fandom_clinic | Fandom Clinic, Friday

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Fandom Clinic, Friday

The nurses were all giving Jenkins -- and his small experiments -- a wide berth. Sure, it was nice that he was here trying to help and all, but did he have to be working with such aromatic magical ingredients?!

He at least agreed to keep it well away from the patients, their loved ones, and any incoming people, at least until he had something he thought he was worth trying on anyone. Even then, they were trying to convince him to follow FDA guidelines.

"Look, madam," he informed the one trying to hand him a stack of forms. "If you can find me suitably drained, incapacitated lab mice then I will be more than willing to try to cure them before moving to 'human trials'. Until such time, I ask you to please remove that infernal paperwork from my sight!"

Things were clearly going swimmingly at the clinic today.

[open!]

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In case anyone else is caught unawares by the tremens once night falls.

Hannibal, amused, intercepted the nurse's next attempt, assured her that he would see all necessary protocols followed, and convinced her not to interrupt again.

Before he folded the papers neatly and dropped them into the recycling bin when her back was turned.

What she considered necessary and what he did simply weren't the same.

"So," he asked Jenkins, "has there been any progress? And can you use any help?"

"Not as yet," Jenkins confessed. "I haven't yet managed to prove conclusively that my soul theory is correct. And the last nurse threw out my smelling salts."

His smelling salts were appalling. But they had to be to get past a mind control spell.

"If it helps at all," Hannibal offered, "the beasts seem to have come through a sort of wormhole at the casino. What was in your salts?"

Hannibal had no qualms about working with nasty things.

"Discarded condiments, a bit of cow manure. . . ."

Look, when you predated industrialization, you learned how to improvise.

Hannibal raised an eyebrow at that. "Any particular condiments, or is it just something that needs to be strong-smelling?" Non-magical smelling salts he could absolutely come up with.

"Most any should do, I think," Jenkins said. "So long as they're appropriately rancid. And vinegar-based."

Hannibal frowned. "An ammonia base would be stronger. Or would that be a problem?"

"A stronger smell, certainly, but magic is all about context. Vinegar is a fermented, carbon-based acid. The organic nature lends to the sympathetic connection to living entities, while the fermentation is a representation of change."

[lalala, *pulls magic theory out of my ass*]

Hannibal filed that away for future reference. "Vinegar it is. I'll return shortly."

He headed for home.

"I will in all likelihood still be here," Jenkins assured him.

He preferred to park himself in one spot where he could be most useful. Adventure was for the young.

It was a little while before Hannibal came back with a sealed glass container, which he handed over to Jenkins. "I hope this will serve. Vinegar-based, with mustard. No dung, I'm afraid, as we have a decided lack of cows, but it uses both Vieux Boulogne and surströmming, so I trust the smell is strong enough."

Hannibal could barely stand it even through the glass (though likely nobody else could smell it when it was closed up), and it would have been banned on several airlines.

Well, it wasn't steaming, but when Jenkins cracked the seal just a bit and took a whiff, he looked suitably impressed. "It's certainly pungent enough. Let's see if any of the patients' loved ones will let us give it a try."

Peter walked in frowning, saw Jenkins, and came over to him. "I heard on the radio something about magical wounds?"

"Indeed," Jenkins said. "The latest incursion appears to be feeding on people's very essence."

That...was not good. "Is it still happening> I mean, was it a one-time wound, or are they still being drained?"

"There's been no change in any of them, thus far," Jenkins said. "So no, I don't believe the drain is on-going."

"What have you tried so far?" Peter asked. He had a lot of experience himself with draining people, but to be fair it was mostly from the other end of it, so.

"Soul magic is an extremely sensitive business, as I'm sure you're aware. I held out some small hope that the effect was mental instead, but I'm afraid my cures for those sorts of curses had no effect. I'm somewhat leery to try anything further without more information about the beasts doing the damage."

"Right." Peter nodded firmly. "I guess I'll go find one then. See what I can learn about it. I'll bring one back if I can do it safely."

"That would be much appreciated, Mr. Octavian. Thank you."

Peter nodded once more and headed off.

For the already admitted and their loved ones.

