Log:What is real?
On the television in the parlor there is a Western playing, some old timey music playing in the background while a poker game is playing out in grainy black and white. The Beast has been sitting there in the same chair with the same cup of tea through two full length movies at this point without moving, like a cat in a windowsill watching the outside world while either dozing, or biding its time. The tea went cold a long time ago, but he hasn't really noticed. He's lost in his own thoughts. He looks younger again, younger than Aaron was, and he's back in the comfortable jeans, white socks, and a plain blue t-shirt that was his ensenble the last time he was in the Facility, for those who had been there before. Others have come and gone, to get food, to go back to their rooms, but he's said nothing at all, at least not yet.
The Loner looks like shit. Somehow in a place where everyone is forced to sleep the same few hours, he looks like he hasn't slept in a week. He hasn't even been back for week, but he's done a good job of hiding in his room except for occasional food runs when the halls seem particularly quiet. But, he's emerged from his cave once more, barefoot and in grey sweatpants and a black sweater, both a little on the big side despite being picked out for him by whoever runs this place. His feet are whisper light on the floor as he makes his way towards the dispensers for whatever craving pulled him out.
Did anyone catch the fracas in the hall when the Capitalist appeared? It barely left the room, so perhaps not. They may not have even made it out of the room. But the door was open. There were slightly raised voices. But in the wake of it -- over just minutes after it began -- all was quiet once more. The Hunter retrieved food and returned to her own room. She slept. And when she woke again? The cat was curled at her hip once more. It seemed Pants was on the same sleep cycle as the rest of them and like herself: reset to her bed.
The woman previously known -- most recently at least -- as Michel Thorne appears in her doorway, egressing carefully. The cat, however, does not; it zips past her feet and beelines into the Parlor to leap up onto the arm of the chair that the Beast is sitting in, leaning to sniff at the mug of tea. The Hunter herself is wearing a pair of athletic shorts today; black with white piping. A slim-fitting tee of heathered green skims over that. She's not put shoes on yet, which is a rarity for her. She usually makes that a priority when leaving her room. Instead, just a pair of low-cut white athletic socks. Maybe... just maybe she's still enjoying the fact that she has two whole legs again.
The Beast probably noticed the commotion, if only in passing and only because it wasn't all that far away. But he too had been in his room for a while, but then he was there earlier than the others, by himself for a while to just wander around the halls. Perhaps the others who had passed before him had been hiding in their rooms as well. When the cat comes zipping out and lands on the arm of his chair, he lifts a hand and absently scritches the cat behind the ears and beneath the chin. The tea is cold and smells like cold tea, and if the cat drinks from it, he doesn't seem to mind. As quiet as The Loner is, he notices him while he's scritching the cat, and follows him with his eyes, though he says nothing at first.
The Loner disappears through the door of the dining room, emerging a few moments later with his own cup of tea. His eyes are bleary and bloodshot, he's got the tell-tale imprint of crumpled fabric on his cheek that means he was probably spending hours just laying motionless in his bed like a weirdo. His eyes rest on the cat first, then Connor, even though he recalls the man from the station, he can't think of him as someone else. Not easily. There's a faint effort at a smile that lacks any real joy to it.
It's a moment or so more before the Hunter starts her progress towards the Parlor itself. She still moves with that gait of a killer... in a sense. Where Thorne had the stance and carriage of a marine grunt, the Hunter is more stealthy and careful. Light on her feet, fluid. She's an operator. But in a sense, the motions are almost stilted, like the woman hasn't quite gotten the hang of being one or the other yet. Or maybe it's the leg... the absence thereof or perhaps the recovery! Every so often there's a shift. She does stall, seeing the two men. She didn't know either very well: not in either incarnation. Even if she died at Callum's side. It does earn him a long stare, but she finally just ducks her chin and moves on towards the dispensary herself. Her return is not quite so swift. Maybe she has a big order! Maybe she can't make up her mind.
The Confidant was one the of slightly earlier arrivals. He's been around, in and out to eat with this haunted and hollow sort of expression on his face. No socializing though. And no more than quick glances at the constant stream of Westerns. Also, no note on his door. Until right now. He writes it across the figure on his door.
