11/18/99

Thwoit! The oddly tinny sound of a silenced sniper rifle echoes down the tunnel. Okay, no it doesn't, it's silenced. But imagine it did, so we have an idea of where we are timing-wise. Tarrant comes slipping down the tunnel, for once relatively graceful and quiet as he packs down the rifle into a size to fit under his jacket. "Done, let's get clear. This tunnel makes me nervous."

Corian looks over her shoulder from where she was "keeping watch" in the tunnel, and nods once. "I do not blame you," she says quietly. "The sooner we can get out of here, the better."

All is quiet at the other end of the tunnel. Cue more ominous music.

Tarrant edges carefully past you, taking care not catch his clothing on the side of the wall as he then lets himself drop swiftly down to the tunnel's mouth. "When does our shuttle leave?" He murmurs quietly, already considering options.

Corian glances briefly at her chrono as she follows. "Twenty minutes," she supplies, adding in a lightly jesting tone, "Not, alas, quite enough time to get in another coaster. That will have to wait until the next visit."

Gosh, it's awfully dark at the end of this tunnel. Must be a good getaway place. Right?

Tarrant takes a long breath and then drops into the darkness, dissapearing from view as he exits the tunnel. After all, it's good to trust your fellow agents, right?

Corian is most definitely a trusting sort, though this experience will probably fix that. She follows carefully, after tucking her jacket around her to keep it from catching on something. That, after all, would be bad.

Unfortunately, the resultant room at the end of the tunnel is most certainly not a janitorial closet. Instead, it's lined with ominous boxes, or at least that's what they look like in the gloom. Without warning, two very large goon-shaped shadows appear and attempt to trap you both, electronic restraints already doing their best to snap closed. A low, evil chuckle precedes the snap of a lighter that's used for a cigar, eerily lighting up Joshua's face as he strolls forward. "Well, well, well. You -are- good, aren't you? Hello, kiddies. And let me thank you for that," he adds, gesturing the cigar upwards at the theatre above. "Very useful. The man was a nightmare for passing pesky custom legislation."

As has been expressed before, Tarrant does -not- take well to being restrained, and it takes some serious doing to get him confined, as he attempts to engage in a large amount of really snazzy stuff like you see in movies. Much kicking, elbowing, etc. But not only is he outnumbered, the fact that these goons have been presumably warned to watch out for someone department trained has him doomed to being at last snagged. My, if looks could kill.

It takes somewhat less of an effort to snag Corian than it does to get Tarrant, as, well, she's Corian. While she's had some training since she re-upped with the department, it certainly isn't even remotely enough to give her the means to handle this situation. So, yes, boom, she's caught, and quietly furious about this fact. She also, you see, has mastered this killing look skill. Maybe she and Tarrant attended the seminar together. It's a good family activity, after all.

The goons seem to multiply though, so enough can subdue you both, and glare right back. Joshua simply stands back to watch the resistance with an air of amused tolerance, puffing lightly a the cigar, then moves forward again to consider you both. "The mighty Czolgosz's. How the mighty fall," he drawls, then turns a slow, easy grin to Corian with an attempt to brush back a lock of her hair. "Do you two realize just how much trouble you've caused for us elsewhere? Oh, but then maybe you wouldn't. You Department folk always were a little dim, or you'd be making a lot more money than you do," he points out with a smirk.

My, that's an -interesting- phrase from Tarrant. Is that even -remotely- anatomically possible? I -hope- not. And with your mother? And a -whale-? Ieewww. Apparently he doesn't approve of bad guys touching his wife, as he throws himself against the goons and restraints at the gesture, albeit to no avail. "Do. Not. Touch. Her." His tone is unhelpful. "Or by all that is holy you -will- live to regret it."

Corian seems to agree with this lack of touching, as she recoils from the gesture with another of those killing looks. And this is not, it may be noted, hot anger. It is cold anger. Yes, there's a thermometer somewhere. "I would suggest," she says, tone brittle with that anger, but, so help her, still polite, "That you listen to him."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Is it possible for Joshua to look more amused? He even laughs at this, starting out as a suppressed chuckle. "Sorry, Tarrant old boy, but my mother really preferred Nervellian seamonsters to whales," he replies amiably, then smirks once more and very deliberately attempts to draw a finger along Corian's face before moving away to stand before Tarrant. "I may live to regret it, but somehow...somehow I don't think you will. Corian, darling, you really should have never married a DoI man. Amazing amount of danger on the job," he explains, fiddling in one pocket for a slim case.

The goons suddenly look very strained as Tarrant tries desperately to get free. Joshua touching Corian is apparently making him even -more- upset, and he's not exactly a lightweight when it comes to the amount of force he can bring to bear on a situation. But even fury will not overcome that many other people, and electronic restraints, "Who bought you out you pathetic little turncoat, the Draxili? The Rwyrdians? The Sadranian Empire make you their little girl to do their dirty work for petting at their hands?" Okay, so he's a little too well bred to call you somebody's bitch.

Corian, as she can't quite manage getting away, endures Joshua's touch in generally the same way that someone endures an unpleasant medical procedure that, in fact, isn't actually necessary. She, in fact, doesn't even look at him, instead turning her gaze to Tarrant and offering a few words in Millian. Handy, isn't it?

Corian says "He's just doing that to bother you, Tarrant. It isn't hurting me--please, it's fine." in Millian.

Joshua snaps a command to the goons with a faint snarl before resuming his urbane smile. The language gets a raised brow look at Corian of appreciation. "Oooh, lovely -and- speaking a language I don't know. After I dispose of your husband, why don't you stay here with me, darling? I'd show you roller coasters you've never dreamed of," he adds with a leer before turning his attention to the case, which he opens and turns to set on a box and start mixing various vials into a hypo. "If you must know, Czolgosz, you mutant freak who I will -so- enjoy watching die, the Scarpathian Syndicate. You wouldn't believe the benefits, and the vacation time is fantastic."

