2019-12-22 - Visiting hours are now over.

Alexander is dressed for the weather in mismatched gear: a knit cap in pink, with yellow and white Easter eggs, a scarf in deep purple, a green army jacket over an ugly sweater with an embroidered ship, thermal pants, and boots. He arrived with Isabella, of course, and slouches his way down towards the morgue with the air someone who has been here before. Despite that, though, he can't keep the anxiety out of his posture - all hunched shoulders and darting eyes, as if expecting an ambush at any moment. If someone sneaks up behind him and says 'boo', he might have to be pried off the ceiling tiles.

Getting to the hospital in the snow isn't all that hard for someone born and raised in the northeast. It's just a little snow! Easton arrives in plenty of time with his motorcycle jacket over his clothes. It conveniently hides the dual shoulder holsters that he's wearing. He waits for everyone outside the elevator but doesn't have a rousing speech to give. He just nods as people show up.

The morgue! That's great. Actually, it's bad. Really bad. Really bad, because the morgue is in the hospital. Fortunately he has a Xanax prescription, and extra-fortunately he got a refill not long ago. It helps; he's able to walk into the hospital and make his way to the morgue without having to stop and give himself a pep-talk. He's in a black, down-filled snow jacket, knit cap, heavy hiking boots, jeans, and a black cable knit sweater. There's no missing the way he glances around them furtively as he waits for everyone else to arrive.

She's still dressed in the gear she had worn in her earlier adventure with Alexander, Byron and Lilith in the woods over the afternoon. But now, evening has fallen, and the night is dark and full of terrors.

Isabella's in black thermal leggings tucked within sturdy snowboots, a runner's jacket made for the winter, zipped up as far as it would go. There's a scarf around her neck, and a knit cap over her head, pulled over the loose knot her hair has been fashioned in, leaving wisps to frame her face. She's desperately hydrating her mouth, her chapstick out and dragging it over the curve of her lower lip, because the cold outside is dry and it's starting to crack. But she's there in the morgue and the sign is familiar enough to have her flash a tight smile towards the rest of the group, but otherwise remain by Alexander's shadow. Her teeth absently clip into her chapstick tube.

Easton doesn't give much warning to the group just a look over his shoulder and a nod and then he's opening the door and heading in. They'll probably follow.

Captain crankypants arrives, of course, in his truck; the Charger's entirely unsuited to this weather, even with snow tires on. He tugs something out of the glove compartment, swings out, and slants a dubious look toward the door of the morgue with that sticky note stuck to it. Really? Are they doing this shit again? "The fuck is with that note?" he feels the need to ask Alexander as he approaches. Baseball cap, of course. Leather jacket over top of a black knit sweater, dark jeans and boots.

Alexander follows. It takes him a deep, ragged sort of breath, but he reaches out to touch Isabella's shoulder, and gives Ruiz a brief, shaky sort of smile. "It's how we get appointments from them. I don't even question it, anymore. Love to see their little black book, though." The question and gruff way it's asked actually seem to shake him out of his anxiety for a moment, and it makes it easier to take those steps through the door after Easton.

August nods at everyone else as they arrive. "Just don't touch it," he says, eyeing the Post-It warily as they go through the door. Does he lean away from it a little? Maybe.

Their...guide...gives him pause. He stares at the drawer. "Really?"

"All I know is that you need to wait at least three thousand years before you get to sit with the Collector face-to-face," Isabella murmurs, tucking her chapstick back into her pocket. The touch on her shoulder earns Alexander a smile and the briefest press of her mouth against his cheek. She moves forward after that - normally she would be the first through the doors, but this is the Marshall Party so Easton goes first.

The naked man shuffling out nearly has her drawing back, nearly screaming - but manages to hold it, staring after him until he vanishes into the drawer, the gesture clear - they mean to follow him in there. "...oh, god damn it," she mutters. "I should have stretched for this." ...she does anyway, lifting her arm and bending her elbow, her other hand pulling it over her head to stretch out her tricep. She repeats the gesture on her other side, because if they're crawling into corpse drawers to get into the Asylum, she's going to try and limber up, before moving forward and doing just that.

