revivalproject

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Xtro

WHO: Stu Macher, Billy Loomis and open!
WHERE: Temba, by the fountain and the hospital
WHAT: A new arrival! He looks bad!
WHEN: Early June
WARNINGS: Stu's coming in already stabbed, so there's blood right from the start.

a. the fountain
Movie blood felt more real than the genuine article. It was always brighter red, lurid and fast flowing, not like the dark and dingy trickle that rolled sluggishly along the dirty clefts in the cobblestone. The real blood picked up dust and grime as it went, and rapidly dried, getting darker and slower and duller, Stu realized, quickly abandoning the reflection of the strange light. He couldn't see where it was coming from at first, only aware of the way it bounced where the blood was still sticky, fixated on its unfamiliar ambience from where he lay on the hard ground. It was like the diffused lighting from a softbox, glowy and indirect. He had to touch it.

By the time he could make his eyes focus again, he could feel the hard stone pressing into his back. He must have propped himself up, his legs still twisted awkwardly where he had collapsed onto his face. He could hear the constant trickle of running water, too, that was weird, that kind of made him have to pee, and was suddenly too aware of just how much beer he had been drinking and regretted not hitting the bathroom before the bloodbath or the alien abduction. You should always go before you take a big trip like that, even if you don't think you have to. He started to laugh, loud and unself-conscious, until the blood bubbling in his throat made it stick and splatter down his front instead of echoing around this empty square. He sobbed then, raising his shaking hands to that glowing light of the alien-ball like he needed any more confirmation that it was still him that was bleeding, then pressed them back around his middle to try to stem the flow. Being abducted should have been so much cooler than this. There should have been a spaceship, and a metal table, and a chip they were putting in his neck. Instead, Stu was sitting on a dirty, empty street, holding his guts in, not sure if he was in complete pain or entirely numb. If he died before the probing, he'd never forgive himself.

"Billy?" he suddenly realized, soft and plaintive. He had tripped and fallen onto his face on the way out of the kitchen, after he heard Billy's cry, after he had been attacked. Someone had to help him. "I'm comin', buddy..." Stu strained, pitching forward to try to climb up onto his feet. He had a long way to go.

b. the hospital
The sweater that Stu had been wearing was ruined. Even if he knew how to get the crusted blood out of it, there were huge holes where the knife had sliced through, enough that it was practically falling apart. He should have been falling apart. Instead, he was lingering in the hall of the weirdly dark hospital, wearing a new sweater with too many sleeves. The extra pair of them were sitting on his shoulders, all of the extra fabric gathered around his neck like a cowl, and when he wiggled they flapped in a way that made him snicker and feel like some kind of alien royalty himself. Maybe he was less likely to come back from this experience screaming and eating snake eggs than dazzling the aliens with his strange, human powers, like a normal amount of arms, and resilience to stabbing.

He had too much energy to stay put an heal like he was supposed to, he didn't know anyone that could just lay around in a bed for hours and not want to blow their own brains out. He had left the ruined sweater in his place, and dutifully kept his arms stiff by his sides to limit just how much he was moving as he went prancing in the echoing corridor, swinging his shoulders from side to side to make his empty sleeves flap while he bounced. Already, he knew not to expect to encounter just about anyone around here, but when he did he also wasn't terribly surprised and gladly pivoted to welcome them into this game. "Do you like alien movies?" he immediately greeted, his very posture impish, all stretched out six feet four inches of him drawn up straight with his shoulders back and arms still tight to his sides, and chin tucked down to make his wide grin look like a wicked challenge.

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Backpedaling was the right choice.

"You're not going anywhere. You're gonna be right there in the sequel. They've probably got alien bullshit here that'll leave you better than you started," he encouraged, "So you gotta shut your mouth before someone hears you. What are you going to tell them when they ask who did this?"

They had been through this enough times that Stu really didn't want to, not right now, it kind of didn't seem all that important next to how hard it was to get one foot in front of the other. He whined and couldn't tell if that tickle down his cheek was sweat, tears or more blood, and had to force out, "A psycho killer, dude, he came in wearing a mask and stabbing everybody, he got Sid, he got Tate..." It seemed kind of pointless to have killed Tatum now that he was dying anyway, and now Stu was pretty sure that was tears.

