[log] The Lunatic Is in My Head [closed]

[rubikscomplex]

Characters: Gregory House, Mycroft Holmes, Beckett, Rhys
Location: Building 235 and 131
Date: Day 256 and 257
Summary: House and Mycroft meet up at the aquarium, then the pair of them meet up with Rhys and Beckett at the hospital
Warnings: Suicidal ideations, drugs, blood-drinking

Comments

Day 256 - Building 235

[rubikscomplex]

[A small aquarium. It has the feel of a small-town tourist attraction, the sort built to give people just stopping to get gas a reason to stay for an hour or two. There are various aquariums inside that, according to plaques beside them, once showcased various Alaskan fish, but they're all empty of fish now. Various fish names are carved into the plaques: catfish, dogfish, mousefish, and birdfish. A piece of paper stuck on the lip of the catfish-labeled tank reads, in childish text and red pen, as follows: "You have to put your own fish in the tanks. DO NOT put Birdfish, Mousefish, or Dogfish in the tank with the Catfish!" The water still runs here, and even runs hot in the sinks, though there aren't any showers or bathtubs to use. The whole atmosphere is kind of eerie, with the water casting rippling patterns on the walls, ceilings, and floors.]

[rubikscomplex]

[House is the first to arrive at the aquarium and what a sight when he gets there. The doctor hasn't really been down this way much. He eyes the water before deciding it's time to catch some phantom fishes.

The mallet doesn't work, and neither does throwing some food or toys into the tank. So, the bailing method it is. House considers that it will go faster with two bailing objects. He guzzles the remaining absinthe in his canteen, which is probably more absinthe than anyone should have all at once, and gets to work.

He starts singing as the alcohol works its way into his system and his bailing direction becomes more erratic, water going everywhere on the floor. House is wet up to his elbows and down his shirt front, but he doesn't particularly care right now. Even if he gets frostbite, it won't last.]

I'd like to be under the sea
In an octopus' garden in the shade
He'd let us in, knows where we've been
In his octopus' garden in the shade
I'd ask my friends to come and see
An octopus'' garden with me
I'd like to be under the sea
In an octopus' garden in the shade...

[Does Mycroft know The Beatles? Because House will keep going.]

[holmesice]

[Mycroft shivers as he stomps his feet in the entrance, getting snow off of his rain boots, and taking off the stupid deerstalker hat. He holds carefully onto the hat a long moment, the grief and anxiety in his heart almost too much to bear. He shut his eyes, fighting off a blast of unwelcome memories--Sherlock's gristly demise was all too fresh, and he hadn't yet heard from him.

Nervous system is highly agitated, it was a common effect of traumatic experiences. It wasn't like he hasn't dealt with it before. He quickly stuffs the hat in his bag, steadying his erratic breathing. One, two, in, out.

Once he was feeling slightly steadier, he shouldered his bag and walked into the aquarium proper. Odd, he could hear singing--what in blazes!?

Mycroft stood and watched, baffled. He himself probably looked a sight, his beard was well on its way to being called a Beard, his hair mussed and his suit a crumpled disaster under his issued coat. The rain boots were the icing on the cake.]

What are you doing!?

[rubikscomplex]

[House looks around at the shout. He grins at Mycroft... or leers at him. It's really a personal preference here on what to call it. It probably looks eerie in light cast by the rippling water, and it's the sort of grin you'd see on someone who is very high. Or very drunk. Or both.]

Bailing! C'mon, Mikey. Help out. And sing.

[holmesice]

[Mycroft just stares back.]

You're mad.

[Hey look, a full sentence, sort of! He can easily recognize the signs of intoxication, though it's unclear what could have caused it. The smell seems to explain some of it, at least with what's mixed in with the aromas that are already in the Aquarium.]

Water--freeze. You'll freeze.

[He points in annoyance to the mess that House is making.]

[rubikscomplex]

[House actually pauses to consider that for half a moment, looking down and realizing that he is, in fact, shivering. He waves his canteen dismissively and dunks it back in the water.]

Peanuts. I'll be dead by tomorrow, anyway. I'm looking for the phantom fish.

[holmesice]

[A pause. Wait, what?]

Dead!? Why?

[Oh, how he wished for his eloquence to return. He had a rather lovely rant to House he'd been concocting in his head, and that would have been a wonderful opportunity to use it.]

What fish?

[Mad as a hatter, this one.]

[rubikscomplex]

The fish on the plaques. [He flings water as he points to one of the plaques.] We can have phantom cats that scratch, phantom dogs that bark. But what sound do phantom fish make?

And I'm conducting an experiment at the morgue tomorrow. You wouldn't be interested. Just a chance to catch those rat bastards in the cloaks again.

[House pretends to go back to focusing on bailing, but he's watching Mycroft for a reaction from the corner of his eye.]

[holmesice]

[Mycroft freezes. Not on the account of the fish.

