ArchivedLogs:In Which Cure Is Administered, But Not To Everyone

In Which Cure Is Administered, But Not To Everyone
Warning: Gore
Dramatis Personae Flicker, Taylor, Tian-shin, Hope
In Absentia	2015-11-11 "{Hey. You awake?}"( Part of Flu Season.)
Location <XS> Medical Lab - B1
Gleaming and sterile, the school's medical facility is all cool science in contrast to the mansion's old-world old-fashion. All stainless steel and antiseptic tinge, the room is filled with the quiet whir-click of the various implements that comprise its medical equipment -- all state-of the art. The hospital beds are curtained off for privacy when they have patients, and in one of the alcoves there is a small operating theatre visible. More heavy-duty equipment is visible in the lab in the back, where the securely locked cabinets keep sensitive equipment out of the reach of teenage fingers. Time kind of drones on, and on, and on, in here. The beeping of monitors, the pad of feet in and out, the murmur of hushed voices that /sound/ Too Concerned whether or not they really are. /Especially/ when you're stuck in a bed and hooked up to an IV -- time kind of drones on, and on, and on. Flicker has been passing the first hours with comics -- /The Wicked + The Divine/ -- but has now kind of glazed over. Staring at his computer screen. Staring at the ceiling. Trying not to retch into the plastic tub that Dr. McCoy has so helpfully placed beside his bed. In the adjacent bed, Taylor is zoning in and out. He's stolen Flicker's /first/ trade of /The Wicked + The Divine/ for himself, though he hasn't gotten far in it. Just staring at the pages without reading much. In addition to the IV in his arm, one of his limbs has been dressed and bandaged where it's suffered extensive burning -- in another person this would have needed a /lot/ more tending, but his tentacles heal thankfully fast. Flicker's head rolls over to one side. Peering at the bed beside him. His eyes close droopily, then open again. "So really. /Kyinha/." He sounds amused. Taylor flicks a smaller tentacle at the bandages on Flicker's neck. "Hey. /You're/ mixing it up with your best friends." Flicker lifts his hand, touching fingertips lightly to the bandages on his neck. There's a flutter of memory flashing through his mind, blearily; a tearing rip of pain, Dusk's growl, /confusion/ pulling his anger away. Outwardly a grin, crooked, bright, that he pastes on. FIRMLY. To force back the anger that threatens to /re/surface: "I'll have you know, I /always/ mix it up with my best friends. What else are they for?" Taylor's mouth twitches. Slightly. But he curls out an arm, stretching over to Flicker's bed to wrap it snug around the older man's shoulders. From behind the curtain sectioning off the bed on the other side of Flicker there's a low groan. Hope has been napping, not actually on the regular roster for treatment but brought in here earlier in the day after a pretty severe fight. There's a shift in her bed, a clunk of feet on the floor. Flicker presses his cheek down against Taylor's limb, relaxing into the grip. He takes a few deep breaths; the anger starts to subside. The nausea in him does /not/. It's not long before he's jerking back out of the hug, leaning over to grab the plastic tub he's been given and curl himself over it. "Hrrrrk." It's probably a good thing he hasn't eaten much today; by now all that's coming back up is ginger ale and graham crackers. He winces at the tightening ache in his shoulders when he finally sets the tub back aside and takes a cautious sip of ginger ale. "-- Hope? {Hey. You awake?}" His voice is soft, just in case she /isn't/. "{Oh my god please be awake I'm bored to fucking death. Remind me that it is possible to ever actually leave this terrible place. Get up and go enjoy life.}" Taylor's arm has trailed down to Flicker's back, rubbing gently while the man pukes. He pushes himself halfway up onto another arm, but then lowers back down to the mattress. "{I hear there's gaming upstairs. More interesting ceilings to stare at, too.}" There's a scuff of feet against the floor. The curtain shifts, pushed forward, then caught slightly. Then tears, ripped against a snag of rough sharp bone-spike. Then shifts again. There's another grunt from behind it before this time Hope manages to shuffle /through/. A little glassy-eyed, a little unsteady on her feet; there are sharp jagged spikes of bone protruding not just from the parts of her that have been bandaged from her earlier spat but from all up and down her arms, her shoulderblades, a rough uneven thorny crown topping her head. She doesn't answer the others; instead, she just reaches forward, closing clawed hands around Flicker's neck as she leans in. "{Oh, good. I was worried you wouldn't be back on your feet for...}" Flicker trails off when he studies Hope's face "{Hey no no,}" at first this is just cautioning, but when she actually grabs at him it turns to a sick sort of dread. << please don't be -- >> "{Hope. Hope /stop/ --}" His arm -- his only arm, the other isn't strapped on, tucked away in his duffel bag under his bed -- lifts to push back at the osteokinetic. "{/Stop/ it's me --}" The words cut off in a soft choking. "{Hope? ... Angel?}" Taylor's arm shifts from Flicker's back, wrapping around Hope's shoulders kind of heedless of the bone-spikes. Another pair of arms snaps out to pry her hands off his neck. Reluctantly, unwilling, his mind is reaching out, /feeling/ out, touching unhappily against hers. "{Hope, snap out of it, it's /Flicker/.