poly_chromatic | 030: VIDEO

Entry tags:

house m.d. - robert chase

030: VIDEO

[Chase is in one of the hospital pathology labs, a centrifuge whirring away on the desk in front of him. He's flicking through a messy looking sheaf of paper.]

I'm starting to understand why the City Guide has an entire section on zombie handling strategy. Someone told me they used to be a regular problem, here. Anyone long-term enough to be able to tell me about that?

[He's about to ask another question, but a second voice, deep and rolling, curiously accented, interrupts.]

What is an enemy to you, Doctor?

[Chase's head snaps up. He takes a gasp as though the breath has been punched out of him.]

You're not here. You're never really h—

[But the voice comes again, and as Chase moves, the picture on his device swings to show a man in a tattered, bloodied surgical gown, the flesh rotting away from his face.]

Men make choices.

[The zombie sweeps a rack of equipment to the floor, and the screen goes black.]

[ooc: Chase's ghoul is ~~Darth Vader~~ ~~Mufasa~~ ~~James Earl Jones~~ Dibala, the genocidal dictator of a small African nation, who he murdered shortly before arriving in the city. Dibala will be/have been around for a little bit to bother anyone at the hospital.]

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Nothing serious.

[The blood washing through one sleeve of his lab coat can be put down to jagged glass, not splintered teeth. Near the bottom of the stairs he lets go of her, stopping abruptly as soon as he has.]

I don't know what it is. [But he knows who. It's not the first time he's seen him around the hospital - which is the muddled part. When he arrived here he was still having flashbacks. None this solid.] Find security. Tell them... [There's no good description, but they read the network like everyone else.] Tell them it's got in.

You can tell them yourself. Come on.

[If the plan is that he's going to play decoy, she is not okay with it. She grabs his sleeve just below the shoulder and tugs, taking the first step.]

[He won't pull away from her but he won't be lead, either. He sets his feet where he stands.]

Allison it's coming after me. I can't lead it deeper into the hospital. Please.

[Get somewhere safe. Get somewhere safe.]

Then we'll lead it out.

[There's an edge of desperation to her tone. It's perfectly rational reasoning, and she refuses to accept it.]

I'm not going to leave you to it!

[He probably looks comedic, with distance and a lack of context, double-taking between her and the hallway like he's watching a tennis match. Nothing comes. He'd thought they'd be caught by now.

Maybe he won't come. Maybe it's like the flashbacks and it won't get worse, after all.

(Flashbacks don't destroy a lab.)

Chase steps up beside Cameron, catching her other hand so he's clasping both of them.]

We'll go up to the ground floor. If he follows us, I'll head for the exit. You need to go the other way and lock as many doors as possible. Okay? You need to run.

[Whatever it is, it's real; he's real. She didn't know the voice, but she knows she heard it. And it's not as though the City's known for logic, or safety, or sanity.]

Let's see what's up there first. It might be better if we both make a break for it.

[She squeezes his hand, trying to be reassuring but probably not succeeding.]

[He squeezes back, but his hands won't stop shaking. He has to swallow hard midway through words just to keep his throat from clenching too tight to speak.]

Okay. [And for a moment that's all, but then.] Just dont'— I can't let you get hurt.

[And then, one last look back, he turns to head after her up the stairs.]

Then stay with me.

[It's not a fair request, and other any other circumstances she'd resent the implication that she needs to be protected, but she doesn't want to leave him on his own.

She runs up the steps, trusting that he'll follow, trying to listen over the echoing footsteps for any sign of pursuit.]

[Chase watches her, wide eyed, for only a second before following her up the steps. There are only two sets of footsteps to be heard, the slap of his trainers, the click of her heels. Nothing lurching and heavy in the background.

He's not coming. He's gone. He's gone. The stairs widen as they read the first upward junction and an arm, the flesh thick and droopy on it like the darkened peel of an overripe banana, reaches to snatch Cameron out into the open.]

