The Universe's Mixer

Jean-Paul resented a lot of things in life, not the least of which was being treated like some sort of sheep to be herded around on the whim of the shepherds. Currently, he also resented being fed worse food than he imagined many domesticated sheep ate, being confined, being drugged, and being told what to do by patronizing supposed-nurses and doctors.

However, since this particular incidence of herding - conducted by a rather weedy doctor and several large orderlies (Jean-Paul was flattered, really, but they needn't have bothered with him in his current state) - was heading in the direction of the front desk and the door, or so he'd been told, he was rather okay with it. It's not like he had a choice at the moment, and he had nothing to lose if they were lying.

Well, unless they were going to kill him, but that seemed unlikely, even in this place that made no sense.

"Wait," one of the orderlies rumbled, consulting a clipboard. "We missed someone."

The doctor shook his head. "He's on the way out. This way, Mr. Beaubier."

They turned a corner or two and passed a few more doors before the doctor stopped. Hesitation fought with a (in Jean-Paul's opinion) skewed sense of duty, which finally won out. He reluctantly opened the door and called out to the patient within the room. "It's time to go."

The numbers were dwindling; in fact, Dr. Simon hadn't seen anyone he somewhat recognized in a little while. It was a little disturbing, yet comforting. Maybe he had helped them, and they were released. Maybe he hadn't helped them, but they were still released. He didn't dwell too long on it because he also started to feel a little anxiety. If other people were getting out, why wasn't he? He was helpful, mild mannered, and even clean. He didn't hurt anyone, and he worked hard to get better. So, why wasn't he getting out of this place?

Dr. Simon was wondering that very thing as he was led down the hallway to a door he hadn't seen before. He glanced down at his feet and smiled; the beagle slippers hadn't shown up since he gave them to Ted. Hopefully that meant he wouldn't have to see them again...unless that was why he wasn't being let out and was now being taken somewhere he had never been. He put his hands in his pockets to hide what he knew had to be sure signs of agitation, fingers rubbing against each other, hands clenching into fits and releasing only to clench again. He took a deep breath as he was showed into a room. The doctor looked up at him then back at the clipboard.

"You're being released. Sign here and here. Someone will be by in a few minutes with your clothes and other personal affects to let you go. Wait here patiently." Dr. Simon stared at the doctor. "Simon..." The doctor paused, waiting to see if Dr. Simon would do anything; he didn't, not even point out the handmade badge, in pastels this time - it was all they had. "Simon, you're going home. You're well. Now sign."

Dr. Simon leaned over to sign the two places the doctor had shown him, then took off the lab coat with the name tag and handed it to the man. He'd have his own on the outside, right? He didn't need those anymore. With that the doctor stepped out and Dr..no, just Simon sat down in the chair to wait for his things.

Sir Guy had searched for quite some time before he actually found a rope. He was actually surprised when he went into a room and found what he had been searching for. He was pleased to know that he would be able to escape and get those girls out of this prison. It had been a long time since things had gone his way. Guy smirked; doubting that Hood could have planned a better escape.

He slipped the rope under his robe and started walking down the hall. He just needed to get back to the girls and hope they had come up with a good distraction. They would be out of here within the hour unless something stopped him. Something like the men that were walking towards him right now. Guy cursed softly and turned to walk in the other direction.

( Mr. Gisborne? )

The road was wide, paved, quiet and lonely. Half a day was about to go by and yet this placed they called "The City" still assumed a lazy atmosphere that reminded her of an early weekend morning. Or maybe it was just this side of "The City", she thought.

But wherever it was, whatever it was called, Atsuko hadn't the foggiest of a clue. One thing was for sure, though: this was no longer Japan if the cab style was any indication.

"If you head straight and turn right at the second corner, you'll find an apartment building."

"Thank you. That's helpful," Atsuko said plainly to her good driver as she pushed the door open and stepped out. He must have caught her thoughts, she figured: she wanted a bath, a change of clothes, a chair to prop her feet up and a quiet place to think about her random circumstance.

Clutching the folder of papers she had been given for her release (at least she was still sane. Suddenly, that was a relief to know), she stepped onto the sidewalk as the cab drove off and turned the corner to her right. After its disappearance, she popped open her purse bag, slung comfortably over her left shoulder and sorted through it. Her vanity kit was there, so were her glasses, her ID tag, her handkerchief, her breath mints and her flattened wallet.

A sigh slipped out of Atsuko's nostrils as she went through her personal belongings for the third time that hour. "They didn't give me back my phone, either." She closed her bag. No money, no phone -- how was she going to start?

Well, at least they left her license and her credit card alone...

A vehicle honked in the distance as she turned around her heels and looked up to the wide window that served as her background, tinted black with the name of a pawnshop pasted against it. As she read the name, she found herself looking into her reflection.

The brunette stared back at her and blinked with her.

Not Paprika, but Atsuko, she thought to herself as she stood straighter, squared her shoulders and lifted her chin a little, her reflection doing the same. This was one strange dream...or reality? Really, it's been hard to tell between these two this late...

The bell rang as she stepped into the ample, dim space behind the window, the walls covered partly by mirrors and glass shelves and barricaded by separate counters of display. The shop owner was an aging man with a happy smile and a pair of thick glasses on his nose and he received the doctor right when she stepped into his humble store. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

Atsuko had already formed her inquiry in her mind and had moaned out the first half-syllable of it but she caught herself before she spilled the rest and conscious of the folder she held, she lowered it away from his gaze and rethought about her question. Where is this place? she wanted to ask -- but who in the right mind in a very well-respected costume would suddenly forget the name of the place she was in? She worried that it might suggest to the curious owner a defect in thinking, so she clammed up.

Instead, she asked him, "Where is the nearest phone shop?" Now that sounds like a "sane" question to her.