Hypodermic Needles in the Fayse

Who: Keats, Amber, Tara, Shakespeare, Keto
Where: The Medibay
When: Green
==========================
<<SNIP>>
"Keto, i need a gallon of industrial bleach like the stuff you
threatend the tree with and... and... and something to stop me seeing
triple... hey... i know you.." he pointed vaguely at everyone, Amber
blinked, somewhat taken aback by a presumably drunk decidedly
EX-husband falling around and pointin.
"Yeah, you, goatee boy... hang on a second... what, get your dirty
seventeenth century digits off my.. my... ah to hell with it, you got
a spare bed in the ward?"
he then preceeded to fall haphazardly into a tray of hyperdermic
needles whilst en-route to the floor where he didnt move.
<<END SNIP>>
There was a loud clatter as the tray of needles hit the floor, causing
a loud groan to come from the direction of Keto's medical stretcher.
Shakespeare glanced over as the doctor mumbled something and rolled
onto his side, eyes flickering open as he stared vaguely in the
direction of Keats.
"Muhnd mah kneedels..." he managed to slur. Shakespeare frowned.
"Howst art thou still talkingest?" he asked, "I had giveth thou enough
morphine to kill an ox!"
Amber stared for a moment at John unconscious on the floor.
Technically they were married, but right now she wished they weren't.
She nudged him with a foot and received a groaning noise in response.
"Well, he's alive." She said, little sympathy in her voice.
"Pehy," Keto burbled. Shakespeare sighed.
"Charles, lieth down and sleepst thou!" he said firmly, "Thou art
badly wounded in battle and needeth rest!"
"Nuh. Need tuh buwake," Keto struggled. It took the others a few
seconds to translate 'need to be awake'. Keto tried to raise himself
onto an arm, but the arm in question refused to respond, so he merely
lay there rolling his head from side to side awkwardly until he gave
up with a small sigh of defeat.
"Umba, pleahs help thut imbeschile," he said, staring at the ceiling.
"Umba? ...what am I, some kind of twentieth century porn model?" Amber
said with a little venom in her voice, already on her way to the floor
to try move John off the needles. Tara rolled her head in much the
same way as Keto was doing, her body so dosed up that it was unable to
respond.
"Don't keep me in here with him.... take me back to ICU please....."
She muttered weakly. "I have to work for him, don't make me suffer him
now." She groaned and ceased movement as it was too painful to
continue on with it.
"Schuffer me?" growled Keto. The growl, unfortunately, turned into a
kind of distorted hum, his jaw not quite able to get the position
necessary for being menacing, "Unghratefal womahn, tha'sh the lasht
tahm ah try'n save your life."
"I keep this medi-bay working. You just sit there in that office with
your ointments. You insufferable man.... But.... Thank you." Tara
coughed and tried to keep still again.
"Hmphf," said Keto, the one sound he'd been able to pronounce
perfectly, "Fine. Nuh will suhmwhun pleashe wake thad mahn up 'n geh
him out of here? If 'esh not shick, 'esh not to be here."
Amber was struggling to move Keats one handed.
"Hey, Shakey. A little help might be nice." She said, hating the fact
he was a spitting image for Trisees.
Shakespeare waved an admonishing finger in Keto's direction as he
stooped to help Amber pick up the now-needle-poked Keats.
"Charles, sleepeth! And this poor traveller beeth all marked with
holes and bloody points, we canst not just ejecteth him from this place!"
"Wha' bout th' airlock?"
Shakespeare chuckled. "Oh Charles, thou art truly one of the droll
few aboard this blue behemoth! Nay, we must treateth this man for his
ills! Agreest thou, fair maiden?" he continued, looking towards Amber.
She took a moment to comprehend what the bard was saying.
"I guess he deserves to not die. Although at the moment I think I'm
biased. He hasn't been around much lately."
Together the two of them managed to manoeuvre Keats onto a spare
medical bunk - of which few were left - and laid him out. Apart from
a couple of minor spots of blood from the needles, the main problem
seemed to be the thick layer of grease that was covering him from head
to toe. As Amber and Shakespeare watched, his hair seemed to slide
backwards and mould itself to the shape of the pillow under his head.
"Thiseth requireth degreaser of a most monstrous strength and vigour!"
announced Shakespeare, rolling up his sleeves.
==============
OOC: This has been a joint post by Becca/Amber and Chris/Keto. Tag
Tony or Sean, or anybody else who wants to walk in and end up treading
on hypodermic needles on the floor. ;)