Billy started to nod and then rethought things, quickly shaking his head and stopping them to properly emphasize- "None of them. Just you. It happened here." They may or may not get to play with the idea, but at least this way they're set up right if they chose to.

He paused, only belatedly taking in the tears and he frowned, pushing away that wetness with a not so gentle sweep of his thumb. "Can you handle that?"

Stopping was not as gratifying as Stu had hoped, and he groaned as he had to keep himself still and upright. He had no idea why Billy would be changing the plan now, he didn't even know all of the ways it had already gone wrong and wasn't going to work, but with that rough swipe at his face and challenging question Stu was immediately nodding with a whimper of apology. He still had to question, "But they'll know it's you...?," not understanding why it was a good thing that Billy had obviously been at the crime scene at Sid's house, and now here, and that didn't make any sense.

"No. Still the psycho killer in a mask. You were fine when you got here and someone attacked you, okay? I found you like this. Sid and Tatum are fine. They're waiting for us back home. Nothing like this is happening back there." That gave the both of the them an alibi in theory, and left them room to set someone up in the future if Ghostface were to make another appearance.

He tried to hold Stu's gaze to make sure he was following. "You can do it, come on."

He half dragged Stu inside, and there was at least a convenient wheelchair waiting by the abandoned entrance. He managed to get Stu dropped into it clumsily, and wheeled him into the waiting room(?), looking around at the empty space in frustration. Abandoning Stu, Billy wandered further in, looking for a bell or some shit to summon someone.

"Hello?" he called, peering down a hallway. "We need help over here! Hello?!" His tone changed, taking on a more appropriately concerned and panicked tone it hadn't had before.

Wesker isn't dressed to do actual medical work. He is never dressed to do actual medical work. Tae is the one that deals with actual patients. She is more qualified for the job and actually enjoys it while Wesker barely has any patience to deal with anyone even on his more social days. Especially after Temba's residents have proven to not be worth his time at all.

He does hear the calls, however. Calls that should be noticed by Tae as well and therefore he opts to ignore them initially and stick to his notes instead. It's after the third call that he finally looks up irritatedly. The doctor should have taken care of this disturbance by then.

Letting out a short noise of annoyance, Wesker finally gets up and moves to leave his workspace and make his way down the hallway and towards the noise. Whoever this is better has a good reason to make themselves such an annoyance.

"What?" He returns sharply once he sets eyes on a stranger wandering cluelessly through the hospital. Great. Just another fool that got lost. Which is even less something Wesker feels like dealing with.

That sharp tone wasn't quite what Billy expected, and for a beat he wasn't sure how to present.

"Are you a doctor?" He didn't look like what, but why else would the guy come? And on closer look, Wesker might note the stranger does have rather a lot of blood on him, though he doesn't seem to be hurt himself.

"My friend-" he gestured back urgently towards the entrance, "He was attacked- I don't know what to do- Please-"

The voices echoing down the hall kept Stu from fully falling down that very tempting tunnel he seemed to be staring into. Billy had turned on the innocent concern quickly, so Stu knew he had to do is part and not let Billy down, although he wasn't entirely sure which part of it was true right now. Were Sid and Tate fine? Did the aliens stab him when they abducted him? Billy was so confident. He would do what Billy said. That included trying to follow after him, hands slick and numb on the wheels and mostly slipping and turning him in an arc to see more of the weird, empty room. Where was everyone? Shouldn't this place be full of coughing old ladies and kids with broken arms? "Nurse!" Stu croaked, shifting further into the hall with the last of his energy. There, he pitched forward in the wheelchair, his stained sweater seeping blood down onto the seat.

Now this looks like work. Work that Wesker isn't too keep to bother with. But he remains aware that this falls under his job in one way or another. To help those morons he is surrounded with survive.

"Tell me what happened." He instructs and marches past Billy and over to the bloody mess hunched over in a wheelchair. At least he had made sure this hospital is equipped with an actual shock room, which is where he starts pushing the wheelchair and its occupant the moment he reaches the man.

