Daslabor

Icy cold shadows danced across the walls as three silhouettes advanced through the pale tiled hallways. An eerie silence shrouded all, interrupted only ever so often by the muted tapping of shoes on the concrete, and the jingling of sleek gleamy shackles. Sprite Cinders, now dubbed SE-0111 - homage to the 111-brand on her arm -, was a stranger to this place, and the staff in Daslabor had gone out of her way to make her feel as such. This Lab was nothing like the WCBL, which was a positive thing, yet at the same time she couldn’t help but feel out of place. Her Therion had been passion project of Nice Man Blake, the lifework of Professor Hartmann... now seemingly thrown out the window on a whim. No words were exchanged when the two security officers opened the doors to the Mingling Room. Sprite wasn’t thrown in like she would be back at the WCBL: instead, they let go of her biceps and gave her a slight push, like two eager parents coaxing a kid to join in on game. She shuffled inside, and the doors slammed shut behind her. The room was surprisingly homey to look at: the floor was a shade of marbled sap green, and bright white bean bags sat scattered across it. Fiddling with the thin chains that dangled between her wrists, Sprite approached the bean bag closest to her and flopped down on it, elbows on her knees. This could’ve been worse, but she wasn’t sure what to think yet. No doubt that Daslabor was all about experiments too, that was the very essence of labs, as far as she knew. So far, though, they’d treated her less like a prisoner of war and more like a.. person, maybe? The very fact that she was allowed to sociale with the other subjects showed that. Well, granted that she wasn’t the only subject in this facility, ‘cause as it seemed now, the Mingling Room was awfully deserted. Ah well, too bad for them! Sprite leaned back and put her shackled hands behind her head, resting one foot on the opposite knee. Having only been used to a fully concrete cell back in the WCBL, she was beyond delighted to rest her body weight on something soft and squishy, for once. [ OPEN to anyone ]

🗃️ Dr. Falsone:
Dr. Falsone was put on cleaning duty, thanks to a little argument between Dr. Bloomsbury. He washed the bullet-proof, shatter-proof windows, bored out of his mind. He was wearing his glasses today instead of his contacts, seeming to be too lazy to put in his contacts today.

The doctor so bored out of his mind, didn't even notice Sprite, and in-fact, probably wouldn't unless he turned around or Sprite got his attention. It also looked like Dr. Falsone had something weighing on his mind other than boredom. Perhaps something about Michael?

Suddenly, Sprite's rest was interrupted by a jarring scrubbing noise close by. Opening one of her golden-speckled eyes, she followed the sound to its source: there was a skinny, ivory-haired whitecoat at the windows, seemingly cleaning them with enough negative energy to shut down a nuclear reactor. Shit, what was his deal? Carefully, and smirking all the while, Sprite began to sneak up to the man, her jagged 111-scar glimmering underneath the aggressively cold lights. He didn't look like too much to her- if she could take him on, she'd create enough of a distraction to just make a run for it. Too bad about lil' Mr Snowpuff over here, but the guilt wouldn't be able to weigh down the uplifting rush of freedom. However, right when Sprite was about to knock her fist into the Doctor's temple, he moved his hand across the window he was cleaning, accidentally elbowing her right in the ribs. The surprise knocked more air out of her than the pain did, and a mix of a growl and puff escaped her. "Eyy, careful wit' those stalks!" Sprite scoffed, quickly bouncing out of her hostile stance as to not raise any suspicion. "Thought 'em Mingling Room was for lab rats only. Or do y'whitecoats slip in here too to make us feel less angry about y' using us as y'lil' science projects?" She was yet to experience her first experiment in this new Lab, though, and while the people here seemed less cruel than back home, she wasn't looking forward to it. Even worse was that Professor Hartmann wasn't gonna let her new colleagues in Daslabor in on what she knew about Therion, which meant that these eggheads would have to start from the top..

🗃️ Dr. Falsone:
Dr. Falsone literally, hadn't noticed, until he accidentally elbowed the Therion, and it was followed by a mix of a growl and puff.
He turned his heel quickly, startled, almost dropping the rag he was scrubbing the window with, as he said, startled. "Ohwhathehell-"

Dr. Falsone looked Sprite up and down, and sighed a little shakily. "Oh, just.. a subject."

He listened to the comment about the lab rats only, and put his hand on his hip, his other hand holding the rag. "Well, who else is going to clean this place?" Dr. Falsone said with a bit monotone. "I didn't even want cleaning duty today, but that knucklehead, Dr. Bloomsbury, has a horrible temper and takes everything out on everyone else." He rolled his eyes underneath his glasses. Dr. Falsone then paused, and looked Sprite up and down again, "Hey.. You're the new subject I was informed would be arriving today." His eyes widened, a soft smile. He then put the rag in a nearby bucket filled with water and soap, a lot of soap, in-fact, probably too much soap.

"I'm Dr. Falsone, I.. usually work in the offices typing out documents and organizing files, but I sometimes do other things. Like.. cleaning." Dr. Falsone looked out the corner of his eye, looking away, as he said the last, cleaning, part. He held out his hand to the subject, secretly hoping that this subject wouldn't try and attack him. But he also thought, hey if this thing attacks me and I get hurt, I can get a break for a day or two.

But then he thought about.. Michael, and if he had got hurt that Michael would have to heal him, and he slowly put down his hand.

"Uh, you're SE-0111, right?" Dr. Falsone spat, rather awkwardly.