Easton has a gun drawn and pointed at the naked corpse of a man without a word or even a sound. He doesn't shoot yet though but waits with silent intensity. When it speaks to them and beckons them to follow he groans, "Well good, might as well start off fucked up. Wouldn't want to set the wrong expectation." The former marine glances back and says "No worries if anyone decides to back out here. That's probably the smart play." But he tucks his fun back in and climbs right in after the dead guy, because smart isn't exactly his forte.

With Easton taking point, Ruiz slots in behind the last person, shifting naturally to bringing up the rear. Not a military operation? Guess he missed the memo. His fingertips brush the grip of his holstered gun, but don't draw it as the old guy in the drawer makes an appearance. The look on his face though is pure what the actual fuck. Right up until they're tugged inside, and the freefall ends with him in a heap on a shitty waiting room floor. Next to a dead body. "Fuck."

Alexander lets out a wavering sound of disgust and surprise as the naked man climbs out of the morgue locker. His hand slides under his jacket at the small of his back, but whatever he's got under there, he doesn't quite reveal it when the corpse turns around and beckons them onward. "Fuck. They were not kidding when they said 'brace yourselves'," he mutters. A shudder visibly works its way down his spine, and then he just...goes forward, folding himself into the drawer behind Easton. There's another - let's call it 'a scream' because that's what it is, as he goes through free fall, then lands with a painful THUMP on the ground. Touching people in that heap. There's another scream from the investigator, and he flails and kicks and punches instinctively until he can get up and away, and stand, shaking, eyes wide and panting like a horse that's about to bolt from terror.

That Xanax scrip is earning its keep, that's for sure. Well, and...this isn't the first body, or body part, August has come across. Not even the first decomposed one, come to it. Still, he's on his feet with a little flailing in a manner of seconds, backing away from the no-longer-mobile corpse and licking his lips. And hey, Alexander is freaking out too, which gives August something else which is not the gross body to focus on! "Hey," he says, moving towards him, one hand up in placation. "Alexander. Look at me. Not that. Look right here." His own voice is a little shaky, which undermines his attempt to calm Alexander somewhat.

There's a freefall and the sudden pitch into nothing has the archaeologist letting loose a yelp, darkness giving way to light as she suddenly piles on with the rest of them on top of the corpse. Decomposition is what it is - gasses accumulate in the body as it decays, so all that pressure landing on what is basically a liquefied flesh pillow underneath them? The stench is absolutely unbearable. Clearly nauseated, Isabella staggers away, trying her best not to think about just where her face landed. She presses her hand against the wall and leans - intimidating lady, or no intimidating lady, she looks like she's about to lose the contents of her stomach. Luckily, that doesn't happen. It's only when she's sure she's not going to vomit all over everyone that she slinks towards where August is, though she doesn't try and touch Alexander. She is keeping close to him, though - not mostly because she's apprehensive about her safety. She's more concerned about his. People keep saying he should stay in here, and now that she's here, her hackles are up.

The dark and cramped little box gives way into falling and falling gives way into crash landing. The pile of bodies begins to sort itself out and Easton feels the cold unmistakably doughy feeling of a corpse and grimaces. Oh good. He says tersely, "Alexander." Just a warning. And this is likely the voice he used in the military, a booming commanding tone with none of the humor and rambunctiousness. Thankfully August is much better at being actually useful in calming him down, or at least puts forth a better effort. Easton himself is awkward in getting up on his feet and finally approaches the desk. "I'm Easton. You must be Ben?" Yes, he's asking if this is 'Ben Searching' despite the obvious cutesy alias. Making his way through the door, only turning back to Ruiz silently asking him with only his eyes to do what he's already doing in watching their flank.

Does Easton even need to ask? Ruiz meets his gaze briefly as he climbs to his feet, adjusts his cap, and does a quick check of his gun's clip while his fellow ex-Marine goes to check in at the front desk. That fucking inspirational poster catches his eye, and he makes a noise in his throat that's 10% distaste and 90%.. no, actually, it's entirely distaste. He draws his gun, and waits for Easton to lead on.

