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What, was "Rudy" on cable last night?

. . . Yes.

Eliot Spencer vdistinctive
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The Loft above Luke's, Sunday
Eliot had managed to get Hardison's wound stitched up without much incident -- it was pretty small, all told, only took five stitches -- and even talked him into an orange juice/soda compromise last night. Things had been going pretty much steadily downhill from there. Which considering it started at "girlfriend missing, boyfriend stabbed in the stomach by an alien" was pretty impressive.

For one thing, Eliot had completely failed to find Parker. She'd turned her phone off, which meant Hardison couldn't track her, and she had too many hidey-holes for them to keep track of. Eliot had considered trying to get Val to track her by scent, but it turned out you needed to train dogs how to do that. Val had just sniffed Parker's shirt, looked wildly around, and then started whining.

She was still whining. Only now at Hardison. Which wasn't helping the tensions continuing to rise in the apartment. Especially after Eliot heard the radio broadcast. And Hardison started outright refusing to go to the clinic and get it taken care of.

"You heard Kitty, man!" Eliot paced in front of the couch where Hardison was refusing to get up. He'd just grab the man and carry him out, but that was pretty much guaranteed to pull his stitches, and Eliot had done enough hurting of Hardison for -- forever. "That thing put something inside you, and we don't know how to get it out. The people at the clinic do!"

[ooc: for the boyfriend, and the girlfriend is welcome when her mun is back online! CONTENT NOTE: violence herein!]

"Nah, it didn't," Hardison argued. "I'm fine. I ain't goin' to the clinic over this. You stitched me up an' I'm good. Who you should be worried about is Parker. I can't believe you ain't find her yet. How you s'posed to be a retrieval specialist if you can't even find what you're supposed to be retrievin'?"

Guess who'd gotten a fast-acting embryo. With the hivemind loud in his ears, Hardison was clinging on to the person he'd been only enough to fool this male into releasing him. Under his bandage, his scales itched.

Oh sure, Hardison. Poke the bear. "Because she's Parker. You've met Parker, right? Woman who had a cosplay shop listed as her home address in Boston? You got any ideas where she's hiding out this time, I'd love to hear 'em."

He knew. He knew where all of his kin were slumbering. But that didn't seem like a good thing to point out right now. "I'm just sayin', that would be a better use of your time than fussin' over me. I'm fine."

Remarkably fine for someone who'd been gut-stabbed yesterday. This was Hardison new and improved!

"You are not fine," Eliot growled. "Know how I know? Ya ain't complaining every five seconds and orderin' me to bring you snacks." Hardison would totally be that sitcom cliche patient with a bell asking for every. single. little. thing. "And frankly, I ain't lookin' to take chances with an alien stinger wound. We're goin' to the clinic. And once I know you're safe there, I'll go lookin' for Parker again."

Look what he'd saved you from! An afternoon of pointless labor to satisfy the demands of a puling man-child. You're welcome.

"You are free to go to the clinic all you want," Hardison said, gesturing to the door. "I'm stayin' right here."

"I ain't gotta go the clinic, Hardison, I wasn't stung! How are you not freaking out about this?! There's an alien in your stomach. You haven't even started fussing about needing antihistamines!"

"Cause there ain't no alien baby in my stomach!" Hardison argued. "You killed it too fast! You see any kinda gross, Geiger-esque xenomorphs poppin' up outta me? No!"

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Too too much later...

The Brood inside Parker was confused. Or the Parker inside the Brood was confused. One of them, or both of them, were having an off day.

They/she/it knew they weren't okay, but weren't too worried about it. Mostly they wanted to figure out how the invasion and infestation were going. They weren't really clear on what they'd do then.

But she also wanted to know how her boys were, and if they were already infected. So, heading home and sneaking in it was.

"Hardison?" A pause. "Eliot?"

Re: Too too much later...

A pause, then a scrape of plastic across the floor when Eliot twitched under the pile of busted electronics. He wasn't quite conscious enough yet to do more than that, just yet.

Re: Too too much later...

Sneaking over to the sound, BroodParker looked down, and ParkerBrood frowned. Then lifted up the electronics to reveal Eliot.

A flicker of-- something, burned inside Parker. She reached out and patted his face. "Eliot?"

Re: Too too much later...

Eliot flinched violently. The entire side of his face was slowly turning blue-black underneath the blood from his temple, and the last thing he remembered was being hit by something heavy and -- trusted?

What was. . . ?

"P'rker?" He squinted, but his eyes wouldn't focus. There were at least three blonde blurs hovering over him.

Re: Too too much later...

Some of those blurs may have had scales along her neck, and the underside of her arms. Parker settled into a tailor position next to Eliot, studying him. "That looks painful." She paused and tilted her head, the Brood coming forward. "Somebody hurt you?"

Re: Too too much later...

Yeah, Eliot couldn't make out that much detail yet. He had one hell of a concussion. "Were lookin' for you," he mumbled, trying to get his hands under himself so he could get upright.

Oh. No. That hurt a lot. Was Parker going to mind if he threw up now?

"Hard'son," he tried. "Hard'son, w'foun' Parker."

Re: Too too much later...

"Is Hardison on comms?" The Brood asked. Then Parker said, "I found you first. I don't like that you're hurt." She reached out a steadying hand to him. How could they make him Brood if he was this hurt?!

The Brood inside her tried to inform her that being Brood would fix that right up for him. Parker retaliated by telling it its priorities needed examining. Or she thought she did; the mental conversation was confusing.

Parker took her hand back and then said, "Things are weird."

Re: Too too much later...

Yeah, Eliot wasn't much in a position to help with that. They were all lucky he had some practice trying to be functional with a severe concussion. "He was here," he said, managing with some effort not to slur his words. "He was -- we gotta get 'im to th'clinic." Word clarity went right back out the window when the room started spinning. "W'gotta --" He froze, eyes going wide as he remembered the other thing he'd been worried about. "Y'were stung too."

This was just perfect. He definitely wasn't in any kind of shape to beat Parker up.

Re: Too too much later... - vdistinctive, 2016-04-24 08:34 pm (UTC)(Expand)
RE: Re: Too too much later... - vdistinctive, 2016-04-24 08:47 pm (UTC)(Expand)