If she had to spend one more night in the darkness with a bunch of lunatics howling all the evening through, she was going to tear herself in two. Vanessa's tangled dirty blonde hair fell over her eyes and reminded her just how much she despised the place even when the lights were on. She wasn't crazy. A little overwhelmed, sure, and in the habit of telling lies, yeah. She didn't belong here though. Wriggling against the restraints for a futile fifteenth time since being brought back to her cell, she slumped up against the wall and titled her head back. There was no comfortable position to assume when she was awaiting the hell that followed the abrupt descent of darkness but this was the closest she could get. Vanessa counted the seconds with a bitter satisfaction of knowing she had the timing down to an internal clockwork rhythm. Right when she reached zero, she shut her eyes and hoped she'd be asleep before the groans and chuckles echoed her way.
After a few moments of trained resistance, she noticed a large difference in the enviornment. The shades of jet blackness that normally stifled her like a rag held over her mouth and nose suddenly seemed porous. No, that wasn't exactly right. There was no weight to it at all, no bite or menace. She let out a sigh of relief under her breath. Whatever made tonight different didn't concern her, but she certainly appreciated the result. As soon as she was able to process the changes, another anomaly occured before her skeptical eyes; her cell door squeaked open. Vanessa turned a bit in her binds in a desperate attempt to seal the door back up before one of the psychos noticed the breach and was surprised to find that her left arm was able to slide out with no resistance. See? They finally got those evaluations back and you're good to go. They probably told you over dinner but you led yourself back to your cell because you're in the habit, she reasoned. She rose to her full height and stretched out her arms, fingers, shoulders, and then flung the door to her cage open with a flourish.
Taking a brief stroll in the pitch darkness, she noticed that she was still unable to make out many shapes in the murky lighting. It was apparent that other cells had been opened but they seemed to be at random to the untrained eye. She doubled back once she figured that there was no chance of her escaping while it was impossible to see a way out and while some of the whackos might be roaming around free. When Vanessa returned, she noticed a shining object tangled up in the barred section of the door. The contrast of the shining golden chain made it visible even in the swimming darker-than-night blackness all around. She gathered it up in her hands and toyed with the ring attached to the meticulously braided chain. Whoever left this behind had extraordinary taste. That thought bounced in her head for a moment or two before she corrected herself, They had my taste. She knew she had never owned a golden ring or a necklace in that style, but she knew every inch of it as though it had been a gift or a memento. Giving it no more thought than that, it settled perfectly at the collarbone and gave some much needed vibrance to the ratty asylum attire.
Dmitry stood and paced the perimeter of the enclosed space. He held his head down and avoided crossing into the slitted projection of moonlight that leaked into the room from the space between the bricks where the mortar had worn so thin that he had been able to chip away at it whenever he had use of his hands. A devious mind might have tried to formulate an escape from such weaknesses in an old wall, but an intelligent one knew that it was a waste of resources and a labor that tended to drive mad. Poor word choice. The dry humor in his train of thought made him cackle and the sound of it bouncing down the hallway only made it funnier. He jangled at the door by running up against it a few times, a pastime that would have sent the orderlies running on an average night, but was met with no such alarm tonight. His industrial music drifted along down the corridor on the heels of his outburst and this stillness excited him. During the day, he was an upstanding and charming young man. Dmitry knew he retained some semblance of the boy he used to be, and he used it to make the painfully boring afternoon hours more bearable. The saner you acted then, the more ways you were allowed to kill time. At night was when he couldn't be bothered to give a damn anymore. He'd holler and whistle and generally raise any chaos that he could until he passed out when sleep finally overtook him. The debate in his cellblock was focused on which Dmitry was the real one and which was nothing but delusion. They called the gentleman Mitya and the devil Lebedev to keep the record straight.
Deciding to test it out once again, he charged at the door once again, expecting the dull metallic ring to sound out and fill up the silence. Instead, he found himself face first against the cold stone ground with a distinct feeling of freedom and exhiliration. The taste of blood in his mouth didn't spoil the moment as he writhed his way upright. Dmitry spun his arms out of the leather and cloth restraints and stood at alert. As usual, he could see rather well in the darkness, but he was surprised that others were beginning to loosen their bound hands and rattle their own cages to varying degrees of success. Adrenaline was pumping now and he knew how to take full advantage of it. He could see, so he could make a break for it.
He didn't get all that far before he found a dead end. Sucking on his gashed lip for a moment before he set out down another corner, he noticed that something was trailing on his shoe. It was a hand-tied rope, the sort that you might find on a farm. He snarled at the idea of something tying him down again after he had just escaped one sort of containment but once he figured out it wasn't a bizarre lasso employed by a desperate guard, he relaxed. Dmitry scooped up the rope and followed the length of it back to a pile of clothing in the middle of the hallway he had been running from. Curious, he picked up the articles and surveyed them. There was a rough white tunic and a grey cloak to be worn on top, plus a fur scarf and an assortment of leather pouches attatched to a rudimentary belt and black pants. Glad for the change of clothes, he slipped them on and disposed of his normal attire by scattering them in a disorganized rush. He opted not to keep the shoes and he tied the rope up so that it hung in a coil from the belt.
The strange articles fit him well and he didn't bother to question where they came from. Tonight was the night to carry out the escape of the century and he'd be a fool to question any help he got along the way.