holiday event

[fightfair.livejournal.com]

Bah RUMPAH Pum Pum

It's the end of the year, and Fagsona's throwing a grand, gay ol' holiday party! And boy, are they overdoing it. There's mistletoe everywhere, the spontaneous urge to break into carols, spiked eggnog, presents for everyone under a huge tree, and even someone in the corner over there dressed up like Santa, ready (even if unwilling) for anyone to come sit on their lap and spill out their deepest heart's desires! (Poor bugger, whoever that muse is.)

And believe me, with all that decoration and alcohol, you're definitely gonna spill.

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Calibri perked. "You are?"

Why, he had never heard about the fatal side-effects of small-volume alcohol consumption! This was fascinating!

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What a jerk, Calibri.

"Should I see a doctor?" Bentley mumbled to himself, and in his panic, forgot that the most skilled doctor on board was himself.

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Well, please allow Calibri to point out the obvious (he's very good at that). "Doctor. You are the doctor."

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Bentley pauses, then glances up.

"So I should know what to do, shouldn't I?"

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Calibri crossed his arms, watching Bentley closely. There was no discoloration of the skin, no paling of the lips, no dryness of the mouth...Bentley did not look poisoned at all. Was this one of those...silent, subtle killers?! "If you are, indeed, dying, then I would assume so. I wouldn't know why the Boss chose you otherwise."

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Running his hands through his bristled hair, he thought and thought. What do you when overdosing on alcohol? The answer was... was...

Bentley jumped to his feet. "I've forgotten!"

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Calibri only slid his eyes away. No pity here.

By now, given that he was not inebriated and considerably less susceptible to the ridiculous fear of alcohol, Calibri had come to an understanding about the situation, and he was considerably less impressed by the eggnog than he had initially been, now that the doctor was not actually dying of it. "I suppose I will have to inform the Boss that we need new medical staff, in that case. At the least, you have lasted longer than most of the other doctors in our history of hiring."

Yup, he really sucked at this.

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Suddenly, Bentley felt emotional. He stared at Calibri long and hard, carefully blank.

"You don't sound very sad."

...Did he sound hurt?

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For the first time in the period of time that Bentley had known him, Calibri actually looked bewildered. "I beg your pardon?"

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"I mean, here I am about to die, and you're only comparing me to other doctors." Bentley plopped back down in his seat like a rag doll, with the air of a dying man who has lost all reason to live anyway.

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Calibri gave him a look that equated to an unspoken, Good god, man, what in the world are you talking about? "But you're not. About to die, that is."

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"Says who?" Bentley asked, head leaned back on the seat, staring up at the ceiling with his arms limp at his sides. "You're not a doctor."

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The corners of his mouth turned down a fraction of a centimeter. To those that knew Calibri well enough, this was a sure sign that things were not all happy and good in CalibriLand. Unfortunately, Bentley was not one of those people. True, Calibri was no doctor, but he was an expert at poisons, and technically, inebriation could be classified as a very mild case of that, but it was useless to argue such fine points with a drunk man. (He had already tried often enough with Garamond to understand the futility of that.) "Then what do you suppose I should do, doctor, to alleviate this situation?"

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"I don't know," he whined, not even moving from his spot on the chair. Everything seemed so pointless now. (Only because his sudden intoxication seemed to block off any points he could think of at all.) Even the ceiling was incredibly dull, despite it's decorative lights and lasers beaming around at random in Christmas themed shapes. "Am I a good doctor?" Bentley asked, with a clear tone of self-doubt.

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Calibri had not had an ounce to drink, but it had been a long time since he had been this confused. As a man of science, in constant search of understanding of the world, confusion irritated him, however, though the only indication of it was Calibri pressing his lips together into a thin, unimpressed line. "That isn't for me to decide," he answered aloofly, and to be honest, he hadn't found a need to visit the medical bay past that first time when he had been testing Bentley, so he was a poor judge for the other man's ability. "I don't see what this has to do with your eggnog."

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"What kind of doctor goes and inebriates himself?" he near-cried, throwing an arm over his eyes. "I'm pathetic."

Well, it would seem Bentley had legitimate reason to fear alcohol: it only drug him down into a state of deep depression, throwing his insecurities at people who could hardly be expected to comfort him. A sad, sad sight.

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After a moment, Calibri took another step back, looking around him for a member of Circle Seven who was possibly better suited to situations like this (read: just about everyone else) that he could possibly command to take his place and placate the poor doctor. (It was, in fact, just a little bit pathetic.) There wasn't a face in the vicinity that he recognized, though, and inwardly, since 'luck' was just a fanciful notion for fanciful people and not suited for scientific types such as himself, he cursed his poor probabilities. "I am not sure, doctor, that I am the best equipped to deal with this..."

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"What's that supposed to mean?" Bentley asked, peeking from under his arm. Calibri was also the only person in the area he recognized that wasn't at one time a patient in the ward. (Mostly check-ups, but a few scratch-ups as well.) "Aren't you supposed to be prepared for anything in this sort of place?"

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Now, Calibri was not second-in-command for nothing. He had ascended the ranks to his position by means of cunning, resourcefulness and maybe more than a little intimidation. He saw the loophole and dove for it. "This sort of place?" he questioned, taking a pointed glance around their strange but somehow unalarming surroundings. "On board the ship, certainly, but I can't say for this particular locale. I don't believe we have any intel for here."

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Bentley blinked.

"Where are we?"

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Calibri blinked, and after a long pause, lowered his face and pushed his glasses up again, obscuring his eyes. "...That's a good question. I wonder."

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"You... don't know?" Well, excuse Bentley if that cues a little panic. He jumps to his feet, strangely swift for being drunk. "Oh god! We've been kidnapped!"

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Deceptively calm, Calibri ignored Bentley's drunken outburst to glance around. All things considered, he didn't see this as a high-risk situation. He wasn't bound, he wasn't poisoned, and there was no one showing any outright aggression towards them. If this was a kidnapping job, then their kidnappers had been awfully sloppy about it, which was yet another reason why worry just didn't occur to him. Dryly, he commented, "I would expect you to be used to that sort of situation by now, doctor."

[loadsavepoint.livejournal.com]

Or their kidnappers had been awfully clever about it. Bentley never dealt with paranoia well, and with the way his back stiffened and his eyes darted back and forth, you'd think he was one of those cat clocks being watched.

"H-ha, very funny," he managed out, slipping closer to Calibri, the only person in the room he recognized. "I've only been kidnapped once, thank you." A pause. "Well, maybe twice."

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Unfortunately, Calibri's only response to that was to step away, like a cat and mouse game, where, for every step Bentley took toward him, Calibri only took one to put one further apart. The doctor did receive an odd look for it, though, like the chemist couldn't, for the life of him, understand why he was trying to invade his personal space. "What was the other time?" he asked, conversationally, but there was a hint of curiosity there.