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[Snowpocalypse] Run In at the Clinic (D 1.3, M 1.9, R 1.10)
At Navy Pier, Poke has a clinic set up in what was once a Haagen Dazs cafe.
There's a big line, always. If you aren't dying, you wait. Even if you have lots of jingle, you wait.
Molotov:
You're next in line when you see Ross and Dice. Bonk went off to get you something, what did you ask for?
Ross and Dice:
How did you guys get through the gate? Do they know you? Jester's still here, plus the Skegs? Twins stay out with the rides, I assume?
Molotov is ahead of you in line.
What do you do?
There's a big line, always. If you aren't dying, you wait. Even if you have lots of jingle, you wait.
Molotov:
You're next in line when you see Ross and Dice. Bonk went off to get you something, what did you ask for?
Ross and Dice:
How did you guys get through the gate? Do they know you? Jester's still here, plus the Skegs? Twins stay out with the rides, I assume?
Molotov is ahead of you in line.
What do you do?
Comments
I hate doctors. I hate the lines of sick people here for scratches and sniffles. I hate how they poke and prod you exactly where it hurts. I hate how they charge you out the ass for every little thing they do. I hate how people come here to get fixed, but the really sick ones just come here to die. I want Jester to stay close — but I'm still really torn about whether I should take my mask off around him... He wouldn't see me the same way. I'd just be some girl who bites off more than she can chew, and ends up in some doctor's infirmary. Where is he, anyway?
I turn to Dice, "you don't have to stay if you've got shit to do."
And that's because the Twins are our ticket in to hop the line. See, Poke fancies herself a researcher , the patchwork is just to keep her in test subjects and tissue samples. So in exchange for letting her poke and prod the twins because science, we get to walk in along with them. We gotta wait until Poke does whatever quackery she has in mind this week (and listen to her explain it all because NERD) before she'll set bones or stich skin on anyone else, even if its serious. We also bring her shit we find on runs; anything that looks like science that isn't speed.
Dice pauses and squints at Ross. Is her discomfort obvious?
Ross and Dice cut in line, together, like, right here, and I'm leaning against an ice-cream waiting for Poke. I clear my throat which isn't needing to be cleared. "You're looking like shit, Ross," I tell him, but I'm looking at Dice.
Is Ross a Skeg? I think I'd fucking know that, but of all the people to come to Poke with...
"And you," I remind Ross, letting him stew for a little bit, before shrugging a shoulder, "But, I got to him first, and now his gang is my gang. I've got one of them here. He is out fetching me strong drink. Poke is little bitch sometimes, don't be expecting him to waste meds."
And I slip a little against the ice-cream before catching myself, leaving a pink-stained hand mark as I right myself. If it wasn't obvious enough I was needing this strong drink, it is now. I avoid looking at Ross' tinted reaction.
I...did say that, I think. I'm not so certain right now, everything is spinning just little bit. So I say with nod, "Da, was little shoot-out, no big deal." And I'm digging my fingers into the plastic wafer, because like fuck am I falling down in the middle of this crowd.
A flash of Suitcase comes into my head as he talks about a shoot-out, and I suddenly remember that I'm standing in front of the man who put a bullet in her head. The misogynist who put a bullet in her head after she helped him escape. Us escape.
I'm suddenly feeling particularly claustrophobic... I hope Poke doesn't mind treating me while I'm wrapped.
Maybe, to keep me awake. Maybe, because there are no birds in sky outside, and still I am hearing whining-crying-sobbing from weak people. Maybe, for whatever reason, I am in mood to fill silence, so I idly note, remembering that Poke is always treating people in pairs, because twins, "I'm guessing you'll be seeing mine, if I'm seeing yours, Ross."
I don't smile, but Poke is one of those weird and fucked-up things that could almost make you.
Fuck. That.
I have worked too long, and too hard keeping this a secret to have a fucking doctor unmask me in front of this chauvenist woman-killer. I look up to Dice, then into Poke's infirmary... Then I cut in, and head straight for the doc — my shotgun out and at the ready.
Poke, or well, the male and female people who call themselves Poke, come out of the office with a patient in a wheelchair.
Jester calls out, "Stranger?!? What are you doing?" as Ross pushes past the line, people objecting until they see the shotgun. Then they shut up.
Poke sees Dice first and smiles at him, "Dice! We have new stuff for Skwee and Bleep. We will bring you a pack and explicit instructions. You are bringing me patients?" Sometimes they alternate, sometimes only the girl speaks.
They look to you, Ross, eyes narrowed, "Get in fucking line." They sound annoyed, not at all threatened. You get the feeling this isn't the first time this has happened to them.
What do you do?
I push off the cone and into movement, shambling towards the confrontation a few steps away. This is getting out of hand, but why? What the fuck is up Ross' ass?
