circle7 | an apple a day

Entry tags:

an apple a day

There came a sharp rapping on the metallic door. ~~Spoke the raven, nevermore.~~

It was near mechanical in its precision, a steady one-two-three beat fit for a quick-time waltz but lacking all the feeling and expression to make it anything akin to music. It did fit in with the whirring and slight hum of machinery that always existed on the ship - the dull, metal white noise of a its gears and engines doing good work, a constant reassurance that no one was going to get thrown into zero-gravity or sucked into the nothingness of space. It was too loud and too localized, though, for it to be mistaken as part of the regular background.

"Doctor," said the knocker, perfectly spaced between two series of three-note beats, though he stopped right after the last knock-knock-knock following the word. It wasn't a common voice to hear around the sick bay area of the ship, but it wasn't one Bentley hadn't heard before. Calibri sounded quietly commanding as normal, if a little more impatient given the bitten off end to the 'R' of Bentley's title. "Doctor, I am in need of your assistance."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"There are fourier equations on your ceiling," Calibri said dreamily.

Bentley didn't glance up from his task, carefully bringing the tear of Calibri's skin into one, jagged line, stitch by stitch.

"You're hallucinating," he said bluntly, biting his lip under his mask. It wasn't an uncommon effect when injected with horse tranquilizer; however, most people would just be unconscious through it. It would be too risky to give Calibri another dose, despite Bentley's new belief that Calibri was superhuman, and could withstand any chemical pumped into his body. "See anything else out of the ordinary?"

Calibri shortly gave Bentley another unimpressed frown. "Of course not. I'm not drunk," he argued, which might have made sense in his line of thinking, given his particular personal history with all things chemical except for party cocktails and hard liquor. Even superhumans had their Kryptonite, apparently.

He glanced down, though he didn't raise his head to really get a good look past the mess of rumpled clothes and red rubber gloves at his wound. It was a small but ugly mess and it felt like such. Calibri frowned in distaste at how utterly unclean the whole affair was. Would that stain even come out of his dress shirt? That was troublesome. The nurse withered under the impassive stare he gave her before he turned his attention to Bentley. "Are you finished, doctor?"

"Almost," he said, sparing Calibri a concerned look. Within half a minute Bentley finished, tying the last knot and putting the dirtied needle into the tray. The wound wasn't as bad as it looked, but given Calibri's position, he was to be treated with the utmost care and emergency. (Bentley couldn't blame the nurse for being on edge.)

A cool substance was spread on the wound after; a disinfecting ointment as well as a mild, but long-lasting, numbing agent. Knowing Calibri's resistance, though, it either wouldn't work as well, or it wouldn't last as long. Perhaps not even at all. It was all procedure, though - ointment on, bandage on, wait for patient to wake up. ...Well.

With a sigh, Bentley leaned back, taking off his mask and gloves and throwing them away. The nurse wheeled away the cart.

"There. Does the boss know you're here?"

"By now, he probably does, but he is on a mission right now," Calibri answered, taking Bentley's step back as a sign that all was well in the land of the bloody and possibly insane. With a great deal more coordination than should have been possible given he was hyped up on horse tranquilizer, Calibri pulled himself up on the bed and used the headboard to sit partially up, but only far enough that he could survey the results but not aggravate the wound by bending too much at the waist.

He ran his fingers across the bandage, mouth pressed into a thin line at the slightly sticky edges, where gauze met skin. "Messy," he commented idly, more observation than not. Calibri raised his eyes slowly, pushing up the bridge of his glasses with his free hand. "You're much calmer than you were the last time we met, Bentley Foster."

Bentley bit the inside of his cheek, mulling over his new responsibilities as caretaker of the Impossibly Chemical-Tolerant Calibri. He'd have to call the boss himself, give details of their emergency procedure, turn in a medical report...

"Ah," he snapped to, meeting Calibri's gaze. (Bentley almost felt a chill from it.) "I find that a gunshot wound is much easier - and nearly routine by now - to treat than self-inflicted, self-invented poisons." He smiled nervously. "I hope you don't mind that I make a list of medicines you're immune to in your medical file." The thought occurred to him that Calibri's medical file alone would probably take up a whole binder on its own. Thank goodness for computers.

Though he didn't smile, Calibri's stare seemed a little more approving than before. He leaned his head back against the wall, folding his hands over his ribs and, for all appearances, looked like a regular patient who was going through a longer routine checkup, rather than having just come out of a bullet extraction and wound surgery. "It'd be easier to keep on file the things that work," he suggested, following Bentley's form around the medical bay with almost hawk-like focus.

"So you're all settled in," he remarked. The way Calibri said it made it sound like a question and a, "Good, so I won't have to issue a private assassination force to take you out when you run away," at the same time.

Bentley made his way to the sink across the room with a frown - Calibri was probably right. Making a list of things that worked would be easier. Once his hands were dry, he leaned halfway into another room to grab something - a digital tablet, where he started typing in notes.

It was hard to be distracted when the second-in-command was saying things that felt like they meant something frighteningly different. He sure listened carefully.

"I guess," he said, sitting down next to Calibri's bed, fidgeting. "Pretty much." He ruffled his already messy hair in thought, flicking his eyes up to Calibri now and then. He was scrolling through a list of painkillers on the tablet, wondering if any of them would do any good. "How's nimoldrin?"

Calibri held his hand out for the tablet. To his credit, his hand didn't even tremble, despite all the substances that were no doubt coursing through his veins.

"You've come in contact with a lot of our members," he commented idly. "You must have a much clearer understanding of what goes on in the Organization, and you're still here."

