Patient Zero Plot

[etcircenses]

[OOC: patients, post a subthread and one of the doctor characters will be with you shortly. Feel free to specify if you want one in particular.]

In a city as monitored as the Capitol, that a mystery disease was going around didn't escape notice for more than a few days. That both Victory Hannibal and Chris Traeger such a production of their 'impending death of the plague' didn't help it stay under wraps, either.

As such, a clinic of sorts has been set up inside the Tribute Center. Tributes, Mentors and anyone else associated with the Games are taken aside at random and given check-ups. Avoxes are given lists of prescriptions to help any sufferers alleviate symptoms, and the doctors and scientists on staff (recruited by Peacekeeping Headquarters right now) are given relatively free reign to take whatever tests they need to find the name of the illness and kill it.

Currently, it is staffed by Penny, Wesker and Zoidberg.

Comments

[burnedbrighter]

Azula has absolute faith in the power of science.

The Capitol uses it's technology to play god, so why can't they use it to heal one of it's most loyal, hard working mentors?

She shuffles her way downstairs from the District Five Suite but it takes her longer then she thought. There's something nagging her...lingering in the corner of her eyes.

In the doorways. Peeking out from behind potted plants and pillars.

She has the horribly uncomfortable feeling she's being watched.

Add to it the uncomfortable sensation of being too hot or too cold depending on the hour and the occasional sharp pains and she's completely done with feeling anything at all.

Maybe they can get her something stronger then Morphling.

When she's taken aside by some of the staff to the Clinic she's more relieved then worried. Surely they'll figure out what to give her so she can shake this and get back to work.

Surely.

[president_evil]

She didn't have to wait long.

Despite how long it had been since he'd been the lab himself - how long it been since he'd ascended past such plebeian tasks - Wesker was as efficient manning his corner of the clinic as he was with everything he did. All the old memories tickling along his spine. (The phantom weight of a bone-saw in his hands, the crack of bone in his ears, the smell of coppery blood.)

Releasing his last patient - a man, trembling and pale with eyes decidedly forward - Wesker peeled off a pair of gloves with the easy efficiency of experience and tossed them in the bin beside his now open door.

"Next."

[burnedbrighter]

Well now wasn't this a surprise? Her expression clearly read how unexpected this had been.

"We meet again Mr. Wesker." Her voice was heavy with exhaustion, driven on only by her confusion, "I was waiting for a doctor..." And not a fellow mentor who she really didn't want to see her in a moment of weakness. Still the sweat beading on her forehead and the washed out color in her cheeks were broadcasting her illness to any with eyes.

[president_evil]

"And so you have one," Wesker told her, head dipping in a small shadow of a bow. He held out a hand, fingers curling in invitation. "I assure you, I know my way around the human anatomy."

And then some.

With his other hand he gestured for an avox to bring him a fresh set of patient forms.

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland doesn't come to the clinic, exactly. He's trying to sneak around it. But there's not too much sneaking that can be done in a building like this, all light and open spaces. The whole structure seems designed to make anyone who walks through feel like they're meant to be seen.

If there was a crowd he'd try to melt into the edges of it to pass the clinic by, but there's not one, and he isn't going to wait. The room he's been given may not really be his, but it's got blankets, and right now that's all he actually wants. Aside from some friendly company, anyway, but all of that is trapped in some mysterious elsewhere fighting for their lives. Without him. In lack of that, a little bit of warmth will have to do.

He also wants this cough to stay away until he's past, to not draw any attention to him, but you can't have everything. Clearly. Shit, he thinks, leaning against the wall as the noise forces itself out of his throat. Haven't I done enough of this for one lifetime? He turns his right arm over, automatically checking the skin above the stubs where his first two fingers used to be, but there're no red lines there - that particular illness is long past, and would mark an infection anyway, rather than some ridiculous annoyance he picked up in the gutters of this city somewhere.

It's tempting, nonetheless, to approach the clinic himself on the off chance they've got the astin that other world had. But he's not bad enough off to need such marvels, especially not if he's got to take them from his gaolers and trust that what he's being given is no more than what the Capitol's citizens will tell him. After this cough is done, he'll move off. Just another moment.

[wiredup]

Eddie had been pulled aside to be given a random check up, but apparently he aced the turn your head an cough exam.

He was always good at tests.

His plan was to escape before anyone else could figure out anything they wanted to test him for, but when he saw the older man, he hesitated.

People were really sick. And even if they had gotten off on some bad foot, he knew this guy was important to Suze. He had to check.

"Hey. Roland, right?" He actually knew it was Roland, 100% for sure. But it seemed a less awkward intro.

[ka_sera_sera]

He squints at the other man for a moment, taking careful breaths as the cough begins to fade. Marvelous. Just what he needed.