He was going after the cloaked figures. The ones that--

--he bites back a rather emotional sound. It sounded more like a choked cough than anything. He's filled with both horror and rage. Mad at House for being stupid, an incomprehensible rage at the cloaked ones. He'd fight past his fears if there was a chance to get back at them. That way no one, not even Sherlock, would have died in vain.

What...ex-ex- [He can't say the blasted word. A steely look.]

--plan. This time. What plan?

[rubikscomplex]

[Telegraph the anguish louder, bro.]

Morgue! I've run a few of 'em. I wanna see if we can get the cloaks to open the morgue door. Figure we might be able to sequence base the bastards if we can stop the door from actually being locked.

CW: Suicidal themes

[holmesice]

[That...actually sounded viable. But the Morgue meant certain death. The ethics of allowing House to go to his death, versus the need to find more information after all those other deaths, versus what happened to himself and Sherlock because of House's plan...

...Mycroft has always made the hard decisions. The most logical, ruthless ones. He was notorious for it. If House wanted to make the sacrifice, well then. He was an adult, he could make his own decisions,

Of course, the man seemed madder than usual. What if his death price was interfering with his ability to think rationally? (Not to mention whatever he was intoxicated with now.

Could he allow House to do this experiment in good conscience?]

You maybe die.

[Sherlock had his throat ripped out. Mycroft was in no mood for good conscience.

Besides, at least with him around he may be able to save House's life if the opportunity arose. Said opportunity probably wouldn't arise, but it was a thought.]

CW: Suicidal themes

[rubikscomplex]

I maybe live. And even if I do die--[House dumps another canteen and water bottle of water onto the floor]--I'll come back. I'm like the bad penny of this place.

Day 257 - Building 131

[rubikscomplex]

[The hospital is eerie in its silence, and snow presses in against many of the windows, keeping much of it in sterile darkness. It still smells like a hospital; the antiseptic is fresh, and there isn't much dust. Someone must be cleaning it, and yet it's clear no one is here. The hospital is four stories high with one basement, all connected via the elevator lobby and staircase. Unfortunately, the wall of the elevator lobby has been torn open all the way down, exposing it to the bitter air outside. While you can explore and remain on most of the floors of the hospital at night, you cannot travel between them until it's daytime once more, as the lobby seals itself up at curfew. The staircase is its own separate enclosed area, but it too seals itself off from the lobby at night, so you'll be spending an uncomfortable night on the staircase if you get stuck there.

The first floor has both more and less relaxed areas. There's an operating room down here, too, as well as another sort of laboratory, and a large section of this floor is taken up by labor delivery. The hospital has a generally oppressive atmosphere, but this area is marginally less so. Only marginally, though. The rooms in the delivery wing are larger than the rooms upstairs, with a more private atmosphere, but there are extra beds in here, and even VIP delivery isn't private on first blush. A closer inspection reveals the rooms only really seem fit for one of the beds. Others must have been added later for some reason. The lobby is very large here, with plenty of seating available for waiting. There's a door that works, also, opening to the south into a small, empty parking garage and finally revealing the rest of the ice tunnel area. During the day, at least. It's locked at night like everything else. There are finger-sized slits cut into many of the mattresses. One of the bathrooms on the first floor has signs of a fire having been set, with scorch marks.

Then there's the HDU and ICU, and stepping past any of the doors into this wing makes the tense atmosphere apparent. It was probably more organized once, but there are countless tables scattered all around. Tables and beds and all sorts of repurposed things, even outside of the various small rooms where emergency situations were supposed to be being dealt with. Whatever happened, this hospital was pressed far beyond its standard operating capacity. There's a large entrance to the hospital here, and while it seals up at night, it opens to the east, revealing more tunnels in that direction. Two of the vent grates on this floor have been opened up with a screwdriver, though the holes are far too small for even the smallest person to fit through.

And then there's the basement. It's the only area in the hospital more oppressive than the ICU, and stepping out of the elevator lobby reveals it instantly as a morgue. It takes up the entire basement area, with plenty of room to store bodies and perform autopsies, although the tables seem to be missing (want to go on a scavenger hunt? They were moved upstairs and can be found in the ICU, even though moving these tables required unbolting them and cutting metal bits apart). The later it gets, the eerier and more suffocating the basement seems. This is a revival point. You cannot stay overnight in the morgue area. A prophet symbol is drawn on the wall in blue chalk. "Wilson, if you can see this, leave a message somewhere I can find." is written on the wall in blue chalk.]

Beckett and Rhys aka The Embarrassing Thread

[bookofnope]

[The fourth time, Beckett wakes up furious.

He hadn't planned on dying four times. One had been deliberate, and enough; everything else since then had represented some misfortune or mistake, and this particular mistake had been galling. He comes out of the body bag muttering and cursing. And nothing to show for it, too - a flat nothing, except his own life. Which is nothing small, of course. But the whole point of the exercise...

He's all the way back in the lobby and after a good round of poking around in it before it occurs to him to check the network. Seeing the video of his own death there is good from a research perspective, though it's irritating to think it's gone public like that. Then he sees the obituary.

