(no subject)
I can but pray for success. If his contacts cannot help her, it does not bear thinking on. We should none of us be less than what we were born.
Ellen leans over the desk, the comforts of her chair for the moment ignored as she scribbles a last few notes on the most recent update to her drug catalogue. The monitor hums, burning the pale almost-blue white of the word processor. The white labcoat Ellen wears is less than crisp, crinkled from long wear, and roughly half of her ponytail has come undone, leaving hair's fall loose and annoying about her face.
It's cool outside, but comfortable, and as such, Erik has finally begun to exchange the uniform greys and blacks of his sweater collection to the equally nuetral (but at least marginally more colorful) catalogue of dress shirts. Today's shirt is apparently brought to you by the color brown, accompanied by the usual black slacks, boots, and belt. For all this, however, he is physically not in much better shape than he was yesterday when he leans into the infirmary, and spots Ellen with relative ease.
Ellen finishes scribbling and straightens, rolling her shoulders to loosen them. Reaching up to fix the failing hairstyle, she is in the midst of this activity when she turns on her heel. The elevation of her arms reveals a glimpse of the pale blue of her shirt through a labcoat haphazardly half-fastened; her slacks too are black. She catches sight of Erik. She blinks. "Good aft--" Ellen clears her throat and substitutes, "--evening, sir."
"Evening." Erik rumbles, stepping in once he's been noticed. As with yesterday, the door closes behind him once he's cleared it, and a quick glance has determined the rest of the infirmary to be empty. "I supposed it was about time I requested a report on what went on after I left last night." He pauses, brows tipping into reluctant concession, "And to apologize for storming out."
Ellen favors him with a slow blink; her hands drop to her sides, palms flattening against her hips as she inclines her head to him, a shadow almost of relief flickering through blue-grey eyes. She moistens her lips. "I was able to ascertain that Mystique's mutation remains fully functional, physically. Responding to my control the cells in the test area reverted to their natural state without difficulty." Her shoulders square in stalwart defense against the very information she conveys.
Perhaps recognizing that ghost of a look, Erik glances warily away as he folds his arms across his chest. "Interesting," is his final verdict, slow and deliberate. "You detected nothing abnormal in the cells themselves?"
"Nothing," Ellen confirms. Her arms mirror his, folding over her chest as she slightly lifts her chin. "Whatever is preventing her from transformation, there is nothing wrong with her body. It is in excellent condition."
Erik exhales, not quite a sigh, but close. He is tired. "I'm harboring suspicions that it may be psychological. But there are still numerous possible explanations..." A slight shake of his head, and he turns it back to Ellen. "That is, of course, to remain between the two of us. But whatever it is, I believe it's safe to say at this point that it is not contagious."
Ellen twitches, a little shiver of shoulder and neck. She nods. "I retain full use of my mutation," she says, the words clipped and quick.
"Ellen," Erik tilts his head slightly aside, barely managing the weak leading edge of a chuckle before it fades, "I've been in close contact with her for some time, now. I would not place you in a situation where I thought you might suffer a similar fate."
"Of course not, sir." The assurance comes quickly; Ellen shakes her head, almost as if to clear it. "I wouldn't think it. It is only that -- seeing her this way. I am unsettled."
"Ours is a dangerous occupation, my dear. These things happen, from time to time, and on we fight." Dark and worn, it would seem that his sense of humor is attempting to struggle on as well. Slow footfalls take him in Ellen's direction, not quite direct, but near enough. "I plan on leaving for the city again in a few hours. I have contacts there that will be better equipped to analyze the problem, assuming that it is contained within her skull."
"These things happen," Ellen echoes, humor hollowing her voice as she raises her gaze towards his. "Fight on indeed. If not her skull, I've no /idea/ the source." She hisses an exhalation, a sh-sh'd relative of a snort. "I've no balms for ailments of the spirit."
Erik echoes it, the near-invisible lean of his half-smile persisting nonetheless. "Whatever the problem, I intend to find it, and destroy it." Again, he pauses, and his glare focuses more directly upon Ellen's. "That said, I was wondering if you might be so kind as to direct me to where you are hiding the sedatives."
"I was going to inquire if you had slept in recent memory, sir." Ellen hooks half a smile in brief and then turns away in a fluid motion, shoes scraping a few steps over the concrete floor towards the cabinets on the righthand wall to retrieve the sedatives stored there as of only a few short hours ago. The shelves over which she passes her hand have been labeled, words formed in neat black sharpie over masking tape. She retrieves a bottle.
