[Set-up for campjesus]

[virtupets]

Brody hopefully has figured out how to use a PINpoint by now, as the coordinates Sloth has given him are the only way to get to the doctor's current location, Space Station 12. Brody's not the brightest thing to crawl out of the mall, but he can be useful. As Sloth is probably going to see to very shortly

Comments

[campjesus]

That is a very daunting office, yes, especially when you're a tiny, sheltered little thing like he is. He arrives as he always does, covered in make up and wearing enormous stompy boots that add at least three inches to his height. The transition from Earth to omg space station is a little jarring, but, well, he's used to PINpointing by now.

He self-consciously clasps his elbow behind his back, chewing on his lip. He tries not to look intimidated! He fails. "Hello, sir."

[virtupets]

"Hellooooo, Brody." That didn't sound somewhat predatory at all. "Take a seat, lad. I believe there's a few small matters to be discussed before we move forward." He waves that unbound hand towards a steel chair that comes up from a round panel in the floor in front of his desk.

"You sounded like you were interested in hearing what it is I can possibly do for you in my scientific pursuits. So let's hear it."

[campjesus]

Well! That was kind of creepy. This is totally like an Ariel-and-Ursula thing, yes? "Yessir." He sits, though, a little stiffly but really, who's expecting him to toss himself in a chair and lounge about? Though that would be funny. Maybe if he were high right now.

"Oh, well... I don't know how much you remember, uh, about the bleeding? But I've just about been to every specialist on Earth and ain't no one been able to do a thing about it." Ain't no on--SPEAK PROPER ENGLISH, you little redneck. "I dunno if that's the kinda thing y'all can do, but..." Look at where they are. They are in SPACE. It is a reasonable assumption that Sloth has access to certain medical facilities that 2008 Earth doctors do not.

[virtupets]

Either that or Silence of the Lambs. Hellooooo, Clarice.

"Ah. Yes. The whole...bleeding thing." The doctor pulls a distasteful face, not so much because of discussion of blood (are you kidding me?), but because of how he originally accessed that knowledge of Brody's little condition. Telepathy. Uggh.

His claws are drumming on the polished surface of his desk now in a slow, steady tempo. Tak-tak-tak-tak. "Why don't you fill me in some more on the nature of this condition? Usual symptoms, what help you've already sought, anything that alleviates the conditions?"

Sloth's bluffing in some ways, as he doesn't really know what the deal is with this whole 'bleeding' business. He just knows Brody's got something to do with blood that's unusual. Might as well let the boy fill in the blanks without pleading ignorance.

[virtupets]

Sloth is a sick fellow, and this is demonstrated in the fact he's a little disappointed that Brody's not in any notable discomfort or pain with the procedures thus far. It's no fun if the subject isn't screaming! Or maybe it's just because he get irritated by noble attempts to put on a stoic face. Not that he really suspects that of Brody, but you know young guys and their desire to look tough.

Dr. Sloth is idly spinning the tool on his fingers. "That's not it, but it's the first leg of this procedure anyhow. And I wasn't joking about the burning." And that arm that was the one to offer up the sample culture is the first to go under the process. The wrist of that arm is held onto in Sloth's free hand. His grip is unreasonably powerful, so there probably is zero wriggling out of it, even if you were someone who wasn't a total wimp like Brody.

A yellow, narrow light beams from the glowing end like a flashlight when he compresses a certain button on it. And when that light touches the boy's skin, there will be heat. Like being under an

[campjesus]

Well up until now it's just been talking and a little cut. It is clear from the scars on his arms that he's not particularly fazed by cuts, sry2say; of course, the thing about Brody is, despite having been raised by one of those ultra-macho "boys don't cry!" dads who beat the concept of stoicism--literally--into their kids' heads, Brody is and always will be an emotional little sissy boy.

And so it is that when the beam goes over his scars, he lets out one little shriek, his entire arm clenching before he bites his lip hard. He's not able to muffle the sounds entirely, and his eyes squeeze shut as he whimpers. Well there you go, Sloth, there's the pain and discomfort! He's not crying--yet--but if he bites down on his lip much harder he's going to--yep, there, he's bleeding. Awesome. His other hand claws at the chair under him, fist clenching and unclenching. Go to your happy place, B! Rainbows and unicorns and--oh Christ, but it hurts.