"Poke," I greet my old, well, would not be calling friends, but they know me, and then, "Is okay, we were both next." And I motion into the clinic with my hands like, we all go in now, no trouble, da?
You want to Go Aggro here?
OOC: Going Aggro. Roll+Hard.
(Rolled: 2d6+3. Rolls: 5, 3. Total: 11)
(Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 2, 2. Total: 6)
All I am wanting is in that clinic, my wounds stitched up, and some bloody strong meds. This fuss, it's not necessary. So I'm putting my hand on Ross' shoulder, and pulling a little bit, like put down that fucking gun and I'm looking at the two Pokes like, it's okay, we're both hurt, just let us in and it'll all be over with.
Again, I motion inside the clinic with my free hand. I'm in no mood for this shit, everything is all blurry, like watercolor stain-glass, like Preserver window.
Poke steps up to you, Ross. The male starts, eyes angry, "This is my fucking clinic, you stupid bi.."
**BOOM**
The male Poke takes the shot when Ross's gun fires. Female Poke jumps away from him, then watches him fall, her mouth completely agape, like she's spinning and lost her balance. She doesn't cry out after that initial shock.
People in line suddenly aren't so sick anymore, and they scatter.
Guards are coming soon, you know this for sure, Molotov.
What do you do?
"Painkillers then, and I'll let you save him."
He turns and unceremoniously shoves everything off the front counter.
"Ivan, your fucking habit can wait, if we don't let her patch him up now, none of us is getting any painkillers for a long, long, time."
[Seduce/Manipulate: (Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 1, 5. Total: 7)]
Yeah, the violence done on Poke is enough to get folks to back off.
Female Poke starts furiously working on her male self. She barks some mediciney mumbo jumbo at you all. Bleep runs back to the back to fetch it all.
Ross,
Poke says to you, "He's getting your damn painkillers, alright?" That's all she's doing for you right now, since that's all you demanded.
To All:
Bleep comes running back with a tray of stuff, bottles, some implements and hoses and shit. Female Poke tosses you a brown pill-bottle, Ross.
What do you do?
He shot Poke. He shot Poke. This place will be swarming with dogs, guards, Gnu. I'm trying to sort out the facts. But, all the while, my heart is wrenching at the sight of young Poke on the ground, breathing blood.
I stumble away from Ross, straightening up. I remember what happened last time I threw my chips in with this guy - total fucking mayhem. So, I'm lifting the magnum and pointing it at Ross' back. And I'm thankful he cannot see my hand shaking.
"You've got the pills, Ross. Is maybe time to put down the drobovik and fuck off." Is not enough energy to fuel my rage, so I spit Russian word for shotgun like a sigh, and click back the magnum's safety.
I drop the bag of meds at Poke's feet, and zip up my pack. I eye Molotov and Dice separately, then lower my gun and turn to leave.
I get one last, good glimpse at Ross' tinted eyes, then lower my magnum. I've nothing more to say. As he's is walking off, I look down, at Poke. There's bandage, scalpels, and all sorts of medicine fuckery strewn about the pair.
I'm not looking forward to explaining this mess to the guards, or Gnu, but Poke here is my best shot at getting patched. So, I lean back, mutter Russian for 'just fucking great' and stare out the window.
Nobody is offering up resistance to you GTFOing. How do you plan to split? You can easily head out and over the side, down to the ice. But then, you know, climb or fall. Result being, walking on the lake. Or, you can try to head to the gate, where you hear people coming this way.
Oh and by the way, Jester is speechless. He's, for the first time since you've known him, not smiling. He's titslly not going to follow you out of here.
What do you do?
To Molotov and Dice:
I assume you let Ross go? Tell me if otherwise.
Female Poke has Skwee applying pressure to the wound and she's busy trying to set up an IV, to herself. She stops, "Fuck a duck. I'm not the same blood type... DICE! Give me your fucking arm." She's gonna stick you, Dice.
What do you do?
This mask is all I fucking have. It's what keeps me alive out here.
I'm walking straight for the gate. If someone wants to stop me, so fucking be it.
Dice doesn't watch the needle (not that it bothers him, he's had plenty of injections, professionally-administered and... not), he's watching her.
"I fucking love that you know what my blood type is, Doc. I don't fucking know what my blood type is. I mean, shit I have no idea what 'blood type' even means."
[Read a person on FemPoke: (Rolled: 2d6. Rolls: 2, 4. Total: 6)]
You head out of the clinic, back towards the gate. You catch sight of three guards heading your way, see them out on the ground outside, they'll be coming up the stairs. They might have pistols, but you see they've got clubs out, no shotguns or rifles.
You've got a few ways to play this. Find a place to run to, or just go meet them head on.
What do you do?
I hear Dice chatting Poke up, like, I know where to put those horns and tune it out. He's too much. I'm still looking out that window, and the landscape calms me, birds drifting across the ice, the calm sun.