Alexander's eyes focus in on August and his upraised hand with difficult. But they do focus. His rapid breathing slows, bit by bit, and when Isabella approaches, he says, "I'm okay. It's okay. Sorry. Sorry about that. Just didn't--expect it." Easton's terse warning doesn't offend him. He just gives a quick, abashed nod, and then visibly tries to Pull It Together. The 'offer' from the Nurse helps, if only because it's a terrifying one and it has the same clearing quality as a slap to the face. "I'm okay," he snaps back at the Nurse, then falls in with the rest of the group, lips pressed together. He sort of looks like a naughty schoolboy who just got caught.

August relaxes some as Alexander collects himself. He flicks an annoyed look at the Nurse for the Hysteria Unit comment, but moves after the group promptly.

Lips peel back to bare a hint of her teeth at the threat to take Alexander to whatever the hysteria unit is, tension rolling over her shoulders. Isabella's hand starts to slip towards the small of her back, the heavy weight of the glock at the waistband. His reassurances gets a nod, but otherwise she doesn't budge until everyone else moves. And when they do, she follows. Green-gold eyes fall on the inspirational poster, wondering where the Hang In There Kitty is.

"Okay." Easton answers at her being 'The Nurse', like The Receptionist and The Vivisectionist. He doesn't find it any more comforting. He follows after her down the hall trying to count the doors. Why? Because his mind is trying to bring order to the feeling of chaos around him, enforce some sort of system on it.

Turning the corner Easton catches sight of his uncle, or what remains of him. He isn't surprised of course, "Uncle Monty! It's your favorite nephew." He is not grossed out by the tearing flesh and disconnected hands at this point. "We're apparently on a tour. Should we be worried?"

Oh, hey, look. It's that rotting corpse he riddled with bullets the last time they were here. Ruiz looks a little irritated to see Monty up and about again, but keeps his gun pointed at the ground and lets Easton do the talking. It's probably for the best.

Alexander blinks when Easton identifies the corpse shuffling down the hall. "Dr. Marshall." He studies the rotting doctor with interest; sure, a pile of people reduces him to the screaming meemies, but a rotting zombie? That's just interesting. "Nice to meet you. In the flesh, so to speak." A quick, fleeting smile that doesn't meet his wary eyes.

As they walk August notes the various passages they take, frowns after the first half-dozen or so. He licks his lips, drifts closer to Ruiz and murmurs something to him under his breath. He's only just said it when the corpse which attacked them during the exorcism comes out of a door. He swallows, shifts to maybe block Ruiz from its line of sight.

Oh, god.

She's not a military man like more than half the crew that had come along, and she's certainly not a murder enthusiast like Alexander, who has spent half his life looking at crime scene photographs. Isabella's eyes fall on Monty, and really, the bodies she handles? Are usually more dried out than this, perhaps mummified and encased in coffins and occasionally jars, if one went to Papua New Guinea. Plus the smell from the earlier corpse is still on her nose, clinging within. Her suntanned complexion shifts from healthy to gray. "Doctor Marshall," she croaks in greeting.

"Well that's super reassuring, crazy Steve says we should stay!" Easton grouses and then with all the faux-chipper he can manage, "Great seeing you again Monty. Thanks for all the help." He barely bothers dropping his volume to mutter, "You useless sack of dicks." It should be noted that Easton is only his favorite nephew because he's Monty's only nephew. He sighs and heads in through the door, reaching into his jacket to hold the handle of one of his pistols just in case it's as bad as he expects.

Alexander mutters, to himself, as they continue to move on and he heads after Easton, "Is it actually Marshall whose body and soul have been transmogrified by exposure to the Veil, or is it simply a construct pulled together from people's experiences of him, which looks, talks, and thinks sort of like him, but isn't truly him?" A pause. "And does that really matter?"

August watches the interplay between Monty, or, Monty's body? and Easton, wincing. He stares at Steve, blinks a handful of times. What a trip this is turning into.

His tension level drops when the Nurse gestures them into the room, because that should get them away from, uh, Monty? and Steve. Of course, the Nurse did just call the Psychiatrist 'it', so maybe that really isn't Monty.

And what, exactly, is awaiting them on the other side of this door? He follows everyone in, wary when he sees the key.