And thinks, maybe it'll be a bit quieter around here now.

It is not the thought he expects. He draws back a little with a frown of curious confusion. But it feels right. There are a lot of names, but what does he care about any of them? They hadn't even had the decency to leave useful videos. Of course they wouldn't. Amateurs - but when are mortals anything but? Never you mind. And since the obit is up that probably means he has an inbox full of people worrying about him. He's got no time for that nonsense. He has better things to do.

And he realizes, after a moment's further reflection, that he has a limited time in which to do them before his priorities shift again. Before down it comes, the weight of other people's lives.

Damn it.]

I should thank you for what time I do get, I suppose, [he mutters to the all-watching thin air as he makes his way back towards the ICU for another round.] Except we aren't on these terms. I'll just have to make you regret it.

1/2

[headjacked]

[ When Rhys isn't moping, he's trudging around the hospital halls, hoping to run into a familiar and friendly face. Hoping maybe he'll increase his pain tolerance for easy travel, or that his sense of basic direction snaps back into place.

He's more than a little lost right now and too proud to ask for guidance indoors. Or maybe he just doesn't want anyone to see him, hunched over and dragging his feet. Alfie' gone too, and he hasn't felt so utterly alone in a long long while. He'd even take Jack.

...okay, maybe he does need to lie down. That's a crazy dangerous thought.

Rhys rounds a corner, determined to lay down in the first room he can find, and then - ]

2/2

[headjacked]

Uh - ?

[ Beckett. There's no mistaking that back, though he does rub his eye to dispel any... snow mirages. Or whatever.

Without thinking he breaks into a sprint, laughing a deliriously happy little laugh/cough as he launches himself at the old man. The hug rocket is coming, Beckett, and you only have a second to respond. ]

[bookofnope]

Bloody hell -!

[That is what Beckett spends his second on. Most of it is surprise; a little bit of it, though, is why must it be you of all people. The messiest, flimsiest, most absurd mortal he knows, who also still has picture of him in a bloody flower crown saved. This is, as Rhys himself would no doubt put it, the worst.

In the next moment he's grabbed in the unwelcome hug, and lets his instincts kick in. He raises a practices knee up to shove Rhys off, sharply, violently. The kid should be grateful his snotty sickly face has convinced the jerkpire not to go for a bite.]

[headjacked]

[ This is, without a doubt, the last thing Rhys expected. He peels away with a pained yip, halfway cut off by another, more serious cough attack,

At least he is using his sleeve.

For now.

He scrubs his face clean and pants. ]

S-sorry, did I scare the big bad vampire? ...no, really, sorry if I did, it's just -- hey! Hi! Missed you, dude.

[bookofnope]

[The sight and sound of coughing makes Beckett jerk back with a hiss of open disgust. Right, that. He's been putting a substantial amount of energy into ignoring the aches and pains of his own body, thankfully minor in comparison, and he doesn't appreciate either the reminder, or the thought of contagion, or, as it were, the very fact that he has to think about it.

In fact, that is a hell of a motivation for resentment.]

Of course you did. Need someone to lug you on their back and wipe your nose after all. Stay away. You're revolting.

[headjacked]

[ Something finally registers as off. Enough to almost wipe the smile off his face.

Still, it persists, stained yet hoping for the ball to drop. The gotcha moment, the light robonoogie as revenge.

Any time now. ]

You, uh. Remember me, right? Yeah! So. What's wrong?

[ Rhys steps close again. ]

[bookofnope]

[One Rhys step forward, two Beckett steps back, and a brief flash of his fangs as a warning. Although looking at how weak the other man is, he can't help but entertain those ideas of a good proper feeding again. It's been so long...]

Let's just say I've come to recognize to what degree the two of you have turned me pathetically toothless. Did you really think that was going to last?

[headjacked]

[ Rhys is a man of many, many emotions. Most of them whiny, but still. Several dance across his face, from confusion to hurt before settling on a mask of resigngment.

Two steps forward? Okay, Beckett, he'll take three, drawing himself up to full height. Mustn't flinch. ]

It will, because this isn't going to be YOU for much longer. I can deal with a crabby vampire. I've dealt with worse.

[bookofnope]

[Beckett's face twists with a flash of animal rage. That? May not have been the best choice of phrase.]

You have no idea how much worse it can get, boy. You think the little nips you've so boldly put up with are all I'm capable of? Really, I have given you two a woefully incomplete image of Cainites.

[headjacked]

Yeah, and I've knocked you on your ass before, Mr. Canines. Never forget.

You. Don't. Scare me.

] Yes he does, but a lot of things scare Rhys. He can maintain a facade of bravery when it's needed. ]

[bookofnope]

[Rhys. Honey. Digging yourself deeper is fine, but you don't have to use such a big shovel.

Beckett moves like a hunting cat, and makes about the same hissing snarling noise. He snaps forward to catch Rhys by the throat and slam him against the nearest wall. Never mind the biohazard. He's having a snack.]