Log:A Problematic Professorial Pursuit
Barad is puttering around the lab, more or less doing "Biochemitry homework" . . . his large round shape hunched over a microscope, his big 'ole floopy ears flopping forward. Barad puts some gunk on a slide, and *peers* a while in consternation. And then another slide. Then Another. (There's a stack of about 20 slides, off to the left.) Barad pauses in his work and looks as if he wants to scratch his itchy cold black wet nose. But then he doesn't. Never a good idea, when you're running bio-assays . . . .
Insert one druggie drop off HERE. Domino is muscling a barely conscious Muri through the doors to clinic. Short story: brief hangout at the Smugglers Den, Muri had a couple beers, she's suddenly falling allover the damn place. So here she is - your problem now.
"Ssss...sn't Parmac.." Muri moans, eyes rolling around in her skull, struggling to focus on the ever-changing scenery. There's puke on her shirt. Just a lil bit, so homegirl's on an empty stomach, probably.
"Nope! It's the Ko-Hent," Barad replies cheerfully, adroitly *sliiiding* a chair under Muri as she seems to be slowly getting shorter by dint of slouching /sliding down the doorframe. Hopefully, Barad completes this operation in time to forestall any faceplant on Muri's part. Barad then fishes out one of those miniature light - pen thingies that are used to test your visual focus. They're used to see if you have had a concussion, an overdose, or a similar good time. Barad turns the tiny light on. "Hello Netep!" Barad begins: "Do you remember, who I am?" But then once Barad has seen Muri's focus - response, he re-starts a little further back up the 'Diagnostic Tree' . . . "Do you remember, who -you- are?" Yup. Better check the first things first!
Is she focusing? She can't even tell, but that SUN is sooo daaaamn BRIGHT. Muri tries to shy away from the pen light, flapping a hand up in defense with the most feeble swat that misses by a mile. Her slouching continues sideways, chair serving as just a halfwaypoint from doorframe to floor. Her other hand (not swatting) is trying to grip the wall. There are no handholds to prevent her slither overboard, unless it's aomeone else doing the holding and keeping her there.
"Ffff'ind a queshton sssat?" Netep's face wrinkles with displeasure at this insult to intelligence. Does she know who she is...
"Netep Muri, prissner Cresshh-eiight-sssven..." her words trail off into mumbledom. "Frink," a punctuating explicative as she starts to tip the opposite way. "Yer stablizerrs broken.."
Barad Barad grins. "Very good! Now. Do you remember: How you got here? Do you remember . . . what happened to you?" Barad continues, frowning a bit at Muri's continued slump/melting. Barad gently holds on to Muri to keep her from pouring down onto the floor, while *scooting* the chair over to the nearest solid wall. Barad places her hand on the wall, so that she knows where the wall is, and gently adjusts her posture to lean toward that new and helpful supporting surface. Barad checks for head injuries, contusions, bleeding, or other trauma. "Here, -this- wall seems stabilized!" Barad offers, *pat pat pat*-ing the friendly plasteel while reaching for a medkit with his other paw . . .
"S'just in the Den with.." Her breathing halts for a second head lolled against the friendly wall. Soaking in the cool touch. A sudden intake of air reboots her train of thought. "Peaches'n
"S'just in the Den with.." Her breathing halts for a second head lolled against the friendly wall. Soaking in the cool touch. A sudden intake of air reboots her train of thought. "Peaches'n'drink..." Muri squeezea her eyes closed, trying to combat the dizzy spell that's gone on WAY too long in her expert opinion. "s'jus beer." Sure, there's a hint of the stuff on her breath (other than bile) but she doesn't exactly smell like a liquor cabinet. Not the most saturated in drink she's been.
"afore that...mmmmm. Book sale."
Barad scans Netep Muri with a medpac.
Barad nods. Well, he's not seeing any particularly vicious paper - cuts, so he's guessing the book sale -wasn't- the Trauma Source . . . "Mmm!" Barad scans, seems happy, his big 'ole floopy ears perking up. "Yer not bleeding, at all, neither internally nor externally -- that's wonderful news! Great job on that!" Barad winks, distracting Muri with a playful bobble - wave of the Medkit scanner results screen (Ooooh! Pretty lights!) so that he can vacuum off the puke a bit without calling attention to the fact he's vacuuming off the puke a bit. (Tact counts.) "No broken bones, either! Just a bruise on your shin . . ." Barad thumbsups. "How many beers, do you think, all together?" Barad wonders, whilst checking for toxins. Well, toxins -other- than the expected. (Just to make sure Netep hasn't been drugged!)