"Ah," says Erik, that same chuckle from earlier echoing a little belatedly, "not for me. I have my own, while we're being entirely honest with each other. I would like a syringe as well."
"Oh," Ellen says. And then, "Yes." This requires opening a drawer and pulling out a fresh one, still wrapped in protective plastic. She taps it against the bottle, frowning, and then reaches up to swap this bottle for a different one, which she uses to knock the cabinet shut as she turns around to return to his side across the room.
"Mmm." Ambiguous is Erik as his glare trails after her movements across the infirmary - the somewhat awkward tilt of his brows more telling than his silence until she's back at his side. "I do not expect Mystique to be...enthusiastic about meeting with the individual I have in mind."
Ellen frowns at him, her head tilting to one side as she balances hypodermic and sedative in the cradle of her palms. She asks, "You don't believe she would be willing to try most anything to regain her control?"
Grey eyes are cool and considerng down upon the needle, framed in dark hollows. "Eventually, perhaps. But for the moment, her pride..."
"Is not likely to suffer easily being drugged and toted like a recalcitrant animal, either," Ellen observes, her voice mild. (Helpful.) "But if it will /work/--" The pros and cons are left to hang in her silence as she breathes rue through the twist of her grimacing mouth.
Erik's brows lift immediately at that, faint surprise mingling with amusement that borders on being gruff as the fold of his arms across his chest stiffens, and his stark glare lifts from the sedative back to Ellen. "I wouldn't have to drug her if she were more cooperative."
"We none of us suffer a shortage of pride, sir," Ellen says, flitting a smile both slight and odd in the face of his glare. "If I felt mine were all I had left, I do not know that I would be inclined to cooperate, not with measures to strip it from me ..." Her eyes lower, obscuring their wry glint from immediate view. "And Mystique is more headstrong than I."
It had not crossed Erik's mind that he was not going about this in a perfectly reasonable manner, and it's not having a particularly /easy/ time crossing it now. His brows lower into a knit, and briefly, his half-smile pulls sidelong and skeptical. "What, then, do you propose as an alternative?"
"Short of waiting until she is in extremis and inclined to see reason," Ellen answers slowly, "I see none."
"Well. Initially I was of the mind that it would be better for her to be furious with me and herself again, than to deal with a slow, methodical deterioration - particularly while she is in such quarters with those of us that are still functioning." Pausing there, Erik flicks his gaze lazily away to the far wall, and then back again with one brow lifted. "That is to say, she is sleeping in my room, and I do not enjoy seeing her this way any more than you do."
"Better healthy rage than dull despair," Ellen acknowledges after a swallowing pause. She holds out bottle and hypodermic. "What is best for Mystique," she says, lifting them a little to so indicate. "You have my sympathy in the aftermath, sir."
"I'm rather tired of both, really. But I am content to play the villain, if need be. I have before, and probably will again, in the future." Arms unfolded, he does not attempt another smile before reaching for the bottle. "How long can I expect this to last, and how quickly will it act?"
"Quickly," Ellen answers. "She will be out in less than a minute. I am not certain for how long -- ten to fifteen hours, I believe, depending on how fast her system processes the drug."
"A last resort, then." A slow blink is cast down at the bottle, but without his glasses and without sleep, the odds of him being able to read the label are rather dismal, and he lowers it back down to his side while his left hand reaches for the needle. "I may still have a few darts in storage. If I can dig them up before I go, I should be able to return this to you unharmed."
"Thank you, sir," Ellen says. Relieved of her medical cargo, she lets her hands retreat to clasp neatly behind her back. "Syringes are not tremendously difficult to obtain, but waste not, want not. The thought is appreciated."
The bottle dropped into his pocket, Erik nods distracted agreement, and finds himself without anything further to address. The space that follows is filled vaguely by a yawn, and finally, he half-turns back for the door. "Well, I appreciate your assistance. I still have some packing to do."
Ellen inclines her head in answer, taking a step back in the direction of the desk. "Of course, sir. Good evening to you," she says, and then appends, "and good luck."
Erik sighs at the wishing of good luck, but doesn't protest it - merely opening the door ahead of him with a gesture and a muttered, "Thank you, Ms. Dramstadt," before he's through it, and soon enough, back about his business.
