(Untitled)

[terrorofgotham]

Bo Hopper's been a security guard here at Arkham for a little over a year, and decided it was well time enough to take a week off to go camping. He never made it out into the woods, but that's what his cell phone message said, out of touch and back in next week

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[notatvcharacter]

Another day, another round of annoying the criminally insane for fun and profit.

Today, Dr. McCoy is down in the infirmary, checking Mr J. Doe's staples and stitches and taking blood from him for testing, dryly quipping back in response to the patient's prodding (getting some fun looks from the regular staff for engaging him) when all hell breaks loose.

The smell isn't familiar, but the noise and feeling that comes hurtling in after it -- the rumbling beneath his feet, the sensation of movement forward at speeds far greater than any human being should ever travel at is. He's on an airplane. It doesn't make a damn lick of sense at all, but he knows it, in his bones and in his inner ear, vertigo making him lean forward to catch himself on the edge of the examining table. They're a mile in the air, hurtling in a bolted-together deathtrap of a flying madhouse...

He's gone a rather grey-green as he holds himself up on the table, trying not to scream (like he can hear behind him, screams and falling glass and metal) or throw up on the

[ha_in_havoc]

Strange smells and pleasant sounds interrupt what was a routine medical exam with enjoyable conversation. There's so much screaming. He catches the scent and everything begins to decay more rapidly. He already knew it was all rotting, but now he can see it. He can see the flesh peeling from the supervising guard as he flails, screams and flees the room.

Dr. McCoy's palms are a puddle of foul and fetid fat and blood. His bones scrape the table surface through it. The clown wonders if the good doctor is dying. The rotting isn't real, after all. No more real than it ever is. No more a lie than it ever is. It's all the truth eventually.

"What's the matter, doc?"
Are there knives inside of you that need to be let out? Let into others? He doubts it. He could empathize with that, though.

[notatvcharacter]

After the initial spike of panic, logic starts to trickle back in, though he's still gripping that table tightly. No matter what his racing heart and lurching stomach are telling him, an airborne asylum is impossible. He swallows, hard. "There is something wrong," he grinds out.

Deep breath. Focus on where you know you are, not where you think you are. He grimaces, closing his eyes as he feels cold air rush past him.

"How do you feel? What do you feel?" he asks above the wind. Compare. If it's just him, then it isn't real. Which isn't necessarily better (he's painfully aware of the possibilities, the damage psychotropics of any kind can do to a person, psychological trauma convulsions psychosis coma tachycardia hyperthermia heart failure) but all in his head.

[ha_in_havoc]

"I...ah..see that."
He stifles his laughter. Isn't that considerate?

The clown tilts his head at Luke and flexes his hands, annoyed that they're still bound together. There's clearly some different and interesting problem going on for the doctor. That's clear. He wishes he could see it.
"Oh, it's a lot of the same... I'm bleeding on the inside. You're bleeding on the outside. ... Somebody's playing with chemicals. Tsk tsk."

He slides down off of the exam table to stand next to the doctor.
"What do you feel?"

[notatvcharacter]

Even with his hands still bound, Johnny Doe getting up is (to continue with the understatements) not good. It doesn't take precedence over the airplane situation, though. And even if it did, all hell's broken loose,what the hell is he going to do about it? Call a guard? Sit the maniac back down himself?

"Fuck." He's heard about Crane's toxins, hoped he'd never have the pleasure of experiencing them, but -- it seems he's not that lucky. Fuck. "Everything keeps trying to tell me we're on an airplane. Auditory, tactile, equilibrioceptive hallucinations. Recurring notion." Stop talking to him! "Pardon in advance if I'm sick on you."

[ha_in_havoc]

At the moment, the nameless clown may be the only person in the building who won't try to claw Luke's face off in abject terror. For once, he could be the lesser evil. Who knows?

"An airplane? Where are we going?" He laughs, unable to resist anymore. He doubts it matters. It's fear gas, though. Interesting. He always wanted to see the effects real close up. He missed his chance when the island was hit so heavily.

"Get sick if you have to. Not, ah...the first. Ha." He lowers down, smiling at Luke. He can stare right into empty sockets and a face with insects passing in and out of it with no hint of his own hallucinations. "I'd be willing to..to..ah..help here, but..." He holds his hands up. "I can't land this thing like this."

[notatvcharacter]

What kind of thing can just take a hit of this stuff without flinching? Any other situation, and he'd be fascinated by the Joker's seeming lack of reaction. Hell, he'll probably be puzzling over it after the mess is over, if he lives through it.

Right now, though, he's too busy giving Johnny Dee a disbelieving look. He's going to try that? But he can fly the plane. There is no goddamn plane!

He struggles with the two thoughts, fighting to keep his grip on reality, but then there's a tremendously loud crash, and the sound of something electrical (oh god) and he loses his grip. He's fumbling for his keys, so much for the job --

"Just get us down from here, and I don't care what else you do."

Click.

[ha_in_havoc]

Of course there's no plane. But 'I'll gladly enjoy your misery and maybe keep you from harm's way until you sober up' seems less convincing. I mean really, would 'let me take care of you', from this man, be any better motivation?

