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It had been hours since anyone had come to see Amelia, and even longer since she had eaten. Not that she knew how long she had been cooped up in her room without a clock to tell the time, but she estimated it was at least past noon, and her stomach was telling her it was time to eat. It would have been easy to leave her bed and ask whoever was outside for food, but she wasn't in the mood to beg, ask kindly, or demand anything. Instead she was waiting, hoping someone would come through the door soon, so that she could glare at them in silent defiance.
Pulling the blanket over her shoulders, Amelia curled up on her side and closed her eyes. She had yet to forgive herself for her panicked flight from the dream-like state, and so she concentrated instead on handling the danger she could not wake from. Doing so made her feel like she was prioritizing, when deep inside, she knew that she was still running away from the Alucard situation. There was no shortage of ideas on how she might escape her captors, and she already knew some of the requirements that would need to be met in order for her to do so.
She would have to make her escape when not under observation. Overpowering Schrödinger seemed possible, at first, until she realized that she did not fully understand how he managed to appear and disappear so suddenly. Depending on where he disappeared, he could easily alert someone of her escape attempt. This meant that any plan she decided to use relied on her being either in the bathroom or in her room: places that allowed her some privacy but did not guarantee it.
Another requirement—perhaps the most obvious—was that she needed to know her escape route. She knew that she was underground and that she could make her exit through the hangar. To get there, she needed to figure out which routes would be most convenient to use, and if possible, an alternate exit in case she was intercepted. So far, the only door leading outside that she knew of was in the hangar, and that fact was unlikely to be overlooked by her captors.
Next on the list was to be cognizant of her capabilities. How quickly can I move? How quietly? If I have to fight someone, how long can I hold out? The likelihood that she would have to confront at least one person brought her planning to a halt. Should I run instead? How would I fight? A weapon? There were suddenly too many questions and not enough answers.
She began to think about her interactions with Millennium, and somewhere, at some point, the memory of Alucard snuck in. And then she was trapped. Unable to move forward while mentally wrapped up in the past, the sparks of hope and rebellion petered out, leaving her bitter and morose.
I don't know! I don't know! Things are no better when I'm asleep than when I'm awake! She opened her eyes and rolled onto the opposite side, growing restless. The frantic noise in her head was getting too loud.
I don't know. I don't know how to do this! I probably won't have more than one chance to escape… Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, and she sniffed loudly, barely holding them in. She was going to need a tissue. She sat up and rubbed her right eye, slowly turning towards the edge of the bed.
"Oh!" Amelia exclaimed in unhappy surprise, her voice tight. She hadn't expected to see Schrödinger in front of the door. Judging by the change in his expression, he was regretting making an appearance at that moment.
"I didn't mean to come when you were…" His voice dropped and the remainder of the sentence ended in an incomprehensible murmur.
Sniffing again, Amelia remained seated and wiped at her left eye. A question began to form on her lips, but at the last instant she remembered her intention from earlier; she held her tongue and fixed the teenager with a glare.
"I'll come back later," he spoke hurriedly, obviously planning to leave as soon as possible, but he hesitated. His brow wrinkled a little as he looked at her.
Not now,Amelia warned her stomach. But the silence stretched out, and again her stomach growled, and there was no hiding it.
"Are you hungry?" Schrödinger couldn't keep the grin off his face. He didn't need to ask to know the answer, so Amelia kept quiet.
"I can get food! What are you hungry for?" His eagerness caught Amelia off-guard. No one had asked her what she wanted to eat since her arrival; she ate whatever was offered.
"Food…? Or a drink, maybe? Thirsty?" Catching on to where his questions were leading, Amelia opened her mouth, sputtering angrily for a few seconds. Her frown deepened.
"That is not funny," she finally managed to say. Ripping away the blanket, she pushed herself off the bed and stood erect. At full height she was taller than the young man—not by much, but she would take every centimeter. "I do not drink blood."
Her hands making fists, she strode forward. "No matter what you think, I will never drink it." She stopped in front of him.
"If you're only here to tease me, go away." Even if it was wrong, it felt relieving to have someone whom she could unleash her temper on. After all, she was fairly certain she could come out on top in a fight with him. Schrödinger had tensed at her approach, as if anticipating a punch, but showed no signs of being intimidated by her.
