ArchivedLogs:Chili and Stitches and Dragons

Chili and Stitches and Dragons
Dramatis Personae Peter, Shelby, Hive, Jackson, Dusk, Iolaus
In Absentia	2013-04-20 '
Location <NYC> 403 {Geekhaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
There's kind of a college-dorm feel to this place, though some of its occupants have left college behind. Entering the apartment finds visitors greeted by the perpetually messy living room, a mismatched assortment of couches and chairs (and milk crates) surrounding the wide table in the center. The wall holds a range of posters; some political, some sporty, some from video games, and a string of white lights strung over the kitchen doorway might be a holdover from Christmas. The kitchen adjacent is just as cluttered, its table unfit for eating due to its perpetual covering of books, papers, cereal boxes, projects; the fridge is usually sparsely populated. Ketchup. Beer. Not a lot of food. There are two bedrooms here, split between the four people; the fold-out couch in the living room (often folded out!) suggests that at least one of them does not actually claim a room as their own. (Peter ---> Hive): hive (Peter ---> Hive): hive you are not going to believe what just happened (Peter ---> Hive): you cannot tell jax because he would maybe freak? but (Peter ---> Hive): hive i just caught a knife (Peter ---> Hive): someone threw a knife and i just caught it like it was a cold (Peter ---> Hive): just plucked it out of the air it was so wicked cool (Peter ---> Hive): so wicked cool (Peter ---> Hive): um (Peter ---> Hive): also i didnt catch the other one (Peter ---> Hive): can i come by i think ive been stabbed in the leg i mean i dont think its bad but ive never been stabbed before (Peter ---> Hive): brt There is a thud somewhere on the roof, followed by the presence of a Peterbrain, nattering away. A few moments later, and it is followed by shuffling at the door, and a rapid staccato knock-knock-knock - Peter is at the door, clad in a black hoodie, gray dress-slacks, tabi socks - his nylon backpack - and with a greyish-white silver splurt on his left thigh. << hive? hive don't tell jax I think he doesn't want me running around the city but this /totally/ wasn't my fault I swear I wasn't doing /anything/ bad just some crazy knifeman throwing knives like they're going out of style >> Unfortunately for Peter, there is a Jackson /incoming/. With a /pot/ still hot and steaming and smelling strongly like chili, and held not in potholders but in bare hands that are glowing brightly. And are rather intensely hot themselves. "Woahhey, Peter!" he greets cheerfully, "can you get the door, I got a key --" He kind of points with his elbow towards his belt loop, where a bunch of keys and an electric key fob and a tiny thumb drive hang on an extendable ring clipped to his belt. And then, as he gets closer -- "/Uh/ did you web yourself?" He's eyeing Peter's thigh. It takes a while before the door opens. Dusk pulls it open, barely looking the others over before waving them inside. "Heyyy. Woah, /food/. Sweet. You know Hive's actually eating now, I guess?" Inside the apartment is actually /clean/ for once, someone having taken the time to sweep and wipe and tidy. (Hint: That someone was Jackson.) "What's up, kid?" "I --" WIDE-EYED HORROR at the sight of Jackson + food. Peter's eyes drop down to the belt-loop Jackson indicated - he slowly reeeeeaches for it - but when the door opens instead, Peter immediately darts his hand away and shoves them back into his pockets. Peter glances between Dusk and Jackson, briefly stricken with apprehension - but what the hell is he going to do, /lie/? "I got, uh, kind of hurt, I just need someone to maybe take a look at it. I didn't want to - like, alarm my aunt and uncle, y'know, and here was closer..." When Peter walks, it is with a distinct limp; he's almost /hopping/ on his non-injured leg. It's hard to imagine how he got here on just one foot, but apparently - he managed. "-- Kinda hurt? What happened?" Turn on INSTANT FRET MODE in Jackson, although at the moment it's quiet, at least. He is heading to set the pot down on whatever protective-like object he can find on the counter, his hands slowly losing their glow once he has set it down. "Yikes, wow, you should maybe possibly -- uh, sit." Frown. "-- How bad is it?" He's already heading towards the bathroom in search of first aid supplies. The door to the bathroom is /closed/. But as Jax nears, the toilet flushes, water is turned on--then off--and finally the door is thrown open. There is Shelby! Wiping her hands on the folds of her dress like a true class act. "That shit goes