thecapitol | Patient Zero Plot

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Patient Zero Plot

[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.

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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.

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.

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.

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.

Edited (why did I hit post comment before I was done why did that seem like a good idea) 2014-06-02 13:17 (UTC)

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.

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."

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.

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."

"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.

She seemed unsure, more for the sake of letting him see her in this state. But beggers could not be chosers or so the old saying went.

"Very well...I suppose I can take comfort in knowing that I'm in the hands of a respectable, intelligent man."

Though there was something vaguely unsettling about the idea of being in his thick powerful hands. If her stomach wasn't already knotted up from being sick she might wonder about this new anxiety.

She was allowed a few moments more to stew over it as he merely side-stepped, turning to wave her past him and through the doorway as he reached for the forms the avox held out.

"You should," he drawled, the door clicking shut behind behind her as he followed her into the room. "Unless the claws of the esteemed Dr. Zoidberg are more appealing."

But as he doubted it, he carried on, inclining his head toward the exam table.

"Have a seat, Azula."

An obvious shudder passed over her and it wasn't from being sick.

"I wouldn't let that disgusting creature touch me if he were wearing a full body suit made of stylized latex." she spat.

Taking her seat she seemed smaller then last time they'd spoke. The fire of victory had been smothered by her illness and left her skin looking off color. Rather then simply pale she was more off a creamy sickly shade and despite her best efforts her hair hung limply in a mess around her shoulders.

Her eyes were glassy and exhausted but kept darting to the empty seat against the wall where a magazine sat with one of her tributes on the cover. The pretty one who did her best to avoid conflict.

"You're not wrong. Physical unpleasantness aside, I've found to be grossly incompetent."

Which, for Wesker, was far, far worse a crime.

He set the forms down on the simple, utilitarian desk, and reached for the box of gloves, plucking a fresh pair free. His head tipped as he pulled them on, strange slitted eyes peering at her over the rims of his dark glasses in a critical inspection.

Comparing his initial impressions to those of the other patients he'd checked. Making mental notes.

With a final snap of latex against his wrist, he stepped close and reached for her. His hands were warm, a match to her feverish skin, and steady. Strong, as they cupped her face, his movements easy, thumbs pressing and pulling near her eyes so he could check the whites, fingers kneading the glands under her jaw.

As if he had a right to do it. As he expected not argument.

Confident, to a fault.

"What are you feeling?" he asked, breath a soft flutter against her cheeks. "And when did you start feeling it?"

Edited 2014-06-06 12:20 (UTC)

Another shudder washed over her as he took her into his hands and she felt her stomach twist in knots. This was both very similar to how Diana treated her and also unsettlingly different.

Ooo letting him manhandle you Zula Zu? I'm getting jealous~

Speaking of Diana, her eyes darted to the chair and narrowed silently irritated before letting her gaze settle on Wekser's eyes. They seemed to burn into her.

"Shortly after the arena began." she explained. "I awoke with a chills and hours later was burning up with fever." She explained "I've never known a sickness that alternates so swiftly." Though it reminded her uncomfortably of the symptoms of her withdrawl last time she was in the arena.

"At first I thought someone had switched out my medications." she offered, too exhausted to try and pretend she was completely under her own control, "But they were fine. By the end of the first day I was experiencing sharp muscle spasms." The first had been utterly humiliating causing her to fall at a party that she really shouldn't have been attending in the first place.

Whatever Wesker thought about her revelation, he kept to himself.

There were more interesting puzzles a foot.

"Prior to that, were you in contact with anyone sick? Perhaps someone who wasn't ill at the time, but became so later?"

He leaned closer, near enough for the dark slits of his pupils to all but disappear, and breathed. He could smell the sickness - the sweat and bile - feel the heat of the fever... but not much else. His senses too muddled, still blocked by whatever power the Capitol held over him.

"Strange animals, by chance?" he asked, shifting back again, hands falling away as he turned to pick up a shining stethoscope. "Substances?"

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."

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.

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."

Edited 2014-06-08 00:27 (UTC)

She shook her head happy to take her mind off the voice in her head.

"Not that I am aware of. The only animals I came into contact with were cooked. And as far as I could tell none of the people I was in contact with had anything wrong. I had some meetings with potential sponsors, and interview for a magazine." She sounded unsure, worried that there might be some detail she may have missed.

"I'm going to need their names," he told her. "And when you meet with them, as close as you can approximate."

He was trying to track the infection back to its source, and trying to map out the spread - the incubation period from contact to first symptoms.

That would narrow down his suspect list.

Turning back, he shifted to stand behind her, the hard steel of the stethoscope pressing against her back.

"Deep breaths, slowly."

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.

"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?"

The cold metal disk on her back was actually a bit of a relief given how overheated she was feeling.

Each slow deep breath made her breasts rise and fall as the curve of her spine straightened.

She waited until he was finished to reach for her ever present tablet. A few flicks of her exhausted fingers would pull up the last few weeks schedule so she could present him with the names and times he had requested.

Leave it to a control freak to take fastidious notes on her day to day activities.

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.

"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."

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Patient Zero Plot

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

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[for Wesker]

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