"Mm, that is a lovely little reaction, but I'm not sure you should be saying that to a machine, honey," Daisy opines, leaning lazily against the doorway and gesturing to the new little toy with her fingers in a dainty little way. "Unless you have a forbidden love of all things mechanical and that's the kind of fucking you're implying."
"What? Jeez, no. No." Well, okay, who didn't have a strange love affair with their cell phone nowadays? But that was different. And if Fitch ever decided that he was a full blown objectum sexual, that damn pill popper machine would have been the furthest thing from his type.
"That was a general... fuck. I, uh, think I got turned around somewhere. That, or she really did drive me crazy..." He trailed off in thought, scowling slightly.
"She's do have a tendency of doing that," Daisy can't help but agree with a nod of her head, looking at the admittedly attractive man as she sets her weight on her right foot. "But I don't think a woman has anything to do with this kind of crazy. I'm supposing this all looks brand spanking new to you?"
"It does, yeah." Considering he didn't actually have a history of insanity and vivid hallucinations, of course this was all brand new. "There's no chance I just got off the elevator on the wrong floor, is there?" He was completely willing to ignore the fact that he hadn't actually stepped foot on an elevator.
She wore her hair down, that day. Sides pulled back away from her face, held in a clip at the crown of her head, but otherwise, it hung in waves over her shoulders, softly crimped from being held in a braid for so long.
Coming up the stairs, she was weighted down with a sack of laundry, her cowboy boots clicking along the linoleum and her skirt swishing around her ankles.
"Excuse me," she said a little stiffly to the man standing in the hall outside the clinic, right in her way. He looked lost, but that really wasn't her problem.
Exasperated, Fitch continued fruitlessly punching buttons on his cell phone, swinging the device left and right, up and down in hopes of catching a signal. Going outside to find one wasn't an option anymore, not after the quick peek he'd already taken out there. Snow he could deal with. Santa's enchanted Christmas playland? Not so much.
He adjusted the bluetooth headset on his ear as he watched the screen, turning to pace back in the opposite direction and nearly colliding with the woman who apparently decided that standing in the middle of the hall was a good idea. "Whoa- Oh, hey. Hi! Do you know if I can get service anywhere in this place?"
Arching a brow and calmly shifting her laundry to one side so that she could see him a little more clearly, she observed flatly, "You're new. They should really have a pamphlet for this sort of thing."
There were always so many questions, and the first people you meet aren't always so forthcoming.
"No cell phones. No land-lines. No internet. Has anyone at least explained to you where you are?"
"Shut up, seriously?" He shook his phone more violently now, as if that would solve the connection issues. Surprisingly, it did not. "Sure someone explained. Mostly. But I try not to make a habit of taking stories about being stranded on a magical island at face value."
Margot, who had been heading to the kitchen for some hot cocoa - even ice queens could enjoy hot chocolate every now and then - stopped when a very confused-looking man stepped into her path.
"Understatement of the century," he said on the end of a sigh, bridge of his nose pinched tightly between his fingers. He really wasn't paid enough for this shit.
It wasn't till he dropped his hand back down to his side that he realized he was talking to Gwyneth Paltrow. Gaping slightly, he reached over and snapped the rubber band around his wrist.
Margot observed this with something approaching amusement.
"No, you're not dreaming," she told him. "I'm guessing you're new." It wasn't really a question. She'd learned to spot the signs by now. The gaping was a big one.
"Dreaming, no. Hallucinating? I'm not ruling that one out completely just yet." Sure, he'd prefer it if he weren't crazy, but that option was strictly the lesser of two evils. He didn't want to be stuck on an island. Not even one with Gwyneth Paltrow.
"Hey, that is a sweet piece of equipment," announced Yuffie as she strolled in, the bright red gash on her forehead an afterthought as she began to paw at the Pill-o-Matix. "What's it do, what's it dispense? If it's not giving out, which it might not here, y'know, I'm a total ace in the hole to crack this baby open."
She gave the new guy a curious look too. "Hey, you look like shit, buddy."
"I think the drugs are best left un-cracked." Though he wouldn't have turned down a Tylenol just then. And it'd be nice if he didn't need to remember his PIN number to get it. "And it's not sweet, it a piece of shit and-- should you be saying shit?" Should he be saying shit in front of her? She was, like, twelve.
