savetheearth | [closed] two, two, two logs in one!

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[closed] two, two, two logs in one!

WHO: Jack and Aaron, then Aaron, Lyall and a ferret
WHERE: South of the Dead District, moving into LSR Clinic
WHEN: April 15, afternoon/evening for Jack; Tuesday, April 16 for Lyall and Romsca.

Aaron stepped out of the clinic and locked the door behind him. Patients had kept him busy all morning and into the late afternoon, and now that he had sent the last on her way, he was starving. He didn't know if it was a late lunch or an early dinner, but the growling in his stomach was drowning out the particulars.

He slipped the keys into the pocket of his worn, gray overcoat, and set off down the street.

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That could have gone better. Aaron sat at the desk in the back and held an ice pack to his eye. The swelling had gone down, but it'd be black and blue for a few days.

It was a cruel irony that in the state Jack was in yesterday, a punch from him would not have hurt nearly as hard.

Aaron wondered if he had done the right thing. Perhaps he should not have interfered -- should not have made the decision for Jack, should not have helped him but left him for the police instead. Perhaps he should have revealed Jack's war crimes already. Aaron didn't know.

The door to the clinic was unlocked. If anyone came in, he would hear them.

It's no so much that the stress that gets to Jack, but the exhaustion keeps catching up with him. A couple hours' restless sleep every day or two, holed up in an abandoned building, was enough at first, but it's been a week now. And he's been on the move, trying to track down leads while simultaneously avoiding detection, not so much paranoid as running himself ragged on high-alert mode. Unfortunately, this mission (as Jack sees it, anyway) is underprepared and underequipped, and has no well-defined objective yet.

It's that exhaustion that has him resting briefly against a dumpster as Aaron approaches. Jack doesn't want anyone to see him, the arm of the filthy trenchcoat hanging lose is a pretty clear sign for anyone looking. The streets near the Dead District are increasingly quiet, so it's no trouble to hear someone approaching. But Jack's reaction time is slow, and shoving yourself back up to your feet with your only hand still in your coat pocket is an awkward and sudden movement on the corner of Aaron's vision.

Lyall knocked on the door before he pushed it open, peering inside for any sign of the proprietor. "Good afternoon?" he called inside.

After a bout of more of that ridiculous stomach ailment over lunch-- Lyall was reasonably certain it had to do with something in particular he was eating, but he hadn't narrowed it down yet-- and an actual temperature gauge, he'd finally decided he ought to get a second opinion on the physical changes he'd been going through. So here he was, at the one place he thought wouldn't want to make him a medical experiment.

And because he thought maybe a charity clinic might have been given animals in the past, he brought the little ferret-- currently nameless, though he was thinking on it-- along for a generic check-up. Since the thought of a leash made him want to rub at his own neck, and she'd been so very well-behaved thus far, he let her ride in on his shoulder. It probably looked silly. He didn't much care.

Her grudging respect for Lyall hadn't ebbed at all. True to his word, he had made sure she was washed and combed (with a little struggle for posterity, of course), fed, and allowed full run of the house, something that she knew her fellow ferrets were not as lucky to have. It was tedious having to essentially tune out the extra commands he thought she'd needed to understand him, but overall, the situation was proceeding nicely. He appeared to think that she was just a ferret of above average intelligence, and she wanted to keep it that way, thank you.

She'd been listening in to some of the communications he's had with other people through his phone and his computer, but still doesn't feel as though she's quite up to speed... Then again, it didn't seem like any of these walkers were in any sort of order at all. Still, she felt as though she was as filled in as she'd ever be while effectively mute and incommunicado. Field trips like these had been filled with more tidbits of information, and she was perfectly willing to let the flow of her strange life take her wherever it would until she was master of it, so long as that actually happened someday.

For right now, though, life seemed to have stationed her on Lyall's shoulder, her nose sniffing at the wind... This was around the same place he'd found her, wasn't it? Near the garden where that bird boy had been feeding sparrows. Her weight shifts on his shoulder as she stretches her neck from side to side, taking in the interior of the clinic and this new man. What's happening here, now?