"God to know."
Because he'll probably do other things. Not to Luke, though. Not today. Today, they're friends, and Luke has it bad enough.
He flexes his hands and smiles. He jerks the plastic bag out of a small trash can and tucks one end into one of the doctor's pockets.
"If you still need to ... purge."

He starts tearing his way through drawers and cabinets, tossing anything not immediately useful or interesting to the floor. A few syringes and a few scalpels are tucked into the pockets of a lab coat hanging on the door. He slips the coat on.
"We'll need to ah...arm ourselves. And take provisions... Then we need out of here."

A reflex hammer to smash the glass on the locked medical supply closet. Then he starts asking what things are. Holding them up for Luke's inspection.
"There are crazy people out

[notatvcharacter]

He's going to be fired for this. He's going to end up losing his position here, his position at Gotham General, he's going to be locked up, thrown in prison or back in here as an accomplice to whatever the hell this lunatic is going to do next...

But with the toxin pressing the panic button in his hind-brain, it's easier to just go with it, do whatever he has to to avoid getting killed or reduced to a vegetable, and pay the piper later.

Doesn't mean he doesn't shoot him a glare, still clinging to the table. "You're a riot, you know that? Um -- Nebcin, antibiotic. Ativan." He eyes that bottle hungrily. "Sedative, anti-anxiety."

A pause.

"...you are not escaping."

[ha_in_havoc]

Well, nothing interesting or fun in the cupboard yet. That's a pity. He keeps the antibiotic, because he might get infected if he leaves now. He keeps the Ativan...for his friend.

"Right. Observant. I'm surviving. Because I'm feeling generous, you can too. I'll even give you a...ah...present, if you're good."
He shakes the little bottle of ativan with a smile.
"Maybe I'll leave later. Maybe I won't. Talk me out of it, doc."

[notatvcharacter]

"No, thank you. It enhances the effects of psychotropic agents." He edges closer to his 'patient,' hands going from the table to the wall. Steady. Steady. Close your eyes, take a deep breath...

"In case you haven't noticed, you've still got a mouthful of stitches, a rickety jaw, and staples in your hard palate. As your doctor, I can't in good conscience let you walk out of here in that state. If you don't end up with a brain full of pus, you might be able to grab a two-bit sawbones off the street and get them to take 'em out when the time is right, but you know just as well as I do that even if they're capable, there's a good chance of 'em just jabbing the pliers up into your thalamus and saving everyone a lot of trouble."

[ha_in_havoc]

"Oh? Huh."
Well, now he's definitely keeping it. Maybe he'll share it with others who were gassed.

The Joker is quiet a moment. He wants to argue, but McCoy really does have a point. The clown hates being injured for this reason alone. Pain and disfigurement aren't threats to him at all, but a boring, slow death from infection would really put a damper on his plans, and he fan feel his mouth rotting apart from infection, gangrene, and worse as Luke talks. The antibiotics in his pocket won't cut it. He's smart enough to know that. Still, no reason to let the doctor know he feels that way. He laughs and turns to look Luke in the eyes with a big smile.
"Oh, I don't trust street doctors. Most of them are criminals. Tsk. I take care of..ah..my own medicine."
He did a lot of his own stitch work. This may be why he has such lovely and expansive scarring.

"Or I could take you with me."
Dr. McCoy could be his private doctor. Wouldn't that be fun?

[notatvcharacter]

Just a barrel of goddamn laughs.

He flinches at the torn-apart yellow smile, but regains his nerve with impressive speed, and looks back. "You could try. If you think you can get me off this island without me making a sound -- and without injuring me. A surgeon's not much use without his limbs."

Lucas McCoy has fears. Airplanes, trains, public transportation. The fallibility of technology. But he has never been afraid of people. Not even very, very dangerous ones.

[ha_in_havoc]

"Well, there's only one way to find out."
Does Luke doubt that the clown would be willing to try getting him out? There's no strong fear of failure here. Also, it's a challenge now. Who doesn't like to rise to a challenge?

"I like you, doc, but I suspect there's fun out there that I'm missing."
He's done playing in here. He wants out into the halls. He wants to see this. Wants to make it worse.

[notatvcharacter]

Medicine is full of hard choices. Which life can be saved, and which life can't. Luke can go along with the Joker and watch him do whatever it is he's going to do next, or he can try to stop him -- and probably fail, and have him go on with his business anyway.

He doesn't look happy, as he makes his way toward Johnny Dee and the door. Moving with a bit more confidence, but with one hand still firmly on the wall.

"Let's go and get you your fun, then. But if you try to go through those gates, I swear to God I'll drag you back in by the ear."

[ha_in_havoc]

He can't help laughing, but he's honestly surprised and impressed by the balls on this doctor. The Joker doesn't think it's bravado. He really believes that Luke would try to stop him. Try with his bare hands and all his will. It's cute.

"Gonna keep me company for the tour, then? Alright."
He holds a hand out for the doctor to take if he likes and kicks the door wide open as he does.