Edited 2013-01-05 07:22 (UTC)

[She's glancing back towards him when it happens, and the suddenness startles her into screaming. It's a short, sharp yell as she jumps, trying to escape the rotting fingers without tumbling down the stairs. Unfortunately there's not much of anywhere to go but down.

The thing-- the man?-- manages to catch a loose fistful of lab coat.]

[Chase's own cry echoes around the narrow corridor of the stairwell. True panic is a curious affliction: no one is a fighter or flighter by design. Someone who runs once may raise his fists to the next threat. And there's a third response.

Chase freezes. His limbs seize, legs, arms, the paralysis settles so deep that his lungs forget their function and the breath stills in his throat. Until she jumps towards him and then - it is instinct - his arms are out to catch her before he's told them to. But the fear on his face doesn't diminish.]

Take it off. You have to get your arm out of it! [He's already reaching over her, shoving the lab coat off one shoulder and trying to drag the sleeve roughly downwards.]

She is too weak. I showed her her true character.

[A nightmare of a face closes in behind her, and Dibala's other hand is in her hair, then, twisting and tugging her upwards.]

Edited 2013-01-07 07:04 (UTC)

[Under better circumstances she might not be so powerless, but taken by surprise in a tight, treacherous space by a rotting corpse, the best she can do is try to twist away from it without tumbling down the stairs herself.

Her twist to pull the coat off turns into a thrash as she's caught, yelping in pain as the dead dictator pulls and nearly keeling over backwards. She's still trying to get out of the coat, clutching wildly for Chase's arm, breath coming in gasps.]

[Whatever the fleetingly noble intentions were at the bottom of the stairs (and wanting her safe was selfish too, lets be honest) all Chase has managed, faced with the ghost of hospitals past, is to duck and run.

When Cameron's grab for him falls short, Dibala pulls her upwards to where the stairwell opens out. Chase expects the (erstwhile) man to discard her there and come for him, instead.

He doesn't. Perhaps it's a lesson learned, that going after her will bring Chase to him, instead.

There's a fire extinguisher clipped to the wall up there. That's what Chase tries to focus on getting to, defying all basic self-preservation instincts to follow them up.]

[Dragged upwards, her attention is divided between trying to keep her feet and trying desperately to escape, lashing out and kicking at the ghoul's decaying legs and torso with little effect.]

[Chase would doubt he could free himself from Dibala's grip, if it came to it. The man wasn't weak in life and death offers a new nightmarish wellspring of power. But Cameron's attempts to kick out do have some effect.

They're a decent distraction.]

Allison.

[Chase slams the base of the extinguisher up into the back of Dibala's skull. He can't see what the ghoul has done to her, only measure out the seconds that have passed. How long has he had? How long to catch at her skin. How long to break a bone? A neck?

There's desperation in Chase's voice.]

ALLISON.

[She yelps as the force of the blow shakes the dead man wholly, his fingers twitching and then loosening slightly. It's enough, but barely; she falls from his grasp, banging an elbow and jarring her back but safe, thankfully. More than a few long strands of hair stay caught in the ghoul's ragged nails, cutting harmlessly into the rotted flesh.]

Okay, [she manages to huff with the first gasp of breath she takes, though it's hard to tell because at this moment everything that can be sore is.]

I'm okay. [And still within reach. She tries to scramble back across the landing, awkward and a little disoriented.] Is it--

[Dead? Again? She doesn't know how to ask.]

[Chase's eyes are a little wild when they meet hers, and he looks up only for a second, just long enough to check that she's still there. Still whole.

The thing collapsed at his feet stutters back into some facsimile of life and starts trying to stand, lisping words through a cracked face.]

Assassins and traitors... scum...

[Heart pounding, she's still trying to back away as the dead man starts to twitch anew. Later, perhaps, she'll wonder who he is and what he wants with them-- with Chase, obviously, since there's some sort of recognition there-- but now it's all blind terror and instinct. They need to get away.

