At The Gatehouse

[*TheFrozenWind]

Khasef stops by Raif's "room" at the gatehouse. He peers inside the little slot on the door to observe the man. He seemed calm enough. Although that might be because the fellow was drugged up. Heavily. Dislike for Hardheads aside, the Bleakers are used to violent patients. And rarely like to take risks with such.

For a time Khasef just stands there. Watching. He remembered Neli's request that he get her an appointment with a higher up. Khasef thought about it for a time, then dismissed the thought. When his brothers deemed the man safe, he'd be released most likely. Of course, Khasef mused. He's better off in that cell, what with the Inquisition flaunting their armored codpieces all over Sigil.

A stray thought then flit across Khasef's mind. What will his faction do with him? Will the Harmonium accept the man back within their ranks? Or have they already ejected him. If it's the latter, then the poor man truly is safer in his cell. The Harmonium don't take well to traitors.

"You're in a pickle, no? And because of you.. No doubt others will nag me or Amir incessantly. Poor sod."

Khasef looks about before opening the door, and setting a bowl of soup, and a loaf of stale bread next to the drugged Raif.

[*Lost and not Found]

He's got a rather nice bubber box there, though you might want to make sure he doesn't get his hands into any strings knotted thrice over twice. Mind checking that while in there? It ain't promising any good for the patients in this cell.

[ The man sighes, as he leans next to the opened the door. ]

And the next time you'd deliver to this gannet, you might want to use the hatch on the lower part of the door.

[*TheFrozenWind]

"It's not a bubber-box. This is the wing for the Criminally and Irretrievably Insane. Here he'll either stay indefinately, or, once his brand of madness has been determined, he'll be treated. Upon the success of said treatment, he'll be released."

He eyes the man, giving him a once over to see if he recognizes the man, or if there's any Bleak Cabal regalia or symbolism in his garb.

[*Grisome]

Temporary insanity. What a joke. He was sane, he knew he was perfectly sane. Of course, if he were to argue his case, tell them that he knew full well what he was doing when he killed those people, that the idea of possession was laughable, then he probably would have been dead by now.
So, he went along with the story Cratten had suggested. Being locked in the Gatehouse was a much better alternative to being thrown on the chopping block, to 'the wyrm'. Besides, it wasn't far off of the half-truths and deception he'd been feeding everyone so far.
The blanket Animus had made for him had been lost in the transition to this place, and he missed it. It'd brought dreams full of clarity... not only pleasant memories replayed from a short childhood, but things he needed to know. He had dreamt of some vast, dark empty place where, although he shouldn't have been, he'd been content. The Woman in Red invading the emptiness and speaking, taunting, of important bits of information. Things he would need to remember, but couldn't now because of all the drugs.
Once he got out of here -- and he was steadfast sure he would -- he would have to find her. Not the demon that had been present in that purgatory, but the other...


He didn't much help his case for release, however. Though heavily drugged, he was still conscious and aware enough to offer Khasef and any other Bleaker who strayed too close and lingered a few well-placed, muddled insults or threats in Abyssal.

[*TheFrozenWind]

Every so often, when delivering food and such. Khasef returns fire with a mild insult of his own, in abyssal. He then takes to sitting in the cell with a quill and scroll, and observes Raif.

"So, why are you here, no?"

[*Grisome]

He had considered blatantly ignoring Khasef, having little interest in the discussion of his supposed lack of sanity. After several moments' thought, though, he decided that the silent treatment would do little to advance any kind of progress.
Finally looking over to the man, he responded first with a very unhelpful: "Well that's a stupid question." A pause, before he continued. "I killed people." He wasn't quite sure what more he was supposed to say on that. So, instead, his next words were; "When can I leave?"

[*Fell Star]

Ira Redgrave, one of the many medical attendants, routed toward Raifael's cell and cast his dark eyes down. The pure vacuity in his expression was matched only by his drab, colorless clothes and the monotone sound of his voice.

"This one is scheduled for electro-shock therapy with Doctor Anton in the morning..." His words trailed off into a quiet exhale as he stared through slatted bars upon the patient. Raifael Degare sat there, squatting on the bare stones; the tiny cell was equipped with only a loose pile of straw bedding, a refuse bucket, and a set of manacles that were bolted to the rear wall of the cell. These things served as a reminder that the man within was a murderer, and could not be afforded the privileges of the sane. It was functional. And that was all.

Ira set a hand over Khasef's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Why try, Khasef?" His voice bore the same oppressiveness that pervaded Gatehouse. "His mind is unwell, and will never be capable of an honest answer..."

[*TheFrozenWind]

Khasef stares for a moment before shrugging lightly.

"I can't say it's born of any fondness for the man. Perhaps I simply fail to care if it's truth, or lies. Do either make any difference? Say we release him as he is now. What would he do? Kill the Sensbane woman? If he did. Would it matter? What's a single mote of suffering in comparison to the teeming hoardes of Hiver's who suffer worse, each day?"

He rubs his forehead a moment before continuing

"The sooner he's out, the sooner we can accommodate new patients. No? Besides, the moment we release him, he'll likely find his way back here, or if he's lucky he'll find a noose. No?"

[*Grisome]

"I wouldn't kill her," He interrupted groggily, sounding annoyed. "I'm perfectly fine. I'm not insane." Then, recalling the whole 'insanity gig to avoid being executed', he added, "Anymore. I'm not insane, anymore. It was just... temporary. Really, I'm fine now." Struggling to sit up straighter against the cold wall, he turned his attention more fully to Khazet, trying to fend off the effects of the herbs, or the drugs, or the whatever (he couldn't even quite remember) that they'd given him. "I'm fine now, you can let me go."
As futile as it might have been, it sure couldn't hurt to try, right?

[*Fell Star]

Ira looks up from Khasef and peers into the bars again. "They always say that, don't they? I'm not crazy..." He shakes his head, and pats the young (by comparison) Bleaker's arm, and shuffles toward the next cell.

As he moves along he asks, "And why do we waste such efforts to care for the deranged?"

Ira's footsteps pause as he looks over his shoulder, smiling. It was the first genuinely happy expression he had managed in weeks.

"Even if the multiverse exists for naught, we've still the power to make this purgatory bearable." He continued down the long terraced corridor, reminding another attendant to fetch the patients' waste buckets.