Ellen leans over the desk, the comforts of her chair for the moment ignored as she scribbles a last few notes on the most recent update to her drug catalogue. The monitor hums, burning the pale almost-blue white of the word processor. The white labcoat Ellen wears is less than crisp, crinkled from long wear, and roughly half of her ponytail has come undone, leaving hair's fall loose and annoying about her face.
It's cool outside, but comfortable, and as such, Erik has finally begun to exchange the uniform greys and blacks of his sweater collection to the equally nuetral (but at least marginally more colorful) catalogue of dress shirts. Today's shirt is apparently brought to you by the color brown, accompanied by the usual black slacks, boots, and belt. For all this, however, he is physically not in much better shape than he was yesterday when he leans into the infirmary, and spots Ellen with relative ease.
Ellen finishes scribbling and straightens, rolling her shoulders to loosen them. Reaching up to fix the failing hairstyle, she is in the midst of this activity when she turns on her heel. The elevation of her arms reveals a glimpse of the pale blue of her shirt through a labcoat haphazardly half-fastened; her slacks too are black. She catches sight of Erik. She blinks. "Good aft--" Ellen clears her throat and substitutes, "--evening, sir."
"Evening." Erik rumbles, stepping in once he's been noticed. As with yesterday, the door closes behind him once he's cleared it, and a quick glance has determined the rest of the infirmary to be empty. "I supposed it was about time I requested a report on what went on after I left last night." He pauses, brows tipping into reluctant concession, "And to apologize for storming out."
Ellen favors him with a slow blink; her hands drop to her sides, palms flattening against her hips as she inclines her head to him, a shadow almost of relief flickering through blue-grey eyes. She moistens her lips. "I was able to ascertain that Mystique's mutation remains fully functional, physically. Responding to my control the cells in the test area reverted to their natural state without difficulty." Her shoulders square in stalwart defense against the very information she conveys.
Perhaps recognizing that ghost of a look, Erik glances warily away as he folds his arms across his chest. "Interesting," is his final verdict, slow and deliberate. "You detected nothing abnormal in the cells themselves?"
"Nothing," Ellen confirms. Her arms mirror his, folding over her chest as she slightly lifts her chin. "Whatever is preventing her from transformation, there is nothing wrong with her body. It is in excellent condition."
Erik exhales, not quite a sigh, but close. He is tired. "I'm harboring suspicions that it may be psychological. But there are still numerous possible explanations..." A slight shake of his head, and he turns it back to Ellen. "That is, of course, to remain between the two of us. But whatever it is, I believe it's safe to say at this point that it is not contagious."
Ellen twitches, a little shiver of shoulder and neck. She nods. "I retain full use of my mutation," she says, the words clipped and quick.
"Ellen," Erik tilts his head slightly aside, barely managing the weak leading edge of a chuckle before it fades, "I've been in close contact with her for some time, now. I would not place you in a situation where I thought you might suffer a similar fate."
"Of course not, sir." The assurance comes quickly; Ellen shakes her head, almost as if to clear it. "I wouldn't think it. It is only that -- seeing her this way. I am unsettled."
"Ours is a dangerous occupation, my dear. These things happen, from time to time, and on we fight." Dark and worn, it would seem that his sense of humor is attempting to struggle on as well. Slow footfalls take him in Ellen's direction, not quite direct, but near enough. "I plan on leaving for the city again in a few hours. I have contacts there that will be better equipped to analyze the problem, assuming that it is contained within her skull."
"These things happen," Ellen echoes, humor hollowing her voice as she raises her gaze towards his. "Fight on indeed. If not her skull, I've no /idea/ the source." She hisses an exhalation, a sh-sh'd relative of a snort. "I've no balms for ailments of the spirit."
Erik echoes it, the near-invisible lean of his half-smile persisting nonetheless. "Whatever the problem, I intend to find it, and destroy it." Again, he pauses, and his glare focuses more directly upon Ellen's. "That said, I was wondering if you might be so kind as to direct me to where you are hiding the sedatives."
"I was going to inquire if you had slept in recent memory, sir." Ellen hooks half a smile in brief and then turns away in a fluid motion, shoes scraping a few steps over the concrete floor towards the cabinets on the righthand wall to retrieve the sedatives stored there as of only a few short hours ago. The shelves over which she passes her hand have been labeled, words formed in neat black sharpie over masking tape. She retrieves a bottle.
