OldLogs:Alex Goes To The Doctor
Alex Goes To The Doctor
|Characters:||Alexander Delarue, Marcus as Dr. Hayder Allsop/ST)|
|Summary:||Alex tries to smooth things over with Dr. Allsop after a faux pas at a Kindred gathering.|
When Alex arrives, he's greeted by a man who looks less like a transhumanist counterculture afficianado and more like a college kid who got lost.
He's wearing an LSU jacket (in itself dangerous in Tulane/Loyola land), a pair of glasses. One side of his face is covered in a birthmark, but all of it is covered in heavy acne scarring. One of his eyes is considerably bigger than the other. "You're the beast?" he asks, when he draws closer.
Alex shows up, wearing a nice button down and a pair of nice slacks. He nods. "Yes, I am." He answers softly. Waiting to see what the ghoul does next.
"This way." The ghoul proceeds to head toward a door off to the side, protected by a keypad. He pushes a few numbers, the door makes a quiet 'beep', a light flashes green, and the door opens. The ghoul assumes Alex is going to be following - if he isn't quick, Alex will get caught on the other side of the door.
Presuming Alex -does- hurry to keep up, the ghoul leads down a set of concrete stairs. Most buildings in New Orleans don't have basements - Zahhak is, apparently, an exception. It's the equivalent of two or three flights down before the stairs give way to hallway - bare concrete and red lighting along the floor that are difficult to see by, but don't ruin nightvision. The doors are numbered with black spray-painted stencils, each of them made of steel. There are lots of little twists and turns as the ghoul leads Alex down hallways and around bends, to a door numbered C118. He cracks the door open, and brilliant, eye-piercing white light pours out. "Inside," the ghoul indicates.
Of course, inside is too bright to see for a moment, but once the beast's eyes have adjusted, he spots the good Doctor, eyeless as ever, at work. He's in a labcoat again, but this time, his front is covered in red, sticky, wet blood. A mortal is on the table in front of him. The unfortunate creature is obviously mortal - a beast would escape into the Primordial Dream. A werewolf would heal. A vampire wouldn't be so red and alive inside.
Because this mortal has been opened, the rib cavity cracked. A constant IV is pumping blood into its body, and an assistant, looking bored, is constantly applying suction to keep Allsop's work unhindered. Allsop is injecting something thick, viscous, and a dark reddish black into the subject's stomach directly with a needle that looks about eight inches long.
"Come in, come in. Close the door, you don't want our neighbors to smell what we're cooking and come looking for handouts."
The mortal is awake on the table. His eyes are wide, frantic. He is restrained, all four limbs very literally -bolted- to the table, restraints literally surgically implanted. He focuses on Alex as if the beast would be his savior.
Alex tilts his head at the mortal. Almost if its ammusing that the mortal would think a monster would save him. Then a look to the Doctor. "I have come to formely aplogize to you, for... Not admitting that I am.. untrained in medical things." HE bows his head slightly. "I should have spoken up and told you, instead of trying to impress Octavia." He sighs. "And then I paniced, for that I aplogize as well." He then straigthens and looks at the Doctor. "However, these were not Octavia's mistakes, these were mine."
"Let me explain something to you, Octavia's Pet." The process of injection is slow. The contents of the syringe are enough to swell the subject's stomach lining.
"I don't. Care. You? Are not Kindred. And while we are bound by the Accords to allow your kind on the Council, and there are rules in place were I to, say, destroy you absolutely right here? I can afford the weregild if you annoy me in my own lair. And I give you my word: There is no one in this city who would challenge -me- to a duel over -your- death. So I would appreciate if you didn't waste my time any further with excuses, either for you or your mistress." He pulls the syringe out of the man on the table's stomach. Reddish-black oozes from the puncture. He hands the syringe to his assistant, who places it on a try and dabs at the puncture wound with a bit of gauze while Allsop crosses the table to Alex's side.
He hops up onto it, sitting amiably beside his writhin subject.
"-You-? Are Octavia's fault. You were at her gathering. You seem to be her property. Thus? Your behavior reflects on her. This -whining- you're doing? This wasting of my time? Reflects on her. This is how the All Night Society functions. -Especially- among the Invictus. They are a fuedal society. The vassal owes the liege, the liege is responsible for the vassal. Shit flows uphill as well as down. -Your- mistakes? Are Octavia's mistakes. Because she invited you to her party. Because she involved you in Kindred politics. If -you- fuck up? Then she should have chosen better. If -I- have to kill you for annoying me? The mistake is hers. For not killing you -first-."
He peels off the rubber gloves he's wearing, tosses them onto the tray with the syringe. He reaches back and plunges a finger into the mortal's chest, drags his bare fingertip across the poor creature's heart, and then sticks the fingertip into his mouth to suck it clean.
"Is that all you came here for?"Alex's eyes and demeanor are different, there is a boiling wrath from him. "I suppose that is all, have a good evening." HE says softly, but there is no jovial joy, there is no niceties to it. He seems so cute it's beyond frightening now. He turns to go to the elevator, waiting for the ghoul to let him out.