.63 [voice]

[hyposprayed]

[filtered as best it can be from bad parties but everyone and their grandmother could probably hack it.]

[have some extremely crackling, static-filled feed before a slightly hoarse, vaguely irate tone speaks. Anything '---'d' is just too much static to hear.]

Well I'll be damned, finally w---, -ook long enough.

Any news fro- -he outside?

[ooc;

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Comrade?

[Prefect doesn't notice that he's using the wrong term of address as he crouches outside the Doctor's cell, trying to attract the mans attention.]

I have a question for you?

[The muscles in his face clench into a grin that's too wide to be anything but slightly painful.]

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[hyposprayed]

[Shhhhiiiit. McCoy practically throws the communicator in his pocket. Very smoothly. This is just how he rolls.

And of course by smoothly I mean like an epileptic in the throes of a seizure.]

Prefect. [It is actually impossible for him to sound any less thrilled to see him.] Don't you damn well always. I told your goons before I don't know who's involved or what they're up to. There's a reason they call it 'beating a dead horse.'

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[Prefect doesn't trouble himself about McCoy's flailing, if he was in a cell he'd probably have an occasional flail as well.]

It's not about that, Doctor.

[Still grinning like a maniac, he leans forward to rest his head between two of the bars of the cell. Sliding his forearms through the bars, he wraps them across a portion of the cell door and clutches on to it. It's the kind of gesture you might expect from someone locked in the cell and longing for freedom, rather than the man holding the keys.]

How do you know if you've got strychnine poisoning?

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[hyposprayed]

[So understanding Prefect. McCoy turns and stands, too tense and generally pissed to sit in his presence. That or he's looking for a plate to throw.]

Strychnine- [And it's into doctor mode.] Muscle spasms with frequent convulsions leading to paralysis of the neural pathways that control breathing- damnit man, you have two hours at most to save them if that's the case. [He walks towards the bars, like he could see anything out there anyway.]

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[Prefect looks briefly dismayed, before letting all expression melt from his face, consciously relaxing all his muscles. For a few minutes he's completely silent, just searching his consciousness for any sign of those symptoms. Finally he speaks again.]

So... you'd definitely be able to tell that something was wrong if you had it?

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What part of 'convulsions' wasn't clear? [Have an irate look.] It's a long and painful way to go, lord knows the sadists around these parts would be head over heels for it.

[He grabs one of the bars and glares at Prefect.] Who is it? Look, give me the right tools and I may be able to save them. [Yeah, trying to get Prefect through the humanistic approach. Never fails.]

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[Prefect shakes his head, looking a little relieved.] It's okay! I think it was a false alarm. [He clears his throat, having the grace to look a little embarrassed] Uh, the... potential patient has been known for his bouts of hypochondria in the past, and Una said I should see a doctor about it, but I don't like leaving prisoners alone with Beatty.

[His expression is briefly distracted, as he considers the enormity of what a bad idea that would be. Then he brightens up, smiling again.]

So I thought I'd just check with you!

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[hyposprayed]

[McCoy frowns at that. Yeah, leaving anyone alone with Beatty was not a good plan.]

Happy to help. [Feel the immense sarcasm.] So when are you lot going to execute me? I'm guessing last requests aren't part of the picture.

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[Prefect gives a lopsided shrug] Executions aren't my department, my job is to keep you alive and contained. Why, do you have a specific last request you'd like fulfilled?