Private Finished For goodness sakes, Where is my self control?

Lochlann could see that infernal hell hole approaching. He was leaned over the side of the ship there were sailing on, his upper body hunched over the plastic-coated rails not just to get a view of the approaching hell, not to feel the sea spray on his face....but so Lochlann could try and get a few more mouthfuls of whiskey down his throat before he retched again.

He was fine with people thinking he was sea sick, even if those that knew what he was and that this was his...third? fourth? time coming to the island might make jokes about a water horse being sea sick.

But he wasn't sea sick. He was experiencing a mixture of resolve and determination mixed with terror.

"Are we almost ready to board?" Lochlann turned to ask Charlie. His face was pale, his dark hair mussed by the ocean...but this close to the water, Lochlann looked more himself than he had in quite a while.

@World Devourer

Twenty four hours.

The time was both a promise and a threat. Lochlann could, presumably, make it in twenty four hours. He'd been here enough times before. He knew the ins and outs of the behavioral correctional facility. He had a hunch of where he was going to go.

If it was only twenty-four hours, Lochlann could do it. He could survive it. He wasn't sure, though, that he could survive himself much longer. he took another long, long drink of the whisky until the flask was emptied and tucked it into his pocket.

He had to trust Charlie.

Lochlann was not so good at trusting anyone, let alone someone who fit the profile for all the roles Lochlann normally balked from: a component, powerful older male professor with years of life experience.

Lochlann nodded as Charlie released the flies and then felt quesyness set into his stomach that he wasn't sure was related to the alcohol, the boat, or his task.

"Well, I'll...probably be wearing a nullification band," Lochlann said. He scratched behind his neck with one hand, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "And they tend to keep me away from windows since I'm uhh....a flight risk."

He hesitated.

If this plan would work, then he'd have to trust Charlie, so Lochlann divulged one of his little secrets.

"If they're undead and don't need to breath, they can get in through the pipe over there.." Lochlann motioned to the east side of the island.

"It comes into the kitchens and the wards on it are broken, so it's a good way for something small to sneak in," Lochlann said. Although flies in the kitchen might not be so well-received, but Lochlann figured he could handle this.

"Thank you, professor," Lochlann said.

He meant every word. Truly meant it.
In the way that, as a fae, Lochlann shouldn't express thanks like this. But he did.

When the orderlies came aboard and started to walk towards them, Lochlann stumbled and grabbed onto Charlie's sleeve. His hands shook.

"Come with me," he breathed, his voice desperate and quiet. It was hard for Lochlann to determine if he'd actually spoken or not.

It was not a request that Lochlann anticipated making.

The problem that Lochlann had with nullification bands was one he couldn't quite put in words. If part of this plan didn't depend on having Charlie look like he was bringing Lochlann in for being in trouble, Lochlann would have asked the professor about it.

The band kept Lochlann human. The problem was that Lochlann wasn't human. He wasn't a horse, either, but rather both and neither at the same time. He existed in that liminal space that defined the fae.

But he couldn't be both and he couldn't be neither, and since he was sentient and human-shaped at times, that's how it kept Lochlann. The very sense of wrongness that permeated it coursed through his body and left him feeling itchy and on edge. Lochlann was grateful he'd managed to scarf down the rest of the whiskey on the ship. Hopefully it would mix well with the two bottles of tramadol he took before getting on board. He needed his body to hold out for this.

He didn't struggle when the put it on him--this time--but he did bare his teeth and clack them once in a way that seemed to indicate that Lochlann had considered biting onto the nearest orderly and dragging him over the edge of the ship.

Lochlann cast a glance at the orderlies on either side of them and then shot one back at the professor. Lochlann's face was blank. He let no signs of his gratitude slip through, but he hoped Charlie would understand what the look meant.

When they approached those iron doors, Lochlann went rigid.

The orderlies knew what that gesture meant. At this point, so did Charlie.

Lochlann was ready to bolt. It was an instinctive thing, an animal thing, and when the doors flung open Lochlann turned and--crashed into Charlie.

"Hello again, Mr. Cabyll-Ushtey," said the unamused voice of Dr. Aiden Hart. To the professor, Aiden stuck out a hand and said, "And hello, Professor Rotmoore, I understand you're here to visit us today?"

Aiden was not part of Lochlann's plan.