'This door is always open'
He caps the marker and tosses it back into his room before heading into the parlor. "Did anyone else notice the new doors?" He gestures towards them vaguely. "And...some aren't opening." His mouth twitches as if he's unable to decide how he feels about that. His eyes fall on the cat. "Was that the cat from the ship?" There is someone mechanical about that question, as if they are being recalled on the spot. "He told me there was a cat. Tra...Trev...fuck!" He crosses towards the Loner like a moth to a flame. He has no control over it. Still, when he speaks, he's addressing everyone. "So, Maata. I know you but..." He's not sure about the rest. "I'm...pfft. I hate not having a real name."
The Beast watches as Thorne goes by. He recognizes her from both the Island and the Station, and yet he offers her a small nod as she goes by. He finally seems to notice that the cat is drinking the cold tea out of his cup. He sets the cup down on the floor by the couch and the cat jumps down to keep on drinking from it. "Hey," he says to The Loner quietly, finally speaking since he'd awakened, a little bit of a smile given to him as well, though it is a troubled one, and awkward. When he question arises about the cat, he looks down at it and then shrugs his shoulders, "If there was a cat on the ship, then it might have been the cat on the ship." There's a pause for a while, and then he says, "I'm Connor." He chooses that name, and when he speaks, his accent is British, exactly like Connor's but not at all like Aaron.
The Loner returns the Hunter's stare. It's not unfriendly, but it's not exactly friendly either. Just someone trying to figure out a puzzle. Connor however gets a nod and the first spoken word out of him of, "Hey." And then, someone is moving into his personal space, and he moves instinctively away from the guy having trouble introducing himself and plops down in a chair, curling himself into a bit of a ball with his mug of tea held in front of him. He doesn't act like Andrew, but he doesn't act like Callum either, for those that have met either. He's distinct from them. "You know." He nods down the hall, his Scottish accent the only thing immediately reminiscent of the two. "That writing is going to disappear every night."
When the Hunter returns, it's with a bottle of whiskey and a few glasses. That, at least, is consistent with both Maata and Thorne. Drinking. She looks to Pants as the cat laps at the tea. "Pants," she says simply. "He was here when I woke up. He was mine- hers on the Ludovica." She says this all almost mechanically. Unlike Maata who had the accent of an Islander, she has a midwest American accent. But so did Thorne. There's a look to the Confidant as she stares at him for a moment. "I don't know who I am." A beat. "What I am." The sets the whiskey and glasses down on the low table by the couches before she turns to head back into the dispensary.
"Connor...Connor! Right." The Confidant brightens as he recalls. Then he looks to the Loner. "Andrew. Yeah, yeah. We made it off the island." He smiles. He looks back towards the writing on his door. "I know. I put it up every day. I...just want everyone to know I'm, uh, open...to, uh...listen." He shrugs. The Confidant sounds almost like a newscaster in the sheer blandness of his American accent. Which differs from the island's southern tinged deaf accent or the station's mellow tones of an educated east coaster. "I was so glad when I woke up here. That was a fucking nightmare inside of a nightmare wrapped in rancid bacon." Beat. "Are we Whats?" Huh? He said this to the Hunter. "I mean, I feel human, at least. Just..." He shakes his head and sighs. "I-I...try not to think too hard about it, really."
The Beast doesn't exactly act like Connor wholly, either, though he seems closer to the bodyguard than the mining chief. He nods toward The Confidant and says, "We got off the island. Then I died on a ship with an Alien hunting us." He looks over toward the Loner and says, "I tried to send a message, to tell you to get to the ship, that you could leave with us if you wanted to." But things had gone to hell, and though the missive was sent, it may never have made it to its destination. He rubs a bit at the top of his head where the pale white spike had gone through. "I still have a headache." Though that's likely psychosomatic more than anything else.
"I don't think Callum would have left. Too loyal to his job. No choice in the matter really." The Loner stares into his tea before taking a long slow sip. The Confidant though gets something of an odd stare. And the Loner's stares are just so disconnected it's almost like he's spacing out. "Oh yeah, fucking joy to be back here. I really liked the whole getting spiked through the fucking eye part, but now we probably get to go through something horrible and shitty again. Fucking yay." Ah, there's a little of Andrew peeking through, but where coming from Andrew that would have been heated, from the Loner it's icy sarcasm.
