ArchivedLogs:Hapless

Hapless
Dramatis Personae Flicker, Jax	2015-02-14 "Over my dead body, freaks."
Location <NYC> The Mendel Clinic - Lower East Side
With its sharp crystalline edges and sleek lines knifing up into the sky, this building is one of the most /distinctive/ new additions to the neighborhood. An angular structure in glass and steel, the tall tower has a deceptively slender look to it that is belied by the heavy security as soon as you enter the doors. The front doors are frosted with the Clinic's logo -- a rising sun over a rod of Asclepius -- a motif echoed in many places throughout the building. Visitors to the clinic must first pass through a small mantrap, guarded by some of the Clinic's security guards; once they make it through the metal detector and airlock's double doors they emerge into the much more hospitable lobby. With dark wood floors underneath and comfortable black and red couches at its edges, the high windows give the room an airy feel. A bank of elevators to one side carry visitors to the many destination floors, while the wide welcome desk at the other side is manned by a security guard ready to help point visitors in the right direction. It’s been a long shift. Quietish. Night shifts often are. A little short-staffed at the moment, with one of the scheduled guards out sick, but -- night shift. Quiet. It’s coming up on the home stretch, the sky outside lightened to a grey as morning slooowly creeps in. It’ll still be a little bit yet before most patients starts to trickle in, though there’s a number of staff already making their way in for the day. In the quiet lobby Flicker is putting away his homework, talking quietly with Dr. Kriger and Nurse Granados, both looking rather more exhausted for a long night of tiny-gargoyle-wrangling. Jax is just emerging from the cafeteria, a tray in hand with a couple breakfast wraps and cups of coffee. He heads towards the welcome desk with these, setting the tray down with a smile that is probably a little /too/ chipper-bright for the early hour and /long/ night. “Caffeine? /Actual/ food?” He leans up against the desk, sparing a brief glance for the front door before turning his attention back to his companions. “... how’s Eridani?” is a little less chipper. There’s a hesitation before the paediatrician answers. “Not well,” Dr. Kriger finally says. “We’re doing what we can.” “As far as we can tell the parents have been taking good care of them,” the nurse adds, “there’s just -- not a lot of precedence for what exactly their needs /are/. Hopefully we can help make things a little clearer.” Flicker snags a wrap for himself, flitting off towards the entrance through this conversation. He takes a seat by the mantrap, unwrapping the roll to start chewing on it in between greeting those who are coming in. At the moment those who are coming in are kind of routine. A pair of desk staff for the fourth floor, one of which stops to exchange friendly -- perhaps somewhat flirtatious? -- greetings with Flicker. One of the first-shift guards, who stops only for a fistbump before heading to the elevators to go up towards control. A therapist from behavioral health quickly followed by -- less routine. A young man not walking up to the door but staggering up to it, wide eyed, red dripping down his hand and his other clutched around his coat. Jax has been lifting a cup of coffee to drink, himself, but it gets set down before ever gets a sip. “Fff -- /licker/.” His brows lift, teeth digging in against his lower lip as he looks between the doctor and the nurse. Almost apologetic, after the night they’ve had. “... I know y’all is due to head off now but can y’stick around an’ take this or should we stabilize ‘im an’ wait for Rachel t’get here?” He’s reaching for his radio, paging Control to notify them of the medical emergency. Flicker is on his feet in an instant. Somewhat apologetically turning his half-eaten wrap over to the receptionist he’s been semi-flirting with as he blips out the door, reappearing on the sidewalk beside the young man outside. “Hey.” His tone is soft. Calm. “My name’s Flicker, I’m a guard here. Are you hurt?” His eyes drop to the red on the man’s hand. “Do you need help? Can I take you inside?” He lifts a hand -- clearly offering assistance, though not touching unless the man seems inclined to take it. “-- Yes,” comes out at first in a sort of gasp-wheeze. Littlebit hoarse, littlebit strained, the young man rolling eyes upward to look at Flicker -- littlebit panicky. “Help. Please --” The hand he reaches out towards the guard is sticky red, glistening in places, flaky-dried in others. His other arm stays curled around his torso, protective where he’s a little hunched over. “No, of course,” Nurse Granados replies, head shaking quickly. “We’ll stay.” “-- Thanks.” Jax nods, jogging over to the elevator to intercept another guard coming out of the elevator with a stretcher and a cart of medical supplies. He helps Alex bring the supplies over towards