exsiliumlogs | all the queen's doctors

Entry tags:

all the queen's doctors

Date & Time: Backdated to late evening, 2/12, after the events of this log
Location: Unit 204
Characters: Bariyan e Kodhi (

stonefaith ), John Watson (

assist ), Problem Sleuth (

armistyx )
Summary: Two drunken idiots need to be, quite literally, put back together.
Warnings: None so far.

It's a long walk back to the apartments, and Bariyan won't stop giggling. Sleuth still feels sick as hell; at this point, it's probably just the gin in his gut, but all the same he wants another drink. There's a stab of annoyance (no, bad phrase) that Bariyan kept his flask. And then a much larger stab of guilt.

Christ. He hopes they can put the arm back on. He'll feel like a real cock if they can't. This sure as hell won't make him look like a team player, either, cutting off a guy's arm his third night here. Sleuth rubs an eye with the butt of his palm and leaves another smear of blood on his brow; his hand's done bleeding, mostly, but he can't stop fidgeting.

Neither he nor Bariyan knows which room the doctor's in, so Sleuth hits up that robot kid in 203. He's half asleep, and he's got no idea.

"Damn," Sleuth says once the door's closed. He gives Bariyan an apologetic look. "Let's just canvass the hall."

He's not carrying the arm, so Sleuth figures he's in charge of knocking. It's damn late; he won't be making any friends tonight. He raises his hand and knocks hard on door 204.

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In addition to laughing the whole way over, Bariyan's also dropped his own arm a couple times already. Whoops.

The flask is damn empty now, but Bariyan keeps tipping it over in the hopes that more alcohol will magically appear. What a nice flask! Bariyan likes it. He wants to trade Sleuth for it. He'd give his left arm for Sleuth's flask, heh, heh.

Oh, yes. Doctor. "Sure," he says to Sleuth, but by then Sleuth's already gone and knocked. Who is the doctor anyway, it's... John... yes, John... John? No, wait, John's the kid. Well, he could still be a doctor. Oh gods that'd be worrying, the kid looked like he was about ten.

Bariyan stands by as Sleuth knocks on 204, as he muses on this thought. His arm is still amputated clean -- er, relatively clean -- at the elbow, still not bleeding, and still doesn't hurt a bit.

When the knock had began at his door the doctor wasn't sure what to think. First off it was bloody late, who would even be at his door this late? Not to mention he hadn't received any messages concerning a late arrival to his room. So either someone was lost or he could find himself in a bit of a situation. Abandoning papers and cup of tea on his table John slowly approached the door with his hand angled behind him to ready a grab for his gun, meanwhile resting his free hand on the door.

After looking through the peek hole, he likely wouldn't need it since he recognized Bariyan and relaxed the tension in his muscles slightly. Brows knitted together confusingly all the same, bringing his hand to rub at his face and over eyelids with a followed sigh. He was exhausted but no point in getting sleep right now anyways.

So he opened the door after unlocking it to open enough to look out, "Yes? Bariyan, hello, anything I can--" Then his eyes fall on the stranger of the two, to Bariyan and his cut off arm, as well as the all too familiar glazed over eyes and smell of alcohol on the drunks.

"..do for you." The last of the words trail off while he stares, by now he's got a crazy idea of what.

Sleuth drops his fist from where it hovers at the door. With his other hand, he thumbs up his hat half an inch in greeting. "Sleuth," he says, by way of introduction. "Sorry for the hour. We're lookin' for the doctor." He tilts his head in Bariyan's direction.

Then, considering some of their compatriots, he clarifies. "The medical doctor. If, uh... that wasn't clear."

He gives the arm—and its porter—another look. Sleuth really hopes they don't have to explain their predicament at every door. He'll die.

Oh, good! Yes. Other John, not tiny John. Other John who is fully grown, very polite and helpful, and also a real doctor.

"Evenin'," Bariyan says, sounding for one second completely sober-- "Sleuth here cut my arm off and... do you think you could... help sew it back on?"

--and then he starts cracking up again. Aw man. What the hell was Sleuth even drinking? Well whatever it was, Bariyan downed the rest of it and he feels great.

Of course, a part of him is still pretty certain that the walking undead can't get drunk, and that he is somehow just doing a really good job of convincing himself that he's drunk, or basically tricking himself into-- aw hell no, he's not going down that line of thought. Leave that to someone else.

More importantly, that same part of him also realizes that this is incredibly embarrassing.

John manages to nod a little in Sleuth's direction at the introduction, but he's too focused on the fact that Bariyan was standing there holding his bloody arm. Of course not so bloody since there didn't appear to be any blood, no it was far too clean and "Jesus," the doctor couldn't help but mutter under his breath that he had apparently been holding.

A sight like that wasn't terribly unfamiliar, nor was he queasy or bothered by it since he is a doctor, but he can't say it was something at the top of his list he had been expecting today. Not before battle at least, maybe during or after but right now? "Yes yes I'm a doctor." He quickly adds in Sleuth's direction, but he's quickly opening the door and beckoning the two in.

