Night 49: M41-50 Hallway

[hes-deadjim.livejournal.com]

McCoy hadn't managed to get any sleep this time, instead spent the rest of the dinner nearly pacing with a nervous energy that seemed to to well up out of nowhere. He could feel it this time, his mind starting to drift on its own, back to those half-remembered thoughts earlier in the day, the ones that had had involved Chekov, Sulu. He couldn't remember the full details, he might as well have attempted to go catching smoke for all the good trying did, but it had something to do with their promotions. Sometimes Jim drifted in there, carrying some scars he didn't remember him having, and for some reason, the thought of him prompted a sense of wariness that shouldn't have been there.

He resisted actually pacing. He'd settled for lying on the bed and trying to get some rest. It was the sensible thing to do, because who knew how many hours they were actually getting of rest here? Humans needed a certain amount. He wasn't any different. And getting a few hour's shut-eye might be just the thing for the way he'd drifted off today and just now.

McCoy found himself instead staring at the ceiling, hands folded over his chest. There was that strange sensation that his limbs weren't quite long enough, his body temperature too low even though McCoy knew it was perfectly fine for a human. The room felt overly small, growing warmer by the minute...

The doctor was on his feet the moment the intercom sounded, relief flooding through him. He couldn't say he liked the sound of changes when it came to the Head Doctor. But to get out of this room and get his mind on work, instead of allowing it free reign to wander? An idle mind was a devil's workshop, something he'd learned in his youth.

He gathered his things quickly and stepped out into the hallway.

[to here]

Comments

M42

[scalyfishman.livejournal.com]

If Martin Landel thought some spooky, vaguely-ominous-sounding threats were going to keep Depth Charge on the edge of his seat, that guy had another thing coming. Admittedly the note about visitors chafed a little- seeing Cheetor and Optimus again (in the loosest possible sense of 'seeing') had managed to get him, even just a little- but he didn't stop to mull over the details of the intercom message for longer than a few moments. The longer you spent trying to figure that scrap out, the crazier this place made you.

Alright. Crowbar: check. Flashlight: check (although if he wasn't careful he was going to run out of batteries pretty soon). He wouldn't need a map tonight, seeing how he pretty much had a fair idea of the layout on the second floor by now, but it was worth having one in his back pocket just in case, along with his back-up shears. Primus, by Institute standards he was a walking arms factory.

Nodding briefly to the Scarecrow and giving him the usual 'don't-do-anything-I-would-do' look, Depth Charge opened the door and slipped out into the hallway with a click of his flashlight.

Re: M42

[scarefaux]

As with the previous two evenings, the Scarecrow waited for Depth Charge to head out before readying himself. After giving his roommate a reassuring look that he wouldn't do anything dangerous and wishing him safe travels, the Scarecrow got to work. Wherever he was headed that night, he would need his flashlight.

A metal chink came from the drawer as he opened it- the knife Depth Charge had given him the night before slid along the bottom, rolling against his light. The Scarecrow took it in hand, wondering if he should carry it. His roommate had just given him the stay-out-of-trouble look not a minute before and encouraged he defend himself, should it come to it. On the other hand, he wasn't sure he knew how to use it effectively, aside from eating. Even then, his skills were questionable at best.

Returning the blade to the drawer, the strawman grabbed his flashlight and left quickly. If he was going to accomplish anything, he'd have to get moving.

[To here.]