If there's a prick of finger involved in the toxin check, Muri doesn't appear to feel it. The way she slurs her words, she probably doesn't even feel her own face right now. "Ssspit half the firs one out, so..sec'd. Twooo. Jus....justwo." Netep blinks her eyes back open to reveal whacked out pupils and one confused third eyelid (nictating membrane) that's slid over to cloud her right eye. A shield against nonexistant threat. Oh, that's so very weird. The walls and ceiling are fluid, melding into one another without respect for physics. The urge to vomit is renewed.
Barad sets the medscanner down, with a perplexed half - frown - look of pensive consternation. "Well, no -way- I can think of that -two- beers does -this-" Barad points to the EKG readout with his left paw. "Also, your blood chemistry's off. Any chance anyone slipped you something? Something that causes vertigo? Or, perhaps a better question: Anyone there who -would- slip you something? Aeresol, or in your drinks?" Barad wonders, doing a brain scan now.
A rude, sputtery snort answers Barad, Muri trying to heave a laugh but failing. Head..so...heavy. Is it time for bed yet? She'd like it to be time for bed. Respirations and heart rate are depressed accordingly in compliance with sleepy time. "Nnn." No? "Not beers," she mumbles, eyelids drooping along with her chin. "Ssommmmme err sm brandy b'fore Den. Makin' th'sale. T--who buyers. Mebbe..."
While Barad is tasked with deciphering Muri's inebriated mutterings, a couple of persons materialize from the pedestrian flow outside the clinic. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but they seem to be waiting for someone, talking quietly among selves.
Barad shrugs, "Well I am not really sure -what- it is, exactly, that's gotten into your own system, but: I'm betting it's definitely something-something." Barad nods. "Too many medical indicators wonky, innit." Barad *scratch - scratch - scratches* at the top of his large -ish shaggy angular head. "Wweeeeeeellllll, maybe we don't -need- to know . . . . . just start you on broad - spectrum non-invasive dialysis . . . get the blood cleaned up, that should help. Even if can't ID the toxin in its specificity, as long as we only 'put the good stuff back' you ought to feel better, and . . . at least . . . more coherent." Barad grins, and sets that up, keeping an eye on the two strange pedestrians. Hmmmm. "And, ok, if it -was- the drinks, well, you have thoughtfully already provided a sample!" Barad notes, not mentioning the pukestains by name. Barad *scoops* up the sleepy Muri and carries the noodle-y heap of Netep over to the comfy couch. Barad wraps the dialy-band carefully around her upper arm, and fiddles with the gizmo a while. After that, Barad fetches an ice pack from the fridge for her head, and his own fuzzy blanket for the rest of her to wrap herself in. Barad tucks Muri in to rest while the armband machine purrs and whirrss for a while. He then disappears ever - so - briefly into the supply room, and comes back out carrying a sample case and wearing thick insulating gloves. Barad peers out the window again, checking up on the 'pedestrians' . . .
Aww. Muri puts up no fight against the relocation and band fitting. She might have passed out. When the frigid ice pack touches skin though, those eyes shoot WIDE open and fingers clutch greedily at the smushy blanket. "Yer not Stuggets.." she observes correctly in her stupor. Was it an accusation or just an observation? Who's to say. Not Muri, she's melting into the couch.
"You were supposed to give her the entire dose," hisses one shady figure to the other lean form in business attire. Much too cleancut for the likes of Ko Henota.
"I did," mumurs the other around the butt of a tabac stick tucked into mouth. It ignites with a warm glow. "Seems t'be taking effect right on time. What we didn't account for was her side trip on her way home. So. We improvise." A final draw from the stick sees it dropped into some scuzzy puddle under foot where it fizzles out in a slow, agonizing death. "You look like trash, so you're staying put. Allow me."
The fellow with the gold skin, amber eyes, and jet black hair straightens his fashionable cap, makes adjustment to a cufflink, and ducks on in to the clinic.