She slips, her leg coming too close to Dibala's writhing form, and far too quickly for something in such bad shape, the ghoul rolls toward her, teeth gnashing, one arm grasping at her. Shouting in shock, she manages not to be caught again-- his grip is weakened, at least-- but when she pulls her leg back beneath her, she's bleeding.]

[Oh, she'll probably wonder. Because Chase is shaking with more than terror and adrenaline as he finally does the job properly, slamming the heavy metal cannister into Dibala's skull over and over. And because he's talking to the man - thing - man, a hiss through gritted teeth.]

I said you wouldn't touch her again.

[Metal impacts softened bone, over and over. Whatever that skull was protecting has largely been pulped along with it by the time Chase throws the cannister down and backs up fast, looking as startled as someone newly arrived on the scene might by what he's just done.]

[It's anyone's guess whether the meaning of the words actually reaches her. For now, it's all panicked haze; no doubt the horror will hit her later, thinking back on it. The question of where defense ends and retribution begins. In the moment she has bigger concerns.]

It bit me, [she says tonelessly, quiet with the disbelief that still attends impossible disasters like these. Maybe under the circumstances shock can be forgiven. Backed at last against the wall, she's pulled her leg up to examine it-- a shallow wound, barely more than a scratch where the dictator's mouth dragged over skin, deepest at the trailing end where he snapped. She's not worried about the wound itself; who knows what infections a creature like this is carrying?

Wide-eyed, she looks up at him. She shouldn't feel so stunned. Deal with it first. Don't look at the body; it's not going to move again.]

Help me up.

[He looks across, blinking his way out of a haze. It's what he needs, almost (and the last thing he needs or wants, of course) - something to focus on that isn't a ghost he can't keep down.

He offers his arms, crouching beside her.]

We need to get out. If walking's tough, I'll carry you.

[It's considerably simpler if you ignore the nightmare on the floor and focus on the next problem, she thinks. Telling him rather than asking is a gamble. A distraction, which seems not to hurt at least. She leans heavily on him, pulling herself off the floor and pushing herself upright, a bit wobbly but apparently intact. She kicks off her shoes-- she doesn't even want to speculate about what's coating the low heels-- and tests her weight on either side. A bit numb from being knocked around and bruised, but her leg doesn't buckle. That's a good sign, at least.]

I can walk, just... Stay close?

[Not entirely for physical support. She has no doubt that he's just saved her life, right now she doesn't want to be alone with the implications of what could have happened had things gone differently.]

[She's smart and practical. There's something in his brain - in all of theirs - that necessarily kicks in when expectations are put on them. A few years on call would hone it into anyone.

The arm he keeps locked with hers is trembling but it holds, and he almost, almost manages to sound amused rather than just desperate when he replies.]

Babe, I'm not planning on letting go.

[This is something she may find irritating when she discovers it extends to sitting by her bed through the oncoming fevers. For now they need to go.]

[Plenty of time to rave and curse his name when the delirium sets in. She's not even going to chide him for his choice of endearment, focused as she is on hobbling toward safety and-- hopefully-- enough antibiotics to keep this day from getting worse.]

Okay, [she breathes, not in response. She's telling herself, really.] Let's go.

[It's a small slip. Circumstance has made him forget the months spent re-learning what name to call her, much less that affection is not allowed. Right now the main thing is getting them to somewhere he can take a proper look at that leg.

(His fault. Time for the self-flagellation later, too.)

With an arm around her waist, he takes her weight as they climb the next flight of stairs, rather than waiting for her to lean more heavily. It's quicker, and speed is of the essence.

Not far past that there are double doors which self-lock reassuringly behind them, and a hall which leads down toward the surgical assessment unit.]

030: VIDEO

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action; do you mind if she's bitten so i can account for her having just been abed a few days? xD

action; i don't mind at all sob sorry i took so long

action; is ok <3

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