"Whats," Hunter affirms when she returns with a pair of bowls. Apparently the dispensary does provide cat supplies. One is a bowl of water and the other has wet food. She sets these off to the side and Pants abandons Beast's tea to tuck in. "We can't remember anything before the Island. At least I can't. Now we can't remember anything before the Noc. We all went to sleep, woke up there. And so far... well, I remember you three. I saw Rhys and Kylie, too. Or should I say Madison and Conrad?" The woman makes her way to a couch, sitting down to open the bottle of whiskey. She starts pouring a few glasses, pushing them to points on the table that are in the general direction of the other three.
"So suddenly I'm not one, but two people? Except I'm also a third. Whoever this-" Thorne, nay Maata, nay...... gestures to herself with the glass before taking a sip, "is. I'm obviously not Maata, and I'm obviously not Michel Thorne. So who the fuck am I? I don't know if I'm even real. I don't remember a family. A home." She takes another long drink. "Did you know if we die in here, we just wake right up the next morning like nothing happened?"
"I don't even know how I died. I know I died." The Confidant says evenly. "I was running from aliens. My boyfriend was behind me and then...here I am. Something got me. Must have been quick." He nods a little as his eyes dart back and forth. Like he's scanning his memory. "My ex-wife got away. Went home to our daughter." He speaks of them in a very concrete fashion. He listens to the Loner and then the Hunter with bright eyes and full attention. "I don't recall anything before the island either. I mean, other than those...thin memories of a life. Same before the Noc. And if we die here, we just wake up the next day? Huh." He's been up this whole time, slowly drifting from one person to another. The Loner gets a wider berth. "That's strong evidence for the 'What' theory but I'm not quite...no, we are Whos. This whole thing feels like some sort of high tech experiment. Probably the Government. A government entity but a corporate one is not out of the question and oh my god, I sound like Henry." He pauses and takes a deep breath. "I don't think anything can be worse than being Henry." He finally takes a seat. He moves the chair and angles it 'just so' he can easily face everyone. "Anyway, whatever is happening...this cycle is happening to people. Perhaps subjects is a better term."
"No, probably not," Beast says in agreement, not seeming to argue that at all. He knew it even as Aaron, but for some reason he did it anyway. He winces though at the description of how Callum died. "I didn't actually see how I died. I was making a cup of coffee, then there was a sound.. and I woke up here." He rubs at his face a bit with one hand, still trying to puzzle it all out, but the grim reality that they may be going something else horrible again seems about par for his own thoughts on the matter. "Yeah, that's.. well, that's what the countdown must have been." Then he looks over to Thorne and says, "Rhys is here too?" That actually seems to give him some relief, as well.
He takes a deep breath and lets it out again, "I'm not Connor or Aaron, but .. I don't know who I am if I'm not either of them. Connor feels like my name more than Aaaron does, so I think I'm just going to stick with it.. until I find out what my real name is.. whatever it might be." Then he pauses when Thorne says that they wake right back up if they die in here too and he falls silent, mulling that over, and listening to Confidant.
"I seem to recall hearing you killed someone to test that, yeah." The Loner stares right at the Hunter as he says this but there's no accusation in his voice. He seems to accept that as a fine course of action. He leans forward and takes the glass of whiskey, and proceeds to dump it right in his tea. He's Scottish, he's allowed. "Yeah, and another little toy appeared in my room, a gun which I know was disolved by alien blood, but there it is. No ammo of course." He frowns bitterly before taking another sip of his now boozed up tea. "Yeah, well tell me how they managed to turn me into a god damned robot. I took wounds that would have killed a person." He prods a spot on his chest. "Right though here. I'd have died then. There's is some fucked up shit going on here."
The question is: how does the Hunter know they wake up here if they die here? She doesn't immediately expand upon that. The woman sits upon a couch before a bottle of whiskey, a few filled glasses arrayed before her. She's wearing athletic shorts and a blue tee, but also socks. No shoes. Pants is off to the side, eating. But it seems Loner is there to fill in the 'why' of how she knows and the woman looks to him as she takes a sip of her drink. "I was asked to. Well... Rhys and I both were... last time we were here. I stayed with her until she died and the next morning, she was alive again. So we can die here... and we come back." Just like they did from their past two 'lives.'
Lifting her leg onto the edge of the couch, she presses a hand to it. "I was missing my leg," she says, sotto voice. "You were a synth," she notes to Loner. "I had a cybernetic leg. Fuckin' alien tore it off me at the end and... here I am, as if it never happened."