Under other circumstances Tarrant would probably look thrilled at the idea of vacation time and probably start comparing benefit plans. But see, Joshua made that leering comment to Corian. He doesn't try and force himself free again, with a glance to Corian for her words in Millian. He's seething though, very obviously so. He's holding very still, every muscle taught in waiting for his chance to engage in vast quantities of mayhem. "So they paid -you- to take us out? I should be insulted that they picked someone so far down on the totem pole. You'd think killing us would be worth losing at least a higher rated talent. You know, after all, they won't let you live once you've finished this."

Okay, in a cheesy vid, this is probably where Corian should shout, "Never!" She hasn't seen enough cheesy vids, though. Or she could spit on him. But she's too couth to do that. The mention of disposing of Tarrant gets another of those evil looks, but the suggestion that she stay with Joshua gets a brief pause. Then, she really can't help it, she laughs. It's brief, and quiet, but also really quite scornful. No, she doesn't want to stay with Joshua. She murmurs something under her breath about needing a better scriptwriter to feed him lines, though her expression, yes, grows brittle once more at the mention of the Scarpathian Syndicate. Yes, she's taking notes of each and every person upon which she will exact retribution later.

Joshua finishes with the hypo, evidently, and holds it up to the dim non-directional light while listening thoughtfully. Corian is flickered another oily smile and a leering brow-waggle. "Watch close, cutie. This should be a lot of fun to see. You might even change your mind, hmm?" he explains, then turns to face Tarrant, smile running away into another snarl. "Insulted? Listen up, you genetic pondscum, I've been studying you for ten years now. The Department is generous with information...if you know the right people," he adds with a smirk, then twiddles the hypo. "And they'll let me live. I'm irreplaceable." Smug twit, isn't he? "Now just hold still, you abomination," he murmurs, reaching in as a goon tries to jerk Tarrant's head to the side so Joshua can inject the hypo at his neck.

"Oh yeah, so irreplacable they sent you to do this yourself," Tarrant replies, his words dry. Okay, we can just guess that Tarrant doesn't -even- go for the be-hypoing, and using the goon's weight, holding his head back, he attempts to use the leverage to haul his feet up and plant them agains Joshua, kicking back. Now admittedly, this means he doesn't have anything to -stand- on anymore, since his feet are bound at the ankle and he can't exactly just use one leg. This also means he's probably going to startle the heck out of the goon trying to hold onto him, with the weight suddenly dragging down. Not to mention this is a good way to get one's neck and shoulder badly wrenched, but since it's either that or some mysterious drug...and Tarrant's willing to bet it isn't The Wonder Drug That Works Wonders.

Corian looks, really, -so- thrilled to be called 'cutie,' that being a word to refer to small children, puppies, and little baby ducks that don't come back. At the hypo-injection-attempt, though, she goes quite still, actually looking nervous--even scared?--for the first time since this event has started. She opens her mouth as if to ask just what is being done to Tarrant, but, no, he tries the fun and festive move before she gets a chance, so she holds her tongue, instead watching, however desperately, for some sort of chance to get out of the evil scenario.

The goon lets out a course yell, but follows Tarrant down and attempts to haul him back up. Joshua, in the meantime, goes flying after getting a pair of boots in the chest, and slams into a stack of boxes, then back over them. There's a moment of silence before he coughs, then slowly climbs to his feet, glaring. "I should cut pieces off of you for that, Czolgosz. Or maybe I'll just inject your wife first and let you watch?" he suggests, but doggedly returns to attempt to wrestle the hypo back in to inject Tarrant, breathing ragged and wheezing. Yup, it was a good kick, very effective. "Say your prayers, darling, your hubby dear just signed your own fate. This hypo's made for two."

Tarrant has at last gotten some kind of purchase, and is doing his damndest to get clear. It's not the simplest of procedures however, mind, as he's still bound as well as being wrestled upon. It's dogpile on Tarrant day! Somehow amidst the chaos though, there's a hiss of the hypo as it makes contact with the infuriated assassin. His struggling does not yet so much as slow however, as it's not that fast acting a substance and he manages an elbow into the chin of the goon who'd been trying to hold back his head. There's a rather disturbing crunch, and the goon is suddenly still, and Tarrant still isn't. Uh-oh...see, -now- he's pissed.

Corian, despite the fact that she was very near becoming the next Immaculate Conception, just isn't the religious type. Prayers are not in the cards. She doesn't, in fact, even seem to hear Joshua, instead doing her darndest to take advantage of the guards' distraction--assuming it exists--by Tarrant's actions to attempt to get out of their clutches. Of course, what she thinks she's going to do should she -manage- that is anybody's guess, but, hey, it beats just sitting there.

Joshua struggles back, straight, grayed hair straggling down over his eyes and breathing heavily. He doesn't even cast the fallen goon so much as a glance, but instead growls low. "Rest in pieces, freak," he snarls, then turns slowly to Corian with a grin that would credit a stereotypical evil villian. Which he is. "Hello, my pretty. Hold stil now. Your turn..." he explains, moving in with the hypo extended. From the pile of goons, though, there's a quiet click and the downward 'whoosh' of eletronic restraints snapping off, the accident of a struggling goon. "Hold her still," he snaps to the lone remaining goon holding Corian, not hearing the click or whoosh in the mayhem.

Uh-oh, see now we have a pissed off Tarrant, and a Tarrant who is not wearing restraints. *insert maniacal laughter here* He doesn't even give so much as an angry yell in warning, that would be a waste of energy and would give Joshua warning he doesn't want to allow the other man to have. Suddenly, he manages to burst free from the arms of the goons and dives towards Joshua in a move that may lack grace, but certainly has efficency. He may only be a medium sized guy, but he's an -enraged- medium sized guy, and all of him attempts to go crashing onto Joshua. From somewhere, presumably a goon, he's garnered a gun of some sort as well. Oh dear, Joshiekins may not be long for this world.

