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WHO: Ravi Chakrabarti
WHERE: Outside Ravi's House
WHEN: February 4th
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Lightning Storm
STATUS: Open

The auroras and the lightning have seemed harmless. It's beautiful, of course, but Ravi's so occupied with the science behind this place that he doesn't even pay much mind to what's in the sky. It's just another component of what might be a simulation. Then, all of a sudden, the lightning isn't so pretty when it's getting close enough to scare him to death, stealing sleep away from Ravi. It's put him on edge, obviously, he'd be an idiot not to be, but what he hadn't been expecting was for things to continue on in this general bad direction.

He'd been cleaning up from some tests on the local foliage (using spring water to see what growth rates it could yield) when suddenly, his house explodes, a concussive blast that forcibly knocks him off his feet, one of the front walls having burst in. Not just that, but there are singed wires in the walls exposed, on fire, and it takes him a moment to realize what's just happened.

His hair is practically standing on end, the particles around him so supercharged, and he knows, right this moment, that his house has been struck by the sort of intense lightning that causes this sort of damage. It's paranoia and true fear that sends him skittering out of the house, bundling up a bag of whatever he can grasp, rushing outside and tripping in his clumsy struggle to escape before another bolt can hit and kill him, the way it had done to Ren.

He ends up curled up on the ground, his possessions around strewn around him, and all logic and sanity goes out the window as he curls up in the fetal position, hands protecting his head as sparks start to shoot off his skin. "I have lived through too much shit to die like this," he moans out loud, rocking a little. "If I'm cooked to a crispy Chakrabarti, make sure someone commemorates me with a beautiful drawing." Internally, he adds, and please, please don't let anyone turn me into a charred zombie.

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Being a cop and tending to someone after a random lightning strike are two very different skill sets, in Ravi's opinion, but seeing as he's currently benefiting from said skills, he's not in any rush to dismiss them and do anything but take advantage of what's being offered to him. "I'm likely in shock," he admits, tipping his head to the side so that he can take his pulse.

"That's racing, but so long as it keeps beating, we can avoid a cardiovascular event," he says, taking in three long, deep breaths. "I think I'm fine. I think it's just anxiety and panic and shock."

"Are you a doctor?" Sonny asks, and it doesn't sound challenging or skeptical, but genuinely curious. He knows Helen's a doctor, but he figures there's never an over-abundance of health care professionals in a situation such as this one.

Still, they have bigger things to worry about right now. Like salvaging what they can of the burning house. He thinks it's small enough and seems to be slow-burning enough that they should be able to keep it from getting out of control, at the very least. Might be able to save most of what's inside, too.

"Do you have neighbors? We need a place to get water and the river might be too far away."

"Dr. Ravi Chakrabarti," he introduces himself, extending a very trembly hand, which is probably not at all a very confidence-inspiring handshake, but now is not the time for power handshakes and man struggles about proving who's got bigger balls by virtue of squeezing fingers. "We can go to the inn," he says, because it'll likely be the closer. "It's only about a few houses down that way," he says, which he thinks is accurate? He knows confusion can often happen after lightning strikes, but that's to a person, not to a home."

"Yes, the inn," he says, more solidly.

"Nice to meet you," Sonny says, still just a bit breathless from having sprinted over. "I mean, minus the circumstances. I'm Detective Sonny Carisi."

Normally, he doesn't introduce himself to people with the title, not if he isn't at work. He doesn't really feel the need to. But it gives him a sense of familiarity right now, just like coming to Ravi's aid does. And a sense of familiarity in their overall current situation is something Sonny craves like nothing else.

"The inn," Sonny echoes. "That's good, that's really good. They'll probably have buckets and containers to carry the water in, too. C'mon." He gets to his feet, extending his hand to help Ravi up.

Ravi feels completely unsteady, even if it had been a close call. He's physically fine, but the problem is that his house isn't. "Wait," he says sharply. "Wait, no, we can't go, not yet," he says, because while the little fires from the strike are slowly dying away, they're not gone and he has a lot of equipment and materials in there that he doesn't want to see consumed by fire.

"We need to put those out," he says, of the dying blazes. "I might not have a home anymore, but I can't lose what I do have."