Aaron was returning to the clinic, a bag of Italian takeout under one arm, when the movement catches his eye. He steps forward, cautious. He does not know yet if approaching is a good idea, but passing by and pretending he saw nothing is not an option.

He catches sight of Jack, and several things register on his face.

That's Jack.

He looks terrible.

...why did I not know that he lost an arm?

Aaron thinks before he speaks. There's no pity in his manner, but less hostility, all told, than would be expected.

"Fancy meeting you here, Jack."

Aaron stood up immediately, recognizing the voice. He strode out through the examining room, down the hall, and into the waiting-room. It wasn't much: the walls were painted cinderblock, the windows barred, and the furniture consisted of several chairs and a low cot, but it was solidly built, secure, and clean.

"Professor Lyall," he greeted with a lopsided smile, acutely aware of his impressive black eye. "What brings you here?"

Caution is probably a smart idea: Jack's head snaps around at his name, and although the coat he's wearing is too bulky to be 100% sure, the reason his hand's in the pocket is clear to anyone with half an ounce of sense: he's got a gun at the ready. There's a half-second before he recognizes Aaron, and his eyes flit left and right, glancing down the street as he backs away one step, then another, into a narrow side-alley.

"Quiet. Unless you're trying to get me arrested." Note the deliberate emphasis on the word 'try' and narrow-eyed look. Jack's not sure what to expect after their recent conversation, but he's not taking chances.

"If I were, would I be talking with you right now?"

Oh, yes. Aaron is aware of the gun. He puts his free hand up, and does not follow Jack into the alley.

It is strange, but pity is beginning to stir in his heart. If it is true -- and when Aaron was calm again, he suspected so very much -- that Jack did not commit the Ben family murder, and is being wrongly accused...

"I don't know. Let's just say I have a healthy amount of suspicion right about now."

Jack backs off another step. He's not too enthusiastic about the idea of sticking around.

Lyall tipped his hat with a little grin. "Not quite a full professor, but thanks for the compliment. Maybe someday I'll move on from high school." Coming fully inside, he took the hat off completely-- he only needed it to keep the sun off, anyway-- and glanced around briefly, taking in the scents.

"I guess I'm here because of that damn network and the things it seems like it's doing to me. Anyone else...." He shrugged the shoulder not containing a ferret. "Might stick me in a laboratory. -- Goodness, what happened to your eye?"

Now that was an injury she understood. Quite the shiner, that. Is this one a fighter? She trills, peering closer at the injury, her whiskers twitching, completely unintimidated or shy in the face of a stranger.

There isn't much reaction from her besides that. Heaven knows she's absorbing all the information she can, but the lower she can keep her profile, the better.

"Of course. Anyone would."

Aaron was reminded of a feral dog, starving, snapping at any hand that came close. Dangerous, certainly, but not to blame for its condition.

He's missing an arm.

...oh, damn it to hell.

"If you like," Aaron said cautiously, "I could give you a meal and a place to rest, at least until tomorrow."

Rationing out what he took before leaving Casval's apartment only goes so far. Still...

Jack's response is fairly cool, and although his stance has relaxed a little, his hand is still in his coat pocket. "I guess this means you've had second thoughts about the news, huh? You should realize if someone sees us talking, it's going to put you and your practice in danger."

For a moment, Aaron wanted to tell Lyall everything -- about Jack's war crimes, the cover-up, the nightmares, and the unstable nature Aaron suspected -- but no. No, Aaron had done enough damage to Jack already by acting on what he thought was best. It was time to wait, and watch.

"It's not important," he said casually, after a beat, and then? All business. "So, I assume you've come to me because of physiological changes. What sort of things are we talking here?"

"You really think you're the first to come by who I wouldn't want the police to find out about?" Aaron gave a short laugh. "We'll go in through the back. I know this area well, and I can take you by routes that no one watches."

Jack snorts. "Yeah, well, getting arrested is one thing, but a friendly talk with General Miller and a few of his trusted men for a few hours isn't my idea of a great time. I'll fuel up. Can't stay long, though. I've got things to take care of."