Oh, yeah, Corian is most -definitely- going to hold still for this. Really. Yes. Just suggesting that she stay still is all she needs, she'll just listen. Of course, she -doesn't- hold still. She does, in fact, do her best to make this as difficult for Joshua as she can, though her struggles hold no small amount of desperation. See, -she- didn't hear that click-whoosh of the restraints going away, and the various people are blocking her sight of that which is beyond Joshua, so, as far as she knows, her husband is dead. This is not a pleasant thought. But, to reiterate, she struggles.

Joshua advances even closer on Corian, uttering a low, maniacal laugh and weaving in and out with the hypo, almost teasing. "Come on, lovey, just a little hiss. If you give me a kiss, I'll even whip up a painkill for when your eyeballs..." But whatever is supposed to happen isn't precisely clear as Joshua utters a hoarse yell upon being flattened by Tarrant, and yes, he struggles too. Too bad his gun is happily holstered, and Tarrant's isn't. The goon, none too bright, lets go of Corian to try to help.

Tarrant lands on Joshua's back, kneeling in the small of it, with his legs trapping those of the other man. It's a classic tackle, well, classic if Macguyver is your source material. One hand lands on Joshua's shoulder forcing him to the floor as the other brings the gun to bear at the base of said bad guy's neck. Tarrant isn't your classically stupid good guy, he doesn't wait, he pulls the trigger. Not even pausing he pulls up fast, sighting another goon in a single motion. His breathing is half-rasping, and his pupils widening, and he realizes he hasn't got much time left before whatever it is is going to happen, and he has all intents of bringing down as many goons as possible before it does.

And the look from Corian is, yes, decidedly surprised. Saved from certain death! And Tarrant isn't dead... well, not yet. She does, however, take advantage of the respite that the goons' stupidity gives her, and gets -out- of Tarrant's way, while doing her best to try to get rid of the restraints. This is not an easy thing, when one is without free hands, but she's definitely trying.

Joshua lets out another hoarse yell, attempting one more shouted command at the goons before all that he's possible is, well, quiet. Looks like he's not indispensible, even if he is irreplacable. The goons, without their leader, pretty much drop like dominos, and even only one manages to get anywhere near Tarrant before thudding back into the ground, perforated. No more bad guys. And a few of the broken open boxes very clearly are spilling out various illegal substances.

And a good thing the last goon dropped when he did, as Tarrant's filched gun clicks to empty on the last shot. Okay. Now if he had any -sense-, his next move would be to go release Corian. But see he doesn't have any sense anymore, no matter how clueful he's been through the rest of this. Instead he flops back off Joshua into a sprawled seated position, regarding the gun. And then, entirely inexpicably he begins to -giggle-. Okay, grown men should not giggle, -especially- not in this situation.

Corian just stares at Tarrant for a long moment. Yes, the giggling is most definitely inexplicable. But, despite the fact that this is definitely not a good day for her, she's maintaining her composure very nicely. "Cha'trez, are you all right?" she inquires, before adding, quite reasonably, "And could you release me? I believe that we have missed our shuttle."

"Oh sure, yeah good idea..." And Tarrant cheerfully scrambles less than steadily to his feet, and even gets so far as heading over to Corian. "Oooh!" Whoops, he all but tripped over one of the boxes and plops down cross-legged to search through it. "Oh -loooook-..." He sounds for all the world like a four year old with a toy box, "I wonder what -this- does..."

Corian blinks a few times, then regards Tarrant for another of those long moments. You get the idea that she's going to be having a lot of these in the next little while. "Tarrant," she says patiently. "Tarrant, the restraints. Please? Over here. You can see what -they- do. It really is quite fascinating, I'm sure."

"Do they go ping?" Tarrant abandons his new toys freely, and once again moves as if to get to his feet. He gets as far as one foot and one knee when he makes another discovery. "Corian," he rasps, the combination of the odd breathing and his attempt to stage whisper, "I see dead people!" Okay so a sixth sense it isn't.

Haley Joel Osment, he ain't. Corian sighs. If she could hit herself in the forehead with one hand, she probably would. "Yes, dear, there are quite a few dead people here. They do not go ping." Well, at least we -hope- they don't. "But perhaps these restraints do. I really think you should come see, right now."

Tarrant makes it to his feet, and makes it -almost- to Corian before he is once again dragged into a point of distraction, this time making his way towards the opposite wall, where the door is, "Ooh look! A pretty blink light. Hi Mr. Blink light. Will you be my friend? I can sing you a song?"

"Tarrant." Yes, Corian is getting a little tired of this. The restraints are not -comfortable-, after all. Her voice takes on that tone that works rather well with small children, "Tarrant, come over here. I am certain that the restraints would much rather be your friend, and then you can sing to -them-." Or maybe all the people on the shuttle. ("Hello, my name is Jeffrey, and I'm seventy-nine years old?")

Yes, but will the restraints sing back? . o O (...then splatter, splatter...)

Tarrant sighs, as if being dragged off for a beating or something. His feet drag along as he does at last make his way over to Corian. Fumbling he manages at last to work the controls. Apparently manual dexterity isn't going to be his friend, even if the restraints are. "Oooh! They -beeped-!" Okay, now he's excited again. "Beep more!" He pokes at them, "I said -beep-! I'll tell on you..."

Corian rubs lightly at her wrists for a moment, then gets back to her feet. "We will find you something else that will beep, Tarrant," she says vaguely, as she makes her way over to Joshua. Somehow, she manages to restrain that urge to kick him, but instead nudges his hand with one foot. Conveniently, the hypo falls out of his hand, and she, after disengaging it so that it can't possibly somehow release its contents, tucks it into a pocket. Looking over, she says, in a sudden, bright voice, "Do you want to go for a ride on a shuttle?" See? It's exciting, it goes up in the air.

Joshua doesn't seem to mind, for some reason. He is non-moving and placid.