right through me, y'kn--whoa. When'd Peter get here?" Dusk is looking Peter over, too, with a decided frown. "Just now. Hurt. Apparently. What've you been up to this time?" Hive is only now poking his head out of the bedroom, in answer to Peter's telepathic SUMMONS. And, OK, text-summons, too. "What the fuck," he greets, looking Peter over. "Do you need a doctor?" It occurs to Peter only now that if he wanted to /actually/ keep this a secret, he should have just up and straight lied to Hive, too. Except, telepathy. So. "It's FINE, holycrap guys I just got --" Hop, hop. He eyes a chair with obvious interest, hopping his way toward it. "-- I was just running along rooftops, and there was this nice girl up there, and we were talking, and then - this fight broke out down below. Some other guy came up on the roof, people were chasing him and yelling a lot. I took the girl up to the other roof, and I turn around, and - thwang! One of them is throwing /knives/ at me." Peter seems to be about to take this personally, before he adds: "And I /CAUGHT/ one. Holy crap, I /CAUGHT/ it I don't even know how I just - snatched it right out of the air it was /so/ sweet." He drops to the chair, now, reaching into his bag - for the vinegar spritzer. Spritz, spritz. "-- Throwing knives? -- Dusk can you grab water?" Jackson nods to Shelby as she emerges, but it's a brief greeting because he is in search of bandaging. He returns with a handful of some, as well as a towel; it's only then that he actually looks at Hive. "You're talking!" This is cheerful, and the cheer carries over as he crouches by the couch. "Hi, Shelby. OK, so -- where was this? What guy?" "...what the /fuck/, man." This is Shelby's abbreviated summing up of the story Peter has just told. She is a little wide-eyed but she's also a little quirky with the eyebrows as she takes up a post...against a wall. Yes. With arms folded. Ain't no way she's getting near potential blood. "Uh, Pete, you maybe don't want to..." Aaaand nevermind. Already the teenager is wincing. << It's about to get loud up in here... >> "... what the fuck," Hive echoes. "Jesus, do you have some kind of trouble magnet?" He's not helping with the first aiding. He's sipping a beer. It's the only one he's had. Dusk is heading to the kitchen to get a bowl of water. "Like, installed in your webshooters, maybe? -- Holy fuck," now he is sniffing, "Are you shooting vinegar onto a cut? UH." His palm scrubs at his face. Peter remains oblivious to Shelby and Hive's warning; he gives the wound a final spritz. "It was about ten blocks, uh, that awaysish," Peter says, waving a hand - in a direction! "The guy was glowing so I guess he was a mutant? Anyway nobody's dead but I don't even know /why/ they threw knives at me I mean I wasn't even /involved/ I just was getting the lady out of th... ouch, ouch, what the h--OUCH," Peter repeats, louder now, looking down to his wound. The webbing has slid off, exposing a small slit near his lower mid-thigh; now wet with blood /and/ vinegar. "/OW/ ow ow what the--Ffffffnnnn... holy/hell/ what the /HELL/," and now he's yelping! Jackson cringes, wincing and standing to take the bowl of warm water all that much faster from Dusk. "Oh, gosh, honey-honey -- that's --" Another wince, as he sits back down. "Who knows why people do anything, people're -- this city is --" His head shakes, his nose wrinkling. "Hold still, okay," he's soaking one end of the towel in water, "though I guess this'll sting /less/ than the vinegar, 'least! Is this the only cut?" He sounds almost relieved. Probably because the worried thoughts his mind holds were expecting Peter to have /gashed/ himself far more severely. Because /Peter/. Troublemagnet. Yep. That's about what Shelby expected, except for << Haha, he totally almost said fuck. >> That's a girl. Laugh at someone else's misery. "You are like the /dumbest/ superhero /ever/," she remarks, rubbing further salt in the wound. "Pretty sweet though, catching a knife...did you keep it?" This...is probably a dangerous question. Given her apparent interest in the answer. She could /totally/ use a knife. Hive snorts, slanting a glance over at Shelby. "You can curse in here," he says so helpfully to Peter. "Makes it feel better if you just say a lot of fuck. /Did/ you keep it?" He takes another sip of his beer. "What kinda knife would you even want? I bet Joshua has -- well, would they /let/ you keeep one at school?" Another swig. "What happened to the woman?" "Ow, ow, ow, /ow/," Peter continues, squeezing his eyes shut, cramming his fists into the sockets. He does his best to stay still! The wound doesn't seem to be particularly /critical/; the pain, though - the vinegar's knocked it up from 'very painful' to 'downright excruciating'. He mumbles a response to Jax: "N-no, just - I just ran after that." He pops his eyes up to Shelby a moment, before adding - half-dejectedly! - "I-I dropped it 'cuz he was throwing /more/." At Hive's question, Peter thinks. "She - ran off. Before he even started throwing knives - I told her where the fire escape was, and she went for it, and when I turned around... she didn't even /see/ me catch it." Peter sounds so downtrodden. "The only guy who saw it was the guy who /threw/ it and he was a jerk." Jackson squeezes water over the cut -- sorry, Hive's couch! You are getting WET. And kind of bloody. Oops. He dips the towel again, squeezing another trickle of clean water over the cut, and then the third time actually presses the wet towel to the cut, gently. "Thaaaat sounds -- well, screwed up. I'm glad you got back here safe." His brow creases deeply. He dabs gently at the cut, and he looks up in some confusion Hive's response to unheard Shelbythoughts. "-- Wait, what? Y'need a knife?" "I dunno, you think I read the rules?" Shelby's grinning openly now, though there is that small, thoughtful part of her brain considering the possibilities. Switchblade? Utility knife? Something /flashy/? No one's gonna squirt you in the face, you got a knife to flash at them...oh wait, yeah, Peter's hurt. She ambles off towards the kitchen to fetch another beer, in order to be a better spectator. "It was a joke," she assures Jax as she yanks open the fridge. Lying, of course. "Hey Pete, you wanna beer? Take the edge off?" "Utility knives are, well, /good/ for shit." Hive is not really scoring high marks in the Responsible Adult category, probably, but that was already a given since Shelby is beering out of his fridge. "Beer kinda helps problems. But maybe bandage that shit up first, I dunno if you want to be drunk with bloodloss. Who the fuck squirts you in the face?" "Beer?" Peter perks, blinking owlishly as Shelby leaves the room. "Like - a beer, beer? Like - I've never - I mean, uh." Cough, cough, AHEM. "I'm okay thanks." The dabbing and pressure on the wound makes Peter hiss in a quick, sharp breath; he twitches a little, but otherwise doesn't cry out. "...mmmnff. Oh man ouch. Ouch." "-- How about a juice," Jackson says, with a slight crinkle of his nose. "Sugar's good for you anyway if you've lost blood. Sorry," he adds, apologetic, "I know it hurts." More dabbing. And then pressure, with the clean dry end of towel. "Shelbyhoney, could you grab a glass of juice maybe?" He flicks a glance back towards her, and is -- pretty also unhelpfully adding, "-- I have a couple good ones. Utility knives, I mean. Come in right handy out camping." Only now, with the initial fretting over potential PETER DEATH subsiding to a quiet calm concern, does he notice again more /consciously/: << -- You're drinking. And talking. And -- >> And trails off into feeling rather than words: You're doing /good/? "Some teacher at the school. She doesn't like that I cuss, I guess." If she were texting, there might well be a 'lol' tacked to the end of it. Instead, Shelby has to resort to making a snorty skeptical kind of sound as she rummages around. "Juice it is...sorry, Pete." Though she grabs a beer for /herself/ and uncaps it before bothering with any of that juice stuff, bah. But eventually a glass is poured and carried out into the living room to pass on to the bleeding person. "Could I have one?" she asks of Jax, squinting with definite ick factor at Pete's exposed leg. Ewww, gross. "...utility knife, I mean. Um. Maybe you'll have...some sorta badass scar, dude. That'd be cool, huh?" "Yeah, I'm talking," Hive answers Jackson out loud rather than silently. "Lucien came down this morning. Kinda helped out. Sort my brain out. S'nice." He shrugs, lowering his hand with the beer in it. He glances from Peter to VeryScarredJackson, quirking a quick smile. "Scars are pretty badass. And some people are fucking stupid about cussing. Much rather have someone say fuck you to my face than pretend to be polite and be seething on the inside. Are we arming the students, now, cuz that should probably come with classes. In using that shit. Protection's good but more likely to get /you/ killed if you don't know what you're doing. How's those gun lessons going with Jim?" "Juice is fine," Peter agrees. Then, to Jax: "It's fine, it's not hurting as /much/, anyway. Um. Scars, oh /man/ that /would/ be kind of awesome --" Faint color at the notion of cussing, a quick sideways glance toward Hive and Shelby. "I already got a scar on my back