"Huh?" SE-0111. More numbers involved there, though somehow it sounded less aggressive than the 'subject 111'-bullshit that Sprite'd grown afraid of for the last few weeks. "H'yeah, yeah.. tha's me.." Her voice grew more quiet, her posture deflating. "Suppose 'em whole 'full name an' individuality' thing is only for eggheads like y', huh? 'Least they don' kick people's asses for having hair longer thanna thumb's width here." Dr Falsone, what a name. Aside from Professor Hartmann, Sprite couldn't really recall if the other whitecoats at the WCBL had names worth mentioning. And for an administration guy to come into direct contact with the subjects? That was really somethin'! "Y'know, always hadda wonder- wha's the whole deal with workin' here, anyway? Why would someone like y' wanna work inna place like 'tis?" she said, circling around Dr Falsone to lean her broad shoulders against the freshly cleaned glass. Good thing they'd smeared ointment all over her branding scar when she came in- now he'd have to put in extra effort to make sure that the window was free of grease. Heh. "Y'don' look like the kinda guy who takes pleasure in hurtin' people.. if we're even people to y', that is." And if there even was a 'we', in this scenario. Where had all the other subjects gone? She was starting to feel a bit outnumbered here..

🗃️ Dr. Falsone:
"Well, names and individuality is a thing, but we're just, kind of.. told to do the whole number thing." Dr. Falsone sighed.

Why would someone like y'wanna work inna place like 'tis?

Those words hit him like a bag of bricks.

Michael..

"It's a long story, me working here." He quickly tried to change the subject, then he glanced at the window, noticing the ointment grease smeared on the window. A soft glare appeared on his face. He looked over at Sprite again. "There are a few doctors here that seem to show some care towards the subjects, if it makes you feel better. Dr. Iceberg is a sweetheart." Dr. Falsone laughed a bit, it was short, and awkward, he normally didn't speak with subjects. "Once again, I usually do office shit, so I'm not really into the whole experiment part of the job, but if you have a name, I can call you it as long as the other staff don't overhear." He winked. "I do that, and I think Dr. Iceberg does too."

He grabbed the rag, wrung it out and looked up at Sprite. "Could y'.. uh.. scoot over a bit, got to clean the window again." Dr. Falsone softly murmured.

Something about her words seemed to have grabbed the Doc by his throat. Good. Every millimeter of regret, guilt, doubt and unease- she wanted him to feel like, just like she had to feel what it was like to be rebirthed in hell, and dragged through it by her bleeding fingernails. Alas, he didn't answer, not really. "Yeah, gotcha reasons, huh?" Sprite growled, not pleased with the cowardice. Or perhaps she was angry with herself, moreso, for not being able to squeeze the true answer out of him. Hmph. Clearly her time in the WCBL hadn't made her as strong as she needed to be. "Eyy, tha's what I mean! Name's Sprite, an' b'fore the others give you 'em details.. I'm more than that other half'a me. My word." That was another issue that she had to work through. The status quo. Sprite'd always thought she was special, that she meant something in the eyes of Nice Man Blake- that she was, in fact, a shining cog in the machine. But now.. everything'd been turned on its head. "Suppose that makes y'an asshole by proxy, or somethin'. Y'got any idea where I can find t'other subjects? I wanna know what I'm up against." Ignoring his request to move out of the way all the while. One thing that had been told to her, was that she wouldn't be sharing this Laboratory with other Therion. On the one hand, that was a relief, 'cause that meant that fighting to the death wouldn't be thing anymore - they didn't do that in the WCBL, but since she'd heard that Daslabor allowed interaction with other subjects, it was what she'd assumed would happen.

🗃️ Dr. Falsone:
"Sprite, what a interesting name." Dr. Falsone smiled, despite a slight frustration he couldn't finish cleaning the window, as Spirte still hadn't moved.

"An asshole by proxy- That's not really fair." He crossed his arms, but didn't seem offended by it, too much. "The other subjects are most likely in their room. I do think there might be a few young subjects in the playroom if the staff will allow you. I'm not sure they will, but you can give it a shot whenever the staff arrives back here." Dr. Falsone put the rag in the bucket again, accepting defeat on cleaning the window fully. "And.. up against? I hope you don't plan on fighting them, not sure the subjects will like that. Except that, uh.. Blood..fang, wolf one.. He's pretty aggressive." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Yeah, suppose so," Sprite shrugged at Dr Falsone's commentary on her name. "Guess m'parents wanted t'try an' show t'other workers that 'em factories hadn't killed their creativity entirely." Her parents.. Somehow, the fact that she hadn't spoken to them in ages didn't bother her nearly as much as the fact that she didn't feel the need to do so did. Sometimes it really did seem that a part of her died when Nice Man Blake'd declared her dead to her family. "Y'got any blood around here? Family, I mean." Smalltalk wasn't her thing, but getting to know the answer to her question would provide her with two interesting opportunities: either she could make sure to get chummy with another Falsone to make it easier to get intel and find her way outta here, or she could use said 'other Falsone' to pressure Dr Falsone into letting her out. He wasn't a higher-up, that was for sure, but if she could break one cog in the machine, the rest would come crashing down eventually. Sprite chewed the inside of her lip. Fuck, she never thought of things like this.. Clearly being caged like a beast had turned her into one. What if Blake was right all along? What if this wasn't desperation, but that inborn 'desire to conquer' that Professor Hartmann had mentioned to her so long ago? Shit.. where even was she? They had to talk, they hadn't had the chance to- "We.. don't gotta fight?" She was snapped from her impending flash of anxiety by Dr Falsone's voice. Apparently few of the other subjects were battleworthy, aside from the 'Blood Fang' figure he mentioned. Weird. "Oh, I.. that's.. prolly for 'em better, yeah. Wasn' planning on kickin' any ass, rest assured. Jus', uhh, yeah, jus' got no idea what Proffy an' me got ourselves into." Satisfied with his cooperation thus far, she finally got up from her slouch against the window, arms still crossed over her chest like she was feeling cold. "Suppose I'm just, uhh, hang out with some of 'em, then. Sometime."