Sonny hesitates, already half-turned towards the direction of the inn. He'd really like to put out the worst parts of the fire, keep it from spreading any further and potentially damaging any other nearby houses. But he also understand the desire to salvage what little they have here, what few things they've been given.

"I hope you have some stomping boots, then," Sonny says, moving towards the house instead. "Let's put this thing out."

There are certainly a few curtains in the house that Ravi has no care about losing, so even though he's shaky and a little wary about setting foot back in that house, he knows that he'll do it because he doesn't want to lose his things. He yanks down the curtains and starts to smother the fires, keeping an eye on his possessions carefully, not wanting them out of sight.

"Careful," he warns Sonny, "there's a lot of medical equipment here, it's very important we don't ruin it."

"I hear you," Sonny says, and the words paired with his harsh accent might sound rude if his tone wasn't so sincere. He understands not wanting to lose the few things they have here, especially when those things are as important and potentially life saving as medical equipment. Of course, he can't make heads or tails of any of it, unsure what each piece does, what it's used for, but he takes Ravi's word for it.

Ravi uses the curtains, and Sonny uses his shoes to put out the smaller blazes, ones that have traveled down to the carpet and along the baseboards.

Ravi feels worn and tired and like every muscle in his body is screaming, which is probably from shock and also being on a heightened panic alert, but by the time he watches the last flame turn into smoke, he collapses in mild relief, clutching some of his possessions to his chest (namely the microscope and some of his oranges, rotting away for penicillin purposes).

"I don't know whether I should eke it out and stay," he says, collapsed on the floor. "What would you do?"

Sonny's tired too, though his is less from shock and more from sprinting halfway across the village and frantically help put out a lightening strike fire. There's soot on his boots and he's sweating from the heat of the flames, despite the fact that it's relatively cool outside. He, too, sits down on the floor, catching his breath and looking at the lingering smoke.

"There's a good amount of fire damage and not a whole lot of materials to fix it with," Sonny says, glancing over. "There's still empty houses in town. If it were me, I'd find somewhere else."

Ravi manages to struggle to his feet, bending over halfway to peer through the hole in the wall. "I mean, from a scientific standpoint, this is incredible," he admits, because even as shaken as he is, there's something wild about getting to see this, "that amount of energy colliding with a non-conductive structure..." He trails off, wondering if their controlled environment is playing with them. More than that, he has to wonder if maybe there's something in the ground that they're missing.

Maybe it's even part of the structure keeping them trapped? He's a little too out of it to really consider that, but it's a thought he shelves aside. "Maybe I'll spend one last hurrah here," he allows. "I hope it's not me the lightning was after. I'd hate to wreck two homes."

Sonny looks at Ravi with a fair amount of apprehension, thinking that maybe somebody suffering from shock should probably sit down for awhile longer, and maybe drink more Long Island Iced Tea, but only because there's no water on hand. However, he's not the medical expert here, so he remains quiet on that.

"Yeah, I'm not much of a science person, but uh--" he waves a hand in the general direction of the damage. "Lightning's cool, I guess."

Mostly, he thinks it's causing a lot more trouble than it's worth, and these weather patterns probably aren't natural ones. Though he's not sure how man-made weather patterns would work either. He really isn't a science person.

"It shouldn't be interacting this closely, this often," is Ravi's point, put more plainly. Nothing here makes sense, but this is science, which is supposed to empirically follow a set of rules that have proven by various other sources and are widely accepted as true. If science can't even be trusted here, then what on earth sort of backwards world are they in?

"I've got alcohol in here somewhere," he says, thinking that now is the time to crack into the remaining absinthe, if ever there were an excuse. "Have you seen the bottle?"

"Oh," Sonny says, and he actually sounds sincerely enlightened, like he not only understood that better, but also learned from it, and even found it interesting. There are several reasons he's thirty years old and has just recently finished up some higher-level education: he really does enjoy learning, even about subjects he doesn't particularly excel at.

"Uh." He glances around, still in his sitting position. Since's nothing's blown up, he has to assume it wasn't near any of the fires. "I don't see it, but now that I'm thinking about it, you can keep that bottle of Long Island Iced Tea. I'm not gonna drink it."

Ravi doesn't often drink, but right now, he thinks he could find just about anything and make it worth his while, given how shaky and out of it he feels. "This is awful," he complains, peering at the hole in his wall. True, he hadn't been struck by lightning, but this is his home. It shouldn't be torn to bits like this.

