|
|
Clara quietly opens a hidden panel in the wall and pulls out her mad scientist kit! Muahaha! She's making a man with blonde hair and a...wait. Wrong show. No! It's the bride of penguin!
Dangling from the coatrack, Purloined Penguin perks up. It's been a -lot- longer than six minutes...
Clara snickers maniacally, back to the coatrack and surgical instruments flying. Oh, yes. And nail polish.
Dangling from the coatrack, Purloined Penguin tosses over a few jello eggs.
Clara catches at the eggs! Yes! They add to the equation! More cackling as she throws up the skylight that her player decides is now there. "Let...there...be...lightening!"
Dangling from the coatrack, Purloined Penguin watches with bated breath. He'd really like a woman.
Baited breath? Well, I suppose that's one way to catch fish. Dooooooown comes the lightening! Crash bang! Man, Arthur is going to be pissed beyond belief at the scorch mark on the floor. "You missed!" Clara hollers at the ceiling.
Dangling from the coatrack, Furball cracks up.
Dangling from the coatrack, Purloined Penguin only has access to Loki. He can't get to Zeus. *snicker*
Sizzle! Pop! Keeeerack! "Uh, okay. That one didn't miss." Lightening travels about the copper wires and tubing in Clara's mad scientist kit and down into the Bride of Penguin. "Muahahaha!"
Dangling from the coatrack, Purloined Penguin announces, "Hurry up already, I'm not getting any younger, here!" He's impatient, besides being purloined.
Clara tosses a Jello egg back at the coatrack, and maybe a turtle cookie or two for good measure. "Sssssh! It's -science-!" Back to maniacal laughter as the Bride of Penguin slowly sits up. (Do penguins sit?) "It's aliiiiive!"
Dangling from the coatrack, Purloined Penguin likes eating jello eggs, unlike Satan. (No, Satan doesn't like jello eggs. The penguin doesn't eat Satan. Not even with tabasco sauce.)
Dangling from the coatrack, Dust Puppy wants a bride too?
Dangling from the coatrack, Purloined Penguin . o O ( Robin Williams--You're my little (dust) puppy, now! )
Dangling from the coatrack, Dust Puppy eyes the penguin lasviciously?
Clara waves an absent minded hand at the Puppy. "You can't have any. You're too young." Not in the middle of a chase, Porthos! You're right. Something red. "Squawk. Squawk squawk squawk!"
Er, says Bride of Penguin. Clara doesn't squawk, even in mad scientist mode.
Dangling from the coatrack, Purloined Penguin blinks. "That's not a -chicken- is it? You didn't zzzap that and turn it into a -chicken-??"
Dangling from the coatrack, Dust Puppy never gets to have any fun. Ah well, it'll write fluff pornography. *scribble* And her limpid tendrils of lint enticed him into her wolly depths.
Dangling from the coatrack, Purloined Penguin heads over to read over the Dust Puppy's shoulder. It looks better than a chicken.
Clara turns about to proudly carry the Bride of Penguin to the coatrack. "Squaaawk." "Of course, it's a penguin!" And it is. With a tuft of black feathers on her head, with two white ones at either penguin-temple. "And...her...limpid..." -Blush-. *thud*
Dangling from the coatrack, Purloined Penguin hides behind the Dust Puppy.
Dangling from the coatrack, Dust Puppy is having to write this with its toes of course, as it lacks hands. "And she cried out, fluff me my dusty bunny! Fluff me until I am a dust ball big enough to menace small third world nations!"
Dangling from the coatrack, Bride of Penguin shimmies up the coatrack to peer at the writing as well. "Where are the chickens?"
Dangling from the coatrack, Purloined Penguin thought the fox was supposed to be looking for chickens. "Uhh. They're somewhere else. No chickens here."
Dangling from the coatrack, Actually the Fox is hanging out in his happy denim colored room waiting to be tamed.
Dangling from the coatrack, Dust Puppy hrms, "Please sir draw me a chicken?"
Dangling from the coatrack, Bride of Penguin oooohs! Penguin! *tackle* "Pardon our dust." Oh, hey, maybe the dust bunny can use the dust? "There's foxes here too?"
[Slow fade to IC]
You say "Tarrant? It's Clara. I know it's late. Did you want to try the exam tomorrow? I'm fine either way." into the communit.
