who calls me from the other side of the street?

[bluepurrymuffin]

WHO: Thomas Blake and Hank McCoy. Harvey Dent drops in later, possibly with company
WHERE: From Blake's home to the subbasement of the Xavier Institute
WHEN: Late Monday evening
WARNINGS: Violence, gore, horrific imagery
SUMMARY: Under the influence of the Black Mist, Hank has taken a very personal offense at Blake's lack of actual cat-like

Comments

[indentcision]

Outside the Institute, the first thing Harvey had noticed was how relatively deserted the area was at this hour. Good, because that's why he'd picked this place to go. He was only freshly out of NOHoPE, and his old haunts were probably crawling with Bats. They loved their "patrols", and Harvey wasn't interested in getting thrown back in when he had no desire to commit any crimes. He was a new man. He belonged out here, where he was free.

The second thing he noticed was the trail of blood on the ground, leading into the building. See? This was why he belonged out here. He flipped his coin, noting the affirmative answer it gave him for investigating, and followed it cautiously. He held out one of his guns, prepared just in case any psychopaths (or the Joker) were lurking in the shadows of the dark school.

He followed and followed, and stood by a door the blood went behind and listened, though he didn't need to -- the screams were audible from feet away and prickled the hair on the back of Harvey's neck. God.

"Psych yourself up, Harv," he muttered to himself. It had been a long time since he'd been in this position. He probably could use back-up, but it was obviously too late to do anything but fling open the door and say, "What in double hell is going on in here?"

[bluepurrymuffin]

"What the--?" He'd been too busy, he should've smelled this new intruder. But then, he'd surrounded himself with some rather overpowering aromas, so maybe he wouldn't have either way. He wheeled about, knocking over the tray with his tools. Accidentally, of course, or at least that was the intended way for it to appear. The only indication that it may have been calculated was the relatively undisturbed state of the pans next to it, the ones with more vital organs in them.

Hank rose to his full height and crossed his arms, waving the scalpel that was still in his hand in admonishment. "Now now, one shouldn't interrupt such a delicate procedure. One wrong slip," here cutting the air with the scalpel demonstrably, "and who knows what could go wrong!"

[indentcision]

Harvey let his eye sweep the room, narrowing at Hank. He raised his gun with a hand only shaking slightly, trying not to look at Thomas.

"Get away from him. Just -- move aside! Don't touch him!" He gestured with the gun, pulling the hammer back to show he meant business. "You've clearly done more than enough."

[bluepurrymuffin]

Hank smirked and patted Thomas on the belly, just below the major opening. "Oh, by all means, if you want him to bleed out and die, be my guest! He was a paltry subject anyway. However, if you truly intend to save him, perhaps you might allow me to close him up before that happens."

His unbandaged foot came to rest on the tools strewn across the floor. Slowly, furtively, he wrapped his toes around a bonesaw and waited to make his move.

[indentcision]

"Shut up. I'm not going to fall for your crap, you big blue creep. Get away from him!" Harvey stepped forward once, looking warily at Thomas again before firing a shot at Hank. Not a shot to kill, but enough to warn or to graze him. "You're just going to kill him."

[bluepurrymuffin]

He took the hit on the shoulder and let out a roar, tossing the scalpel in his hand at Harvey to give him a chance to make his escape. He wasn't ready for a fight, and his shoulder was blossoming with pain already. Blake was no real great loss. Should he miraculously survive, he'd done a good deal of work as it is, everything else was just going to be icing on the cake.

He clamored for the vent in the ceiling, breaking the grate as he squeezed himself into it and loudly moving through it above the ceiling. To his embarrassment, he was probably trailing blood again.

[indentcision]

Breathing heavily, Harvey put his gun away and took a moment to stop his hand from shaking. It really had been a while since he'd been in a position like this, and it seemed like possible corruption was around every corner.

He walked over to Blake, looking down at the mess Hank had left behind. And they say I'm ugly, he thought. He glanced at the tools spilled across the table and the floor, wondering what to do.

"Relax," he said, having no idea if Blake could hear him, stepping away to pull out his communicator. "Just gotta call for some back-up. Two heads can fix a problem faster than one."

[enigmaestro]

The call was unexpected.