It wasn't something that had crossed his mind when he was staying with Casval, and he should have thought of it earlier -- the other man had been in the RAF, hadn't he? Air Force types and their 'go pills'...

"...and if you've got anything to keep a guy going back at your clinic, I wouldn't say no to that either."

Edited 2013-04-17 12:45 (UTC)

The smell around the clinic didn't suggest that it was nothing-- it suggested stress or pain or argument or something that he couldn't actually put a name to; sometimes this sense of smell was more frustrating than useful-- but Lyall, though curious, was not really one to pry unless he had reason. So he let it roll by and focused on the matter at hand. "A vastly increased sense of smell, for one, and that one's lasted since the first day all this started, the first. I had a moment of pain when I touched that statue as if my blood were momentarily boiling, and since then I have been having some unexpected stomach upsets and... my baseline temperature seems to have decreased."

He was least certain about that one. It seemed the strangest of them all. His free hand, not holding the hat, came up to stroke the unnamed ferret into calmness, assuming the chitter was for excitement rather than actual curiosity.

She settles down under the pats. No need to attract too much attention, especially when the two were actually speaking. She had already borne witness to Lyall's sickness over the past few days, but she hadn't realized the extent of the problems. She nestled farther around his neck, feigning sudden shyness while getting a good lock on Lyall's temperature... This was colder than a human was supposed to be? Hmm.

Aaron nodded. "I'll do a general examination to make sure your blood temperature isn't affecting anything else. Are there any preexisting conditions I should know about?" He pulled out a clipboard and tore the top sheet of paper off of a notepad in a drawer.

"And about the ferret -- I have a carrier you can keep her in while you're here, but I'm afraid I don't take in animals."

"And those things can't wait eight hours?" The signs of sleep deprivation were obvious -- only a few hours each day at best, for at least a week. "I can give you what you want, but they're no substitute for sleep, and you will crash."

"I've got a place I can crash, later," is Jack's calm (if tired) reply as he scans the street again. He does, even if it's an out-of-service cold storage room in an old abandoned warehouse -- he just has to close the door, and there's no worries about inadvertent noises making it out. "Just have to keep going for a little while longer."

He's aware that he probably looks exhausted, and in worse condition than he actually is -- the clothes that he traded Casval's away for are pretty damn foul. But it was marginally better cover as long as he stuck to sidestreets, especially in this neighborhood near the Dead District; a guy with one arm stuck out like a sore thumb at the best of times.

"...very well," Aaron agreed. "Follow me." He walked toward Jack, passing him, and continued down the alley. "We'll be taking the long way around, but it's not far to the clinic."

Lyall was more than a little surprised he didn't at least get a funny look for any of that. Not even the nose bit. Was Aaron really used to that much oddness...? Or had he just gotten used to it in the past couple weeks? "Oh, she's not-- I'm not planning on leaving her," he had to clarify, unsure just what he meant by "take in". "Though I suppose if you know anything about them, I won't turn down advice; everything I know I got from knowing her classification and from the internet. If you need her in a carrier and not loose, I'll see if she'll go."

"Fine." Jack follows in Aaron's path, lagging at least a few steps behind the whole way. He pauses once in a while before crossing an intersection to check corners; it's not that he doesn't believe the good doctor's words, but he's not entirely convinced of his observational ability, and Jack's been on edge for some time now.

She will go. After many apologies, maybe, and a night spent in the bathroom sink afterward. Otherwise, she's snapping her jaws and sneezing once in displeasure at the idea. She's cooped up enough, the expectation to stay with one person being about the extent of her patience. She doesn't mind being told to stay put for a while, since she can see much better as of her newest change, and she knows better than to snoop when she's told, even when the territory is new. She'd much rather be ask to stay put than forcemarched into a cage, she's found. Not that she can tell anyone that, of course...

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[closed] two, two, two logs in one!

LYALL AND ROMSCA, TUESDAY AFTERNOON

JACK, MONDAY AFTERNOON

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