I'm behaving," she pointed out briskly, keeping her body tense. "And I plan on keeping it that way." For now.

((Whoa now. Don't give him an excuse to really kill you, my friend.))

Slowly, Raven nodded. "Yes," he said quietly. "Yes, I suppose you are." He was going to see if he could fix that. With lightening speed, Raven swapped the knife from right to left hand and grabbed Akantha around the waist. He pulled her against him, then delivered a solid kick to the small of her back to get her down on her knees. The hand that was now holding the knife snaked around her stomach in warning (one move and I gut you) while the other hand took possession of Akantha's right arm. He twisted it, and twisted it hard. "Tell me, sweetheart," said his voice in her ear. "If I decide to break a few bones, would you object all that much?"

A small whimper was all she allowed. Except that she didn't really plan on yelling out at all. She'd been taken by surprise and he was so fast.

Her eyes widened slightly in dismay at the thought of her bones being broken. Her image would be shattered. A few cuts could easily be blame on something like a fall, but a twisted and broken arm was slightly harder. So in response she nodded. She most certainly did object.

"I'm going to take that as a no. Wonderful." And indeed, he actually did sound as if he thought the situation was a good one. "Let me tell you something, Akantha," he murmured, and as he spoke he twisted. Hard, harder, harder still. "You are the most vain, pompous asshole I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. You and my mother would have gotten along very well, because you both thought the same thing: that you were queen of the world and everybody should fall to their knees and worship you. Let me tell you something: you are dead. Wrong." As if to punctuate his words, there was a sharp, crisp snap!--one of the bones in Akantha's forearm. "Do you believe me when I tell you that, honeybunch?"

Akantha couldn't hold it back. She screamed an ear-splitting scream that probably would have alerted anyone in the hallway outside the small room. Of course, there would be no one. Raven was always lucky like that.

Akantha had barely heard anything Raven had said, and it hasn't mattered. She'd known what was coming, but she couldn't have been prepared for the terrible pain, it was like white fire had raved up her arm. She screamed again from the pain. It was even worse than him twisting her arm previously, worse than the cuts. Tears stung the back if Akantha's throat but she would be damned if any fell in front of him.

"Mmm. That's better." And Raven shoved her hard, to the right of course--instinct would lead her to try to block her fall with her arm, which was of course broken by now, and he knew from experience how much falling on broken bones hurt. Perhaps after this Akantha would finally learn her lesson and stop acting as if she owned the place--because she didn't. That was his job, and hell would freeze over before she succeeded in taking it from him. Monarchs don't take the threat of usurping very well. It is well known, and Raven--though he was no monarch and not nearly stupid enough to make the mistake of assuming he was--was no exception.

Akantha thankfully held out both arms. He broken arm did take the brunt, but she had enough strength to not cry out, but instead his through her teeth, too quiet for him to hear. Her arm, it was throbbing, but not just a regular throb, it was a hot, furious throb. Almost as hot and furious as Akantha herself.

Without a grimace (she had to fight hard not to), the warden stood up on her feet and fixed Raven with a cold and hateful glare. "You're a sick freak," she spat viciously, wanted to hold her arm but knowing that was satisfactory to him as well. "Really fucked in the head. It's no wonder your mother hated you. I'm sure everybody can relate." With that, she slipped through the file room and slammed it shut, praying for a lock and finding none. Sighing, Akantha staggered in the direction of the nurse's, her broken arm on the setback of her brain. Now revenge was forming, ready to rear its ugly head.

Raven sat among the mess in the file room for a long time, never moving, never blinking. He just sat, and studied the sparing amount of blood on his knife, and thought. He thought about Akantha, who was no doubt trying to think of some plan to get back at him. He thought of Felix, who, if this went well, might just end up taking the brunt of the blame for the attack (though he knew in the back of his mind that he probably hadn't scared the girl enough to make that a certainty--but it didn't matter much. No great loss.) But mostly, he thought of he himself. Was he fucked up in the head? Lord, yes. Undoubtedly. But just how far did that insanity go? He wondered, and he was slightly concerned with the result he came to: it went far. And it was not a path set in stone--it was getting longer and longer with each passing day.

((Fade.))

((Doesn't matter who you RP with, but Jason is here.))

The file room usually wasn't of much interest to Jason. He wasn't exactly into trashing other people's reputations, or having the one-up on them by knowing all of their darkest secrets. Today, there was an exception. He had come to the old room, picked the rusted lock, and now stood leaning over one of the open drawers of the file cabinet. He was skimming the R's, looking for Cleo's file, a worried frown on his face. This marked the seventh day she hadn't been to see him, and he could only figure that was because she had been attacked, and was afraid of what he would do to her attacker when he found out. So he came to the file room with some hope: an attack had to be in the updated files. If Cleo was determined to keep it from him, he would find out this way. He wanted to protect his girl.