Even though it is the second time the Defender is in this Facility, it is his first venturing out of his room. He is dressed in more professional attire, buttoned up white shirt tucked into a pair of black slacks. He also wears a black belt with a silver buckle and black oxfords, a watch on his wrist to finish the ensamble. Hearing voices, the Defender slows as he enters the room, looking over those present. "But it did happen, didn't it." He chimes in after hearing what the Hunter said at the end. "At least how real it felt, how real the memories are."
The Confidant listens intently to the others, frowning as they compare deaths and wounds. "I have an empty medicine bottle this time. I put it next to the hearing aid." He puts up a single finger and gets up. He moves fast, dipping into his room and back out with a notebook and pencil in hand. He sits down again, opening it up. He's going to start taking notes. "I heard voices. I had delusions. I was sick. I--Henry...lied and forged and faked to get that stupid space job. Only to fall apart when he was needed. That...that was the worse. Being unable to help people in need. Unable to provide strength when others have none--" The Defender walks in and the Confidant stops. "Yes. It feels very real. I had no memory of this place or the island while on the station. No memory of my ex-wife...who was also a nurse on the island. S-see...this is why I am convinced we are people. People in a...shitty circumstance. For reasons unknown." He pauses a beat and points at the Defender. "Anton, right? No--Wolfram Kinneson. Colonial Marshal, Internal Affairs." He smiles. "You had a good evaluation. A little rigid but, eh, it's IA. Made sense. Didn't report it." He pauses another moment to write. "Names and faces. I never forget them." He mutters.
There's a glance in Hunter's direction when Loner mentions that they killed someone in order to test that theory. He hadn't heard that, and he studies her for a moment or two before looking down at the floor again, considering the implications of that, and nodding when she explains the experiments and the results. "The memories are real," he says in agreement with Wolfram, "Or at least they seem very real.. the moments during, but not before, and not after.. like we're only real.. for periods of time... there, and then in between." He then says, "I have one of the logos of the Hephaestus that was attached to the side of the ship. It was on the wall when I woke up." He's not sure that he agrees with Confidant's assessment, from the way he glances at him skeptically, but he doesn't argue against it either.
The Loner lets out a soft snort of a bitter laugh, then takes a sip of his tea. So much for hoping that some of Callum's good naturedness would rub off on him. But then again, that might just have been programming. "Well, no shit we're people." Something on his face says he's not entirely sure of that himself. "But the way we can change in these.. events. Medical conditions, ages, hell, some of us were fucking robots. Oh and if anyone sees Wynne or whatever she goes by, tell her I want to punch her." He lets out a heavy, annoyed sigh. "I'm almost afraid of when that TV there starts counting down."
There's a look to the Defender and the Hunter studies him for a moment. "Anton," she says simply, quietly. "Or should I call you Wolfram?" Her brow furrows. "Last time, people didn't know if they wanted to be called their name on the island or choose a new one. Now we have two names." She looks down to her glass before downing what remains in it and leaning forward to pour herself a refill. "I knew you both times. Perhaps better as Anton. We fought together quite a bit on that Island." She slouches back into the sofa and lets out a sigh, though there's a wary eye for Confidant when he returns with a notebook and she shifts quickly to her feet.
The woman seems deadset on leaving, but when Loner mentions Wynne, she tilts her head and thinks back. She blinks. "Wynne... she was that diva on the Island." There's a sort of wry, bemused kind of smile. "I beat the shit out of her in here." She points, to a space by the couches. "Right over there. Knocked her the fuck out." The Hunter lifts her glass to take a sip and starts to walk off towards her room, letting out an actual laugh. "I actually feel a little better now."
"You are correct, and I'm... not exactly sure which name I would go with. Perhaps both?" The Defender answers with a bit of uncertainty in his tone. That is his best guess at this time, he wore both faces to his clear recollection. "Unfortunately my memory is not as clear as yours, counselor." Only remembering the Confidant clearly from the Noc, there were too many faces on the island, and his focus was the Wellsons then.
Looking over to the Loner, the Defender shakes his head slightly as he stays where he is instead of joining the others where they are sitting, "Before we go attacking anyone else here, we need to remember that none of us knows what changes were made to us when we... are placed in those... lives? If they can make you into some sort of synthetic, what can do to our minds, our drives." Even now he comes to the defense of someone he vividly remembers as working to harm them back on the Noc.