Sighing, he looks around for his things. "I don't suppose you'd like to be a good Samaritan a little longer and help me with these things?"

Sonny's still peeking around the room, trying to find the liquor among the the mess of that the lightning strike has left in his wake. He looks over at Ravi's question, and honestly, the smile he gives is probably all the answer needed.

"Of course," he says. "I don't mind helping at all, man."

Truthfully, there's probably nothing Sonny would love more. Helping people is what he's good at and what he enjoys, and the only good thing about this place is that there's always somebody needing a hand.

"I'm thinking that I should box them up, so when the time comes for me to wheedle my friends into letting me stay with them, I already have the boxes ready." As to what they should take, it really comes down to anything not bolted down. "There's a bunch of stuff lying around, you can just start putting it in boxes."

"If it looks like molding oranges, they're meant to be that way," he clarifies. "Experiment, and all."

"I'm sure you won't have to wheedle," Sonny says idly, getting to his feet and beginning to gather things up. "I mean, these houses have plenty of room in them, I'm sure you'll find someone who's willing to share."

And, Hell, despite the two of them being practically strangers, Sonny would offer up his spare room. It's not as if he's doing anything with it, and he wouldn't mind the company, truthfully. But he's sure Ravi has plenty of friends who would readily offer up a space for him after such a traumatizing disaster.

"Molding--" He pauses, glances over his shoulder. "What kind of experiment involves molding oranges?"

"One that might save your life," Ravi calls over his shoulder in the aggressively friendly tone of a man who's used to being asked that very same question about plenty of his strange little collections. He's using this as a distraction to keep his hands busy, grateful for the ability to keep everything working, but knowing it won't last entirely long.

"I've got a few friends who can tolerate me for a while, hopefully long-term," he says with a knowing nod. "I'll infringe on their time and space," he assures confidently.

Sonny is not a science man, and he's not sure how molding oranges might save his life at any point. Kill him, maybe, if he were to ingest them. He's fairly certain mold isn't good for your body. But, being the inherently trusting person that he is, he's more than willing to give Ravi the benefit of the doubt and believe him when he says it. So he shrugs, and begins to put things into boxes, keeping a special eye out for the molding oranges.

"Good," Sonny says, still occupied with the cleaning up. "I think it's nicer to have company anyway, you know? Living alone can get really... well, lonely."

"I used to be really hard to get along with," he admits, but then, a lot of the things that made him an awful roommate don't exist here, given that he can't crank the volume of his television and play video games all day long. Really, the most he can do is be a productive member of society.

"Where are you staying, then? I assume a rowdy group of hooligans, if you're the type to enjoy company?"

Sonny laughs a little, and if he were a less positive person, it might sound bitter. But he's not, so it only sounds just a little bit sad instead, a tiny bit disappointed. Bitter is something he saves for rough cases at work, not the idea of living alone.

"I wish. I'm staying at a house right near the inn, by myself. I thought about staying at the inn, but figured I'd leave those rooms for someone who needs them more than I do." He pauses, just a beat. "I'm from New York, so even living alone isn't really living alone, because it's always noisy there. It's so quiet here all the time. It drives me crazy."

"If you want, I can come around your place and start banging on anything just to make you feel more at home," Ravi offers. "I've been told that my singing voice is abysmal, I could probably run through the whole recording of Les Mis and have you throwing something at my head around act 1," he jokes, glad to get his mind off the lightning and how close he'd come to being Crispy Fried Ravi.

"I would pay you to do that," Sonny laughs. "You know, if we had money around here." Truthfully, he wouldn't mind somebody making a ruckus in his house, even if it was the whole recording of Les Mis. It wouldn't be unlike hearing the neighbors through the thin walls of his apartment. It wasn't so pleasant when he was in law school and up late studying, but he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. Especially now.

He misses money, which is a weird thing to think, but it's true. There's something reassuring about putting in a crap day's work knowing you'll get something out of it. Here, you put in a long day's work and you come home knowing that you might get to live another week, which isn't exactly high on the list of things that cheer him up, truthfully.

"One day," he guarantees. "Maybe I'll save it for a special occasion."

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