Roxanne had been looking for some peace and quiet, the same intentions that she couldn't find in the music room. Her run-in with Cat had left her a little bit jumpy, although irrationally, and Carlos' bad mood had left her even more shaken. The file room had always been a good place for silence, as no one was ever there. The blonde opened the door quietly, stepped in, closed it behind her, and it wasn't until she turned around that she noticed Jason.

A little squeak escaped her lips, and her hands went up to cover her mouth. Her eyes were wide, a little scared, terrified, actually, and the blonde stood stiff and frozen. Jason. He had conspired with Silas; she had been able to put that much together since the months after the incident.

That little sound did not go unnoticed--mice made similar noises when they were afraid, and by now, Jason was all too used to picking them up. He stiffened a little, as if this unexpected intrusion had startled him, and then slowly turned to see just what sort of mouse had accidentally stumbled upon him. When he saw Roxanne, his own eyes widened in surprise. It had been a long time since he had seen her up close--he was surprised by how much the blonde had changed. Her green gaze was dull and scared, the hair he had known her to spend hours trying to perfect hung long and limp down her back. She was pale, so pale, and the way she looked at him--with such pure, unrefined terror--made the sociopath himself speechless for a moment. "Roxie?" He had to say it, just to make sure. Just to know that this wasn't in fact a new patient that bore a startling resemblance to the old black marketer.

Roxanne jumped a little as Jason spoke, especially the name she hadn't used in months. To Roxanne, this was more dangerous-- more terrifying-- than both Cat and Carlos combined. At least they had good intentions. Jason... well, Roxanne didn't know what Jason would want with her. The blonde offered a small nod, the only exception to her obvious terror. Yes, I'm Roxie. That bitch that you ruined. What's the matter, can't recognize me after all the shit you put me through? The words were somewhere in the back of her head, but Roxanne wouldn't even dare to speak them.

For a moment, Jason just stood there and looked at her. By now, he of course knew what Silas had done to the arrogant girl who had once strutted about the asylum as if she owned the place--but he by no means expected such a complete and ultimate change. "God damn," he said quietly, and whistled under his breath. "Someone's been through hell and back." There was an unreadable emotion in his eyes: pity mixed with something that just might have been regret. When he'd made that deal with Silas, that deal to get his weapons back, he'd had no idea what was in store for the older girl. He'd expected a beating, or some sort of blackmail; never did the word rape even cross his mind. Now, confronted by the girl who bore the brunt of the aftermath, he had no idea what to feel, what to think, what to say.

Roxanne didn't speak, she didn't dare. What she did do, though, was slide down against the back of the door so that she sat on the floor, stiffly and a little shakily. She dropped her hands from her mouth and wrapped her arms tightly around her legs, providing a sense of comfort to herself. She chewed on her bottom lip out of habit, and the deer-in-headlights look never once left her eyes. Her shoulders were tense, and her hands shook just a little, almost not noticeable. You've got that right. Again, no words were spoken. It was almost as if Roxanne couldn't find her voice-box.

"I didn't do it for him." Jason's voice was firm--not defensive, not sad, not anything but steady. "I know it probably doesn't mean much to you anymore, but I didn't do it for Silas Frost. I did what I did because he said he could help me. And he did help me. That was all I wanted." He walked forward, slowly, and almost thought to raise his hands, just in case Roxanne would panic and try to make a move on him. He went down on one knee before her, so that they were eye-to-eye. "I don't hold anything against you anymore, Roxie. I used to--you were a real bitch and quite frankly, you deserved most of what you got--but that's dead and gone now. All right? I just think that you ought to know that." Short, sweet, to the point. Jason wasn't one to beg forgiveness, nor was he one to openly apologize. Right now, this was the best the pale blonde was going to get. And, some back part of him thought, she should be thanking her lucky stars for it.

The blonde focused her dull gaze on the ground beside Jason, not directly looking the boy in the face. "I don't really think anyone deserves it, Jason," she said quietly, her tone empty and dull. "But thanks, I guess." The blonde ran a hand through her hair, pulling it away from her face, and she sighed a shaky, heavy sigh. The close proximity certainly shook her a little bit, and she would be lying if she said her first intention wasn't to bolt. In a fight or flight situation, Roxanne would certainly pick the latter. "I certainly hope it was worth it for you," she said, her tone quiet and empty.

"Worth it? Sure it was worth it. I got my weapons back. That's all I cared about." Jason titled his head at her, trying to catch her fleeting gaze. He couldn't tell if she was blaming him for what happened or not, but in reality he didn't much care. He'd made his case, let the girl know that it wasn't about revenge or spite but the retrieval of his lost property. If she didn't want to expect that, fine. Again, he didn't much care. He wasn't out for her forgiveness. He'd done what was right and tried to make amends. That was enough.

A slight nod came from the blonde. "I'm glad for you then." Her words were stiff, forced, almost, though it was mainly from the struggle to get them past her fear. "Well, then, I appreciate your... honesty." There it was, that was the word choice. Roxanne pursed her lips a little, and she fleetingly met Jason's gaze before her eyes flew away again.