I just have one phrase...'Poor Corian'. Somehow she has to get Tarrant past roller coasters, blinking lights, loud music, and a -lot- of people to get to the shuttleport. He reaches down to turn out Joshua's pockets, singing a song about ducklings. Apparently -some- instinct is kicking in, even if it's a surreal one. "Papers, gotta see if he has pretty happy ID shiny papers or toys. Oooh, maybe toys. Then can we ride on the swooshy shuttle? Those are -shiny-..."

The baby ducks would probably be traumatized into never coming back, should they see -this- particular scenario. Corian just nods, suddenly looking very tired. Perhaps she's anticipating just how much fun she's going to have in wrangling her husband back to Linnae. Giving herself a brief shake, then, she goes around to turn out the pockets on the other side, rummaging through various contents and, with a brief nod, tucking a few bits into one of her own pockets. "Shuttles are shiny, yes," she agrees quietly.

Joshua's pockets are indeed filled with new and interesting toys. There's several small communication devices, a few map crystals, and his DIS ident. Inside the jacket are pockets with more fun things like coded cards in black, proof of his criminal connections.

Tarrant finishes finding the various stuff in pockets, and poings cheerfully over to you, offering the findings with a bright grin. Now, if only his pupils weren't wide enough to park shuttlecraft in, he might look less maniacal. "We can make the shuttles go -beep-..." He goes to knock absently on the door, as if that will make it open. Open sesame?

Well, the knocking does work. Corian goes over to open the door--cautiously--and exits it after a cautious peek out. She snags your hand and holds it rather firmly as she makes her nonchalant way out of the door. Yes, there are -supposed- to be dead bodies in this room. Really. "I think that perhaps we should let the pilot fly the shuttle. That does seem safest." Despite that rating from Microsoft Flight Simulator.

The dead bodies are content to stay where they are. No zombies here today.

See, that'll be later, when they're embalmed with Worcestershire sauce.

Snagging that hand may be the smartest thing Corian's ever done, as the world outside the theater is chock -full- of shiny things that Tarrant tries to poing over and investigate. "Ooh! Look! It's making noise! Oooh! Hey! So is that! Aaaaack! Lady! There's an alien on your head! Oooh, is that your -hair-...ohhhhh....Look, that lady's face is all neat and red!"

Corian, though, is decidedly against Tarrant poinging over and investigating -anything-. With many apologies to passers-by and much talk of, "We can see that -later-, don't you want to go ride the shiny shuttle?" she herds him towards the shuttleport. Even though she's not religious, she murmurs something under her breath about random deities and getting seats on the next available shuttle, and her profound hope that said shuttle will have private compartments.

"Oh -wow-..." And yes, Tarrant is off trying to get into everything. Thankfully however the drug has also got him off balance enough that he's willing not to try to escape the handhold, and is hence dragged along to the spaceport. Corian after all is a safe something, even if she's not letting him see the shiny toys. "We get to see it later? Ooooh! And later is already forgotten as a shuttle hoves into sight. "Oooh, it's silver!" He all but bounces in that direction, now all but dragging -Corian- instead.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Corian does her best to detour the dragging towards the ticket window. "Cha'trez, we need to see about tickets before we can get on the shuttle. And maybe the machine that prints the tickets will beep, or ping, or something entertaining like that. Don't you want to see?" Really? Please? Corian's patience is, yes, starting to fray.

Oh, but look! Isn't that a currency converter just over there? And look! A Vendotron!

"No." Tarrant answers in congenial honesty, unaware he's likely to get hit. "I bet the shuttle goes ping -a lot-." He lets himself be dragged along however, although not without giving the shuttle mournful looks. Oh see, she won't even let him play with the toy! Isn't she evil and mean? And he's so pathetic?

Corian does not hit anybody. She's really close, though. "It will be just a moment and then we can get on the shuttle." And Corian's not even considering how pretty all the dangerous plants in the Atrium are. Lovely. Mercifully, she's able to trade in the shuttle tickets for that long-missed flight for some on the next one, and, just as mercifully, there are private compartments. "All right," she says, after casting the rather confused ticket-teller a grateful smile. "Do you want to get on the shuttle, now, Tarrant?"

"But, but, but..." Tarrant is trying desperately to get to play with the ticket dispensing toy. "It beeps!" Thankfully for the ticket seller's sanity however, he allows himself to be hauled along to the relative safety of the compartment. "Oooh!" He's apparently discovered the lighting switches for the compartment. "Neaaaat!"

Corian sinks into the compartment with a sigh of relief. Of course, then she realizes, "Tarrant, you need to sit down and fasten the straps. The shuttle is going to go very fast, and you need to be sitting in your chair." There's a pause, and then she reaches over to demonstrate the air conditioning controls on the seat's arm. "See? Would you like to play with that?"

"I have to -sit-!?" Tarrant seems to think this is cruel and unusual, but Corian has spotted the thing to garner his interest, "Oooh, a -toy-.." He flops down in the chair and begins poking at the buttons and dials. "Whizz! Bang! Sproing!"

Corian promptly moves around to fasten the various seatbelts, flipping on the child safety thing in the hopes that this will give her a moment's respite, then sinks into her own seat once more, and fastens her seatbelts as well. "We will be taking off in just a few moments, cha'trez, on our way home." And from there -right- to medbay, you betcha.

Tarrant does not react as favorably as he possibly could to the restraints, but then considering his most experience with the things, is that much of a surprise? Thankfully he doesn't seem to understand they're attached, but instead tries somehow to wriggle out of them without actually undoing the catch. Well, this at least should keep him busy for quite a while, since he isn't exactly Houdini.

Corian watches the Houdini-act for a moment, then observes soothingly, "It will not be for very long, cha'trez." And, in fact, it's a very short trip, really, and then the shuttle flight is over and Corian reaches over to unfasten the straps. "See? That was not so bad, was it? And now we are home, and can go visit Clara. Maybe she will have some ice cream." Yeah. Sugar. That's exactly what Tarrant needs.