Focus focus focus, Lochlann tried to tell himself. He tried to find some kind of inner strength to draw on, some tidbit of advice from his drunken conversations with the professor. Lochlann jerked when one of the orderlies grabbed his arm and for another second, Lochlann looked like he might fight.

Instead, he pictured the photograph of Guinevere in his mind. Focus on your mission, he told himself, and it might have steadied him if he was't so already unsteady. Lochlann swayed as he was escorted in and he knew what would come next: taking anything sharp off of him, his belt, his shoe laces, anything that even looked magical. Now was not the time to make his break for it. That would come soon.

Aiden flicked an impassive glance over Lochlann as he was escorted past himself and the professor. Aiden gave the man's hand a firm shake, released it, and nodded as the professor reconfirmed his visit.

It wasn't entirely unusual. Aiden himself had made a visit here, right when he first came, out of curiosity. And with the shortage of doctors, Aiden found himself bouncing between his three practices here on the island.

"Shall I show you around then?" Dr. Hart asked him. They had a series of double doors to go through with the security, but for the most part, the initial interior had the clean, lemon and antiseptic smell of most hospitals.

"Is there any particular area you're interested in seeing first?" Aiden asked. He decided to explain a little bit as they entered. "While there is a judicial system on the island of sorts, the theme set forth by Cordelia Moore has always favored rehabilitation over confinement. The island works with what they've got and does what they can, though there are always some successes and some that are...less successful."

As for picking up Mr. Cabyll-Ushtey....Aiden shook his head and made a face that seemed to say better you than me or perhaps yikes for the briefest of seconds. "Are you certain that a twenty-four hour hold is all you'd recommend? Mr. Cabyll-Ushtey has...a bit of a history."

Aiden also asked, after a moment, "Could I offer you a coffee, Professor?"

"Residential is the easiest to show, though it does vary floor by floor," Aiden explained. He nodded at the Professor's refusal of coffee in favor of the tea he drank earlier. Aiden made small talk as they moved through the first floor.

The halls were long, sterile, and white.

"I used to be a tea person myself, and I'll admit, it's possible to get some very good tea on this island," Aiden said, his voice wistful. "But I'm a coffee person and there are so very few places that know how to make a good cup here."

Aiden explained further as they walked, "The residential floors are based on the needs and severity of our inpatients. The lower floors are more relaxed, for those that have progressed in their treatment and are nearing release. Each floor is heavily warded both inside and out for the safety of our students and staff. Safety is our top concern here."

Aiden took a key from his belt and opened one of the doors. It was a simple, plain room with a window facing out over the grass lawn of the island. The high stone walls that surrounded it was visible, but it let in ample sunlight. It was plain, with a simple bed, dresser, and nightstand being the only piece of furniture. The opposite side of the room was much the same, a mirror image.

"For students such as Mr. Cabyll-Ushtey, who are repeat visitors here, we have rooms upstairs that are kept in the interior of the building and are unfortunately windowless. Natural, imitation sunlight is provided by magic unless the student is nocturnal in which case we adapt to his or her needs," Aiden explained.

"The Behavioral Corrections Facility has a bit of a ...reputation, I'm aware," Aiden said. "But the classrooms are on the second floor up through here, and there is an infirmary on the eastern wing capable of handling most situations, though more serious emergencies are shipped back over to the main island. The reputation is only partially deserved."

Only partially.






Lochlann went through triage. Whatever pull Charlie Rotmoore had was great, because they seemed to agree to a twenty four hour hold. Trashing the professor's office wasn't great, but it's not like he'd trashed the professor himself.

But Lochlann was wasted and he tested hot for all of his usual substances, so a night to monitor him was agreed upon. He was assigned a room on the third floor (better than the usual floor he was sent to!) and Lochlann followed the orderlies through the hallways. His eyes scanned the walls as he went, trying to make that mental map in his head a little more complete.

Lochlann stumbled and fell forward, catching one of the guards by the hips.

'Sorry,' he slurred.

Orderlies, not guards, he reminded himself. The man took a step forward while the other one backed up, eyeing him carefully, and then they helped Lochlann to his feet.

Lochlann, meanwhile, had slipped the man's keys into his pocket.

He knew better. These keys wouldn't work in the hands of a student.

But he also knew that these keys had fingerprints on them.

When they edge passed the kitchen, Lochlann stumbled again, knocking into the door to let it open, trying to see through his blurred vision if there were any little flies shooting out.