Looking finally to the Hunter, the Defender shrugs his shoulders as she also uses both names, "I'll answer to either, seems like the best solution right now. At least until we find out who we really are... if there even is an answer to that. And we did what we had to back on the island, just like we did against that alien infestation." A brief glance tossed in the Loner's direction, as if recalling certainly situations where the hardest of choices had to be made by Callum. When the Hunter speaks of pummeling someone else here in the Facility though, the Defender can only furrow his brows slightly.
"Good! I'm glad!" The Confidant calls behind the Hunter and damn it, he is happy for her. He looks to the Loner. "I was deaf first. Then I had schizophrenia. I'm not stupid or optimistic enough to not expect a pattern. Something is going to be fucked up with me next time." He pauses and jots something down in the notebook. "I will consider it a good thing that memories were not retained from one, uh, scenario to the next. Just here is where is all comes together. Better or wor--." He stops mid-word and this look of pure horror crosses his face. "I was shot in the head." His ghostly pallor seems to go a little gray. "Travis saw that. His love. Blasted in front of him. Fuck, man..." He's trying to shake it off and aims for hard subject change. "So, I think I would prefer to be called Chance. I mean...I'll answer to whatever but...I think I look like a Chance. More--Moreso than a H-Henry." His voice snags on the words, causing a stammer. "I miss my sister." He says, almost in a whisper.
Loner, Beast and Confidant are all sitting in the parlor. The Defender stands. Hunter seems to be making an exit. The Confidant is situated in such a way as to be about to address everyone and adjusts his seating as needed.
"Yeah, she was," Beast says, remembering Wynne from her attack on the Hephaestus, and then as the diva with whom he had shared quiet conversations, and it doesn't seem to help the degree of unsettled he feels about everything. He pulls himself slowly from the chair, stiff a bit from sitting there so long and begins to pace just a little, slowly, like an animal caged. He looks over toward Wolfram and frowns, "Then who are we, if we're altered for those.. places.. is what we feel here real? Or is it just some remnant of those places?" He rubs a bit at the back of his neck, and sighs to himself, then watches Hunter as she walks off, studying her for a few moments as she departs. Then he is looking over at Confidant and studying him closely as he speaks. "Chance, then."
"I said I wanted to punch her, not that I was going to. Otherwise I wouldn't pass on a warning." Loner's tone is deadpan and flat as he stares over the rim of his mug at his fellow former marshal. He flicks his eyes forwards and presses his lips to a line. "If only I could figure out the typewriter I feel like things would come together. But I have no clue why the damn thing is there." He's more muttering to himself, his eyebrows going up slightly. "Probably to drive me crazy, that would make sense here."
"If you start figuring out who you really are," the Hunter says, pausing briefly by the Defender to stare at him, "you come and get me." She seems to be preparing to leave Pants out there to his meal. Maybe to socialize. The little cat doesn't seem fit to be holed up in her room and unlike the rest of them, the rest of the Facility is plenty of room for him to romp and run around in. Plus, he's a pretty social little critter. He's also just finished eating and seems to be climbing up to claim the warm spot Beast has just departed.
There's a look back to Confidant at his words and the woman that was last Thorne can't be sure if he's serious or not. She just frowns a bit and gives a nod before she starts off down the hall; grabbing the bottle of whiskey before she does. There's a look to those two new doors. Clearly, Confidant wasn't the only one who has given them a once-over and is curious as to their purpose. But she doesn't fuss with them again before disappearing into her own room.
The question from the best has the Defender shaking his head, "Unfortunately I haven't the faintest idea, and I wouldn't be surprised if anyone else does. What I know is that I... the me that I remember when I was on the island, and the me that was on the space stations," A pause there, the expression he is wearing showing that he is trying to sort his thoughts, which definitely requires some effort, "Somehow I hold clear memories of both, and I also feel I was different in both." When the Loner mentions a typerwriter, the Defender can't help but arch a brow, "Typewriter?" As for what the Hunter says, he can only smirk, "We might die of old age first." If they even age here, but that is something that he isn't even considering right now.
"Who are we punching?" asks Creepshow as she emerges from the hall. She's feeling lazy today, dressed in a gray tank and matching boxers. "Do they deserve it?" She lingers, waiting for the answer, but is clearly on her way to get food. The new doors get noticed and she furrows her brow, but doesn't say anything about them.