from quill-dude, but one on my leg would be kinda cool too, I guess, I mean -- um also thanks for helping me with this--" He looks down as Jax applies the pressure, soaking up the blood - there isn't a /tremendous/ amount, anyway. "...man I'm probably not gonna be able to run and jump for a while." He sounds a little dispirited about this. BUT. Coolwickedscar. /That/ idea cheers him up. Just a smidge. Jackson's smile is a little crooked. "Scars are wicked cool. Wouldn't suggest seeking 'em /out/ but if you stumble across 'em --" He shrugs, and continues holding the towel in place. Ho hum. Waiting. Eventually he peels it back slightly, though, to check on the cut. His lips press together as he watches it yawn back open. "-- Pete, this thing really should get stitches," he says, biting at his lip. He looks at Shelby with that same crooked smile. "-- Got any idea what's on Io's docket today?" The other question takes a long moment of consideration. "I think bein' able to defend yourself's good if you need it," he answers slowly, "but Hive's right about knowin' how to use whatever you're carrying. Weapons tend to just escalate situations. Some situations sure need protection, though." It's not an answer, yet; he's still looking contemplative. "If I gave you one, you wouldn't never be allowed to bring it to school. You could get expelled for that -- I could get fired for that. I'd be pretty upset 'bout either of those." "/Dude/." This is for Hive, from Shelby, now that he's gone and been all /reasonable/. She crinkles her nose at him. "...we haven't gone yet. Shit keeps coming up." And yet there is the loud report of gunfire ricocheting through recent memory, a recollection she quashes as soon as it crops up. Glare glare. Stop peeking. "Doesn't hurt to slow down now and again," she comments for Peter's sake, taking up her position against the wall again and sipping from her beer. "I wouldn't bring anything like that to school for /real/." Sip sip. "Think the Doc's at home. Pretty sure he is, anyway. Want me I should text him?" Hive's brow furrows, deeply, at this sound of gunfire. << Can't help peeking, >> he answers, still abrasive-hard as ever if at least less so than it had been in weeks past. And underlaid with a notable current of concern for those gunshots. "Yeeeeah stitches in your /leg/ that's probably gonna be a good fucking reason to chill out for a bit. Take it easy. Play some frakking video games. We have about a million, if you want." He gestures towards the far wall with the television. Video games. "Poor Io. He's kinda getting to be our go-to for holy shit what the fuck happened. Text him." "Man /stitches/ that is /rebonkular/," Peter exclaims to Jax. 'Rebonkular' is a new Peter word. He's been using it a lot. Maybe a bit too much. Otherwise, though: "I can't - I mean -" Peter's thoughts immediately hover across the various buildings he's been scanning - the twins' false-home. The warehouses nearby. The waterfront. Keeping an eye on them, trying to see if the twins show up. A stitched leg means he won't be able to look. ".../buh/," Peter finishes, mumbling to himself. "This whole weekend is gonna be toast." He eyes Hive's video game treasure-trove, though. More-than-a-little greedily. "...do you have Skyrim or Batman Arkham City." Balm for the aching soul. "-- Rebonkular?" Jackson /squints/ at this. "Whatuh. What?" He shakes his head, slightly. "Yeah, callin' Io'd be great, thanks. And I sure wouldn't mind teaching you -- well, OK, /I'm/ not the greatest teacher for that kinda -- I mean I've had more'n my share of defense classes but --" He is considering. "-- Wonder what Jim knows 'bout knives," he muses thoughtfully. "Is this gonna turn into a video game party cuz I should slap a bandage on you and get out 'fore it turns all /geek/ up in here." << You /like/ peeking, admit it, >> Shelby shoots back on tight-band--but she lets Hive get a peek at yesterday's disastrous Danger Room session. Her mental soundtrack cuts back in before the /crying/ part though. There's no crying in the Danger Room. "Sure thing," she says aloud, hauling out her--oh wait, where's her phone this dress has no pockets. A brief search is on for her hoodie, which turns out to be behind the couch. /Then/ she gets to texting Iolaus. Tap tap tap... "Oh fuck no, geek levels stay /low/ tonight. I wanna /relax/, damn it." "/Yeah/, of course I've got Skyrim." And because Peter is an /invalid/ Hive even goes over to turn on the Xbox and load it up. "Look, it's full of dragons, what's more relaxing than dragons? Uh," he glances over towards Jax, "ones that aren't trying to kill you, I mean." << ... what the