sixthiterationlogs | (no subject)

WHO: Ravi Chakrabarti
WHERE: Hospital
WHEN: April 22
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: General illness/unhappiness of digestion
STATUS: Open!

Ravi hates everything.

No, that's too kind. Ravi loathes everything with the fires of hell layered upon teenybopper performances and CDC-firing bosses on top of that. Ever since he'd woken up from the morning after the feast, he's felt sort of off. Then, this morning, 'off' became the fiery guts of Dante's circles of hell, at least four through seven. He's trudged to the hospital on the auspices that he might work, but truthfully, as soon as he's arrived, he collapses face down on the nearest bed and manages to groan. Even that ends up hurting his body, peering out through blurry vision at a shape that seems to be coming in the door.

What he hasn't actually noticed is the rash, mainly because he's been so occupied with feeling miserable. He turns onto his back and stares at the too-bright ceiling, squinting as he drapes his arm over his eyes, wishing death upon himself.

"Why?" he complains, searching for something to drink because he doesn't even know what would make him feel better. He doesn't even know what it is, because this has no hallmark of food poisoning and he doesn't think this is a disease that he's seen before. Or maybe it is and he's just too discombobulated to actually tell what's going on.

He stares at the person, squinting and reaching out with a needy hand. "Please tell me you've come to put me out of my misery," he pleads.

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Beverly's lips twist. Either he's just not willing to believe her or he's so far into this fever that he won't remember this in the future.

"Yes, it's a perfect fairytale world where aliens exist, humans aren't exclusively born on Earth, and technology can heal almost anything," she continues in a tone that usually conveys a joke, all the while prepping the needle and disinfecting it. "If I lived in a world like that, why would I need to know how to use one of these?"

Which she clearly does, as she moves to find a vein in his arm to extract some of his blood. Not too much, but enough to hopefully provide something of an answer.

Ravi wants to live in a world where he has the option for space travel and time travel and the ability to hop between universes and meet aliens. He's met some of them here, but they were all disappointingly human-shaped, which means that he's still on the lookout for others.

"How come I meet all these space travelers and none of you look any different?" he complains, scratching at the bumps and hives on his neck. "It's not fair, I want to meet a proper alien. I deserve it, by now."

Hopping between universes is never all that it's cracked up to be, really. Beverly has had more than enough of dealing with that. And time travel? Don't even get her started. She'd just come back from a trip through time to deal with the Borg of all things. Honestly, she'd really rather be safe at home in her time and her universe.

Aliens, though, are terribly commonplace, though that term has become something of an improper term.

"Well, if I ever see one, I'll let you know," she says with barely-contained amusement as she moves to find the microscope. One step down, several to go. "Should I ask what you would do if you did meet one?"

"Probably just touch any different appendages," he admits. He's tired and fuzzy and the fever is likely making him say a few things that he wishes his tact would stop before they come tumbling out of his mouth, but here he is, unable to help himself. "Ask to take pictures, blood samples, other samples," he drones on, "The same as I would have for any of the Seattle zombies," Ravi says, not realizing what he's talking about.

The fever is definitely cooking his brain and later, he'll care, but right now, he's more concerned with his tongue. He sticks it out at Beverly, mindless of what he's just said. "Ith my tongue thwollen?" he asks, sticking it out at her. "Are there hives?"

It’s the mention of zombies that catches Beverly’s attention. She isn’t entirely sure if he means actual zombies or if it’s a pop culture reference a couple hundred years ahead of her time. What she does know is that it makes her think immediately of the Borg, the race of cybernetic zombies. Hivemind cybernetic zombies.

“Well, hopefully those guys don’t have a queen to follow,” she says casually. “I hear zombie queens aren’t very pleasant.”

It’s mostly true. She’s never met the Borg queen face-to-face, but she’s known people who have. And honestly? She never wants to be one of those people.

Ravi sticks his tongue out at her and she can’t help the laugh that bubbles up within her. It’s more than she expected, but then again he seems delirious. Chances are he won’t remember this when he’s back to normal. “Not that I can tell. Does it feel swollen?”

Ravi makes a noise and tries to think about whether there's a queen. "There's a douchebag would-be-king," he says with a disdainful wrinkle of his nose, "but I made him human again, so not a zombie anymore," he says, wishing that he could've left Blaine as he was, but he'd done far too much damage like that. He'd turned Liv, he'd killed Major, and he'd slept with Peyton.

He knows the last isn't the worst, but to Ravi, it sort of feels like it. "It feels too big in my mouth," he complains, "and dry. It's a very dry tongue."

"That's probably why it feels swollen," Beverly comments, barely looking up from her work. Her lips curl upwards with amusement, though. She likes Ravi normally, but this is almost hilarious.

"You did? How'd you manage that?" It almost sounds like the time Beverly had pioneered the techniques to return someone from their life as a Borg drone. If she had the right equipment, she could do it again easily. Well, maybe not easily but she could do it. Here, though? She doesn't expect to ever get that equipment and the surgery is delicate enough with it. She isn't sure she would dare try without.

So if a Borg drone ever turns up, they might be in deep trouble.

"It's still a work in progress, the cure doesn't work permanently. The subjects re-zombify unless you give them an additional cure, but that one causes memory loss," he rambles. "The initial change was biochemistry, tainted drugs mixing with an amped up energy drink that caused...well, it caused Night of the Living Dead," he rambles, reaching up to touch his tongue every once in a while, like he can't exactly believe that it's dry until he checks it, then understands yes, it's dry as he remembers.

"So it was just reverse-engineering the effects using similar ingredients and a lot of lab rats. Rat labs?" he squints. "Rat labs," he says confidently, through his cooked brain.

"That sounds familiar," she comments, doing her best not to laugh at the 'rat labs' part. He really is well and truly fried. Hopefully she can find a cure for this or she might start worrying about the permanent state of his mental faculties.

She had, after all, needed to learn the cybernetic ins and outs of the Borg drones in order to turn Locutus back to Jean-Luc. Many of those implants could never be removed, not without killing the patient, but she had done enough to save him and return him to the person he should be. Not a drone. She can still remember seeing him as a drone, turning that corner inside the cube to see him at the end of the corridor. The eye. The cybernetic implants across his face. Knowing, knowing, that he no longer was her best friend and captain. That he was likely lost forever. That his body would still function, but his mind was long gone.

A shiver runs down her spine that has nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

"Here, I think I've got something. Can you sit up for a few minutes so we can look at this?"

It's nothing, really. She doesn't have a cure or even a real reason why he's feeling like this, but she wants to focus on something that isn't the Borg. Or zombies. And maybe with two sets of eyes, even if one of them is a little off right now, they can come up with something.

Ravi grimaces at the question, but he thinks that if he doesn't, it's only going to get worse. He can practically feel his brain cooking and every moment that passes with him not getting the temperature down is a minute spent worrying about the damage it's doing. Well, it would be, but the fever is making him a touch stupid.

He nods, swallowing with a great deal of effort, and trying to take his mind off it. "What did you find?"[ ]

Beverly will worry about his fever enough for the both of them. She shifts to help him see what she's got. "Well, it's not much--" But it's better than worrying about zombies and the Borg, that's for sure.

Edited 2017-05-23 02:10 (UTC)