Hesitantly, Bentley handed the tablet over. A few prescriptions were already crossed out, and others had question marks.

"I do," he agreed, shrugging with half a smile. "I don't have much choice, really."

Taking the tablet in stride, Calibri began going through the list himself, checking or, more often, crossing out every medication in succession. He seemed to be very used to the process, considering the speed with which he was going down the list.

"Is that how you see it?"

The doctor's eyes narrowed, unsure what Calibri was getting at.

"Yes? I-I mean, it's not like captivity-" Bentley paused. "...Is it?"

In the middle of crossing out Di-Acetylsalic Acid, Calibri raised a brow, gloved finger hovering over the glass panel of the tablet. "Have you found yourself barred from leaving the premises at any time, Doctor?"

"Well, no."

Despite knowing that he wasn't bound to Circle 7, Bentley still seemed hesitant to admit it. His smile was troubled.

"But it's best that I don't."

"I don't see why you would think that, then. You may want to refrain from issuing statements like that. People might get the wrong..." Calibri crossed off the next three items on the list in quick succession. He was nearing the end, now. "Idea."

Looking up, he handed the tablet back serenely to Bentley. "I'm sure Boss will be pleased to hear that you're fitting in so well."

The doctor gulped. While not quite sure what Calibri was insinuating, he was sure it wasn't good.

"Right. Of course," Bentley said, beaming and taking the tablet. Immediately his grin faded. He scrolled through his (very limited) options. There was only one that didn't conflict with the anesthetic he already gave him. The side effects wouldn't be pleasant, but they were better than hobbling around in pain, he imagined.

"Well, Calibri. I have to prescribe you bemidine oziophate. Along with some anti-itch ointment and some decongestant. But I won't be surprised if you end up building some kind of immunity to that too."

There was a quiet moment during which Calibri was clearly either absorbing the information in his drug-muddled state, or, more likely, was trying to piece together the exact consequences of putting those two drugs together in one (mostly-slash-hopefully) human body.

"I'm not congested," he said at last, a bit of puzzlement creeping into his tone. It must have been the drugs at work that it was audible at all. Calibri placed a hand on his chest, splaying it across his sternum, and even coughed a few times to test the theory.

"Side effects of the bemidine," he explained, getting to his feet. Bentley walked across the room to a panel in the wall, keying in a passcode. It beeped and slid open. The doctor proceeded to grab a couple bottles, and a small container of cream. "Most people have a mild allergic reaction to it, but it virtually kills all pain. Two pills a day. If you end up reacting, I'll have you take one of the antihistamines a day."

Bentley piled Calibri's prescriptions next to his bed. He opened up the bigger of the two bottles, tapping out a tiny, blue gel capsule, holding it out to Calibri along with a small cup of water.

Calibri picked up the pill with two fingers, delicately and precisely, as one might with tweezers, and held it up to the light. It was slightly translucent around the edges, the blue capsule an unnaturally bright blue, like landing strip lights. "I've never tried this combination before," he said conversationally and somehow, despite no hitch in tone or drop in pitch, Calibri managed to convey the smallest bit of amusement with the statement. "I'm not sure exactly what effect it will have."

He popped it into his mouth and swallowed, taking the water only as an afterthought. When it seemed as though nothing was going to spontaneously combust on his insides, he settled back down and set the cup on the side table. "Thank you, Doctor. That was very satisfactory."

The operation? The treatment? The pill?

"It should be mild," Bentley said, but not without a hint of doubt. Calibri didn't exactly... react expectedly to things.

When nothing happened, Bentley seemed satisfied himself. But of course, the effects would take a bit of time. Well, Calibri needed his bed rest anyway, and Bentley had no urgent patients to take care of. Best that someone watched over him for a few hours.

"I'll be keeping an eye on you for a while," he said, making himself comfortable in the chair, typing a couple things in on his tablet. Calibri's vitals popped up on the screen. "And, um... what exactly do you mean, 'satisfactory'?"

Rather than answering, Calibri allowed a rare smile (though just a suggestion of one, curling the edges of his mouth) pass over his face. Somehow, it made him look even...less approachable. "You'll be keeping an eye on me," he repeated, obviously entertained by the idea.

He waved a hand at his abdomen. "This is not fatal. I will live. Are you not confident of that fact?"

"I know you will," he said, about as confidently as Bentley was able to say anything. "But your reactions are quite... unpredictable."

And you're only the heir to Circle 7 and the boss's right hand man and if something happened it'd be all my fault and I'd probably be shot and killed or worse, he didn't add.

"Actually, I would... like to see your work, sometime." Bentley seemed hesitant to admit this, tapping his fingers nervously on the back of his tablet.

Rightfully so.

Calibri stared - stared for so long and so intensely that even for him, who had the tendency to focus his attention on a person for a less-than-comfortable extent of time, it was definitely a full-fledged stare.

"You what?"

God, that's terrifying, Bentley thought, swallowing.

"Your work. I'd like to see it," he repeated, seeming to have ebbed from his doctor persona back into his jumpy self. Bentley's hands waved about as he explained. "I mean, I'd like to know how you became... well, so resistant to certain treatments. It's rather interesting. Maybe some new medicines could be developed out of your discoveries."

"You...would." Calibri blinked, looking down at his hands. He looked...almost flustered before the look faded into suspicion. "You expressed a certain aversion to my practices the last time we met, Doctor."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

DOES CALIBRI KNOW SOMETHING

HMM DOES HE

DOES... HE.....

WHO KNOWS? B)

CREEPER...

B)

no subject

no subject

Making Up Medicine Names 2012

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject