<Limps up to the table. His face and hands are swollen and red. Sits down very carefully.>
"Swchaffwun fwu mmmphfannng."
<His tongue lolls out. It's bright red and the size of a golf ball.>
"That looks like an allergic reaction," Germain notes, a hint of concern in her voice, "or did you swallow a bee?"
"Didja drink something you probably shouldn't have?"
Maccoy sets down his drink and heads over to the newcomer. "Damn. How did that happen?"
<Coca pulls out a little pile of scrap papers and a pencil worn down to a nub, which he has a lot of trouble grasping between his swollen fingers... begins writing.>
IT WAS A GREEN CHICK
<In shaky block letters.>
"You should never stick your tongue anywhere unless you're sure you're going to get it back," Germain says, maintaining a straight face, "just be glad it was your tongue and hands you decided to poke around with and not something more valuable."
Germain allows herself a tiny smirk as she glances at the old man still writhing on the floor. Then she gets an evil glint in her eye.
"Or perhaps you were hoping that would swell up as well?" she asks, those innocent eyes flashing, "maybe you should let the Doc and me have a look at it."
Maccoy sighs and shakes his head. "I swear, Meredith does this one more time and I'm putting a sign up."
He turns back and yells at the barkeep. "Hey, you still got some of that lotion back there? We need to get the swelling down before it gets any worse."
"ANNGHHY GNNNNTH?!!"
"Oh don't be such a baby," Germain says without a hint of sympathy, "if you're going to make that sort of a fuss now how will you react if we need to cut something off?"
Germain turns to the doctor.
"I have some medical training," she says, "my mother was a doctor as well you see. I know anatomy, how to patch holes, and how to take a man apart but not necessarily how to put 'em back together. If you need someone to assist you I'm your woman! If you need someone to hold him down while we work we got Sherman and Roach.
"Try to save his hands and eyes though," Germain quickly adds, "he's a pretty good sniper."
He turns back and yells at the barkeep. "Hey, you still got some of that lotion back there? We need to get the swelling down before it gets any worse."
Kyle nods his trinocular noggin
"I got it back here Bones." He hands over the bottle to Maccoy
<Trying unsuccessfully to stuff his tongue back into his mouth.>
Germain pulls out her knife.
Germain pulls out her knife.
"Hey now, no reason to be taking that out. Just have to put some lotion on him, and the swelling should go down in a few hours." Maccoy pops the lid off of the jar and holds it out to him. "Think you can get it on yourself, or do you need some help?"
Germain pulls out her knife.
<Look of swollen reddish horror.>
"Hey now, no reason to be taking that out. Just have to put some lotion on him, and the swelling should go down in a few hours." Maccoy pops the lid off of the jar and holds it out to him. "Think you can get it on yourself, or do you need some help?"
<Grabs the lotion and starts rubbing it on his hands and mouth.>
The bitter fluid flows into Coca's abused mouth. It reminds him of the time he woke up after a bad bender face down in a pool of vomit-speckled rusty water. On he plus side, his tongue seems to be feeling better as the liquid coats it.
Germain looks disappointed as she puts her knife away. Strangers could only assume that the adorable little woman was engaged in some good natured teasing with her companion. Said companions on the other hand are probably not quite as sure.
"...theuffffffff..."
<Coca leans back, lotion bubbles coming from his mouth.>
"That's a good boy," Germain says, "drink it all down."
"Ahhhh gnnn wuuu thummghhhh th wnnnnghh"
<While 'speaking' Coca looks Germain in the eyes through his puffy eyelids and gestures at his groin.>
Germain glances down.
"Maybe I put that knife away too soon," she mumbles mainly to herself, then a cruel little smile slides onto Germain's face, "Well let's have a look at the little soldier."
The tavern starts to fill up as dinner time approaches. The triocular barkeep gets busier, handing out stew plates as well as homebrew lager.
The crowd looks like a fair mix of human and mutated animal. Not too many AIs, but since they don't eat this probably wouldn't be a big stopping place for them.
"Hey Doc you got an examining room here in town?" Germain asks, "I think Coca has gotten shy all of a sudden. I think he needs to put some of that ointment on his special man bits."
"HANNN FWOT TWIRTH!"
"HANNN FWOT TWIRTH!"
<Coca keeps his hand on Agnew and keeps his eyes on Germaine.>
"Don gnmae gnme fssshhooo jzoo girrry."
A look of pure innocence slides onto Germain's face like a mask.
Bluff:
"Why Coca," she says, her eyelashes flashing like sabers, "whatever do you mean?"
A look of pure innocence slides onto Germain's face like a mask.
Bluff: 1d20+13
"Why Coca," she says, her eyelashes flashing like sabers, "whatever do you mean?"
"Yeah, what do you mean? I can't understand a word you're saying."
"I think maybe he said "don't have ta give me Demerol, operate, hurry", which would be amazingly brave of him, as operating on blood gorged extremities would be extremely painful, but I would have to honer his wishes."
*twitch*
"Well as fun and as tempting as it would be to slice you open Coca, this scene in here is pretty dead, just a bunch of dirty old peasants getting drunk," Germain says with a dismissive wave of her hand, her voice isn't exactly quite and those nearby won't need to strain too hard to hear her, "you on the other hand," she says pointing to Maccoy, "are clearly a man of learning, and we haven't run across too many of those in our journeys have we Coca? Show me your lab and operating room. I want so see where and what you work with."
Germain stands. She is a slight woman, she could easily pass for fourteen, but hearing her speak with her adult voice she seems suddenly a mature woman. She looks expectantly up at the others. Clearly she expects to be obeyed.
"Well," she says looking to the doctor, "let's get going."
The tavern fills with folks as time goes on.
"Well then, follow me. See you all tomorrow!" He waves goodbye to the other customers before walking out. "Now, my office ain't much, but it's better than those autodocs OMNUS "donated". Well, here we are." Maccoy opens the door, revealing a relatively clean room. The main fixture is a large table in the center of the room, a few faded bloodstains on it, although there is a desk and a few cabinets tucked away into the corner, and a door in the back.
The small office space fronts Russelville's front street. There is quite a bit of high-tech traffic on the road: big automated trucks, aircars. The small tavern hadn't had many robots, but there are a lot walking about everywhere else. Unlike a lot of the ambulatory mechs the party has come across, these bots look shiny and well-cared for.
Maccoy's small work area is tidy, but there is an air of delapidation to the space itself, as if the building was old and senile. Russelville seems to have been spared a lot of hardship and the buildings could date back pre-Shadow Years.
"Cool," Germain says as she walks into the room, "you got an Autodoc? What model? We had an A48-330 back home, we only used it for scrapes and stitches, very retro, but the design project lead for that model was Dr Olivia Alspean so we keep it around for sentimental reasons. She was one of the founders of our little community."
Germain walks over to the operating table. She looks at the blood stains with an unreadable expression.
"Got any old timey tools? Like a scalpel or bone saw? What about text books?"
Knowledge History DC 15:
DC 30:
"No, I don't have an Autodoc. You want an Autodoc, you go two doors that way. You want a doctor that won't rip your arm off if it has a malfunction, you come to me."
"Yeah, I have a scalpel. It's in with the rest of my supplies.", he says as he sets his black bag on the desk. "Text books? Yeah, I have a textbook." Maccoy sighs wistfully as he walks over to the cabinet. He opens it and takes a book from the top shelf with much reverence. "This book was my father's. It was his father's book before then. And one day, should I ever father a child, it will be their book."
"Wow," Germain says, "paper books! We have some books on microfilm but most are digital."
Although his skin keeps it angry reddish hue, the swelling subsides and reveals a sly grin: "Maybe yous as some tread an' da needle or some stapoes we can use on girly-girl's mouf."
"Uh oh," Germain says without looking up from the medical textbook, "sounds like it's seeped into his brain. Hydrocephalus would be my diagnosis. You up for a trepanation Doc?"
She glances over at Coca. A sinister smile creeps onto her face as she imagines drilling holes into the Cola man's skull. Then she glances back at the book.
"This is a very neat Maccoy," Germain says, "you like being a doctor? My mother loved this stuff. She loved helping people. She wanted me to take over for her but I never much cared for putting people back together. Besides I always liked field work, even with all those spider goats! There's something about hunting, the fear, the exhilaration, that sort of thing. I don't think I could stand settling down in some hick town, listening to hick problems, treating boring old hick disease. The only thing that would interest me about medicine is the battlefield injuries. Seeping wounds, shrapnel, mangled limbs, you know the good stuff, but that stuff is rare in sleepy little towns like this. That's why I hooked up with these guys. Figure if I was ever going to see the good stuff I'd need to be out in the field."
"Now, I just do this to help people..." Maccoy trails off as Germain continues, and he simply stares at her for several seconds once she stops talking, an uncomfortable silence filling the air. "I better put this back up." He suddenly takes the textbook back and carefully places it back on his shelf.
"Digital books, eh? Where the hell did you grow up, G?"
"Now, I just do this to help people..." Maccoy trails off as Germain continues, and he simply stares at her for several seconds once she stops talking, an uncomfortable silence filling the air. "I better put this back up." He suddenly takes the textbook back and carefully places it back on his shelf.
"So you were in the field before?" Germain notes, years of hunting people has made them very easy for her to read, "something bad happen?"
"Digital books, eh? Where the hell did you grow up, G?"
"A place called Gaea," Germain says, "we thought we were one of the last bastions of the human race but then I got word of these wreakers. Now I've been out hunting for them. I want to bring a few back home for our breeding program. We don't have any men there see. They keep dieing off. Real tragic, most don't last more then a year, it seems something down there is really disagreeable to them."
"We don't have any men there see. They keep dieing off. Real tragic, most don't last more then a year, it seems something down there is really disagreeable to them."
"No beer, eh?"
"Cocaman didun avta nah loca-girl long te reckon why derz narr a bruver in Gaea."
<Snorts pre-emptively at Germain.>
"Well we gonna sit in da house foreva or we gonna go eastwise to da massiv junkyawd?"
"Might as well," Germain says looking one last time around the office, "let's sell some stuff and get some info. You get tired of hanging out in this dump you might come with us Doc. We got a couple of bullet magnets here."
"Plus she's gonna needa doctor one hof dees days whun'ha banta gets ha smacked."
<Points a finger at Germain.>
"Snipah!"
Germain's demeanor switches in an instant. Suddenly she seems to be cute innocent a little girl again, those big doe eyes looking helplessly up at her companions.
Bluff:
"You wouldn't hit me would you?" Germain asks, as if all that tough talk earlier had been false bravado, and now seeming on the verge of tears, "I'm onwy widdle!"
"You wouldn't hit me would you?" Germain asks, as if all that tough talk earlier had been false bravado, and now seeming on the verge of tears, "I'm onwy widdle!"
"Spare da rod spoil da chile me momma aways jived."