fuck. >> That is his answer to the Danger Room thing. << No seriously what the fuck? Does /everyone/ at your school need a beer? >> "Ridiculous plus bonkers plus tubular," Peter explains, almost /indignantly/, like this is just stuff Jackson should know oh my God TRY TO KEEP UP JAX. "Rebonkular. Also what is wrong with videogames videogames are /awesome/," he adds. At the mention of teaching knives - Peter tries to keep his mouth shut. But, well: "My uncle, he'd always tell me - if you feel like you /need/ a weapon, then something somewhere's gone really, really wrong. But, um," and now he looks back down to his leg, as if to confirm the injury. "...I think he'd agree that something somewhere's gone really wrong." Peter looks up, suddenly /bright/ eyed and bushy tailed as the Xbox kicks in. But at the mention of dragons, Peter wrinkles his nose - and looks to Jax - and back to Hive. And: "Ohjeez maybe um I mean I could play something /else/ like, um..." AWKWARD. And uncomfortable. And Jackson is /probably/ not going to get sad because of videogame dragons, but Peter THINKS he might. "Dragons are pretty awesome," Jackson agrees, "when they're not trying to kill you." He is still holding the towel against Peter's leg, and he turns to glace at the television because geek things are at /least/ more interesting than putting pressure on a wound. "Rebonkular," he says, "man I didn't even know people still /said/ tubular. Huh." He says this like it's an interesting tidbit of knowledge rather than like he is mocking Peter. "I ain't never really played any video games. Around here they're kinda addicts, though." Shelby's phone chimes--and continues to do so--as she taps away. The first text causes her to scrunch her face up and stick her tongue out at the screen. Later ones do not receive the same reaction. She's still typing as she ambles over to one of the chairs and settles in it sideways, legs hanging over the arm and feet idly swinging. La la la. << I think she's crazy, >> she supplies in conversational mentalspeak. << Like, seriously Loony Toons. Or maybe she just needs a good lay. >> 'Cause that's her solution to everything? Please to ignore how her eyes cut towards Hive while thinking that. LA LA LA. "...you should ask Peter to teach you," she says, peeking back at the screen. "Take his mind off the pain." "Peter, give Jax geek lessons?" Hive smirks, and he does not in fact find a different game. Peter is getting Skyrim. Hive tosses the controller vaguely in Peter's direction. Sort of at the couch in general. << ... wonder how much sex the teachers around there even /get/. Might be awkward if some of the students are telepaths. Maybe that's why they're all nuts. >> He finally wanders over to inspect the pot of chili Jax brought in. He lifts up the lid, sniffing at it. "Huh. Smells good." At the (for once actually clean!) kitchen table where Dusk is DEVOURING a bowl of chili, he affirms: "Is good. Peter dying?" He peers over towards the living room. "Nope. Just badass scars. Only minutes after Iolaus has been texted, there is a rap of knuckles against Hive's door. The man in front of the door is, indeed, not Iolaus, but rather a tall black man wearing a Yankee's t-shirt and a pair of blue-jeans. He has a post-it note in his hands which he glances down as he waits for the door to be answered. It has the address for the Village Lofts, an apartment number - #403 - and a name - Hive. << Been workin' three days, and this is one of the weirdest fucking jobs I've had. I thought I saw it all working as a cabbie, but, no. This is extra-weird. >> Peter hears Dusk from the kitchen. "Not dead!" he hollers, with actually quite a bit of cheer to it. It's good to not be dead! "Videogames are /awesome/ though I guess I could understand why you wouldn't find them interesting, I mean, you can basically make videogames in /real life/," Peter tells Jackson as he continues to press the cloth to his leg; Peter plucks up the controller, and - now there is some sort of deep /chanting/ and the Skyrim logo, and... "Um, I could teach you, but - if you don't play /games/ I think I'd start you slow, on something more colorful like - like oh man, PLANTS vs ZOMBIES. You basically have to gather all these sunshine tokens..." There's a knock at the door. Peter's not going to get it! He's got an /excuse/. "-- /Sunshine/ tokens? That pretty much sounds like my kinda game. -- Heey Pete can you hold this for a sec?" Sorry Skyrim will have to wait Jax will physically move Peter's hand to the towel if he has to! Because there is a door to answer; he bounces up to skitter over to it, peeking out and then -- frowning. "Some