Now with the thought of war being held over everyone's head he hardly blames them for getting drunk, but drunks generally reminded him of his sister and even if on bad terms she has no idea what he's got himself into here. "Just, god, hurry in I'll get everything out and do the best I can. Sit and wait on the sofa." He knew how amputees worked. If he hurried he could sew it back on and secure it but there was no saying whether he could still use it. His mind was still too slow to catch up to focus on the details so he just rushed to gather his things after closing the door behind them once they were in.

Sleuth glances between them as Bariyan talks, grimacing at the first of probably many "Sleuth here cut off my arm"s. At least they got the right guy, he figures. When John confirms it a moment later, Sleuth nods and follows him inside.

As jovial as Bariyan's being about the whole thing, Sleuth's still not so sure this is alright. Maybe Bariyan's crazy drunk, and he just doesn't realize what's happened. Sleuth hopes he doesn't have to explain it to him tomorrow. Maybe that falls under the umbrella of doctor duties. That would be awfully nice. Either way, Bariyan brushing it off with his one remaining hand is only comfort enough to make Sleuth all the more aware of the less pressing--and more selfish--ridiculous mortification. He suspects, very strongly, that he looks like a giant ass.

He sits miserably on the corner of the sofa to watch quietly, and decides do his level best to stop dismembering things. He eyes his flask, though. He wants that back, and he is pretty sure he really shouldn't ask.

Bariyan plops himself right down on the and couch, drops his left arm, and grins stupidly at the room. He's very pleased with his achievements.

"Sorry about the trouble, John!" Bariyan calls out to the doctor, way too happily, though he at least has the presence of mind to keep his voice low -- someone's probably asleep somewhere.

Man is he happy. He hasn't been this happy since, since-- whoops. Time to hopefully tip Sleuth's flask upside down again. No go, still empty. He sets the flask down on the couch and picks his arm back up again.

Then he turns his eyes to Sleuth and frowns.

"What're you sitting so far away for?" Bariyan asks.

Slowly and solemnly, he extends his severed arm towards Sleuth as if to poke him. Bariyan e Kodhi is, apparently, all of four years old.

Of course John heard Bariyan calling out, to which he responds nothing but a head shake as he disappears briefly to leave the two alone for a moment. Fortunately he knows what he needs exactly to fix him right back up together again so he doesn't spend a lot of time gathering supplies and utensils. Once he returns back he catches sight of the man attempting to poke the guy with his arm, which almost earns a remark of how unsanitary that is. Living with Sherlock Holmes he had body parts and various pieces all over the flat but not once as he seen the man try to prod at someone with it.

"Think the poor bloke's had enough for the night." It would have been a scolding tone for someone else, but he's still wired up and kicking into doctor mode. At least the man's had enough alcohol in his system to not acknowledge the pain, jesus. They came right in time too, he knows full well a full limb must be reattached within six hours to twelve hours. He was eyeing Sleuth carefully while he proceeded to put gloves on and ready the procedure. He's just really hoping they learned their lesson from this. "You're free to go, I can take it over from here." He knows not many would be comfortable watching a man have his arm being reattached.

He pulls a chair next to Bariyan to tug the table closer and gestures for the arm to be handed over, he'll need to hold both the rest of the limb and it under the microscope he managed to get his hands on. It wasn't just about sewing it together. He had to reattached nerves, viens, tendons and bone. This was definitely going to be a long night.

Sleuth gives Bariyan an awful look; he'd still be standing, in some corner of the room, if John hadn't ordered him to sit. When the hand moves towards him, Sleuth shimmies away with an incredible lack of aplomb--almost off the edge of the couch altogether--and grabs for his hat as if to bat the fingers away. He glances at John when he speaks, then, pointedly, back to the encroaching digits. "That about sums it up."

Then, though, he finds himself in a bit of a jam. Can he go? It's awfully tempting. He's not squeamish, but his gut's got a solid facsimile of the feeling in guilt, and he figures it'll only get worse as he gets more sober. But, hell, it's not too sporting to hit the road at the first opportunity. It's his fault they're here in the first place. Aside from that, now that the gin's wearing down, his own palm is starting to throb like hell.

"Are...you sure? I can help out, if you need it." He glances to Bariyan for some guidance; Sleuth figures it's his call whether or not he wants him there. Just in case, he inches round the back of the couch towards his flask.

Bariyan's distracted when John comes in with all his equipment. He goes wide-eyed to stare. What are those things? How is John planning on using all that to put him back together? That becomes a very interesting question, which Bariyan now wants an immediate answer to.

He obediently hands his severed arm over. As he does so, he notices a slight detail, which suddenly becomes very important.

"Sleuth can't leave," Bariyan says, frowning, as if that were the most bewildering suggestion he'd ever heard in his life. "He signed that."

Perfectly legitimate reason for Sleuth to stay. Still frowning, Bariyan reaches out and grabs Sleuth's arm. Nope. No leaving allowed.

