- (tinieblas) wrote in rooms, @ 2015-02-15 22:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | !ocean's eleven, *log, cristián martin-argüelles, neil donovan, sam alexander |
Ocean's Eleven - Seven Hills: Neil, Cris & Sam
[Seven Hills was, effectively, on lockdown.
All the patients were in their rooms, and most of them were heavily sedated. The Valentine's box had, unfortunately, been delivered during mandatory social time, and an entire sun-room filled with women had seen the bloody horror. Others had heard about it, whispers spreading like wildfire along the soothing green walls and leaving screams in its wake, and now everything was eerily quiet. Too quiet, and the remaining staff was nervously wringing their hands.
All unnecessary personnel had been sent home, and security watched the doors, ready to open them for Neil Donovan and his checkbook. The director had the box on his desk, his office adjacent to the lobby and the main doors, and the man muttered to himself; he was the type of agitated that only a very nice payout could soothe.
Sam was in the same office, sedated to the point of just staring at the macabre white box from a seat across the space. Eyes fixed, and she tried not to blink. She was white on white, straps to keep her from flailing, and she didn't fight the cross-cross of straightjacket sleeves. One of the guards had a black eye from a well-landed fist, and the orderly at Sam's shoulder had a bandage covering a bite-mark on his forearm. But the girl was calm now, quiet and considering the red ribbon from across the space with pinpoint pupils fixed.]