"Ah," says Erik, that same chuckle from earlier echoing a little belatedly, "not for me. I have my own, while we're being entirely honest with each other. I would like a syringe as well."
"Oh," Ellen says. And then, "Yes." This requires opening a drawer and pulling out a fresh one, still wrapped in protective plastic. She taps it against the bottle, frowning, and then reaches up to swap this bottle for a different one, which she uses to knock the cabinet shut as she turns around to return to his side across the room.
"Mmm." Ambiguous is Erik as his glare trails after her movements across the infirmary - the somewhat awkward tilt of his brows more telling than his silence until she's back at his side. "I do not expect Mystique to be...enthusiastic about meeting with the individual I have in mind."
Ellen frowns at him, her head tilting to one side as she balances hypodermic and sedative in the cradle of her palms. She asks, "You don't believe she would be willing to try most anything to regain her control?"
Grey eyes are cool and considerng down upon the needle, framed in dark hollows. "Eventually, perhaps. But for the moment, her pride..."
"Is not likely to suffer easily being drugged and toted like a recalcitrant animal, either," Ellen observes, her voice mild. (Helpful.) "But if it will /work/--" The pros and cons are left to hang in her silence as she breathes rue through the twist of her grimacing mouth.
Erik's brows lift immediately at that, faint surprise mingling with amusement that borders on being gruff as the fold of his arms across his chest stiffens, and his stark glare lifts from the sedative back to Ellen. "I wouldn't have to drug her if she were more cooperative."
"We none of us suffer a shortage of pride, sir," Ellen says, flitting a smile both slight and odd in the face of his glare. "If I felt mine were all I had left, I do not know that I would be inclined to cooperate, not with measures to strip it from me ..." Her eyes lower, obscuring their wry glint from immediate view. "And Mystique is more headstrong than I."
It had not crossed Erik's mind that he was not going about this in a perfectly reasonable manner, and it's not having a particularly /easy/ time crossing it now. His brows lower into a knit, and briefly, his half-smile pulls sidelong and skeptical. "What, then, do you propose as an alternative?"
"Short of waiting until she is in extremis and inclined to see reason," Ellen answers slowly, "I see none."
"Well. Initially I was of the mind that it would be better for her to be furious with me and herself again, than to deal with a slow, methodical deterioration - particularly while she is in such quarters with those of us that are still functioning." Pausing there, Erik flicks his gaze lazily away to the far wall, and then back again with one brow lifted. "That is to say, she is sleeping in my room, and I do not enjoy seeing her this way any more than you do."
"Better healthy rage than dull despair," Ellen acknowledges after a swallowing pause. She holds out bottle and hypodermic. "What is best for Mystique," she says, lifting them a little to so indicate. "You have my sympathy in the aftermath, sir."
"I'm rather tired of both, really. But I am content to play the villain, if need be. I have before, and probably will again, in the future." Arms unfolded, he does not attempt another smile before reaching for the bottle. "How long can I expect this to last, and how quickly will it act?"
"Quickly," Ellen answers. "She will be out in less than a minute. I am not certain for how long -- ten to fifteen hours, I believe, depending on how fast her system processes the drug."
"A last resort, then." A slow blink is cast down at the bottle, but without his glasses and without sleep, the odds of him being able to read the label are rather dismal, and he lowers it back down to his side while his left hand reaches for the needle. "I may still have a few darts in storage. If I can dig them up before I go, I should be able to return this to you unharmed."
"Thank you, sir," Ellen says. Relieved of her medical cargo, she lets her hands retreat to clasp neatly behind her back. "Syringes are not tremendously difficult to obtain, but waste not, want not. The thought is appreciated."
The bottle dropped into his pocket, Erik nods distracted agreement, and finds himself without anything further to address. The space that follows is filled vaguely by a yawn, and finally, he half-turns back for the door. "Well, I appreciate your assistance. I still have some packing to do."
Ellen inclines her head in answer, taking a step back in the direction of the desk. "Of course, sir. Good evening to you," she says, and then appends, "and good luck."
Erik sighs at the wishing of good luck, but doesn't protest it - merely opening the door ahead of him with a gesture and a muttered, "Thank you, Ms. Dramstadt," before he's through it, and soon enough, back about his business.