[virtupets]

When Sloth evenutally looks up from the current de-scarring process, he's probably going to roll his eyes at the lip-biting and offer something to chomp down on. But right now, he's sort of required to stay focused and steady on the procedure, as going too fast or too slow would have unpleasant results. Not that the correct way of doing things is super groovy, though.

As is, yes, Dr. Sloth happily ignores Brody's cries and pain (or so his outward appearances would tell you), just watching as he wipes that searing light over the several lines that mark the kid's arm like tiger stripes. And in the tool's wake, there is indeed unscarred, pristine skin. It looks a little red and discolored where the scars used to be, but the fact of the matter is they're gone! Sloth's a genius. Yes.

The tune Sloth's humming sounds like Electric Six's 'Danger High Voltage' if Brody's even aware enough of anything other than pain to hear and recognize it. Don't you wanna know how we keep startin' fires? It's my desire, it's my desire!

[campjesus]

Like the gothest teenage tiger ever, sure. He twitches and squirms, trying to hold still and be quiet; the effort is obvious, but he mostly fails, letting out whimpers ranging from quiet little grunts of pain to louder, whinier sounds.

He's not in any state to recognize any kind of humming, sadly, and perhaps surprisingly, Electric Six isn't really his scene. That is terrible of you, however, Dr. Sloth. You are bad and you should feel bad.

He just waits for it to be over, letting his brain go somewhere else for a while. Pain is okay. Pain is familiar, and he knows how to deal with it. Eventually, he goes quiet, though evidence of it's still there, in the set of his jaw or the way his arm stays tense and clenched. Towards the end, there, he peeks. Painful or not, it is so cool.

[campjesus]

While Sloth's gone, it's pretty quiet in here. The Grundos do their work, and Brody lies there. His breathing is very shallow--like it's almost not there--his heartbeat slow. Way too slow. He's exhausted and sick and half-dead, in pain, and if he were conscious he'd be wondering how he's still aliveHe's hungry

[virtupets]

Sloth doesn't take too terribly long with getting himself feeling sanitary again. So with fresh robes, a cleaned arm brace, and blood-free skin, the doctor strides back into his lab.

He actually starts yelling at the Grundos about how they haven't gotten even half of this cleaning job done until he realizes that they're nowhere to be seen. Oh, wait, once he steps further in and looks over in that far corner. There they are, all huddled under another dissection table, different from the one he'd deposited Brody on originally. Who is...not there anymore. Worrisome! Add the fact the frightened Grundos are all bleeding in some way and one or two are passed out...

In the other corner of the room, now that he bothers to look there, he sees the passed-out Brody, curled up and resting

[campjesus]

He doesn't wake on his own, no, just sleeps. He's much more relaxed now, although his vitals are still worryingly distant. He doesn't look like he's in pain, in fact, he looks like the kitten who just got the cream, lying on his side on the table and unconscious.

The adrenaline wakes him right up, though! So, this is awesome: he wakes up suddenly, eyes shooting open and staring up at him. He feels incredibly weak and sick and just--awful in so many ways, and he's so sleepy, why did he have to do that... And God, he's naked, if that's not the most awkward thing ever, well, what is? (Fun little detour: lol he has tattoos. And is a natural blond.) He's got make-up smeared all over his face from the house and his hair is damp and stringy and he's just suddenly irrationally angry.

Maybe not irrationally, actually. He was and is still in a great deal of pain.

He expresses his displeasure by hissing at him like a particularly angry cat.

[virtupets]

"Good morning to you too, sunshine!" greet Sloth, smiling brightly and still holding in his hand the syringe that delivered the adrenaline.

"So. Good news and bad news time." As Sloth talks, he drops that needle into a biohazard container that vaporizes the thing instantly. "The good news is: you're not dead. Not really, anyways. And I got you to stop bleeding!" He throws his arms up over his head in a very 'HORRAY FOR ZOIDBERG' kind of way.

"The bad news, however, is the fact that, to fix that sudden...er, outbreak was injecting you with a pseudo-artificial plasma/hemoglobin prototype that more or less stops you from producing and cycling blood cells on your own anymore. But don't worry, that just means it's time for me to just do some more fundamental changes and tweaks to your biology to help you adapt to this, ahh, adjustment.

"So we've got all kinds of work to do! Aren't you excited?"