Damnit Stu. Billy's look of irritation could pretty easily pass for concern eve before he schooled it. And despite himself there was some real concern. Idiot couldn't go dying on him.

There was possessive flash in his eye when Wesker started pushing the wheelchair, but Billy willed himself not to react, moving to hurriedly follow after them.

"I found him like this, but from what I can piece together once he showed up some masked freak stabbed him. The side one looks the worst but he's got some defensive wounds- I dunno if the guy got scared off or what, but he left him like that. You gotta save him." Was that the right level of panic? This wasn't really the ending they'd rehearsed, Billy was supposed to be cut up right along side him.

Someone else was in charge now, that was nice, Stu could move without working too hard at it and concentrate on keeping a grip on the edge of this tunnel. He had opened his mouth, but was much too slow to answer before Billy was spinning a whole story, and then could only do his best to echo it, mumbled words under Billy's line read, "Masked freak...looks bad...scared him off..." He wasn't so thrilled to go along with the 'save him' narrative, this implied that he really was about to die and that felt real enough already, but he did rally enough to say more clearly, "I got blood on your chair. Sorry. Don't be mad."

Some masked freak. Wesker raises a single brow at those words, yet says nothing. That description matches no one currently listed on the network index. The local heroes don't wear masks. And if they were referring to the likes of Cayde or the turtle brothers Wesker would expect them to settle on something other than masked freak/i>. Though there are some obvious more pressing mattersat the moment, so this information gets mentally filed away while he pushes the wheelchair the relatively short distance to their destination.

The room is clean, well lit and equipped with everything needed to deal with emergencies as quick and efficiently as possible. The center piece is a surgery table that can easily be moved aside to make room for a bed or gurney when required. But Stu currently sits in a wheelchair and therefore needs to be moved up on the table.

"Take his feet. You will help me lift him up on there." Wesker instructs Billy, who now has to accept his new role as emergency assistant. Stab wounds are at least pretty straight forward to deal with despite the mess.

"No one's mad," Billy muttered, maybe a little too sternly, shooting Stu a stubble warning look.

He started to take in the room before the doctor redirected his attention back to Stu. Billy didn't argue, moving to help lift Stu's dead weight onto the table. Once he was settled, Billy took one of Stu's bloody hands in his and gave a reassuring squeeze, assuming the role of the doting and concerned friend/rescuer from countless films. "You're gonna be okay."

Stu wasn't completely dead weight, although his long limbs and attempt to heave himself helpfully were potentially more awkward that way, and he was just as relieved to roll onto the table when they got him up there despite the warning flare of pain in his back when he slumped with exhaustion. There were another two gashes back there, done more hastily and blindly with the energy of Billy's frustration mounting. The worst was definitely the wound to his side, though, where Billy had quickly stuck him twice, like they had practised, that really shouldn't have been so deep. The slash to his upper arm that had opened to the muscle felt practically superficial.

Billy doesn't get to hold those hands for long as a large pair of scissors is pushed his way along with a simple command: "Cut off his clothes." A simple task that doesn't require any actual medical training yet a necessary one. And one thing less for Wesker to bother with. Luckily for Stu, the room is kept warm.

With the tool handed over he turns back to collect further items he will be needing as well as filling a bowl with warm water. There will be blood to be washed away before he can see the actual damage.

The act felt a little more real than he expected it to, and Billy was happy to accept the distraction when he was handed to him, taking the scissors and all ready knowing Stu was going to complain about the damn sweater, like it wasn't all ready a lost 'cause. And the least of his worries right now.

His brow creased with that unfamiliar feeling of concern and he spared a moment to tap at Stu's cheek with the back of his hand as he cut, trying to prompt some kind of reaction.
"All of them?" he asked, nearly finished with the sweater, though he moved onto the pants even before he got an answer, not actually all that concerned, more playing the role he thought he was meant to.