"Good. I'm glad." Jason gave a firm nod, and in the silence that followed offered her his hand--both literally and metaphorically. This was not supposed to be a gesture that meant Friends? as it usually did when used in this context, but rather a gesture that meant Can you put my part in it behind you? Because it hadn't been that big of a part, not really. He wasn't downplaying his role in Roxanne's breaking, of course not, but he was not by any means the one she should be angry at. If Silas had wanted to hurt her without his help, after all, he certainly could have. Jason himself hadn't provided anything essential to the plot, and he had only taken part at all because the redhead had made him a deal. In the back of his mind, he thought Roxanne knew that.

She studied his hand for a moment, before hesitantly meeting it with her own and offering a shake. She did understand the little part that Jason played, and she wasn't so irrational that she felt he could not be forgiven. What's done was done, and Roxanne considered herself one to forgive and forget. Her offering of the hand was a big thing, especially considering her current sense of terror, and she offered a firm nod to Jason, one that almost said, Yes, you're forgiven, I can put it behind me.

"Good," Jason repeated. Something small--a smile?--twitched at the corners of his lips. "I'm not going to go as far as saying that I'm here for you, because that's probably the last thing you want, but I am going to say that I hope we can patch things up without too many rough spots in between. I have a lot of things weighing on my conscience, Roxanne Hathaway, a lot of things that would make what happened to you seem like small potatoes. I don't need your anger on there too." His voice wasn't angry, but almost consoling. Almost...gentle.

Roxanne nodded, for the first time meeting Jason's eyes with her own. "Well you can take me off of your conscience, then," she said in a quiet tone, even going so far as to offer a small smile and take a shaky breath.

"I'm glad, Roxanne. I really am." And that was a sort of acceptance, that use of the broken girl's full name--the one she preferred now. It was acceptance, and Jason's own assurance that he, too, would try to put everything behind them and move on.

((Fade?))

((Fade.))

Rosemarie made her way down the hall, the much taller figure of Raven not far behind her. She stopped outside of the file room door, and jiggled it a bit, not at all surprised to find it locked. Still, why not try it the easy way? She stepped back from the door, looking over her shoulder as if expecting someone to come and catch them breaking in. She knew that Raven had done this hundreds, maybe thousands of times, and she trusted they would be just fine. "You're better at this than I am," she said as she gestured towards the door. "Do your thing."

Raven gave the slightest roll of his eyes, but nodded and stepped forward to face the door. From one back pocket he drew a bobby pin (one he carried around for precisely this purpose) then bent for a moment over the lock. There was a smooth, soft series of clicks, and then a few moments later the lock popped right off. "Bingo," he said in quiet triumph, and eased the door open. Sometimes, he was quite thankful that he'd met the boys he did after running away from home. They'd taught him some awfully useful skills. "Come on in. The files await. I hope you know this girl's last name--if you don't, you could be looking awhile." He himself was going to stand off to the side and watch; Rosemarie couldn't get him to do all the work.

Rosemarie nodded and slipped into the file room for the first time. It was a very dark room, pretty gloomy, she thought. She didn't know how people could spend all day in the room. There were several file cabinets to choose from, she saw, but she looked for the one without the codes, as Raven said her file wouldn't have been moved to a cabinet with a computer password, yet. She opened one of the drawers, but not before looking over her shoulder again. "Phoenix von Brandt," she told him, looking through the drawer again. She would be here all day if he didn't at least give her a hint on where to look. "Are these in alphabetical order?" She asked him over her shoulder.

"Yep. And there are separate cabinets for separate securities. The one furthest from the right is low security, the one next to that is moderate, and the one over there all by itself in the corner"--he nodded to the set of drawers in question--"is for the really bad kids. Me, for instance. And you." He paused, leaning back against the wall to watch. His arms crossed, and he raised his eyebrows. "Have an idea what security level she is? More importantly, why do you want to screw with her so bad anyway? What did she do, show you a trigger or something?" Usually, finding out about patients, their pasts, and their lives at the asylum was very tiresome work, and rarely did it even yield information one could use. Rosemarie had never struck the Indian as the type who looked things up just to know them, which had to mean that this Phoenix had sparked her interest somehow. He was curious about that.

When Raven pointed to the separate drawers reserved for the really bad patients, Rosemarie beamed at herself. She was pleased that she had actually made it into such a drawer. She decided it was greatly influenced from the night she had spent in the padded room after attacking Akantha. "When did I get in there?" She asked, sounded a but fascinated by what she thought of as an accomplished feat. She had to remind herself that she had other things to do, and moved towards the cabinets with pursed lips. She had been very angry about her father, which made Rosemarie think she had done something to her father, so that meant medium or even high security. "I want to see if I can get her to break," she told him as she opened one of the medium security drawers. "She seemed weak for a moment, but then I just sensed something about her that made me think she might not be as weak as I thought. So I need her file to figure it out." She glanced over at Raven with a hopeful expression. "And maybe you could help me?"