"Nope! . . . " agrees Barad, reassuringly and cheerfully, adding: " . . . I'm -not- him -- on account of: I'm too uggly and I'm also kinda juuust the wrong species!" Barad nods. Fair enough --- All that is true. "You just rest up, OK? Blood will be clean in just a few minutes!" Barad adds. Barad dials up Kryll on the lab's holo - message - recorder and leaves the connection open and the volume on. At least, that way, if it comes to violence, there will still be a record of who-done-it and what they look and sound like. (Mostly.) "Meanwhile, you might have got some shady - looking visitors outside, who are coming in, so Imma go back out front and see if I can talk 'em off or iffen I have to punch them inna face." Barad worries. Yeah, this could go sour. Putting the insulating gloves back on and picking up the Sample Case, Barad goes back out front to see who's come in and what they might want . . .
FancyPants is standing politely in the lobby, examining his surroundings with only a mild air of superiority. In truth, the cleanliness IS remarkable in here, considering the locale. He'll give credit where due.
Those warmly colored eyes interrupt their contemplation of an oddly placed chair to light upon the emerged Klatooinian with a smile and feigned startlement. A crinkle of brow, slant of mouth conveys concern with the flip of a switch. "I'm..are you the doctor?" He advances just a couple steps, one hand raised with a harmless palm-up point at Barad. "Professor Ila." that palm goes out, hesitantly offering up a handshake. "I'm very sorry to intrude but I'm looking for a colleague of mine, someone said they saw her stumble in this way um.." His other hand gestures an 'ah-hah' moment and reaches into suitjacket to procure a datapad. A few quick swipes brings up Netep's picture.
And WHAT a picture it is! She looks like an adult. Silky blouse, minimal makeup, black hair swept back from her face with just a stripe of green. Like a damn professional.
"We had a businss meeting to discuss some of her work locally and...she never made it back from the lunch run. I'm worried."
Barad seals the lab door and walks back out into the front room with the sample case in his large gloved paws. "Can I help ya? Are you hurt, or injured? Or is your friend hurt?" Barad asks, solicitously, observing Mr. Fancy Pants with his large brown eyes, cold wet keen nose, and both floopy ears, seeing if he can *SPOT* the reason for this unscheduled visit. Barad *listens* to the intruder. "Oh! A professor!" (Barad buys it -- very nice Bluff roll! :). "Uh, you don' wanna shake hands just now. On account o' what I got inna this sample case." Barad apologizes. "But, uh, yeah . . . Have a seat, Doctor Ila! This will just take a moment. What kind of business were you on, did you say?"
Professor Ila turns in a half circle, hand tucked back into suit pocket with a discerning look at the offered seats. He selects one carefully - minimal stain:optimal view ratio. He tucks a few greying strands of that black hair over ear. Within that pointy, golden ear is a tiny, black something. Ear piece. "Books!" A flashy smile, which fades rapidly as he folds himself into chair again. "Antiquities, more specifically, not the cred-a-page flimsiplast junk they mass produce these days. But the old ones, the ancients, those whose covers /smell/ like history. Cultures preserved for all time in their pages. In the right hands, of course. Dr. Muri is one such special person; we...well, we are quite grateful to have her on retainer." He clears his throat softly and jiggles a knee lightly under the pad still in hand.
"Is she all right? With all due respect for your services here, this is not...not the sort of place one of her stature ought to traverse alone. I've a driver waiting to ensure she makes it back to the Hermi."
Barad takes the sample box over to the vacuum hood, and hits the "Open Seal" button with a large fuzzy brown elbow. "*Bleeet*," the machine complies, and the vacuum hood opens and waits one minute before it closes. Once the box is safely inside, Barad seals his respirator, and uses the hood's mechanical arms to open the box. The contents . . . . well . . . let's just say the contents definitely lean toward the "yucky" aspect of the "stained <----> view" continuum. Ew. What . . . . once might - have - been a large -ish rat is disgorged from the box, in . . . . mostly one piece. If "chunky soup" can be said to "be of one piece" . . . . At least the tail is . . . visible. Much of the rest of the rats does seem to have gotten itself rather badly infected with something that looks rather un-nerving. "Mhmmmmmhmmm!" Barad agrees, his reply a bit muffled by his own respirator gear. "Books! How . . . wonderful! What kind of books? What kind of Histories?" Barad seems quite genuinely interested, (He is) as he wanders over to a medical readout.