She does, also. Isabella doesn't move until the rest do, her body tense - she does recognize Steve, now that he's been asked to talk to the rest. But with the Psychiatrist busy and the nurse moving on, she complies. Brisk steps take her towards the door with the group.

Ruiz does a quick check over his shoulder, then slots in once again at the rear of the group. Weapon drawn, movement prowlish.

Alexander jerks in place, missing one of his steps and lifting a hand to steady himself on the wall for a moment. "It's not?" he says to...no one, apparently. "Interesting. That could be very interesting, in what it may say about the construct of what we call a 'soul' or, for that matter, a 'person'." He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small notebook, and a pen. He scribbles a note. It helps him relax, and makes it easier to follow the Nurse.

Language Oh no mother fuckers not this time! Easton dodges the blow and glares at the Nurse.

Turning back to Alexander as he muses on the soul and the possibility of rotting corpse Monty being some sort of construct Easton shakes his head, "No, pretty sure that's actually him. Somehow."

At the new change in scenery Easton blinks as his eyes adjust. He looks around at the surprisingly pleasant, surprisingly normal space with a doctor or presumed doctor that isn't a rotting pile of human garbage (in his eyes). He says, "Thank you, Doctor...?" He lets that hang hoping for an introduction. Well hoping for a lot more information but he'll settle for a name.

August flinches when the Nurse tries to swat Easton. Okay then, keep it clean. Right. He watches over his shoulder as the door slams shut with a bang, takes to examining their surroundings. As the young woman approaches Ruiz, he starts to say something, stops. Maybe they shouldn't talk to anyone here. "Don't, ah...don't use it," he says, voice low. He gives Ruiz a Significant Look, trying to telegraph what he means without saying it outright. The Xanax can only help so much.

Ruiz tenses as someone touches him. The pretty girl with the rat's nest hair finds herself with the muzzle of a mean-looking sig sauer shoved about four inches from her face. He frowns slightly when she starts talking. Reciting the words to a playground song, except muddled up and transposed. Isabella's shot a confused look. Then Roen, a blanker one. He keeps his weapon up, backs off from the girl slowly.

Alexander puts his hand up in front of his eyes, briefly, when they step through into the brightly lit room, and jumps as the door slams shut behind them. His voice wavers, but he focuses on potentially new things. It's steadying. "But what does that even mean, Easton - 'actually him'. What is 'him'? Can a construct be him if it's complete enough to be indistinguishable from the original? It's not mutually exclusive, according to the helpful voice in my head," Alexander rambles, with a flicker of excitement. "It's a very interesting question." He sort of seems to fit in among the people doing the various crazy things, although as the woman wanders closer to Ruiz and Isabella, the interest snuffs out of his face, replaced with wary defensiveness.

There's a curious glance at the Doctor, taking in his age and the clipboard in his hand. Isabella lets Easton field that until the woman comes up to them and tugs on Ruiz's sleeve. A glance to the rest, and then she smiles back. It takes her a bit, and her mind is working slowly through the words and her own recitation is halting when she offers: "Down fall all we, tissue a, tissue a. Water of pail a fetch to...daughter his sent has king...the...?"

"Do you mind a couple of questions while you show us around?" August asks, once again trying to memorize their route.

Easton glances back at Alexander as he suddenly decides to pontificate on the meaning of life and what it is to be someone with a stern frown. "Later. Alexander." He turns his focus back to the doctor and the story of Claire. He really wishes he could get a last name to try and verify that story but maybe someone better than him can do it based only on the name and an estimated age? He follows after the doctor, releasing the grip on his gun for now. He also tries to shake a terrible feeling in his gut from the phrase go play with the dolls They're probably just dolls, not anything horrific or terrible. Right? Sure.

Alexander wilts at the stern frown, his head ducking apologetically. "Sorry," he says, only just audible. Although that's less because he's whispering, and more because Hell just decided to break loose. His head jerks up as the old woman starts shrieking about Alice. He moves in that direction, instinctively, only to duck when things start flying. "Fuck!" He's probably going to get slapped, but that might be as much because he's trying to pick out one of 'Alice's books' in the psychokinetic storm, and grab it and stow it in his pocket while everything is all exploding. Even so, when that heartache hits, he begins to cry, freely and silently.

