You don't have any idea what I'm capable of

"Don't let the misfortune one person causes you to destroy your hope and belief in the good of the human race. Not everyone you love will let you down so terribly. Sometimes it just takes a while for us to find someone who proves that correct."

     “I’m not certain provided is the correct word,” Lana admitted, wincing at the scarcity of cigarettes available in the asylum. They were ‘provided’ in the same fashion food and board was provided- limited and lacking in comfort. The acute journalist had also formulated a plausible theory that they were laced with some menacing ingredient; considering it wasn’t in the asylum’s nature to simply be kind.

"Yes, it's given me some closure." He took the photo back from her and flipped it over. On the back there was scribbled writing. He read it out loud. "Sie sind mein Sonnenschein - Hans Gruber." He pronounced every word in a perfect German accent. Lana looked surprised. "I taught myself German when I was in high school and university during my spare time."

Lana shook her head solemnly at his offer, squeezing his palm before relinquishing her touch. “No, no. I’ll be well soon, I’m certain. I’m not exactly an advocate for medication thanks to my luxury stay at Briarcliff,” she chuckled, wishing to lighten the mood.

Oliver frowned and began opening the envelope. "Do you know what this is?" he said, ignoring Lana's request. He pulled out a picture of a woman. It was quite clearly old. She was gorgeous and full of life. She was laughing.

Moisture drained from Lana’s tongue as she processed the new spectrum of information being delivered to her at a rapid pace. Of all the scenarios her mind had formulated, this certainly hadn’t entered into the realm of possibilities. She struggled to find the appropriate response, a phenomenon becoming disturbingly common for the once witty journalist. Instead, she settled on reaching her palm towards his clenched fist. If he truly wasn’t coercing with Arden, then he had regained trust with her. However, she violently reminded herself that the situation required much more caution than she’d originally harbored.

Oliver furrowed his brow in confusion and shook his head subtly. "I apologize for upsetting you, Miss Winters. I promise you I had no secret motives with the journal. Do with it as you please I was only trying to help."

The apprehension plaguing the atmosphere perked Lana’s suspicions, her dark eyes quirking upwards as she examined the interaction transpiring before her. By her estimations, Dr. Arden was perhaps a more malicious character than Sister Jude. She vividly recalled the ominous glare his face had contorted into while delivering electric shock therapy to her quivering, defenseless form. The title of doctor was synonymous with barbarian when speaking of the treacherous physician.

Flight. The only response Lana could muster was that primal instinct as her name was spoken. Wendy. A thousand years could proceed to venture forwards; however, that single moniker would still cause tears to prick at the journalist’s swollen eyelids. Dejectedly, she relinquished her grasp on the journal and settled into her seat, crossing her slender legs. Hesitation illustrated her stance before a proper retort formulated in her normally clever mind.

Oliver took a headache pill out of his pocket and placed it in his mouth, sliding it discreetly in his cheek with his tongue. He opened his mouth to show there was apparently nothing there then slid it back onto his tongue to show it indeed had not been swallowed. Thredson took it out of his mouth and threw it in the trash.

Despite the appreciation Lana harbored for these gifts, her slender arm only reached to procure the chocolate bar, timidly prying the wrapper to shreds with her nails. The delectable taste flirted with her tongue and produced a delightful groan to vocalize from her lips.  She ate delicately, indulging in miniscule portions as she adjusted to the sweet taste. Consuming anything with flavor was a considerable shock to her system, since mundane foods were the only available options in the Hell that had become the primary setting of her life. Her tongue flicked across her lips, collecting the stray remnants of her snack that had accumulated there.

As soon as the whimper escaped Lana's lips he knew the cause. Kit Walker had often fallen victim to the opposite end of Sister Jude's whip so he was familiar with the body language and sound. Sometimes the beatings were so severe Kit would be waddling around the asylum for days and would refuse to sit during sessions.

"It won't be any trouble. Sister Jude can't fire me even if she wanted to; I work for the government, not her."

Oliver gave a chuckle and a charming smile. "I don't think I'll have time for such things in the near future. Work consumes my life." He sighed and added, "Plus I'm not entirely sure I'll ever find someone. I don't get many opportunities to do so. Working in an asylum narrows down your options."

 “Chocolate,” Lana retorted immediately, the response fumbling from her chapped lips before she allowed a practical request to formulate. Crimson colored the contours of her cheeks as she recognized the childishness that she’d allowed to seep from her strong exterior. Instead of relinquishing her comment; however, she simply chuckled and shrugged her slender shoulders backwards. “I suppose you would have discovered sooner or later that I possess a ravenous sweet tooth. If I’m not asking too much of you, I’d truly appreciate a journal to collect my thoughts in. I’m afraid that the longer I remain in this prison, the more my memory deteriorates.”

✧*:･ﾟSend me one! ✧*:･ﾟ