Undoing the straps takes some doing, as by now Tarrant is -entirely- entangled within them. But he's -so- grateful. "I'm free!" He poings up to his feet to all but pounce on you in a hug. "Yaaaaay! Corian freed me!" Poing, poing, he dives through the door, "I'm free at last! Free at la...ice cream?"

Corian oofs very quietly at the hug, then makes another, equally quiet acking noise and dives right after you, doing her best to capture your hand. "Come on, Tarrant, she is upstairs, so we should go -straight- upstairs, should we not?" Oh, poor Corian, she's so misguided. But she does herd Tarrant, however she may, through the shuttleport.

[Travelspam to medbay deleted.]

Clara is at one of the various long counters, several vials spread out along with beakers and droppers and measuring equipment. The computer screen to one side is filled with various equations and medical terminology, and yes, she's wearing those bizarre microscope goggles that hide the upper half of her face. She's even singing while she works, quietly, to herself. "And a bottle of that spray stuff we just got at the store..."

Now wasn't -that- a trip. "Why did the lady try to hit me?" Tarrant wants to know, sounding bewildered but cheerful. "I only tried to save her from the animal biting her neck. Oooh! Stuff!" Tarrant manages to shed the hand and heads off in a direction likely to get him in trouble, until he runs into Vryce. "Ooh! It's the evil man! We shall dance!" And before even Vryce can blink, Tarrant is attempting to waltz, albeit unsteadily, with him.

Corian looks, yes, frazzled. "Tarrant, cha'trez, please do not dance with the ni--with the man." See? Even Corian doesn't think that Vryce is nice. Spotting Clara, no small amount of relief makes its way into her expression. Though she's starting after Tarrant in an attempt to help poor, not-nice Vryce, she calls, "Clara? Do you think we could have a moment or several of your time, perhaps? Please?" No, she only sounds a little desperate.

Vryce spins around in the dance, not resisting at first from sheer shock, then splutters and extracts himself. "Mister Czolgosz! If you -please-!" he huffs, then stamps off as Clara turns to -stare- at the waltzing pair. "Oh, dear," she murmurs, biting her lower lip and tugging off the goggles as she walks over. "Wellll, hello you too. You may certainly have a few moments. Busy day?" she inquires, already unholstering her scanner with her free hand and making for Tarrant.

Sadly however, Tarrant isn't even -remotely- going to hold still to be scanned. "Oooh! Where's the lady like the no-mouth dolls? She's funny, she'd dance with me." He begins picking up things, and people, and everything else he can rummage around to peer beneath them. "Heeeeere no mouth lady! Heeeeereooooooh!" He poings in another direction. "Look! It's shiny, oooh, and pointy!"

Corian makes another dive for Tarrant's hand, rummaging in a pocket with the other hand for that hypo. "Tarrant, please." She's not really anticipating any response, but, hey, she has to try. Managing to snag the hypo, she offers it to Clara. "This may be helpful," she says, sounding very tired. "I believe this is what caused... what happened. I do not believe this was the intended result. And, yes, it was an extremely busy day."

Clara inhales a sharp gasp as a spectrometer goes flying and lurches sideways to keep it's stand from tipping fully and wrestle it back into place. "The lady with no-mouth dolls? What are you talking about, Tarrant?" she manages while darting after to right another instrument. Thankfully, it doesn't go ping. That's the one on the other side of the room. "Huh? Oh, I should have known," she sighs, leaving the goggles on a desk and heading back over to accept the hypo. "How long ago was he given the substance? Any idea what it is?"

Tarrant is gleefully rummaging through a box of scalpels, heedless to any possible danger involved. He then poings along, still carrying the thing. Is poinging with scalpels as bad as running with scissors? "Ooh, and that goes -ping-!" He's apparently in heaven, and doesn't even bother to pause to try and correct balance errors or catch his rasping breath as he dives behind a bank of machinery. "You'll never take me alive coppers!"

"I believe he means Giani." See? Corian -is- a translator. "And the hypo was given approximately five hours ag--ohh, Tarrant, please do put that down." Yes, that's enough to get her, tired as she is, quickly making her way towards the man.

Clara is -right- on Corian's heels, eyes wide with alarm. "Um, Tarrant, those are -sharp-, you know," she points out. Doctors are often good at pointing out the obvious. The machine goes ping again, somewhere back behind another bank of machinery, and Clara peers at Corian curiously. "Coppers?" She stares down at the hypo, and turns to backtrack to the large wall computer to feed in the contents of the hypo. "We'll get an initial analyzation and...ack!" Okay, no clue why, but this ack is brought to you in anticipation of whatever havoc Tarrant wreaks next.

Tarrant was confined long enough on the trip, and the drug is doing such evil things to his brain, that likely nothing is going to stop him outside of being tackled or sedated. Since neither of these things has occured to him, he's gleefully clambering along behind the machines, eventually leaping out, sans scalpels to jump at COrian's feet. No, he doesn't bite them, he's kind. "You're it!" And with that he pelts across to the other side of the med bay, literally hurdling one of the biobeds and all but meeting full force against the wall computer, jarring it and cause it to beep in indignation. "Ooooh! It beeped! Do it again!"

Corian shakes her head at Clara's query, murmuring something about Tarrant watching a bad vid or something. At least, that's what she's hoping. She starts just a bit as Tarrant jumps at her feet--she's a little edgy just now, see--then closes her eyes for just a moment as he pelts across the room. "Ow," she murmurs, following a long tradition. She offers Clara a decidedly apologetic look. "I really am sorry. I did not know what else to do, as I do not know what else this may be doing to him."

See? I told you the "Ack!" would be necessary. Necessary enough that Clara even does it again. "Ack! Ack, Tarrant, -no-! Bad Tarrant!" she yelps, staring at the assassin, then the computer in horror. "My poor computer," she mourns, reaching forward to try to tap at it a few time, then sighing relief as it responds as normal despite the repeated beeping. The hypo finally makes it into the computer and she takes to stalking Tarrant. "Why don't you play with me, huh? I'll play tag with you," she suggests, snapping on the scanner and making an initial pass. "It's classic akathisia, I can see that. I just don't know -why-. He's too old for hyperactivity disorder. Tarrant, how are you feeling?"