It's an unkind thought. Roland knows that. What harm has this man done him, after all, but exist? Roland gathers himself. Straightens. "Sai Dean." Roland's eyes flicker over his shoulder, wary, but none of those working at the clinic seem to have noticed him yet. Or if they have, seem too busy to do anything about it.

"Good to see you well. What brings you here?" Polite nonsense, it's very clear what brought him here. But it's a strange position he's in with Eddie's twinner - polite nonsense seems the only real option. Hopefully he'll be able to navigate his way out of the conversation as soon as possible, before anyone else decides to keep him here.

[wiredup]

"They wanted to run some tests. Make sure I'm not sick, figure out what super cells are keeping me powered."

He lifts his arms, mocking a pumping of his biceps, before grinning at Roland. Awkwardly.

How did one guy make him feel so damn awkward.

"How you doin'? Any idea what's going on?"

[fearisinthemind]

Penny is far from pleased to be put on this ridiculous assignment, and considers the petty nature of doctoring to be nothing more than a reminder of how she had no say in this. Her foul nature has led her to abuse Avoxes and Tributes alike who have walked past her, all as some sort of release for the resentment stewing in her for being forced to do something she has no interest in.

For the most part she allows Wesker and Zoidberg to do most of the appointments, letting the latter impart his enthusiasm on more receptive peoples and keeping her eyes on the former. She micromanages, but only as a way to sate her damaged ego. It's only when the two are occupied that she bothers to move from her post and solicit one of the patients.

Her displeasure radiates off her like fumes. A wrinkles has formed in the corner of her mouth, a tension in her jaw.

"You," she points at Roland, although she doesn't know his name, doesn't especially care for it. "Come sit down so I can take some blood samples."

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland looks up, making sure the 'you' in question is not him, and - well, it is. Damn it.

He thinks about ignoring her, wonders whether any peacekeepers would try to stop him and whether he could fight them off in this condition if they did. But even wondering that is stupid, a self-indulgent fantasy, and he lets it pass through his mind less than a second after he thinks it. If there is a time for that, is isn't now. Now is the time to be an agreeable prisoner, docile and cooperative. So, after that initial self-indulgent moment, he is.

"Pardon," he says mildly, sitting. "It's been--" His voice's gone rough again and he pauses to swallow. If he had something to drink keeping this cough at bay might be easier, but until then his own spit will have to do. "Been a while since I've been bled. Might not remember how it goes."

[fearisinthemind]

Penny's eyes narrow as she watches him hesitate, and she believes for a second he'll give her a reason to be cruel. It's enough to make her salivate in the back of her mouth.

But he doesn't, and so she feigns dismissive professionalism for now.

"Take a seat and tell me about your symptoms."

Joly: Here's a Doctor for any of you!

[medecin]

After his return from the arena, Joly had been informed that he was to begin work as a physician to help with treating...well, he was not certain what the disease was, but knowing that he was needed had alleviated a lot of his fears of catching the unknown, as knowing it had alleviated his fear of even the mysterious new cholera had done at home.

At the moment, reporting to work as best he could, armed with the little knowledge of technology he had, he hoped to be of some use, somewhere here. For now, he was standing about, a little awkwardly, and tugging at his new white coat a bit uncertain of it, since it had not quite been a part of the uniform at home. Still, that was hardly what mattered most, and clearing his throat, he set about to look for somewhere he could be of use.

[burnedbrighter]

Azula was waiting quietly and sullenly, with her arms wrapped around her shivering. If anyone was paying attention she was muttering to herself and her eyes would occasionally glance to the seat next to the bed she was sitting on. The seat was empty save for a magazine someone had left there.

"You're not even here." she grumbled rubbing her arms "Just need to get something to take for this. Something to make it better."

[medecin]

"We are doing what we can for that, I assure you, Mademoiselle Azula." Joly did his best to assure the victor of that, offering her a sympathetic look as he slipped in to get some vital signs at the least.

"You have often seen some of us who were not actually there?" He continued, rather concerned by the combination of that and the shivering. The sort of fever that would bring on both of those could be vastly dangerous, likely already was. Given how she was shivering, he hated to attempt to force the fever down with ice and decided, for the moment that draping a blanket, and then a few extras around her for the moment could do something in the way of sweating it.

Another instinct, almost immediate, was to begin bleeding her, but, so far as Joly knew, it was not done now, here, so better to learn the reasoning behind why that had stopped before he went in and potentially made things worse.

"Are you able to eat and drink at all?"

[burnedbrighter]

She offered him an irritated look and when he asked her about seeing people who weren't there her scowl darkened.

"It is a recent development." She responded stiffly trying to focus her exhausted stare on his eyes.

"I haven't had much of an appetite, but yes I have been sipping water." as much as she would prefer the warm embrace of wine's smooth kiss.

