multiversallogs | plot } the creatures descend.

Who: Everyone!
What: Creatures descend!
Where: All across the city, although attacks will be most fervent at its heart.
When: Friday/Veerdi evening and into the week.
Notes: Slow and back-tagging is, as always, permitted. If you are confused, look at these two posts for more information.
Warnings: Violence, creepiness, swearing knowing these characters.

On Veerdi, the presence of the creatures reaches a fever pitch. Something has provoked them into launching an all-out assault, though it is one that begins slowly. The pipe-crawlers, generally harmless though they may be, are seen across homes in Baedal, sneaking up through the pipes and into bathtub drains or sinks. They come by the dozens, and their keening makes most homeowners nauseated--but it's their appearance that leads to a number of distressed Network calls.

This is just the distraction for the rest.

The call of the crawlers draws in the armored, sickly creatures with the tiny primates carried inside of it. They are inelegantly lumbering, but much faster than one might expect, and certainly hostile. They trudge across the city, barreling over anyone who gets in their path and leaving them half-crushed in the street. They're certainly unsettling in their obvious unhealthiness, and the disease-ridden animals they carry are downright vicious, especially once they escape (messily, bloodily) from their fleshy cage.

It's the birds that are the worst, though; the cleverest, and the cruelest.

These strange black birds are resistant to typical attacks and flying in large groups. They descend on pedestrians, picking at their eyes and faces, ready to rapidly tear flesh from bone until there's nothing left but skeletal remains. They fly out of range when they can, only to divebomb anyone who might think they've escaped.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The approval on Mike's face is clear. Which is both awesome and horrible because Gabriel is going to end up doing a lot of sewing during this crisis now. Especially anything delicate, Mike will want to throw his way for as long as he's there.

"Outstanding. Ready for her face? We'll use the smaller-gauge suture, try to minimize scarring as much as we can. You're a natural at this."

He does a quick check of the girl's vitals and nods; the steady rhythm of her pulse tells him they have more time until she might feel what they're doing or start to wake up. He's pretty sure Gabriel will be done before then.

"I'm ready." A pause, and then: "...Wait."

He strips off his gloves and pats himself down. Reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket, coming out with a roll of fabric. He unfurls this to reveal a set of watchmaking tools set in pockets, and resting among them, protected by the roll, a pair of glasses. Once he settles the glasses on his nose it's clear they're another tool of his trade; they're fitted with a number of smaller lenses that he can move around in front of his eyes.

Gabriel looks down at the girl's face and makes the necessary adjustments to his lenses. He gloves up once more, and he takes the suturing supplies from Mike.

He's even more deliberate and cautious than he was with the abdominal wound, exacting in where he places each stitch. It's fine and detailed work but he's used to it, meant for it.

Eventually he ties off the last stitch and straightens up, his gaze a bit off-kilter due to the lenses. "I think that should do it."

Mike is very, very impressed. He keeps tabs on the girl's vitals while Gabriel works, and makes sure that the watchmaker has everything he needs at all times during the suturing, but otherwise he just observes, and finds himself very glad that he turned the work over. He knows he could never have been this precise.

"That's beautiful work there. When she heals up, the scars should be barely visible." Which, Mike figures, ought to be a huge relief to her; he's yet to encounter a culture that didn't make a big deal out of flaws on a woman's face, and he's traveled pretty extensively within his own world. "Okay, let's get her settled on one of the cots--"

He stops and a funny look appears on his face as he realizes that he doesn't know the name of the man he's been working with for the last hour or so. He's usually much better at that kind of thing, except that it's been a while since he's run triage without bombs going off around him and gunfire making conversation difficult.

"You know, we never introduced ourselves. I'm Lieutenant Mike Anders."

"Thank you." For the first time since he walked in, there's a change in Gabriel's expression. A hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he straightens up, stripping off the gloves so he can remove his glasses and put them away. He feels good--he's done good. Even in the midst of all this blood and carnage, that reminds him of who he used to be, he's done good.

He glances over at Mike at his introduction, and there's a moment before he responds. It's his name, it always has been, but he wasn't in the habit of using it these last few years. He still has to remind himself to give his proper name, not the other.

"I'm Gabriel. Gabriel Gray."

"Good to meet you, Gabriel." He notices the hesitation, but glosses over it with commendable diplomacy. It's not like he's being open about who and what he is, either.

Moving the girl to one of the cots is the work of only a moment or so. Several people are on them; two or three look to be in terrible shape and appear to simply have been drugged heavily to keep them from suffering too much. Mike's glance at them is punctuated with a wince; they're patients he can't save. Others, however, are resting peacefully and look like they'll pull through.

"We'll probably get another patient in a few minutes. It's been a pretty steady stream for a while, but it's getting lighter. People are starting to stay inside unless they're geared up for fighting these things."

He's quiet again, thinking. It's clear that Mike is trying to keep this place running and trying to tend to everyone all on his own. He might even be overwhelmed--he didn't see that... whatever it was coming up from the drain.

"...I can stay."

It's what Peter would offer, what one of Peter's friends would do. Step in and help, do what they could until the danger was over.

"If you can use the help I can stay. Until things calm down."

"I'd appreciate that, I won't lie. Especially because you're really good with the stitching." Mike grins. "Hopefully things will get calm pretty quickly and the situation will get under control. Imagine being driven out of your house by one of those things--"

He gestures at the headless creature in the sink.

"--straight into the waiting arms of some of those monkeys." He grimaces and shakes his head. "Or just driven out because you don't have any food left, if they stick around a while. Speaking of which..."

He points at his backpack -- still on his back and very heavy looking -- as he starts cleaning up the exam table.

"If you get hungry and the kitchen here can't give you anything, I've got a bunch of MREs. They taste like shit, but they'll keep you going. Might have one myself in a moment, if nobody comes running in."

"I saw some of that, on my way here. Terrible."

He'd wanted to do something. Use one of the gifts--stolen gifts--at his disposal. But he feared it was a slippery slope. Call on those abilities even with the best of intentions, and risk opening the door to sliding right back into being a bloodthirsty greedy monster. He'd brought an injured girl here rather than stay outside and take on the monsters.

The monsters were out there. In here he was just like everyone else.

...Except that he didn't eat much. Never had, really, being the kind of guy who engrossed himself in his work (even when it was horrific) and only remembered to eat when he needed to. Before that, before his life had gone crazy, he was a tightly-wound man with a mother who used food as a weapon of control. He rarely ate then, either. These days, with the rapid cellular regeneration, he found he could go a bit longer without food.

He didn't need the fuel yet but he wouldn't begrudge Mike that. "You should eat," he urged softly, "while it's quiet and you can take a few minutes. You've been working in here a while. You could use the break and you should eat now so you don't collapse on me later."

Mike gives Gabriel a grateful look. He reaches back into his pack and pulls out an MRE at random, glancing at the packaging once it's in front of him. He grimaces and laughs.

"Chicken fajita. Somebody up there hates me today..." He doesn't really seem bothered, though. It's probably the worst of the MRE assortment, but he's actually still eaten far worse. He sets up the flameless ration heater and starts warming his government-issued horror. "I wonder if throwing these at the monkeys would make them run. They could fling all the shit back at me that they wanted and I'd still win."

He grins over at Gabriel, so the other man knows he's just griping for fun. It was a contest among the men in his team, to come up with the most disparaging remarks they could make about their meals before they actually ate them. The logic was that if they insulted the food enough, they might lower their expectations to the point where the actual eating was a pleasant surprise in comparison.

"So, did you get dragged out of your world and into a little green room, too?"

plot } the creatures descend.

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