"My name is -Jefferey-!" Tarrant insists in an indignant tone. Is he four years old? He dives away from Clara, yelping, "Not it!" Ooh, it's even a shiny dive, ending in a flawless commando roll that takes him behind another of the beds. Like a surreal grenade a roll of gauze comes zwinging over it, Clara-ward. "No more double agents! Do you hear me! I have had -enough-!"

Corian shakes her head at the term, clearly not recognizing it. She lifts a hand to rub at her head for a moment at Tarrant's insistance. "He kept yelling that on the shuttle," she murmurs. "Oh, dear." Yes, that would be at the dive, and the commando roll, and the gauze. At the mention of double agents, though, she suddenly looks quite serious, and just a little disturbed. See, talking about certain things in an open medbay is not a good thing. She shakes her head, then, and murmurs something else about bad vids. Yeah. That's it. It's the vids. No, she's not being helpful, but she's also had to put up with Tarrant like this for five hours, so is it any wonder?

Clara would be impressed by the commando roll if she weren't otherwise distracted, and acks quietly and backs a step away before darting to one side. "Corian, try circling around to herd him at me? Maybe we can both hold him down," she suggests. Shyeah. Right. "I just need to be able t-waagh!" This fun sound is brought to you by the guaze thumping off Clara's head, and she takes to stalking again. "I'm -not- a double agent," she promises. "C'mon, Tarr-, er Jeffrey. You know that, I'm military, no double-agents here. Those're in the movies," she promises with a flickered look at Corian that bespeaks confusion and the willingness to play along with the cover-up, for whatever reason.

Tarrant? What Tarrant? Where did he go? See, by the time circling is accomplished he's dissapeared, like one of those leprechauns. Thankfully however, he hasn't got any Lucky Charms, and his path is easily tracked from the surreal noises coming from behind one of the nearby cabinets. Apparently Tarrant has clambered into one of them and is trying to be quiet, but snickering in an amused fashion is giving him away.

Corian does not even comment on the fact that being military doesn't necessarily imply not being a double agent. Instead, she just shakes her head at -any- possibility of herding Tarrant, instead murmuring something under her breath about tranquilizer darts--but, no, pointing a gun at Tarrant just now, even a tranquilizer gun, probably would be really quite stupid. She eyes the cabinet, perhaps weighing the possibility of locking it, then shakes her head and goes to stand outside said cabinet. "If we could just find something to keep him interested for a while..."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

"Boo!" A sheet enshrouded ghost -leaps- from the cabinet. Okay, so it's Tarrant, and he's found the linen cabinet apparently. "I am the ghost of Christmas next Sunday! You shall bring sheep in homage!" He attempts to climb up to his feet to dash off, but gets a spur caught in his shroud and goes sprawling on his chest onto the floor in front of Corian. He's all but trapped in the sheet and is struggling to escape. "Acck! Trapped! Free me! Free James Brown! Bring him sheep!"

Clara does pause with a moment of confusion, whipping her head around in the attempt to spot the wayward lunatic. She thankfully doesn't reach for her own darter, but is still holding her scanner almost like a weapon as she makes her way to the cabinet as well to crouch down in front of it. "That's the problem. If this is true..." Thud. This would be Clara falling over backwards onto her bottom in an ungraceful sprawl to stare at Tarrant before darting forward to try to scan him while he's trapped. "We'll get you sheep," she soothes. "Just hang on, just a bit, Tarrant..."

Corian murmurs something about mint sauce, and reacts rather instinctively, promptly getting to the ground as well. She does her best to keep Tarrant where he is, looking desperately up to see if, somehow, Jones has materialized. Jones is big. Or Larry, the Heavyset Guard. "Everything is just fine, cha'trez," she murmurs, as she probably did countless times in the shuttle.

Tarrant does -not- want to be at the opposite end of anybody pointing -anything- at him at the moment, but his coordination is relatively shot at the moment, and so escaping the sheet takes him some serious doing, and then he's trying to scramble again to his feet and away. "Death to the infidels! Yeeeeeehaaaaaaaaw!"

Clara thuds back again, giving in and finally snickering as Tarrant gets away again and waggling her scanner. "Got a reading. Sheesh, he -is- full of it, isn't he? I know, I know, it's not funny. Okay, let me get this scanned." She peers over at Tarrant again with a flash of worry, then scrambles to her feet and darts for the computer to start inputting information at top speed, as if racing the clock.

"Tarrant Wilkes Czolgosz." Why do these rednecks always have three names? Corian sounds really all kinds of frustrated for a moment, but then she gets to her feet and heads after Tarrant, clearly hoping to keep him out of too much mischief.

It's not just the clock she's racing, it's how fast she can figure something out before Tarrant can wreak more havoc. "My name is Jeffrey!" He protests as he poings about. And then lo, he spots something else and is off in la-la land again. "Oooh!" He poings towards the door cheerfully, "Look! A toy!"

Clara taps in a few more items, and starts to mutter, "Eureka?" in puzzlement before gasping. "Viiiiiinkle!" she belts out, doing credit to whatever drill sergeant trained her, and darting after Tarrant to try to block the door and grin. "Hi there, going somewhere? Why don't you have a seat on the biobed, Tarrant, please?"

Corian, naturally, is also going right after Tarrant. "The biobeds make really very cheerful noises, Tarrant," she adds helpfully, offering him a sweet smile. "And maybe if you do as Clara asks, she'll be able to see about that ice cream later." She really must be a masochist, to keep mentioning the sugar factor.

"No," Tarrant replies cheerfully, and attempts, just as cheerfully, to duck under Clara's arm and out the door. "I want to go -out-! To play! With the -toy-! It had -buttons-. It might get away..." There's a pause, "Ice cream?" It's not a long one. "It's escaping!"

