Log:The Road to Recovery: Failed Flight from the Cuckoo's Nest

Failed Flight from the Cuckoo's Nest

OOC Date: April 22, 2016
Location: Medical Lab, D'qar
Participants: Hex, Gerratt, Jax Greystorm (as Kort), Ambrosia Greystorm, (also 'Alk')

Nodding slightly Gerratt Types and hits enter. The thing starts to sing "Meeeee To-" Before it's slammed with a fist, causing it to switch from R&B to a comical Gungan accent. "Toosa. isa painin da assa sitting in da cells witha da F-Osa (reposed this glory for Amber)

Hex is trying really hard to write 'Fuck' left handed, when Gerratt's datapad suddenly alters its mischief, and switches from its groovy autotuning to the Gungan accent. Hex looks up in alarm, and there's a quick up-down-up as he glances from Master Sergeant to evil technology once more. A pause just draaaaaaags out and teeters over the precipice of awkward before he uncertainly suggests, "What if... what if you um, what if you hit it again."

Watching Hex write, Gerratt nods then looks at the datapad as he mentions hitting it again. Nodding slightly, he smashes his fist into the screen once more then hesitantly types and hits enter. An exxageratedly sultry phone sex style female voice begins speaking loudly. "Mmmmm....Let's See wha-" and again Gerratt is slamming it against the side of Hex's bed trying to get the thing to shut up.

'Fuck the' ... Hex was trying to write Fuck the First Order, probably, but then there's phone sex voice. "No!" he gasps in horror, but probably not more horror than Gerratt is experiencing, given that he's now doing his best to just break the offending device in half. Uniquely unable to just get up and flee at the moment, Hex's lekku draw back further. But still no less devotion, in that guilt/wariness/devotion combo! "We can get you a new one! There has to be a new one somewhere! You don't have to talk sexy forever!"

Looking at Hex for a moment, Gerratt looks at the thing tablet and frowns before he slowly bends the thing in half, sets it carefully on the floor, and pours a glass of water on it. All done very calmly before he reaches into a table drawer and comes out with a pad of paper and a pen. "Fuck it. I'll write."

Hex watches the affair with the bending, the rending, the pouring of holy water to kill the demons, and then waits, and peers at the next results of what Gerratt's written this time. "It deserved to die," he agrees, solemnly.

Nodding slightly, Gerratt writes. "Exactly. it did not know who it was fucking with." Watching Hex for a moment, he continus to write. "Whose idea was it to come get me?"

"We didn't know you were there." Hex, you could have made the Resistance sound a little more awesome than that! "There was a weird shrine on Felucia, a star map there. Felicia was on the map. Next, Sullust. So we went to Sullust. When shit started going down they all started saying 'they are coming for the prisoner' and it was the first evidence we'd got that you were alive."

Ambrosia Greystorm, patient 2173-AG, has reached her twelve hour milestone of 'wakefulness'. Her mental faculties have yet to be fully inventoried though, as a fair amount of sedative was still administered because that first night among the living was a rough one. Her comatose slumber was broken by interludes of hoarse screams and sobs, each time growing more violent in attempts to wrench free of the unyielding restraints before eventually quieting in response to her husband's touch - or children's - when her mind caught up to present time, away from whatever nightmare she thought she was trapped within.

And if it was rough for her, it was moreso for the youngest of the Greystorm brood. There's a time in every kid's life when they realize their parent is not the invincible force of nature they thought they were. That reality check is now for Wedge, watching his mother coming unhinged in a way that didn't involve legitimate anger. Didn't take him long to retreat back to the ship and help himself to Kort's 'secret' stash.

Following that rough night was a sullen morning. No more yells, no more wailing about like a caged animal. Just quiet. Quiet and deliberate stares at the ceiling, or her feet. Either she's too tired to struggle anymore or has finally resigned to reality. Now though, her eyes do at least shift focus turning /just/ a hair around the obnoxiously hovering Alk to address the hilarity of technological failure with an emotionless blink. Seriously. Was the Resistance scraping the bottom of the barrel in all purchases?

Nodding slight;y, Gerratt nods. He actually seemed to feel a little better with that knowledge. After a moment, he writes. "You have a long road ahead of you Hex. But, for better or worse, I'll be there to help you out. i suppose you could take that as a warning Corporal."

A voice aged from a life time of war gruff and a bit harsh Corellian but with a the ocassional word sounded almost in Alderaanian in pronoucation says to Alk, "Leave her be or I'll have you repurposed as a paper weight, piece by piece. " Kort was sitting with a data pad in his hands next to his wife's bed. He doesn't stop looking at the datapad as he pulls a Dl-44 holstered under one shoulder and sits it on the table (and out of Ambrosia's reach) as if to prove a point. Then a little sound emits from the data pad. "Look at that Sabbac."

Hex glances up and over to where Amber is. Buddy!! But they haven't been awake much, either of them, and not awake at the same time yet - Kort is there to keep her company, so he glances back to Gerratt, and nods. Looks back down at his tablet, but hasn't written anything past the terribly scrawled 'fuck the' yet. "If you knew you couldn't win - but fighting was the right thing to do, the only thing to do - you'd still fight, right?"

Watching Hex for a long moment, Gerratt offers another of those half smiles and writes. "Corporal, there is no such thing as can't win. if you're breathing, you're still in the fight weather you want to be or not. So yeah. even if i think I can't win, I keep going."

"This is a pertinent question," Alk addresses the retired Major with all the superiority his station grants him. "Major," Alk turns to the still-employed one, nerve-tweaking voice commanding her attention. "Your age. Can you tell me how old you are, if you know the year to be 1108? This is a pertinent question." Yes, yes...they were all 'pertinent' questions. A way to see if what came back to them was more than an empty, useless shell to be put out to pasture. Ambrosia knows this game. She flicks a glance to Kort's datapad, or as much as she can see from her low incline.

Numbers are hard. They always were, math was never her 'thing' - too abstract - but now she finds herself stuck on the question, unable to calculate an answer. It's easy! Subtract /that/ date from today's, add 20 years...but still the answer eludes her. The feeling of it lingering juuuuust outside her grasp of forming the word though is enough to set off that spitfire temper. At least some aspects of her personality haven't changed! "We're done here," she growls with an angry flash in her eyes."

"Patient 2173-AG is displaying an inordinate degree of belligerence. Given the quality of her baseline behavior pre-admittance, it is difficult to ascertain whether or not this is a side effect of her brain's condition," retorts Alk into his self-recording device, for medical record of course, to show Sesti as proof of his abuse.

"I hate you," whispers the Major, watching Alk coldly from around the assortment of instruments on the tray he'd wheeled over earlier. Poking and prodding her feet. One toe jumped in response, so that was a

Hex glances over toward Amber again. The questions! The questions! Hex knows the Questions too, the endless questions, the frustration of being asked them... the shame and increased frustration of getting them wrong... the poking of toes. Sure, look at the show off over there with ten of them! She's on her own with Alk, while he nods at what Gerratt is telling him, scratching an unhappy blotch of a doodle on the tablet. "I thought so. I'm still breathing. All of us. We're breathing. In and out."

Hex glances over toward Amber again. The questions! The questions! Hex knows the Questions too, the endless questions, the frustration of being asked them... the shame and increased frustration of getting them wrong... the poking of toes. Sure, look at the show off over there with ten of them! She's on her own with Alk, while he nods at what Gerratt is telling him, scratching an unhappy blotch of a doodle on the tablet. "I thought so. I'm still breathing. All of us. We're breathing. In and out."

Kort looks up at Ambrosia and to Alk, "SHe hates numbers. You got to start with things she knows. Amber cards are in a full house and what's in a idiot array?" He says and reaches out to hand her the datapad, "You want to play a game? I'm wrecking Wedge's topscore." He says patting her arm. "And yeah you fight." He seems to say to Hex.

Nodding to hex quietly, Gerratt hands him his coffee before writing once more. "Don't look at the big picture right now Hex. Work out to the big picture. I broke my back once in a HALO jump. too much HA- and not enogh LO. Docs said I wouldn't walk again. i spent a couple months depressed, then got on with the job. i don't suggest the depression. It sucks, and your favorite Holovids get boring quickly."

"I can think of a few things," Ambrosia mutters in response to Kort, still eyeing the 2-1B. Yup. Frontal lobe's proooobably in tact. She closes her eyes, swallowing back saliva. Food cart's comin...and something smells intensely good. Clearly, it's a trap. "And idiot..." she answers tentatively and silently tries to work out the rest. "...six. No. S..." Her upper lip twitches. It's a 2 and a 3, dammit. A 2 and a 3. Why the hell does she keep saying "Six."

Alk watches the exchange silently, no doubt making notes. The Major sighs and shakes her head before reaching with a wobbly hand to take the data pad. It's slow going, but she gets a grip on it, forearms mobile at least, even if her uppers are still tethered in place. "Not yet," Alk interjects and swivels his head to face Kort. "I've just been notified that the tank is clean and ready. You're due for your final treatment."

Hex nods, nods to Gerratt, nods to Kort, spiraling the black blotch a little larger. "We're still breathing, so - so it's alright. Just got to pick up the pieces. And do a lot of physical therapy. Rake said it's just a man. The shadow's just a man." Well, he was lucid for a while there, but seems to be slipping a little bit into a mind state where the present is blurring with the unhappy past. "Just a man. If it's just a man he can bleed, and if he can bleed he can die, just a man, men can die -" He sets down the stylus and stops, making a visible effort to pull himself together. Caf. Caf is good. He accepts, draws a breath, switching subjects to offer Amber best wishes for her last dunk. "Good luck."

Kort nods, "Rest Easy kid. If the Sarge don't got it. I'll finish off his heavy lifting like a glory seeking space jocky." He sighs and giving Alk a look saying he shared his wife's hatred." He turns to Ambrosia, "I'll be here when you get back."

Hex's rambling distracts Ambrosia from protesting Alk's latest order. Her brows furrow just a tad. She's listening, fixated on something outside her personal bubble. This is something Alk also finds noteworthy.

Shadows...'the' shadow...that evil thing lurking in the dark recesses of their memories. The darkness that infiltrates and feeds on one's actions...on the hate. "It's not just a man," she murmurs, dropping her gaze to stare at her lap and pretend that she doesn't notice Alk loosening the claws that grip her arms. "It gets inside..." Her right hand points, wavering over the scar that streaks between breasts under that gown. Her left hand offers Kort his datapad back. "You just gotta make up your mind of how you're going to live with it. Resist the urge...or give in."

• Click* releases the last restraint, and before Alk can start moving her bed, she makes a snatch at Kort's DL-44.

It's just a man. It's OK! Gerratt and Kort and Rake say it's just a man, and they'll stop it if it appears, and all of them seem like they're pretty tough. It's ok! It's just a man! Until... there's super helpful Amber, alerting Hex to the fact that the "shadow" is NOT just a man, nope. It gets inside. It gets inside, with all that darkness and hate. And all you can do is live with it, because it's never, ever going away. Monitors beep in alarm as Hex's heart rate spikes! "We're all going to die," he decides, looking around the lab in sudden fear, like he's wondering when the building is going to be on fire and falling down, like the last building they were in. "We can't get out. We can't get out!" Panic! His left hand reaches out and just yanks at a fistful of tubes and wires that definitely had a more complicated removal process than that, alarms start beeping, and orderlies rush in to take charge of their patient. There is some flailing and some incomprehensible shouting in Ryl, but it's nothing sedatives can't handle! Within a few minutes, he's been quieted, and retreats back to uncertain dreams while the medics start putting all that crap right again. He'll probably wake up in an e-collar.

On her best day his wife was more agile than him, and he was a retired fighter pilot. He reaches over snatching up the blaster. "Uh-uh. You'd probably hit Hex or me. I know we're acceptable losses. But then your daughter in law would have more work and be grumpy too." Then Hex is freaking out and orderlies are are arriving and doctors are coming. He sighs sitting back rubbing his temples.

Fortunately for Alk, Ambrosia's coordination is currently shit. Instead of grabbing the blaster, which Kort quickly rescues, she knocks past and sends a juice cup to its death, splattering across the floor. All to the tune of a frustrated snarl. "Let me out!" Her voice adds to the madness as poor Hex teeters at the edge of his sanity...and maybe cardiac arrest.

Alk takes this opportunity of spared fortune to administer a hefty dose into her line, thereby eliminating the need to get within arm's reach, since Kort seems content to let his wife run the course of her rampage, risking precious droid lives!

Ambrosia twists back around just in time to witness the 'poisoning' and she makes a last ditch effort to free herself, likewise tugging at the smaller web-of-life entangling her limbs. Much to her dismay, lurching forward into a seated-ish position HURTS and sends a whole new wave of fire down her legs, which are much to slow in responding to her commands. In the end, the Major drapes halfway melted off the bed, one arm sprawled on the floor, one still pinned under her hip. Drooling.

Fight while there's still breath, right? She was just trying to be a good rebel...and a terror of a patient.