"Rough day... I'm not convinced I didn't hit my head, too, but I don't have a bump on the noggin to show for it," he said, nodding at her forehead.
"I'm twenty-fucking-one," Yuffie told him, and just for that, she was going to rob the fuck out of the machine soon as she got the chance. "Also, I'm the world's greatest ninja, and it was a training accident." Since her t-shirt was already ruined, she didn't really care that it was now absorbing tiny drip-drops of blood.
"Okay, okay. No need to get hostile." Weren't women supposed to appreciate being told they looked younger? It was a like a compliment. It was just one more bit of evidence to prove that he was clueless when it came to the opposite sex.
The 'ninja' thing didn't throw him too much, though. On any given corner in New York City, you were likely to come across people who thought they were Jesus Christ himself. That was an issue for a whole different kind of doctor, but bleeding blows to the head were right up his alley. "Well, if the world's greatest ninja promises not to karate chop me, I can patch that up for you," he said, his tone not unlike something a small child might hear after telling their parents they wanted to be a firetruck when they grew up.
"Not a Pyxis," Coop said bitterly. He was poking and prodding around in the lab, probably touching things he shouldn't have been, but he couldn't help himself.
Stephen didn't answer at first because he was busy peering at the machine, trying to figure out just what exactly was inside.
"...And what the hell is a Pyxis?" he finally asked, straightening up. He had never seen the guy before, but that meant nothing. Stephen didn't go out of his way to meet people.
"What's a Pyxis?" Coop repeated in disbelief, walking over to stand by the cheap imitation. "It's only the greatest invention to hit the medical world this century." Maybe not, but in Coop's opinion, it was certainly the coolest. And maybe century was pushing it, but definitely this decade.
"It's an electronic pharmacy. Dispenses medication, keeps track of inventory flow; pretty much does what this one does only better." Because it was a fucking Pyxis.
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"That was a general... fuck. I, uh, think I got turned around somewhere. That, or she really did drive me crazy..." He trailed off in thought, scowling slightly.
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Coming up the stairs, she was weighted down with a sack of laundry, her cowboy boots clicking along the linoleum and her skirt swishing around her ankles.
"Excuse me," she said a little stiffly to the man standing in the hall outside the clinic, right in her way. He looked lost, but that really wasn't her problem.
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He adjusted the bluetooth headset on his ear as he watched the screen, turning to pace back in the opposite direction and nearly colliding with the woman who apparently decided that standing in the middle of the hall was a good idea. "Whoa- Oh, hey. Hi! Do you know if I can get service anywhere in this place?"
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There were always so many questions, and the first people you meet aren't always so forthcoming.
"No cell phones. No land-lines. No internet. Has anyone at least explained to you where you are?"
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"Problem?" she asked mildly.
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It wasn't till he dropped his hand back down to his side that he realized he was talking to Gwyneth Paltrow. Gaping slightly, he reached over and snapped the rubber band around his wrist.
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"No, you're not dreaming," she told him. "I'm guessing you're new." It wasn't really a question. She'd learned to spot the signs by now. The gaping was a big one.
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She gave the new guy a curious look too. "Hey, you look like shit, buddy."
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"Rough day... I'm not convinced I didn't hit my head, too, but I don't have a bump on the noggin to show for it," he said, nodding at her forehead.
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The 'ninja' thing didn't throw him too much, though. On any given corner in New York City, you were likely to come across people who thought they were Jesus Christ himself. That was an issue for a whole different kind of doctor, but bleeding blows to the head were right up his alley. "Well, if the world's greatest ninja promises not to karate chop me, I can patch that up for you," he said, his tone not unlike something a small child might hear after telling their parents they wanted to be a firetruck when they grew up.
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Stephen pointed at the weird machine, then saw the word pill. Hmm. Was it just him, or was his wrist suddenly hurting again...?
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"...And what the hell is a Pyxis?" he finally asked, straightening up. He had never seen the guy before, but that meant nothing. Stephen didn't go out of his way to meet people.
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"It's an electronic pharmacy. Dispenses medication, keeps track of inventory flow; pretty much does what this one does only better." Because it was a fucking Pyxis.
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