Thankfully, Vinkle (who looks surprisingly like Aleif, maybe a distant descendent of one of his siblings), pounds out of short term care with raised brows. "You called, Doc?"

"Yes! We need to restrain this man before he hurts himself," Clara responds rapidly, doing another dance to try and block Tarrant again. "That's right, Tarrant. I do have ice cream, in my office. I'll share it with you if you'll stay in here, wouldn't that be nice? And we can play with the machine that goes 'ping'."

Corian is, yes, already wincing in anticipation of Tarrant's probable reaction to being restrained. "It will come back, cha'trez," she says soothingly. "And you can visit with it later, after you have had the ice cream and seen the beeping bed." Offered only in -select- seedy motels?

Tarrant apparently does not like the word 'restrained', and with a panicked yelp, dives to escape such a fate. Sadly, (Well for him, everybody else will probably be thrilled..) he's tiring from the combined effects of the drug and this much poinging, and hence he's easy enough for Vinkle to capture, even if he doesn't make an entirely willing captive. "Ack! Hey! Free James Brown!" The protest is vehement enough, even if his struggles are slowing.

Vinkle nods amiably and jumps forward to try to catch Tarrant, wrapping his arms around the squirming man from behind in a bearhug and lifting, hopefully so that Tarrant is off his feet. "Settle down, Mr. Czolgosz. I ain't hurting you," he points out affably, and attempts to drag his captive to the beeping biobed.

Clara rubs at her forehead briefly with an apologetic look at Corian. "I don't know how you did this for five hours," she murmurs, then heads back to snag a printout from the wall, then -stare- at it, then up at Tarrant, then back down in confused horror. "Genetically altered phenylpropanersic? That's lethal in this dose!" she exclaims, already pushing forward to snag an empty hypo and try to steal Tarrant's blood.

Corian admits, though she looks tired, "Well, four of the hours he was strapped in a shuttle." Really, she doesn't look all that surprised at Clara's news as she follows the doctor. "Yes, it was implied that it was not a good thing, what the drug was supposed to do to him. Really, we were very lucky."

And in fact, Tarrant's struggles have slowed enough to the point it's entirely possible for Vinkle to haul him over to the biobed, although the assassin is still protesting in several languages, with comments about Vinkle's parentage and the likelyhood that they will be eaten by giant fanged angora rabbits. He must be tired however, since he's not even giving the other man a run for his money. Well that and he's drugged. "Ack! Vampire! There's a vampire in here! Get garlic!"

Clara trades an exasperated look with Vinkle, and gets a rather amused one back from the intern. "Yessir, my parents didn't have a pet orangatuan at the time, I promise," he replies calmly, still holding on as the doctor darts in with a smirk. "Yes, Tarrant, I'm a vampire. You've found out my second professsion...just don't tell Riley," she cautions, then flings the the sample into the computer. "He should be...well, the symptoms preceding death by this are -nasty-. It's an illegal chemical, completely banned. Minor levels cause mental retardation, slowing braincell reaction time and...and...and." She stops to stare at the screen. "And Tarrant has just the stuff to beat it," she murmurs, already starting to rummage through a cabinet for various vials. "All I have to do is give him clostridium tetani."

Corian murmurs very quietly, and with just the faintest touch of dryness, "Somehow, I do not believe that our acquaintance was concerned with the legality of his actions." At that last, she looks really far too relieved. "He will be all right?" she queries, with really a painful amount of hope. She leans lightly against the biobed on the other side of Tarrant from the doctors, lightly resting a hand on his arm in a gesture that's likely meant to be soothing.

Tarrant eventually gives in altogether, slumping against Vinkle and just concentrating on breathing a moment, and probably what trouble he can get into here. He peers at Corian's hand, and cheerfully rasps, "Ooh, a hand." There's a pause, "And ooh it's attached to a pretty lady." Okay, so it's not his day for helpful dialogue.

"I think?" Clara glances back with a decidedly apologetic grimace before returning to mixing. "Corian, by all rights, I shouldn't have to be mixing up an antitode at all, he wouldn't need it, or anything else for that matter. But given his condition, it's just inhibiting his decision making abilities, attention span, and vastly increasing his creativity right now. I -hope- this works," she adds, finally coming back with the hypo and awwing softly. "Tarrant, now hold still, okay?"

Corian really can't help but smile at Tarrant's words, despite the unhelpfulness of his dialog, and lifts that hand to touch his cheek for a moment before she takes his hand. She nods at Clara's words, then, expression briefly rueful at the mention of the various differences in Tarrant. "If it works," she says quietly, "That would be... helpful." Corian is, yes, gifted at understatement.

Tarrant has been holding more or less still, as he's officially been worn down. But the presence of an oncoming hypo causes him to struggle again, with renewed effort. "Oh no, not this again! Don't touch her!" Okay, so he's officially confused and out of it. Thankfully said effort is not enough to break him free.

"Her?" Clara glances up at Corian with sudden dismay while Vinkle tightens his hold accordingly. "Tarrant, I'm not going to hurt Corian, I promise. This would give her an old disease named tetanus anyway," she explains. "But it's going to help you. Let me help you, Tarrant, c'mon," she urges, weaving a hand in to try and get the hypo to the man's neck.

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian's expression remains opaque and pleasant, and her attention stays focused on her husband. She shakes her head, giving Tarrant's hand a gentle squeeze. "Shh. Cha'trez, it is fine. I am right here, and nobody is going to hurt me. It is just fine. Clara is trying to help. She isn't going to hurt anyone. We are home now, cha'trez. All is well."

Tarrant isn't exactly rational, but he is brought to pause long enough for injection to occur. "No diseases for Corian. I'll kick him again. And again, and where'd we leave my gun..." Oh yeah, the department is going to be -so- thrilled.