dude --" he murmurs, puzzled; the others in the apartment get a flashed image of the man outside, not psionically but in holographic 3-D. He opens the door with the security chain still in place, a little confused. "Hello?" << Jax gets plenty, >> Shelby observes, and isn't it a good thing that Jackson isn't privy to /her/ thoughts? << I guess they could always fuck off campus. Or in the woods now the weather's getting nicer. Bet that houseboat sees a lot of action. >> Also she should stop talking about sex, it makes her mind /wander/. She harumphs and tosses the phone back onto the fallen hoodie. Time to squint at the screen and think /dragons/--or hey, someone at the door! Not that she moves herself but a cautious eye does fix on Jax and that sliver of hallway. "Someone delivering pizza?" << He doesn't live there, though. Though I /know/ he's boned in the -- >> Hive doesn't actually finish this thought. His smirk is crooked and he glances towards the image Jax projects with a frown. "-- What? Huh? Who? IAN, you order pizza?" From one of the bedrooms, a loud, "Nope!" << Pizza? >> The man on the doorstep looks curiously at the man who has answered the door, glancing down at the post-it note in his hands. "Are you... Hive? I'm here for Hive." he says, proffering the post-it note through the small crack. It is written in Iolaus' handwriting. << If this is the wrong apartment number, I'm going to strangle that greek bastard myself, Jane be damned. >> Peter places the towel to his leg quite happily; his fingers squeeze down on it, maintaining pressure on the wound. He eyes the 3D holographic image that Jackson creates with obvious confusion - but then, huuuuuums. "Izzat... that's not Iolaus? Oh /man/ someone needs to show Jackson Plants vs Zombies," Peter adds, but this is a half-mumble. "S'not Iolaus," Jackson calls back over his shoulder, taking the post-it. He looks over it in growing puzzlement. "Um -- I'm not Hive, no." << Hive you know this guy? >> It's wary, both in mental and audible tone. "Plants vs. Zombies sounds like basically great. I mean there's no /losing/ there." Except... perhaps getting eaten by zombies. "And no pizza, sorry. You guys want to order pizza?" Shelby swivels her head to keep a close eye on Peter. Were those slurred words? Is he /really/ keeping pressure on the wound? She squints at him, just to be certain. "S'not Iolaus, guess he wants you, Hive." << Take a fucking number, ha. >> "Nah, something smells good in the kitchen but no food 'til the doc's done stabbing Pete with needles, huh?" /Some/ people have delicate stomachs. Like...her. "I don't know the -- greek bastard?" Hive frowns. "Yeah whatever let him in. YO," he calls louder, to the door, "You with Io? I don't think he wants me," he adds wryly to Shelby. "And I dunno if it's /stabbing/ so much as /repeatedly perforating/. Pete, you dying over there?" "Iolaus. Ah, good." The tall man looks somewhat relieved. "I'm in the right place. Be back in a tick." He tosses a wide, rakish grin, then vanishes in an instant. He vanishes so fast, in fact, that there is a loud 'woomph' sound as air collapses back into the sudden vaccuum left behind. He is not gone long, though, and when he returns, it is a few feet /behind/ Jax, with Iolaus right beside him. "Heya." The doctor says, with a warm smile. "I see you'all have met Reg." he says, giving the tall man a wide smile as he unslings the bag from over his shoulder and walks towards Peter. "Alright. What trouble did you manage to get yourself into this time?" "...needles?" Peter asks, with just the tiniest hint of a /squeak/. "...wait no one said anything about /needles/ what do you mean /needles/--" Peter may have never had had stitches before. "...I'm fine," he mentions offhandedly to Hive, and then - his eyes /widen/ - as Reg proceeds to /disappear/, replaced moments later with IOLAUS + REG. "HOLYCRAP TELEPORTER." And then: "That is so /awesome/--ohmygod you guys did you see that--" Peter's babble will probably not last very long, though. Once Iolaus brings out the needles, well. It will be wide-eyed terror and endless nattering! "Take it like a man, Peter," Shelby urges, though she is a little distracted by Iolaus' /amazing/ entrance. So much so that she just ends up pointing at the patient on the couch and staring at the doc with Wide Eyes. Holy shit. That was incredible. Oh wait...he's got sharp pointy things. Awaaaay! "I'm gonna, uh..." Take her beer and retreat to the kitchen, where there is chili and the distraction of digging up a couple of bowls and spoons. One set's for Hive, 'cause she just can't help herself. "Scream if you need anything, guys..."