Blue grey eyes catch sight of the writing, but he's focusing all his attention on making sure the alignment is right and figuring out where to start the actual process. John frowns in turn at the sudden defiance against Sleuth's leave. He doesn't mind all that much that is for certain, not to mention Bariyan seemed more pouty than simply wanting company through this. Otherwise he'd really have no problem.

Still, he wasn't going to force the man to stay. So slowly he starts to speak again, "I don't mind if you choose to stay." You can't force him Bariyan stop it. "Only if you're fine with it, but you can keep him busy I suppose while I tend to this. Try not to move too much." He adds the last bit to Bariyan. The doctor really doesn't want to mess this up.

Sleuth finds himself pulled forward over the back of the couch; he gives the hand clutching his cuff a long, morose look before extricating himself and leaving one hand on Bariyan's shoulder, half assuring and half self-stabilizing. "Okay," he says. "Yeah, okay." He considers clarifying: I lay no claim to that arm, autograph or not, but figures it's unnecessary. It's already getting reattached, anyway. Instead, he slinks back around to the other side of the couch and sits down again beside the one-armed man.

Sleuth leans forward while the doctor talks to try and catch sight of what's going on. He glances sideways at Bariyan and raises one eyebrow, making a look that says "do you know what the hell's happening?" He never had cause to see a doctor for more than setting bones; truth be told, Sleuth didn't know you could reattach arms. Best he was hoping for was a sort of...pirate peg.

"Yeah, yeah, you got it, doc." He pats himself down, searching his pockets for anything entertaining, keeping one eye on the surgical action. Oh--well, there's a deck of cards, if nothing else. Sleuth tosses it onto the couch in between them.

Bariyan grins happily when Sleuth chooses to stay, and reseats himself on the couch. But he answers Sleuth's eyebrow quirk with a very, one-armed shrug of his own. Beats him. As far as he's concerned, John's just doing magic right now.

Bariyan's already reaching out to go and poke curiously at John's microscope when the cards distract him. He stares as it's tossed, like he's thinking hard about snapping out and trying to catch the deck in his teeth. Luckily for everyone in the room, Bariyan resists himself.

He does, however, immediately go to pick out a card from the middle of the deck. It is a very confusing card. Bariyan stares at it for a while, remaining completely still. At least that makes John's job easier, if only for a few seconds.

"I fold," Bariyan says, simply, and places the card face-up on the table right where John can see it.

There goes an acknowledging nod from the doctor, focusing back to continue the procedure. Something like this that he was familiar with would prove no difficulty. Even with eyes on him that he can feel, sparing a glance to Sleuth and watching him glance to the other man, really it was like kids watching a new trick being shown before them.

At least it was a lot easier to deal with than panic and freaking out. Which, was actually the expected response. John gives Bariyan another look at the approaching poke and is thankful for Sleuth distracting him. Not that having conversations with the patient wouldn't be bad but he prefer focusing on his work.

So he settles back into tending, the process of reattaching while the two played their games of cards. John didn't pay too much attention honestly. ..But he spotted the card and quirks a brow at what he sees, what kind of cards were those even?

Despite his curiosity he doesn't question.

Sleuth knows the gin's wearing off, now--his poker face is flawless. Very slowly, his eyes slide from Bariyan's--to the card--to John's impassive, concentrating face.

Just as slowly, he reaches out and takes the card.

"You're supposed to ask if you want your fortune told." The card gets slid back into the middle of the deck, and Bariyan gets a baleful stare--ruined somewhat by one ridiculously quirked eyebrow.

"So, doc," Sleuth says, turning back to the action, "how the hell does this work, exactly?"

He waves a hand vaguely at the witchcraft happening under the microscrope.

Edited 2012-03-10 12:31 (UTC)

"Fortune?" Bariyan scowls. How could he have a fortune? He's dead already. Besides, he's especially not sure that he wants to know anything about his fortune when the deck of cards at hand involves butts.

He gets suspicious, and sneaks another card while Sleuth is asking bout the microscope. This one's normal, at least. So it's not a full deck of rumps. Bariyan gives Sleuth a squinty look anyway as he puts the card back. Maybe he'd just drawn the one normal card of the whole bunch.

Then he looks to John, and his arm. "How goes it? Do I need to do anything?"

The doctor is so focused he almost misses the first inquiry, "Well it's not really as simple as sewing it together and being done. You have to reattach all the nerves, veins, the bones and so forth if he plans on using it again." Of course there's a slight puzzlement to his tone, because as he needs to reattach for blood flow to go too, well.. There wasn't exactly any blood spilling. Which is strange enough alone. However, there's a lot here at this place that he doesn't entirely understand, if anything it's really being difficult to wrap the doctor sense of his brain around.

"The cut is very clean, which is good, it'll make the operation simple and easy. I can get it done within a few hours if I keep at it." He doesn't look away, hands completely steady with experience and practice while he continued his work.

"You're fine, so long as you keep still we'll be done in no time. You two can focus on your game. Once I'm nearly done I'll let you know." He gives a quick small reassuring smile.

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all the queen's doctors

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oops misfire