circle7 | holiday event

Entry tags:

!!event,
?mun: endy

holiday event

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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"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.

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."

"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."

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?"

"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.

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."

"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.

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..."

"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?"

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."

Bentley blinked.

"Where are we?"

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."

"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!"

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."

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."

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.

Considering the little interaction Calibri and Bentley have had since his stay here, it was hard to pin Bentley's upcoming confession on trust. No, it was probably more accountable to his inebriation. His mannerisms hardly changed, stepping after Calibri, sticking close. You never knew who might be hiding in the shadows of this "innocent" Christmas party.

"More like held hostage, I suppose," he explained. "Long story. Not pretty."

Step by step, Calibri began to lead Bentley in what, to onlookers, probably looked like an exceptionally strange dancing routine across the floor, weaving around the pillars in his desperate attempt to keep this obviously-insane man at bay. His fingers were already twitching in his pockets, and that was never a good sign. "Very little of our world is 'pretty,' doctor," Calibri said, glancing over his shoulder and yep, there Bentley was, still chasing him. "Who were you held hostage by?"

It was actually more important than just a shady bit of history. Whatever connections Bentley had had in the past was of significance - it meant the difference between no strings attached and a possible liability. It was part of Calibri's job and nature to consider it, for the sake of the Organization.

They certainly got a few odd looks, that only made Bentley's paranoia deepen. Now and then, he would edge so close that their shoulders would touch. Naturally, he didn't see the twitch of Calibri's fingers. If he had, and had been of sensible, sound mind, he might have remembered that Danny kid's advice about this man and backed away, and avoided him for the rest of his life. But, alas, he didn't notice.

"Those military people from Gladsheim," he said with strange ease.

Eventually, Calibri understood a futile effort when he saw one, and he stopped their cat-and-mouse game with an abrupt halt, albeit they were now standing at the opposite end of the room from where they had started. He focused his attention instead on rummaging through his pockets and the folds of his coat, obviously looking for something. If Bentley was startled by the sudden stop, he didn't notice, and while a normal person would take his searching as an obvious warning sign with blaring lights, Calibri paid no mind to whether or not the doctor was reacting correspondingly either. (Though he might have to look into the man's survival instincts later; it was dangerous for any member to have...absolutely no sense of self-preservation.)

"For your medical prowess too, I imagine?"

"Guess you could say that," he admitted. Stopping their 'dance' ended a bit of Bentley's paranoia, from the way he noticed people ceasing to stare, and now that he was half hidden behind the other man from peering eyes. His shoulders sagged back down, more casual, and he finally made eye contact. What was he rummaging for, anyway? He watched with curiosity, rather than fear like most of Calibri's onlookers might. "The arms," he added vaguely.

"The technology?" Calibri clarified, still making clinking sounds in the deep, dark depths of his pockets.

"Yes, you see, it's much more than a..." But even over the loud Christmas music and chatter in the room, the clinking noises caught Bentley's attention. He looked down at the man's pocket. "What are you doing?"

Calibri looked up, canted his head, and it may have been the alcohol talking, but there was something positively sinister about his smile. "Doctoring the doctor," he said, before taking advantage of their proximity to pull a syringe out of his pocket, already uncapped and ready for the strike. To his credit, Bentley would probably only feel a slight prick in the inside of the elbow of his remaining flesh-and-bone arm.

The pricking feeling of the needle registered a moment late, where he raised an eyebrow down at his elbow before giving a well-surprised yelp.

"Ah! W-what did you do?!"

holiday event

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