Clara exhales a quiet sigh and leans in to mutter something to Vinkle before stepping in to take his place in a rapid shift at restraining Tarrant. "No kicking my interns, mister. No shooting them either. You shoot him, I knock you out until next Bob." She peers up at Corian with a rueful smile. "Now we wait...we should know in a few moments if this helps," she adds. "I can't make promises, though."

Corian shakes her head, lifting a hand to stroke Tarrant's hair, another of those soothing gestures. "He is not going to hurt anybody else, Tarrant," she says quietly. "It is fine, all is well, you do not need your gun here." She glances over to nod at Clara, with a brief, tight smile. "If nothing else, he is tired enough at least that he is less likely to get into trouble."

And thankfully it does -something- fairly quickly, because if Tarrant took to attempting to flee again, he's bigger than Clara. He squirms briefly and then slumps forward as the substance takes hold. Okay, he's limp, but at least he's not trying to juggle scalpels. There's a vague murmur, but at least he isn't asking to go play anymore. "Ick."

Vinkle, as instructed, returns from Clara's office a moment later and offers the doctor an ice cream bar, which she in turn offers to Tarrant. "Hey, friend, ice cream," she points out gently, slowly releasing her hold and instead just patting him on the back in the attempt to help comfort. "The substance causes a disease called phenylketonuria, and he's still got it. The clostridium will fight it, though, and we may not even see more symptoms. Do you want a sedative for him, just in case?"

Corian looks briefly disturbed at Tarrant's going-limpness, but relief clears that expression as Clara doesn't seem to be concerned. "I... well, I can cope with the... enthusiasm, if it occurs again. But, Clara, I really do need to discuss a few things with our employers. Would it be safe to leave him alone for a little while?" Something about her expression suggests that the conversation is not going to go well for said employers.

Tarrant does not seem to be clueing into the concept of ice cream immediately, as he's just a bit on the woozy side still. "What'n the name of all that's..." He trails off, blinking absently as he fumbles to get a hand behind himself to remain upright. "Okay, if I ask how I got here, do I get hit?"

"No one's going to hit you, Tarrant," Clara assures quietly, leaving the ice cream bar on the instrument tray and moving to provide more support. "You're just really sick, is all. What's the last thing you remember?" Which may not be the wisest question, but it is a doctor question.

Corian in fact looks just a little disturbed by Clara's question, and looks for a moment as if she's going to suggest that Tarrant not answer it. Instead, after a palpable pause, she says simply, "We came home on the shuttle, cha'trez."

"Ki..." Tarrant pauses, forcing himself to reorient to cluefulness, "Uh, I can't tell you. I know what it was, but I can't tell you." His tone is sheepishly apologetic. "Besides, trust me, you don't want to know."

"I don't...?" Clara blinks at the pair for a moment, then her face clears as she nods almost warily. "Right. Job-related stress injury, that's what I'll put in the report," she notes thoughtfully, then pats Tarrant's shoulder. "All right, I want you to go home now. Go home, and get a hot shower, food, and rest. Corian, were you...?" She gestures at the hypo returned from the unknown assassin worriedly.

Corian shakes her head, silent for a moment. "No," she says, then. "No, that was... prevented, thank goodness." There's a brief pause, and then a brisk nod as she catalogs the doctor's instructions for Tarrant: shower, food, and rest.

Tarrant slides down from the biobed with a slightly vague nod and a murmur of thanks. He'll figure out the rest of it later. Thankfully, at the moment, he has no clue how annoying he was. Ahh, the joy Corian may have by enlightening him. He pauses a moment to find his footing and then nods. "Job related stress...that'll be festive, sure."

Clara can't help but smirk slightly. "You want me to pester the real reason out of you?" she teases lightly, then takes a step back. "Eat something with red meat, Tarrant. You need the amino acids from a heavy dose of protein, since the toxin altered yours. I'll comm you two tonight before I go home, if that's okay? To just check in. And you know the routine...comm me -any- time if there's a problem."

Corian shifts around the biobed to slip an arm around Tarrant--for additional stability, really. That's it. She nods to Clara, with a warm smile. "Of course, Clara, and thank you so much for your assistance. It was... most appreciated."

Tarrant is not about to object to Corian's arm, on any grounds. He offers her a sheepish smile, although it's apologetic as well. He knows he's done -something-, he just can't remember exactly what. "Protein, amino acid, yes. Sure. Have a nice day?"

"Mm, I'd say the same to you two, but I think I'll just wish you a restful rest of the day," Clara decides with a rueful grin. "Now scoot, and let me pick up this mess," she suggests. "Get some rest."

Corian, with a quiet chuckle, murmurs something that sounds decidedly approving as far as rest is concerned. She returns Tarrant's smile--yes, he did something, but she's not telling him what yet--and carefully makes her way out of medbay.

[Travelspam home deleted.]

Corian really does look decidedly relieved to be home. She releases you long enough to take off her jacket and hang it up, then inquires, "Will you be all right getting a shower on your own, cha'trez? I was thinking about going downstairs to let them know what had happened, but I can wait if you would rather."

Tarrant pauses to shed his jacket as well, and then goes to sink onto the end of the couch, still holding onto it. "I can manage on my own, yes dear. Letting the folks downstairs know what's up as soon as possible would be a good thing. Comm me if they want my end of it too?"

Corian nods, pausing to snag the various stuffs from Joshua from your jacket pocket, assuming that's the pocket where it went, then leans down to claim a quick kiss. "I will let you know, of course, cha'trez. And comm me if you need anything, all right?"

And indeed, that's the pocket it ended up in. Tarrant returns the kiss, if a bit blearily, and adds a sheepish nod. "I'll let you know, certainly. Umm, good luck?"

Corian snags the stuff from her own jacket pocket as well, and tucks it all in an inner pocket in her polar fleece thing. Handy, that. She offers a brief smile, then. "Thank you, love. I am certain that it will go... well, it will be an adventure." With that, and another smile, she starts purposefully out the door. The poor employers.

You leave the room, pulling the door shut behind you.


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