Clara is, of course, still on the ground fainted. That's her evil twin using the comm.
Your communit crackles to life and says "Hello, Clara. I'm fine whenever's most convenient for you." in Tarrant's voice.
You say "*chuckle* Okay, let me put this another way. Would you rather me poke evilly at your knee, or would you rather spend time with Corian? Or is she busy?" into the communit.
Your communit crackles to life and announces "I think the answer to that one ought to be self evident." He chuckles, "Honestly, I don't know. I parted ways with her earlier in a search for a nap, and haven't spoken to her again this evening." in Tarrant's voice.
You say "I'll tell you what. I'm not going back home for likely another half hour. But I could gather up a decent scanner and head out now and stop by there on my way? Unless...oh, bother. Did I wake you?" into the communit.
Your communit crackles to life and announces "No, I was awake. If that's convenient for you, I'd appreciate it." in Tarrant's voice.
Clara wakes up and gathers all her equipment together, quickly hiding her mad scientist kit. Too bad about the scorch mark on the floor. The penguin gets left in the coatrack.
[Travel to General Housing snipped]
You knock on a door.
Tarrant calls, "Come in."
You unlock the door and go into room G11.
Tarrant is seated on one end of the couch, the bad leg propped up rather haphazardly on the coffee table. A pile of datapads is to his side on the couch, where he had been working. "Thanks for coming over, sorry about not getting up. Please, have a seat."
Clara comes in, a rather oversized medical kit slung over one shoulder and her field kit strapped to her left leg. Offering an affable smile, she crosses over to lower to the couch, carefully setting the large kit to the floor. "No problem, of course. Is it bothering you right now?"
Tarrant nods rather sheepishly to that, tugging off his hat and setting it onto the coffee table. He has to be polite somehow or another. "Yeah, rather fiercely, hence why I'm awake rather than being crashed out as intended. All the weather flopping with fall coming in and all..."
Clara considers this a moment, then hefts the bag and rises to circle the table, only to kneel in front of you and off to the side slightly. She raises a hand to the knee, fingers hovering lightly as she peers up with a purely professional look. "Permission to touch?"
Tarrant nods affably to the question, "Sure, please, feel free. Actually..." He shifts forward, rummaging in the left leg pants pocket and at the boot, removing a blade and an oddly oblong bolter. He settles the objects aside, "Okay, no more booby traps."
Clara lifts a brow at the weaponry, leaning over slightly to give the bolter a quick inspection out of curiosity, then resumes her work, carefully probing at the afflicted joint. "Thank you. I'd rather not have to explain to Riley why I was in Medbay recovering from a plasma bolt," she notes with faint amusement. "You weren't kidding about this knee. Good heavens...I never even did patchups like this as a field medic."
Tarrant bites back on a pained sound as the knee is prodded. He nods with a rueful chuckle, "I'd be well and truly squished. I don't think you'd've been likely to encounter either, but better safe than sorry." He nods, "There wasn't a lot left."
Clara softens her touch, eyes distant as she lets her fingers provide the initial data. "Mmm, that might make him a tad bit angry, yes. More at me, I'd imagine, though." Her brows furrow as she pauses, fingers halting. "They didn't recreate the patella properly. Did a real doctor do this?"
"Either way, you'd be shot, and I'd be squished, and neither of us really thrilled with the situation." Tarrant watches you work, although not with his intense wariness of previous occasions, but in normal curiosity. He nods with a quiet chuckle, "Yes, amazingly enough, but it was a while back and all. And in something of a hurried situation."
Clara sighs softly, shaking her head as she turns to rummage in her bag and withdraw a rather oversized scanner attached to a felt pad. The felt is laid over the knee before she turns the scanner on, examining the display. "Insufficient cartilage, arteries rerouted improperly." She looks up with raised brow. "A real mess, in other words."
"I could've told you that much," Tarrant replies in a half bemused tone, although it is perhaps edged a bit with the same discomfort he's been in all along. "If it weren't, it wouldn't hurt I'd be guessing."
Clara's expression softens significantly to apologetic rue as she sets the scanner on the table and clicks open the kit at her leg. "Let's do something about that pain, at least. If nothing else, I can help you for tonight," she explains, prepping a hypo deftly.