[for Wesker]

[pepsi_cola]

Victory is convinced of her imminent demise, and in order to be taken seriously, has deemed it necessary to dress to exaggerate her symptoms. Her blue eyeshadow makes the pink fevered blush of her face stand out, as does the low-cut shirt that shows that she's flushed all the way down her chest. A fancy handkerchief hasn't left her hand, although it's now spotted many times over with blood from her nose. She sniffles and sighs and swoons, and seems about near the point of collapse when she sits down in front of Albert Wesker.

"Are you a real doctor?" Her normally husky voice is outright hoarse, and she coughs (delicately, she hopes) into her handkerchief.

[president_evil]

Victory was no strange to Wesker. Though they had never met in person, he knew her well from her exploits on the network. He'd rather hoped she'd take her dramatics to Zoidberg - kindred spirits, weren't they - or, better yet, Penny. (A man had to take his entertainment where he could get it.)

That she ended up in his room was disappointing, but he would endure.

He still had so much work to do.

"Do you believe the Capitol would entrust the lives of its dear citizens to someone incapable?" he replied coolly, not bothering to look up as he neatly filled out her entrance form, his handwriting even and precise.

[pepsi_cola]

"I don't even know." Victory dabs at her nose (which is once again bleeding) with her handkerchief. She sighs and it seems to suck all the air from her. She starts to shrug off her shirt; her normally pale skin is splotchy with fever and rash. She exhales deeply and a bed of sweat perches in her septum.

"I think I'm dying, Mr. Wesker. I'm certain of it. This is just proof that no good person goes unpunished. I try so hard and do so much for my ungrateful Tributes and yet I'm about to be struck down in the halcyon days of my youth, like some..." She waves a hand around on a floppy, delicate wrist. "Some flower in unkind terrain."

O P E N

[crabulous]

Zoidberg is busy scuttling about in hospital scrubs, providing screening examinations for the randos being brought to him by the Peacekeepers. His examinations were really not very useful. Mostly his suggesting that his patients see aestheticians for comedone extractions and massages, so that they'll look more youthful and relaxed.

open!

[youbarium]

Carlos has quickly familiarized himself with the Capitol's technology. Happy to be in a clean lab coat once more, he is in his element, taking throat swabs and blood samples and putting it all under microscopes. A mask covers the lower half of his face and gloves protect his hands; Carlos doesn't know how this disease is spread, so he takes no chances.

He approaches the next patient with a tape recorder in the breast pocket of his lab coat.

"When did the symptoms first appear?" Carlos asks.

Re: open!

[gardienne]

Eponine's sat gripping the edge of her chair with both hands. She does not look happy to be in the clinic at all, but there's no doubt that ahe's not got the illness. She's losing weight: already starving from Paris, Eponine looks like a living skeleton now. She shakes, both from a sudden chill and from the dheer effort it's taken her to reach the clinic. The sleeves of her jumper are covered in blood she's coughed up: she's evidently not changed since Jessica threw her out. And she smells like she's slept in a bin. Which she has.

She shakes her head at Carlos' question. "I do not know. Perhaps a day or so after that horrid Jessica coughed in my face when she made me leave. You're not going to touch me, are you, Monsieur?

[youbarium]

"I'm afraid I'll have to," said Carlos. "But just for a moment. I need to see if your lymph nodes are swollen. I'll just tap the sides of your neck, here and here." He pointed to his own neck, below the jaw. "Then I'll take an x-ray, which won't touch you, and doesn't hurt. Okay?"

He spoke patiently and slowly, doing his very best not to scare her away. The information about Jessica was also useful: Jessica's disease had been positively identified as TB, and if that was where Eponine had caught this...

open

[amoral_savior]

It takes the better part of the week before the Avox are able to get into Topher's room where had quarantined himself. Coughing and nausea had become weightless and coughing up blood. Topher was sure he was dying and like hell he wasn't going to die getting poked and prodded by strangers. When the Avox had finally entered his room he'd been too exhausted to give more than a token protest at being forced out of bed and to the clinic.

Laying on a bed, Topher tried to sleep. He was a doctor of the mind and right now he was demanding his mind turn off so he could try and stay alive. God, all his work on making himself useful so that he could be free of the Arena would be for naught if he ended up drowning in his own blood because of some futuristic cold.

[youbarium]

Carlos arrived shortly after Topher is checked in, wearing a lab coat, gloves, and a face mask. His hair was easily recognizable, though, since his death and return from the Arena had left it, once more, perfect. He was carrying a tablet like most people carry clipboards, complete with a stylus pinned to the top.

"Topher Brink?" he asked, a greeting and a formality.

[amoral_savior]

"Go away!" His demand might have had a small bit of authority had he not started another coughing fit that covered his hand in blood. Topher fell back into his pillow exhausted and tried to shoo the doctor away with the wave of an arm. Who knew arm waving was so hard? "Just let me die."