A part of me waits for gunshots in the distance, and everything else tries to keep me awake.
OOC: No helping of Dice today, brotha.
Let's see if you can pull that off, Ross. Act Under Fire. On a full hit, you skate.
To Dice and Molotov:
FemPoke starts working faster. She's gotten a blood transfusion going, and Bleep is holding back the bloody tide, but it's a losing battle. MalePoke is going to die.
You both realize that FemPoke is not going to stop trying to save him. She's not desperate, not crying, just working. Just trying to save a dying man. She will fail.
What do you do?
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 1, 5. Total: 7)
As the time is stretching on, I am thinking, is sad, but what can I do? Nothing. She will lose Poke, and grieve like those sorts do, and I'll still have this bullet inside me. So, I stop looking for birds, push off the wall to my feet and head off.
Is not my first choice, but Nedd will have to do.
And as I'm leaving, I say over my shoulder, "This lack of security would not be happening at Grease Park, Poke." Maybe, she is sick of this place. And then to Dice I am nodding my head. And into my radio, I talk, "Bonk. Get down to the sleds. Sims, prep them. We're heading to Nedds."
Please go here.
"Sorry, kid, you keep working as long as you need to, but I got shit to do."
Dice points at the twins.
"See if that grinning little shit bolted with Ross. If he's still around, gather him and bring him here. You don't have to be nice about it. I think the doc will have questions for him."
Dice walks to a cabinet and pulls out what he finds: a couple of scalpels, a retractor, bone saw, three forceps, and like 8 feet of surgical tubing, and lays them carefully out on the counter. It's cool if not all of it is exactly sterilized.
Skwee and Bleep bring Jester back after a couple minutes. He's walking with them, obviously shaken with what he saw. He's got some blood on his teeth to go with the fresh cut on his lip. It matches the redness on Bleep's right knuckles.
Jester quirks a frown when he sees MalePoke soon-to-be-corpse. He frowns deeper when he sees the frantic look on FemPoke's face.
Then, he sees you. And your instruments. He hitches a step, "Heyyyy, Dice. That was crazy, what Samaritan did. Don't know what happened there." Skwee shoves his forward to you.
What do you do?
You head on to the gate. The fact that you're not aiming at them evidently makes the big lumbering Gnu think you're just one of the people trying to get away. Or maybe he's got his eyes on someone else.
You get all the way up to the gate, which is on the second floor of the building at the head of the Navy Pier. Standing at the gate are a couple of kids with rifles keeping guard, their scrawny bodies swallowed up by furs and layers of coats.
They look scared and their rifles are out and bobbing around with each movement. One's a boy maybe sixteen years old, with green eyes and blonde tufts of hair under his hood. The other is a girl, about Silica's age, brown eyes and freckles across her nose.
If you want out of here, they have to die.
What do you do?
Don't think I gave a shit about that little punk back there. Just because he knows how to sew up a cut, or set a bone doesn't mean he's got the right to call the shots in some place he's been living in for however long they've been set up there. I didn't. Of course, I didn't have a fucking gun then — now I do. What's that old saying? Might makes right? How about: don't fucking gamble with your life.
What? You think just because you fix people up that you're some miracle worker beyond reprieve? Please. Fixing people for money doesn't make you a good fucking person. Fixing people for free doesn't even make you a good fucking person. Why don't you ask Silica what she thinks of doctors? The doctor who raised us was a fucking prick... I'm pretty sure she'll agree — probably — but I'm pretty sure it's the only thing we do agree on. I mean she didn't leave with me, but I don't imagine it wasn't much easier for her than it was for me.
... Damn kids... And you couldn't help but mention Silica, of course. Thanks for that. Of course, she's not my sister. This just complicates things.
I stalk over into the shadows, and try to let the wind and blowing snow mask my approach. See how their movements are jittery? They're on a hair trigger. I come up right behind the girl, opposite her male counterpart, watching her gun barrel carefully as I whistle right behind her to get their attention, hoping they'll both fire at me... Except when they both turn, I grab the girl's rifle barrel and shove her into the boy's line of fire — using her as a shield, if you will — and send her tumbling back into him. I unload a buckshot in the boy's face, then cock, step over the girl, and put a mercy shell in hers too.
No sense in suffering... Some people deserve to suffer. These kids just backed the wrong horse. I don't flinch when the blood spatters on my visor. Instead I carefully wipe it from the tinted plastic and step out of the pier into the snowy drifts of Chi-town.
I don't give a shit about that punk back there... I've worked far too hard to keep people from finding out I'm a woman to throw it away in front of Molotov over some busted ribs. I just wish Jester hadn't been there to see that... I really hope his mother gets those meds...
Please go here.
Let's go ahead and end the scene here and pick up with some aftermath.
--END SCENE--