"Normally it's not this bad," Tarrant replies, although he does not attempt to interrupt any drugging activities. "It must be the weather or something."
"The barometer shifting causes the damaged ligaments to swell and contract in an exaggerated manner," Clara explains, lifting the felt to regard the denim a moment, then casually sneaking the hypo up your pant leg to press into the side of the knee. "Sorry. It was either that or cut your pants or ask you to remove them. Lesser of embarrassing evils. Now, the swelling and contracting causes acute femoral patella syndrome, which in turn traumatizes the femur. Hence the pain."
Tarrant doesn't protest the pant-leg invasion, instead relaxing rather considerably as the drug starts to kick in. He sinks back into the couch, head thunking very softly against the wall. "Which in summing up means, the weather's changing and so it hurts?"
Clara can't help but laugh, nodding as she returns to rummaging in her bag. "Exactly. Now, after twelve years, I'm afraid there's not much I can fix. The scar tissue has grown around the synthplas." She tugs off the felt and instead runs a small cylindrical instrument over the knee that hums quietly. "I'm afraid you'll always limp unless you're paying attention. But..."
Tarrant opens his eyes fully again, as they had half drifted shut in the general and altogether pleasant haze left by the fleeing pain. "But?" He echoes, sounding half-hopeful.
Clara shifts the instrument to the muscles just above the knee, which should immediately start to unknot and relax. "But I can redirect the bloodflow and rebuild the patella to reduce any pain to a faint residual discomfort, even in the worst barometric shifts."
And from the look on Tarrant's face, the instrument is doing exactly as it's supposed to, and it's been a while since those particular muscles have un-knotted. "That'd be amazing. Limping I can handle, I have this long after all. What all would I have to have done?"
Clara continues to use the instrument on each individual muscle in the upper leg, eyes clinically on her work. Clinical is good, otherwise she'd be bright red from being this close to any man who isn't Riley. As it is, she calmly explains, "Surgery, I'm afraid. But a fairly easy one for you. Un douleur dans l'ane for me, but I'll gladly do it. We could perform the operation one evening, I'd release you to Corian, you've be back on your feet the next night."
"This means crutches again, doesn't it? Not that -I'm- going to object, not if it gets me out of pain in the long run," Tarrant half-grins, still in a rather half-gone and bemused state. "But you might get letters of complaint. I'm a weapon of mass destruction on the things." He frowns a moment, "I don't want to have to put you to trouble though."
Clara finally switches off the cylinder and repacks her equipment before sitting back and pulling in her knees to rest her arms on and tilting her head at you wryly. "Crutches for a day or two, is all, actually. But being careful for a good three weeks. I'll give you a list of instructions." She sighs and shakes her head, amused. "Tarrant, this is -no- trouble. I can't handle seeing people in pain, especially friends. If I can help, I'd like to."
Tarrant looks rather relieved, see, he really -likes- the idea of getting this fixed, and wouldn't want to have to set it aside to be polite of all things. He nods, "If you'll be so kind as to let me know when you have an opening to do it, I'll arrange the time at work."
Clara considers this for a long moment, then suggests, "Soon? When's good for you, actually? I'd like to do it before Niko and Elasia's wedding, but after is fine if you've other duties to attend to."
"The sooner the better, I'd have to vote. I'm supposed to be on contract, but they haven't settled it yet, and I can arrange to exchange with somebody." Tarrant explains, straightening enough to look a hair more alert, "Actually being able to count on that leg to more or less do what I'd like it to...Well, that'd be a nice edge to have back."
Clara's face brightens in an affable smile. "Perhaps tomorrow or the next day then? It's silly, but I'm supposed to go dress shopping soon. I know, how frighteningly female, but it's one of those things."
Tarrant nods to the first question with a smile, "Sounds perfect to me. I'd like to be able to actually -enjoy- fall again." He grins all the wider, "Hey, as long as you're having fun, that's all that matters."
Clara rolls her eyes, snapping the lock closed on her field kit on her leg, then climbing to her feet. "Have you ever seen me in a dress? They're evil inventions invented by men and / or great-grandmothers. Do you think you'll be all right for tonight though? That hypo should last you a good eighteen hours, or so."