}" The touch of Taylor's mind to Hope's finds only a grating jarring dissonance, a mass of churning ravenous static that claws up at him hungrily. Sharp bone nails claw down against Flicker's neck; jagged bones stab in at the arms that he curls around her. Her attention turns to Taylor when he tugs at her, when he speaks, she reaches to grip at the thick limb that has seized her, leaning in to bite down at /that/ instead and rip off a ragged mouthful that she chews greedily. "... hhhh." It's just a soft hiss of sound. The bandaging already around Flicker's neck tears; it's soon joined by new stains of red on the opposite side. His shoulder presses back against the bed, his fingers clawing down at the mattress. The tearing flesh in front of his face wells up another hard surge of nausea to go with the (anger) (grief) that he is fighting back. One hand fumbles for his phone, halted when his IV line tangles against spikes of bone and one long tentacle. "-- no --" Taylor doesn't even /resist/ the biting, grey eyes opened wide and wet even as the thick limb spasms with pain. << No no no no no, >> rushes through Flicker's mind. Black flesh rips away, thick dark-blue blood welling from the torn limb. His other limbs are thrashing -- the limbs /around/ Hope are tightening and loosening, only adding to the damage bone-shards are doing as he pulls her away from Flicker. He finally does grab at his phone, pressing his own panic button. Dr McCoy's office in the infirmary is currently empty, dinnertime having called the doctor away for actual /food/. Flicker and Taylor have been in their beds alongside Hope (who was brought in earlier following a Very Nasty disease-rage-fueled altercation); there are a number of other filled beds around the room, though most of their curtains are drawn, occupants dozing (or retching, or not-entirely-sane, judging by the sounds of vomit or ranting coming from some of them where people have been getting treated.) Currently there's bright red blood spotting Flicker's pillow again, though. The bandages on his neck have been torn open, new gashes torn along the other side. Hope -- a mangled sharp prickle of bones poking out in all directions from her skin -- is currently being dragged away from his bed by Taylor's ropy thick limbs. One of which she's in the process of eating. After her first hungry bite she takes another, ripping a second savage mouthful out. She's not quite /struggling/ against his hold so much as just walking purposefully forward against it, towards the bed. If her face wasn't so full of blood, it'd almost look like she were trying to kiss her boyfriend, the way she leans down over his pillow. Except for how wide her mouth opens. Flicker jerks upright -- the motion tugs the IV out of his arm. He stumbles up out of bed so that he can -- nope, wait, the world is swimming and he is puking again. This time he has missed his Helpful Plastic Bin. The floor is getting this mix of gingerale and crackers. Taylor -- is not actually /fighting/ this. There's a visible ripple of muscles, coiling and shivering along the length of his limbs. Thick blue ichor oozes down from where bone shards pierce up into the arms wrapped around Hope's bristling shoulders. His eyes squeeze shut tightly, his arm lifting to press one hand up against her chest, pushing just slightly back. "{Please --}" When his head tilts up, it /is/ to press a kiss, up against her forehead. "I can't..." A few seconds after Taylor hits his panic button, a distant muffled crash comes from down the hallway, followed by the sound of running feet. Tian-shin, dressed in a black Chinese tunic with scarlet edging and black jeans with red stitching, throws open the door to the med lab, sword already in hand. She hardly breaks stride as she dashes toward the struggle, stretching out her senses to feel for the telltale chemical signs of death in Hope. She does slow as she nears, however, lifting her sword up and back, poised at about head level like a snake coiling to strike. "{Taylor,}" her voice comes gentle and even, her Spanish carrying a heavy Oaxacan accent, "{you have to push her back, away from you.}" Hope groans again, low and rattling. The bones jabbing out of her grow longer, tearing sharply through Taylor's arms. The sharp tug of one of her wrists severs right /through/ one of the arms that holds her, rending flesh and leaving dripping blue blood streaked against the white bedsheets. When her mouth closes, it is against Taylor's jaw. Biting down hard into soft skin to pull back, bare red gums, white teeth, stark against Taylor's ink black skin. There's another sharp convulsion of Flicker's shoulders. Nothing left to come /up/, though. << -- >> It would probably be profanity, in his mind, but it's just a blank ugly dread instead. He finally staggers forward to clap his hand down on a (spiky) (jagged) shoulder and yank Hope back. /Jump/ Hope back, reappearing a foot away and then another, on the far side of /his/ bed. Taylor's cry is raw and ragged; it's echoed by a blast of mental pain that shudders out around the room, screaming through Flicker and Tian-shin's minds. His face turns aside, one arm curling up against the torn open side of his face. << It's /Hope/, >> he answers Tian-shin, arms curling in /tighter/ even as -- suddenly they are curling in on nothing. His shoulders tighten, his breath caught in a sudden gasp, mangled bleeding arms coiling in on himself as his head turns, smearing red blood against the pillow as his eyes look towards Flicker and Hope. Tian-shin grits her teeth, shoving the twist of pain back down when she sees Hope's face--a fraction of a second before she bites down on Taylor's jaw. "{She's gone, Taylor,}" she manages, readying her sword to strike even if she cannot get Hope's body clear of her boyfriend's. "{I'm sorry.} At Flicker's timely removal of the osteokinetic, she moves fast. She flips up over Flicker's bed and brings her sword down in a long, fluid flash of steel aimed at the undead teen's mouth. A chunk of flesh and flap of skin is still hanging from Hope's bloody teeth as Flicker pulls her away. Her shoulders twitch-jerk as she lunges forward, bones tearing at Flicker's palm where he grips her. She never makes it, quite. Rather than Flicker, all she gets is a mouthful of sword. The groaning stops. Her body lolls forward, weight hung on the blade. Flicker's hand claps over his mouth; this smears streaks of blood against his face from his slashed palm but he doesn't seem to care. Shuddering, he moves to sit down on the bed. Only for a moment. Then shimmers over to reappear on Taylor's bedside. Very gingerly, one arm curls around Taylor's shoulders. Taylor's eyes stay fixed on Hope. The throb of mental pain spikes higher as the sword runs through her. His body twitches, his head turning aside. When Flicker appears beside him, he leans into the touch, blue and red blood mingling on the other man's clothing as he leans against his friend, ruined face pressing into the stump of Flicker's shoulder as his eyes squeeze shut, hot tears sliding out down -- what is left of his cheek.