A small sigh left him and his hands came to rest on his hips. "I was just wondering… No need to get upset. When your mood swings are—"
Amelia shoved him in the shoulder, hard. Harder than she meant to, in fact. The cat-boy teetered back two steps before his shoulders hit the wall, narrowly missing the open doorway, and he half-fell, half-slid gracelessly to the floor.
"S—," Amelia moved forward, her anger cooling.
Sorry. But she couldn't get the word past her lips, and after a second's hesitation, she pulled back.
Schrödinger grunted and looked up at her with narrowed eyes, slowly getting back on his feet. "Rude," he snapped, his dark, feline ears flattening against his head. Without further comment, he disappeared.
I didn't mean to do that! You just…! Amelia wrung her hands together and stared at the spot where the teenager had been, almost expecting him to reappear, whining about her treatment. I was angry and you were the one being rude! I wasn't trying to hurt… You stupid...!
She spun around and marched to the bed, her exasperation spiking with each step. Grabbing the pillow with both hands, she brought her arms up and then swung down, smacking the pillow against the mattress without doing any damage.
Several times she repeated the action, hitting the bed as hard as she could until she was panting and in tears. Dropping to her knees beside the bed, she leaned forward and let her upper body press in to the mattress.
I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing! She coughed, choking for a moment on her restrained sobs, and then laid her head down atop the bed. In one swift motion she brought the pillow down over her head, letting the layers of fabric and feathers muffle her crying.
There was a sound like knocking on a door, or the crack of heels on a hard floor. Whatever the source of the noise, Amelia chose to ignore it.
A short while after the silence returned, she felt the pillow slip away from her fingers, and light flooded her vision. Wincing, she moved her arms to encircle her head, tucking her face into the crook of an elbow. Her cheeks felt warm.
Please go away.
A light pressure came down on her shoulder, tapping.
Please. She didn't move.
The tapping stopped, only for a hand to give the same shoulder a shake.
"Go away," she mumbled. Her shoulder was released, but the presence by her side remained.
I'm going to wait this out.
A feather-light touch drifted across the back of her neck, tickling and making goosebumps break out over her skin. Startled by the sensation, Amelia straightened, bringing one hand up to the back of her neck as she slumped sideways, her legs feeling prickly and heavy; they were asleep.
Seeing that he had her attention, the Captain dropped her pillow on the bed and reached into one of his large coat pockets.
Grabbing the side of the bed, Amelia slowly pulled herself from the floor on tingling legs.
"Don't do that," she said weakly, pleading rather than threatening. It was not as bad as being manhandled, but the contact was not welcomed. The red-eyed glance in her direction made no promises. Sighing wearily, she sat herself on the edge of the mattress.
The Captain pulled a rolled-up cloth from his pocket and held it out for her to take.
Amelia stared at the material for a couple of seconds in disinterest before reaching for it. Finding a corner, she dragged the cloth out of his palm, letting it unroll itself.
Oh. The clean t-shirt he tried to give her earlier. Why now? I've been sitting in here for hours. She said nothing, although she felt her lips part as if she had something to say.
After a few seconds, she put down the shirt beside her, and then folded her hands in her lap. You can leave now.
But her visitor wasn't satisfied. He picked up the t-shirt and again, offered it to her.
"Just leave it." Looking no higher than his forearm, Amelia shook her head, and her eyes wandered back down to her lap.
The Captain moved from his spot beside her to situate himself directly in front of her.
Amelia clenched her jaw and tilted her face up, only to flinch and snap it back down as the shirt landed in her lap. Squeezing the white fabric in her fists, she planted her feet on the ground and stood. And nearly fell backwards, because the Captain was standing right in front of her, and he did not step back like she expected. She had fewer qualms about shoving a grown man than a teenager, but based on previous experience, a solid slam would not move the Captain. Now that she was standing she couldn't sit back down without looking stupid.
"Um…" She realized she didn't have a tirade to deliver. Her stomach gurgled, and she spat out the first words that came to her, trying to push through the moment of embarrassment. "Can you… move?" Instead of lifting her head to look him in the eyes, she stared at the buttons on his coat.
One gloved hand pointed at the shirt in her fists.
"Fine," Amelia hissed under her breath. If it means so much… Why didn't you have Schrödinger give it to me earlier? Why do you have to give it to me? Are you trying to manipulate me? Finding the shirt's neckline, she stuck her head through the hole and then went to work violently stretching her arms out the sleeves. If her mood was a fraction worse, she would have punched the Captain in the gut and called it an accident.
The man took a step back towards the door and indicated she should follow him.