Tarrant chuckles quietly, brows lifting questioningly. "If they're so evil, why're you going to get one?" He nods to the latter question, "I'll be fine, thank you. Better than I have been in a while. Although I'm half-scared to move it, as if the pain would spot that and come diving back. It's really odd for it not to hurt at all."
Clara grins easily, reshouldering the medical bag. "For the wedding, of course." She gives the knee a final glance, then shakes her head reassuringly. "You could get up, move, walk about. The problem's still there, but the pain won't be for tonight. Just relax and enjoy it. If there's nothing else then...I may just scoot on home and collapse for the night."
Tarrant nods to that, doffing his non existent hat, or rather it's existent, he's just not wearing it. "Thank you Clara, and a pleasant evening to you."
Clara inclines her head pleasantly with a smile. "My pleasure. The same to you sir. Goodnight," she offers, and heads for the door, being good and waiting till she's outside to start removing the annoying mass of hairpins.
[Travel spam home snipped]
SECURITY> Riley tiptoes out. He's not here, really. He was struck by a passing log flume and lost track of time is all.
Riley enters from the Elevator Lounge.
The lights have already been turned out, or perhaps they were never on in here. Still, the bed has been pulled down, and a figure is already burrowed under the blankets at the far side, only an arm and a riot of curls visible in the dim light.
Riley is quiet as he realizes the room is dark, slipping softly into the closet in search of clothes other than his uniform.
Clara sleeps? Well, somewhat at least. She really hasn't been in bed all that long, and the sound of the shutting door at least gets green eyes peering over the edge of the covers to track your movements with fond silence.
Riley re-emerges from the closet in sleeping gear, and he heads towards the bed, now barefoot and all the quieter. Not that this means much, as you're awake and watching him, but he tries. Quietly he slides under the covers and into the bed.
Clara remains quiet as she turns toward you and reaches a hand over to rest lightly on your shoulder. "Hi, sailor," she finally whispers, nudging her other arm up under her head for extra pillowing.
"Hello love," Riley murmurs, abusing the fact that you're awake to curl in close. "Sorry to wake you, love."
Clara doesn't seem to complain, but rather cuddles in obligingly. "Wasn't really asleep yet," she replies softly, rather more than content to finally have you home. "Long day, darling?"
Riley shifts an arm around you with a contented sigh, "Not really, although the hour I'm coming in, I know it looks it. I just got caught up with what I missed, and got into a long conversation about poison delivery methods. Completely lost track of time, and when the other party hung up the comm, I was quite startled to realize the hour."
Clara's eyes close lazily as her fingers drift to your chest to rest there idly. "Mmm. S'okay. I figured you had a reason. Did you find anything out?" One eye peeks open to peer up for the answer.
Riley shakes his head slightly, "Nothing concrete, but some things niggled. I figure when I give it a chance to settle, I might have a direction to look in. Best slept on." He gives you something of a hug, murmuring, "But for now, sleep's best, hmm?"
Clara lets the other eye open as well before she shifts up slightly in a sleepy effort a kiss thievery, then settles back against your side. "So long as you're safe, love. S'all I ask. Sleep is good, though, yes."
Riley is willing to cooperate with the criminal, and returns the kiss. "M'safe," he murmurs, starting to sound sleepy himself. "Safe and sound and warm and comfortable with my Clara. Sleep's nice. Sweet dreams my love."
Clara tangles one hand in your shirt as if to somehow hold you here and safe from whatever madmen may be out and about, shifting her head a final time to nuzzle into your collarbone. "Sleep well, Greg," she murmurs, already in that phase of utter relaxation that precedes drifting off entirely.
Riley does not fall asleep immediately, instead drowsing in a decidedly contented state. He has his arms full of sleepy, all but sleep-ing-, Clara. He's warm, he's happy. Life ain't getting much better. In time however he does drift off into a reasonable facsimile of sleepery.
Clara shifts slightly after a fair amount of time, one leg tossing over. Thwack. Look on the bright side? She doesn't snore, at least.
Riley suffers, oh yep, he's suffering, just miserable. That's why he's exuding smugly content rays.
Is that what those are? Oooh. Much better than the lightening in Clara's office, which Arthur is likely going to make many irritated noises about. She's pretty miserable herself, despite being protected by her Greg, warm, and blissfully asleep. Such agony.
Arthur is probably staying up late thinking up Clara revenge in fact. This is what he does.