"I've seen people aging up and down in and out of the...scenarios. I'm going with that word." The Confidant begins. "And Chance was a different guy than Henry but there are similarities. Both had the same...broad-ish role. They were both caregivers but...that wasn't the point, to give care. Both of them loved people. Loved people, found them intensely interesting and worked very hard to be qualified to help them. That is what lingers with me. All I want is to ease your burdens. All of you." Creepshow appears and the Confidant breathes a sigh of relief. Something else to focus on. "Wynne? I think they were punching Wynne." He smiles. "Hi, Ramona."
"An.." Beast starts to say Andrew, but then stops and nods in The Loner's direction, "He wants to punch Wynne." He continues his slow pacing around the room, not unlike a caged animal. It's a slow pacing, with occasional stops during the conversation. His cold cup of tea is abandoned on the floor by the chair where he'd been sitting watching Westerns. The cat isn't even drinking about it anymore.
"Well, she kind of deserves it. Then again, maybe I can't hold it against her here. Still." The Loner crinkles his nose. He either doesn't mind or doesn't notice Connor nearly calling him Andrew. "There's a typewriter in my room. Completely useless though. I can type on it but in the morning all the pages are blank again. It's like, why even have it there. It's not a remnant from the island or the station. It's just out of place."
When Creepshow joins them with her question, the Defender shakes his head, "No one," His answer obviously differing from the others. As for the Confidant's own views on their current situation and the different masks they wear, he can only incline his head slightly as if to show appreciation to the other man's nature. When the Loner speaks further about his typewriter, the Defender can only say, "Maybe it will come to you in time. Perhaps while some of our memories fade, some will resurface over time." He does look towards the Dining Room area, looking to continue his exploration of this place as it is his first time out of his room, "I'm going to look around, get myself familiar with this place. Last time I was here, I stayed in my room because I thought those of us who got off the island were still in medical quarantine."
"Reasonable," Creepshow allows with a no. "But did she choose to be what she was? I don't remember getting a choice. Any of you?" She nods again, letting that point sit with them as she turns and continues on to the dispensary in a quest for food. Or alcohol. Or maybe both.
"My journal is always blank." The Confidant admits. "Writing helps me...unload." He leaves it at that and points to the Cheepshow. "She made the point I was going to make. I didn't choose to be deaf or hear voices. That shit just happened. New rule." The Confidant stands up. "We--could use a white board or something. But until then, pass it on and I'll leave notes every day about it." He pauses and attempts to meet everyone's eyes. "What happens out there, stays there. Meaning, if next time, I do something fucking awful I don't want to wake up to an ass beating. It's unfair. We have enough to deal with as is without being held responsible for things out of our control."
"There are a bunch of weapons in my room, all kinds, and yet none of them are actually useful. They're all movie props style, none of them functional. Why have a cabinet full of prop weapons?" The Beast says as the topic turns to the things that they have in their rooms that are non-functional. He glances after Creepshow and nods, "None of us had a choice in any of this, so far as I can tell. We are what we are in there, and we behave as.. our history that we remember dictates." He mulls that over some, and then he stops pacing and says, "Maybe none of it matters.. maybe all that matters is what is in here."
The Loner finishes off his tea and sets the mug aside. "Screw your rules. Live how you want but leave other people fucking out of it." There's that Andrew McInverness acidic tongue. He glares at Chance with a looks that's more than a little annoyed. "We're being fucked with and trapped here and you want to build a damn society. Doesn't matter, I bet in a few days we'll be someone else again and it won't matter a rat's ass." He gets to his feet and stalks towards the hallway, headed back towards his room.
"Oh fuck off!" The Confidant exclaims, sitting back down. "Some of us are stuck and we might have to live with one another for a period of time. We should have some ground rules. Just for the sake of kindness. Jeez." He sulks and frowns, deeply unhappy. "I...should lie down. Something..." He shakes his head and gets up. "We need a fucking white board." He gristles as he heads back to his room. Yet, he still leaves his door open.
The Beast watches as the others bicker amongst themselves, though eventually he does follow, but not anyone in particular, just following the others back toward the rooms. He opens the door to his own, and slips inside, letting it close behind him just as the cat runs in there to hide. He doesn't bother to put the cat back out, at leas tnot until it decides in ten minutes that it wants back out.