The pat had Stu jolting awake from a stupor he hadn't realized he had fallen into, making his eyes roll wildly to catch up, and he muttered, "All of them?" on a delay after Billy before he had quite figured out what was happening. By then, he was very aware of just how hot it had been outside for October, how much he had been sweating running around the house, and how cold this table must have been because it was suddenly hard to control his jaw as he tried to insist, "I don't know if that's necessary, n-nobody s-stabbed my balls." He had definitely planned more for the satisfaction of this moment than the humiliation.

"All of them." Wesker states, turning around with a tray of utensils to set down next to Stu before pointing at a metal cabinet behind Billy. "Heated blankets are in there. Dispose of the shreds." Stu will have to stay for a few days and Wesker is not going to peel a pair of bloodsoaked pants from a grown man's legs.

With Billy busied for now, the first thing Wesker does on his end is to inject Stu with painkillers before taking a closer look at the man's actual wounds. The one on Stu's side in particular. He grabs a moist cloth to clean away the blood and get a better look.

Look at that Stu, Principal Himbry and well- the rest of Woodsboro really, might not agree, but at least one adult out there saw him as a grown man.

He snipped the clothes away, pocketing whatever he found in Stu's pockets to return to him later, including a nondescript device intimately familiar to the both of them.

"You're not a doctor," he reminded Stu, with a pointed look to just do what he was told, pulling free the remains of his dignity, and looking for a place to dispose of them before he moved on to retrieve the blanket.

Stu really did want to apologize to Billy, but mostly what he could do was widen his eyes, then give the doctor a puzzled look for pinching him, like he hadn't been attacked enough already. The knife had gone into his side fast, in and out quick like they had practised, and maybe would have been as shallow as it was supposed to so it didn't do too much lasting damage if Billy hadn't immediately jabbed him again in the same place. Stu became suddenly aware that maybe all of that was obvious, and his hand came crawling up, awkward and stiff, like he might shyly conceal his embarrassing hole.

What some may consider dignity is little more than a body to someone like Wesker. Nothing out of the ordinary aside of some wounds that need to be treated. A body that requires some fixing and a little time to recover to not be a bother to him any longer.

The main wound is in fact not as deep as it could have been and yet obviously deep enough to have caused some internal damage. Which in turn means additional work for Wesker. He gives a brief, displeased growl at that observation before moving to retrieve some additional items and prepare an anaesthetic.

"Your job is to watch his breathing and keep his mouth and throat free. Chances are that he vomits more than blood while sedated."

Edited 2024-06-19 21:53 (UTC)

Returning with the blanket, Billy tried not to eye the wounds too obviously, but couldn't help his curiosity. They were deeper than what they'd practiced, and they'd done this enough times that he could recognize the shivering as a bad sign. A few of them had lived long enough to go into shock. Stu wasn't supposed to be one of them, and he shot him a look as that hand tried to shield shit, silently trying to bid him to beave.

"Pretty sure he was drinking before this, if that matters," he volunteered, looking a little less than pleased with his job, but prepared to do what he had to if it was going to keep Stu alive.

"Sedated?" That was bad. Where was Billy? Stu limply flailed a hand out for his friend who had killed him and then saved his life, and then snitched on him like a rat, and had to defend in a mushy mumble, "Only a couple of beers...," as he tried to direct a glare Billy's way. The alcohol was well out of him by the time he was done chasing Sidney around the whole fucking property, there was no reason to get him grounded for a weekend, too.

"Doesn't matter to me." Wesker states. "As long as you keep his mouth clean and don't let him choke on anything."

He doesn't wait for a confirmation from either of them before injecting Stu with an anesthetic of his own making. It should take him out quickly and allow Wesker to get to work on the actual damage. And the sooner he can get that done, the sooner he can get back to his own matters.

"You're fine," Billy hissed, maybe a little unkindly, but he did at least help Stu find his hand, giving it a squeeze as he nodded to the (hopefully??) doctor (they never did confirm that did they?).

He'd be fine, wouldn't he? He'd never really considered losing Stu. He'd thought about possibilities where he sold him out, or shifted the blame, sure, but ever really with any focus on Stu not being anymore. The thought made him...uncomfortable, and his brow creased, swallowing thickly, and ready to do whatever was asked of him.

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target_audience - 2024-06-23 16:24 (UTC) - Expand

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