Kanan... was not showing signs of improvement. On the plus side, he didn't seem to be getting any worse, either?

He'd had worse, probably, but it wasn't like he was going to be telling anybody that to reassure them any time soon.

Thanks to Rosa, Tip finally knew where to find Kanan. She headed right over after she was done in the park, her practice sword still sticking out of her backpack, Bill doing worried circles over her head.

"Kanan," she greeted. He looked so still. It was really disconcerting. "If you didn't want to teach me today you could have just said. This is really pretty melodramatic of you."

The last time she'd visited someone she cared about in a place like this was right before the Chief had died. Humor and sarcasm were how she kept from crying.

Hera was here; it would take a major emergency to keep her away. She didn't know what good she could do, but she wasn't leaving him.

"Begging your pardon, madam," Jenkins said, heading over with a particularly foul smelling glass vial in his hand. "I'm hoping I've come up with something that might help." He gestured to Kanan in the bed. "If I may?"

Hera bit back her immediate reaction, which was Of course!. "If it doesn't help, could it make him worse?" That was important, too.

"There is always that risk with any treatment," Jenkins said seriously. "But I do not imagine it to be a large one, in this case."

Hera hesitated a second longer, then nodded. "If you think it'll help, please. What do you need me to do?"

Did she have to move or put his hand down? She wasn't going to if she didn't have to.

"Continue to sit with him," Jenkins advised. "Whether they are aware of it or not, the presence of loved ones can help any patient." He brought the vial closer, then paused. "Ah -- you may wish to hold your breath a moment, too."

Or longer. This smell was going to linger.

Hera gave him a questioning look, but sat holding Kanan's hand and held her breath.

Jenkins uncapped the vial and held it beneath Kanan's nose, being careful not to let any of the contents drip out. He kept it there for several moments, watching Kanan's chest rise and fall to make sure he got at least a noseful, and watched his face.

Nothing happened.

Jenkins sighed and pulled the vial back, resealing it. "No change. I'm very sorry, I truly hoped that would at least bring him around. I suppose it only supports the theory that the injury is not to this young man's mind or body, but his soul."

Hera sighed and wilted a little bit. "Thank you for trying," she said to Jenkins. "What can we do now?"

"Keep trying," Jenkins said. "Learn as much as possible about the thing that attacked him so we can find a cure. I would say to stay positive, but honestly that has less of an effect than people like to think."

Hera gave him a bit of an odd look for that, but it was clear he was trying to help, even if he wasn't good at pep talks.

"I'm having my droid check our galaxy's databanks to see if we can find out anything," she offered.

"Every little bit helps. Though . . . I'm afraid I'm not familiar with 'droids'."

Somewhere, Ezekiel Jones was facepalming, and didn't know (or care) why.

"Androids?" Hera asked. "Robots? Mechanical beings. Chopper's an astromech - my mechanic and copilot, mostly. But he's good at finding things out, too."

"Ah, my apologies. My own world's technology isn't so advanced; I believe the closest we might have is called a 'roomba'."

"I don't think I've ever heard of those," Hera admitted. "But there's a lot of worlds in our galaxy."

Raven was still here, right by Kathy's bed, currently curled up into a very improbable ball in the bedside chair while she napped.

Look, you walk from LA to Baltimore during a zombie apocalypse and you learn to sleep literally anywhere.

Anders had made a few futile attempts to heal Kathy before giving up and going to the Magic Box for some books he hoped would help. When none of the techniques in those did any good either, he got more books. He was halfway through the third book in that second set before he fell asleep, head lolling to the side and hand resting over Kathy's.

Raven woke and just watched the two of them for a long moment, before reaching out a foot to nudge Anders.

"Guess you still haven't found anything?"

Liam was here. And, being unconscious, not really doing much of anything.

Hey, at least Amaya seemed to have finally figured out a cure for her room-shaking snoring: just be comatose, and it goes away!

On second thought, perhaps it wasn't the most sustainable solution after all...

It's the last day of my vacation. I mean, sure, I still have the weekend left, but Monday is looooooming. . . .

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Fandom Clinic, Friday

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OOC