the door to intercept Flicker and the bleeding man. The affirmation is all Flicker needs. An arm looped carefully under the other man’s, taking some care not to touch the leaking blood. A couple short blips bring them inside to lie the man carefully down on the stretcher. “Can you tell us what happened?” first off. And next, “We’re going to have to get your clothes off. To get to the injuries. It’s going to be easiest if we cut them.” Dr. Kriger and Nurse Granados are heading over quickly. Starting to get on protective gear, grab trauma shears. Around the lobby those staffers that had already arrived are -- tooootally not dawdling to rubberneck or anything. Actually, some of them aren’t; one of the receptionists from the fourth floor is scooting out towards the elevator though the other, still awkwardly holding Flicker’s breakfast wrap, is lingering uncertainly like maybe it’d be rude to abandon it? Still wide-eyed, pale, kind of frightened-looking, the young man sits up on the stretcher, shaking his head vehemently. “No-no-no. Don’t cut -- it’s my only -- don’t --” He wriggles out of the bulky winter coat, lowering it into a heap onto the ground behind the stretcher. Beneath his jacket his sweatshirt is a mess, stained and dirty. He slides off the stretcher, backing away from the group and towards the door, one arm curled around his stomach again and into the kangaroo pocket of the hoodie. “I don’t want -- I don’t.” “It’s alright,” Jax holds up his hands, tone level and quiet. “We’re not -- Dr. Kriger and Nurse Granados just want to help take care of --” He nods towards the stained sweatshirt, the arm the man holds across his stomach. “They’re just going to help you, okay? But they can’t if you don’t let them.” Flicker takes a couple steps back when the man starts backing away, dropping his arms to his sides. Less threatening. Giving him more room. His eyes dart between the man and the medical staff, the stretcher, the discarded coat. Back to the man. Brows briefly pulling in together. “No worries,” Dr. Kriger replies, shaking his head once and setting the trauma shears back down on the cart. “If you could just come with us we can get you changed somewhere more private and help get you fixed up?” Inside his pocket the man’s hand is a little jittery. Where his eyes were wide and panicky before they’re a little more set now, his mouth pressing slightly together. When Flicker’s eyes dart down to the coat so do his. For just a moment he stops backing away, nods, looking almost relaxed. “Yeah -- okay.” But when he looks back up it’s with a small hard sliver of a /smile/, turning to bolt back towards the exit. In his pocket, his hand clenches tight around something. “-- Over my dead body, freaks.” Somewhere in the folds of the lumpy bulky heap by the stretcher, something beeps. Shudders. And in the next moment, starts to boom outward in a mess of plastic and flame. Jax doesn’t even really have time to look /shocked/. A little blank in his expression, perhaps a little dazed. “/Flicker/.” One arm comes up reflexively against the flare of bright and heat, breath sucked in sharp, and though his out-turned palm does little to shield him the faint shimmer-glow that blossoms a split second later in a wide bubble to encase the growing explosion /does/ contain a good portion of it, shrapnel rattling against shield wall and flame and smoke walled off with nowhere to go. His breath still hisses, sharp, against the heat seared blistered-red against his palm and the side of his face but this doesn’t stop him from picking up his radio -- “/Control/ (hackcough) lock the mantrap (coughcough) /right now/.” It’s hard to say if Flicker looks shocked or not. He’s moving too quick to tell, a sudden jump to yoink Nurse Granados out of the way and across the lobby. Jump-jump-jump. Unfortunately the blast has already blast/ed/ by the time he gets back. A little too late to get Dr. Kriger out of the /intitial/ explosion but he’s grabbing the doctor anyway to pull him away anyway as Jax’s shield is forming. Only then stopping to look around -- for other people. The bomber. His own (somewhat singed on one side) (slightly /melted/ on the other) limbs. Whups. His reddened fingers flex. Still moving. Good. Had worse. Even if Flicker’s expression can’t be seen the nurse’s is /very/ much in shock. She clings to the guard until she is deposited in safety. Dr. Kriger -- maybe less /safety/; closer to the stretcher he’s also considerably more in the /burny/ side of things though Jax’s quick-shielding means at least he’s pretty much in/tact/. Similarly for the receptionist a short ways away -- less severely burny. Definitely intact. The hapless bomber has, indeed, run straight back into the mantrap, given its the closest way out. Or would be the closest way out if it didn’t go into lockdown once he was inside. His fists hammer futilely at the door, forehead thumping down against it. Well. He would’ve got away with it if it weren’t for you meddling kids.