"Why not?" He had said, unable to contain his smirk. Why not. The mouth the call for help came from was unexpected as the subject itself, and Eddie couldn't help but be curious. He was aware of the newest affliction, of course -- that had already spread across the Network. But this case, this incident, these conditions? It was too good to pass up.

Besides. Thomas Blake needed him.

"I've brought a few scalpels," he said within the hour, already at Harvey's side and pulling one slim utensil out idly while his eyes rested on Thomas' open chest. The medical thread and sewing material he had brought along, too, but he paid little mind to those. His attention hungered over Catman.

The eyeball, the teeth. It was a mutilated mutation.

Eddie's grin widened.

[indentcision]

"It's a mess, isn't it?" Harvey put his hands on his hips, grimacing. He wasn't a doctor -- Eddie wasn't either -- but he hadn't known who else to call. He didn't trust the cops here (and didn't want to get arrested again, natch) and Matt was blind. "Don't know where to start but we gotta do something soon. At least staple him up. It's a goddamn--"

He pulled an Anatomy book out that he'd scavenged from a classroom between when he'd called Eddie and when Eddie'd arrived, but flipping through didn't illuminate much either aside from things he'd learned about when studying medical lawsuits.

"Is there any twine around?"

[enigmaestro]

He nodded to Harvey's words, silent all the while as his smirk sharpened. Only when Harvey asked for twine, did Eddie respond.

"Ah, yes." Eddie indicated the briefcase he had brought with him, carrying the medical thread and other necessary bandaging. His eyes were still on Catman. Without hesitation, he reached over, fingers hovering Thomas' exposed heart. The sunless organ beat with blood, pumping those fading gasps of life through Thomas Blake. Eddie touched a fingertip to the right ventricle, gently. Gloveless. And grinned.

His eyes darted around the room.

"No sign of anesthetic." He withdrew his hand. "I didn't bring any, myself. We'll have to be quick, Harvey, with the chest. It would be a shame if he died like this, how humiliating."

He returned to his briefcase, opening the latch. Four pairs of surgical gloves, light blue. Extras in case any broke. Eddie pulled one on, snapping the latex against his wrist.

"I'll remove the rib spreader to close the chest. You watch the sternum and move the flesh flaps evenly. I've got the stitch and thread."

[indentcision]

"Uh. Sure." Harvey frowned and flipped his coin, making sure he had the okay to operate before putting any gloves on. He wasn't squeamish at least, not after all he'd suffered himself, and gripping the flesh was a simple enough task.

"If he dies he dies, but I'd rather not have someone's death on my conscious the same day I get out of the asylum," he muttered, breathing slowly. "Especially if I had some power to help it. That's a lot of blood."

[enigmaestro]

He paid little mind to Harvey's qualms, save for the last. Smirking -- those words echoing his mind, that's a lot of blood, he spliced a vein in Thomas' strapped forearm, the trajectory aimed squarely into Harvey's bad eye.

"Is it?"

[indentcision]

It dripped down the slicked surface and Harvey growled, drawing back slightly and wiping at it with his forearm. "Dammit, Nygma. Don't do that. We're not trying to make him bleed more."

[enigmaestro]

Eddie wrinkled his nose at the display, somewhat disappointed in the lack of theatrics. He paused, midway through cutting a question mark into Thomas' flesh.

"Are you touting a glass eye?" It was a sincere question. "Hmm. I suppose that would explain the otherwise inexplicable change in style every now and again."

He pulled a length of surgical thread, soon stitching Thomas' chest flesh back up.

"Hope this doesn't sting too much, Thomas. I'm not sure how your monster eye would handle tears."

[indentcision]

Harvey didn't answer, though it was obvious enough when he wiped the glass eye clean with his sleeve. He didn't like talking about it.

"Can he even hear you?" He asked, keeping his hands steady as Eddie sewed up Thomas's chest. "And is there disinfectant down here?"

[enigmaestro]

"Does it really matter?" Eddie retorted with a wink. It was the answer to both questions. The stitching was even, considering the circumstance. Eddie was a man highly involved with the treatment of minor wounds, for likely obvious reasons.

"Hand me the scissors." The thread needed to be severed. "What should we do about the eye? His eye, I mean, not your stylish glass bit."