"Ehm.." Professor Ila is quiet for a moment, mouth ajar in what was meant to be a sentence but got interrupted by Barad's scientific pursuits. Of nasty. For the briefest of moments, the walkkng suit looks a touch uncomfortable and it ain't cause of his tight sleeves.
"Is that..." safe to be doing in here? He doesn't finish the sentence, but DOES appear to be reconsidering his choice in proximity. Maybe a little bit cloaer To THIS wall. Ahem.
"Agriculture. Early colonist sort of things, most recently, but really we've appreciation for a broad spectrum of subjects." Maybe not anatomy or pathology though, if the faint frown is indicator, cast Barad's way. "Religion, mythology, language, sex..." a pause while he lifts a halting hand to add a disclaimer "the cultural significance of, mind you. This is not the sort of illicit material sold in the shadows." Because that'd just be unsophisticated.
Meanwhile, Muri is enjoying her nap on Barad's couch, blissfully unaware that hersemi-professional exploits have caught up to her in the other room.
"Agriculture!" grins Barad, "How splendid! It would be -wonderful- to have a garden!" Barad dreams. Mmmmm, fresh veg! "Quite difficult on Nar, of course. The light levels. The pollution. Our, uh, . . . rodent friends. . . . " Barad points to the ex - rat . . . " . . . getting into anything and everything edible. . . " Barad mourns. " . . . And some things not. Such as -- the toxin this little guy got into, down by th' docks innat. Looks: bad." Barad spares the rat a sombre look. "A breath or two, and he was Doomed." Barad commiserates, looking at the scrolling numbers and chemical names on the wall - projector. "Hey, what sample books do you have on you?" Barad wonders. _Actual_ _Books!!_
"Ohh no. No," the professor chuckles lowly and stands for an idle pivot and glance to the ceiling/corners. Just a neck stretch....
"One does /not/ carry such priceless artifacts about on their person. After lunch, we were going to resume our transaction in safer quarter. Dr Muri's, to be precise. She is the one who has it secured, after all."
Barad mouths a wordless "Oh." and his estimation of The Professor ticks up a notch. Just -how- much would such books be worth? Yikes. "Hm. Well, she's unconscious. So I can't ask her. . . . do you have holo - photos of such books?" Barad wonders. "I do not think that I've ever -seen- one . . . . " Barad walks on over to behind the desk, half sits / half leans down, one knee on the desk chair, and starts to type a couple notes.
Professor Ila's - if that's even his name - patience is wearing thin. He spares a glance to his chronometer and decides to humor the doctor with a glimpse of what he andhis 'driver' outside came here for. Long-legged strides cross the lobby and he leans on the opposite side of the desk, angling the datapad toward Barad, blocking view with his body, should anyone else happen to come in here all curious like.
It's a thick, leather-bound tome. The edges appear worn, not quite to tatters, so someone has made an effort to take care of it, these past millenia. The only 'words' on the cover are glyphs. "She's been working out a translation for quite some time. Unfinished work yet, but her insights have been helpful."
Another mild frown then, as he disappears the image. "I do hope there wasn't a head injury."
"Our medical records are of course one hundred percent private and completely confidential," repeats Barad, by rote, in the tone and at a pace that would indicate he's used these same exact words hundreds of times before now. Barad spends a good long moment looking at the holo - image. "It's . . . Beautiful!" Barad notes, sotto voice. Barad possesses seemingly endless patience, and no small amount of curiosity either. Barad looks at the photo some more. "Remarkable!" Barad finishes typing the notes, stands back up, and puts those big thick gloves back on, while walking back on over toward the vacuum - sealed hatch. "I do very much hope you get what you're looking for --- should be fascinating to read the translation!"
"I'm sure we will," Ila smiles without mirth, watching Barad return to the hood. "Well. When she's able to receive visitors, we'll be just outside." He motions to the exit, sensing that he won't be walking Muri outta here quite yet. Not with all these RULES. And if the pristine condition of that suit is any indicator, he's not looking to fight his way in/out. Because messy. That's what his driver is for. "Please...let her know we stopped in."
Barad says, "Of course!" Barad notes, waving a gloved paw at the registrants screen. "Just leave your holo - contact on the 'Visitor's' screen. Visiting hours are 10 to 4." Barad relates, again by rote. "And . . . Professor . . . best of luck with your research!!" Barad waves to the literary expert. "Have a good night!""