Claire magnetizes those curious eyes like iron filings to a lodestone, the archaeologist watching as the patient is led away, attempting to catch the quiet words murmured in her ear. With the others finally speaking, and with Alexander directly addressed, concern flits over her expression at him. "What helpful voice in your head?" she asks quietly, warily, but there's plenty to catch her attention when the rhyming woman sings about the falling London Bridge. Isabella watches her curiously as she sits...and chaos suddenly erupts.

There's a book that lands on the floor near the group. "Alexander-- " He's moving towards the chaos, and she attempts to snatch the book off the floor that had fallen when it was thrown, and hide it in her jacket, just in case the investigator can't manage to grab one. She's there to try and help, after all.

Ruiz just backs the hell up when objects and tempers start flying. He is not getting caught in the middle of this one. The emotion-storm he has a harder time dodging, however; before he can clamp down on his mental defenses, some of it manages to sliver through, and his breath hitches with the effort not to succumb to it. Finger on the trigger of his gun, then it withdraws slowly, rests along the barrel as he tries to compose himself.

Alexander flails around a bit, but the books are determined to avoid his attempts. They are malicious, naughty books, and he gives up with a sigh, sniffling and wiping away the tears before he slinks back to the group, and falls back in to follow.

Easton watches as hell breaks loose in the rec room. He takes stock of the objects flying and who seems to be doing what. He looks to the doctor and silently gauges his reaction, wondering how he will handle all this when the heartbreak hits. He sucks in his breath and goes very still for a moment as it washes over him. Boy, that feels familiar. He sets his teeth and tries to focus on what the doctor is telling them. He slowly moves towards the exits, watching as the orderlies pour into the room. He wonders if this little performance was for their benefit, did they hand pick these three? He glances over at the doctor, again trying to get a read on him. But at least he complies eventually and exits.

A book just about clocks August in the head; he grabs it in the process of trying to swat it away, almost tears out a page in the process. Realizing what he's holding (a book, from The Asylum), he promptly shoves it into one of his coat pockets. Well, at least it's some sort of paperback so it fits easily enough. His heart twinges in his chest, a gut wrenching feeling he hasn't felt in years; thank God for Xanax. Thank God for Eleanor. He moves towards the door, teeth set against that emotion.

The book is in her pocket - she'll take a look at it later, but Isabella is trying to be helpful. As the alarms are called and everything else remains flying, she digs in her heels, as stubborn as a mule, as the Doctor attempts to strong arm her into the broom closet, gritting her teeth. "Wait," she breathes, clutching at the man's lab coat. "You haven't even...Alexander's friend is-- " In an act of pure desperation, refusing to leave without retrieving everything she can, she does it.

She opens it up, all of it.

The impressions of the room slam into her brain with the force of a mack truck and it sends her senses in a tizzy. Her knees tilt and that's when the Doctor easily hauls her off to the broom closet. The objects in the room whirl in her mind, flooding the spaces of the labyrinthine library within it. Fast, and then slow. Tick, tick tick...

...tock...

That single hand echoes into the chambers of her brain and she looks upwards suddenly, pupils dilated and finding it across the room. She opens her mouth to speak.

...and then she's shoved into the broom closet and the headache starts in full.

Alexander is shoved into the broom closet. He immediately presses himself into the corner, trying to give everyone else room to...exist without touching him. He also sniffles and scrubs at his face and eyes to try and clear the tears away. "This place is hard," he says, quietly.

Ruiz tries to snag something that goes sailing past him, and just about misses before managing to hook his finger in the cover. It's tugged into the crook of his arm, though he doesn't have a chance to see what it is.. because they're being shoved into a broom closet. How fucking rude. "Get your elbow out of my face," to whoever has their elbow in his face.

"Sorry," August says, not sure if it's him, but he's definitely shoved against someone in his attempts to not crowd Alexander. "Grow taller."

And now in the safety and tight confined space of the closet Easton is at least a little more sympathetic. "Clayton, you doing okay?" He grins and cracks at Ruiz, "That's not my elbow" Something about the tour ending obviously releasing him from the pressure of needing to be entirely focused on the mission. So focused that he might have missed the point of said mission.