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[molotov]

Who: Molotov and... other... people...
What: REVENGE OF THE WISH
When: Saturday, mid-morning
Where: Lobby and then the clinic lmao
Rating: uhhhhh PG?

Everything had been normal that morning. Molotov got up, had a cup of coffee, and gotten dressed. Exactly as every other day.

And, exactly as she did every other day, she left her room to go out to her reserve and feed the bears. They didn't stop eating just because it was the weekend.

She made it to the center of the lobby before it hit. Flashing light, blinding her before the explosions started. Molotov looked around frantically, out of habit, trying to find where the... grenades? bombs? cannons? were coming from. The sounds kept coming, and she couldn't see anything.

The pain set in, swift and harsh and blazingly unrelenting. Molotov grabbed at her head -- it was coming from inside, a foreign sensation. Her body didn't cause her pain, it took it, and yet here she was, unable to open her eyes against the agony and the deafening noise.

She fell to the ground and screamed.

[ OOC: Open for reaction, in prose or actionspam. Cross will be showing up to take her to the clinic ♥ ]

Comments

[echivoc]

Meanwhile, Cross is coming down to the lobby to head into town. He has his nose in the journal to see if anything interesting should be noted, but shuts it upon finding nothing fitting that criteria.

The scream hits his ears as soon as he lands in the lobby, catching his attention. A female in distress? What asshole did he have to kick around for causing such an unpleasant sound?

He moves over to the source of said distress and realizes it is Molotov. What in the world?!

"Mol. Molotov." He grabs her shoulders to look at her face.

[molotov]

Molotov knew someone was grabbing her. She could feel that. She could hear her name over the roaring in her head, though it was muffled enough that she couldn't discern who it was.

It wouldn't have mattered anyway; she couldn't think at all. Drills in her brain -- it felt like drills in her brain, stopping her from doing anything but shrieking in pain and clutching her head.

For probably the first time in her entire life, Molotov was genuinely afraid she might die. On the floor, in tears from pain.

How embarrassing.

[echivoc]

Wow, what, or who, the hell set her off? This is so unlike her, and he wonders if this is a passing episode from...something, or if it the castle at work.

Come to think of it, Cross would indeed chalk it up to the castle causing this hysteria. He doubts Brock would infuriate Molotov enough for her to be shrieking in the lobby of the castle like a scared child.

He figures making any moves and shuffling her around wouldn't be good without some sort of warning, whether she can hear him or not. He would rather not get punched for suddenly hoisting her in the air, so, "Molotov, it is Cross. I am going to pick you up, okay?"

[molotov]

Through sheer will, Molotov manages to crack her eye open. She manages to focus it on Cross long enough to register that there is someone here, and it's a good someone, and really, that's all she cares about. That no one is going to kill her while she's incapacitated.

That's about the end of her capabilities. She closes her eye and groans, her knuckles white from the grip she has on her own cranium.

[echivoc]

Oh, hey! She looked at him! That is more than good enough for the General, to be honest.

With that settled, he slides an arm under her legs and one around her shoulders. He cannot help but notice just how white her knuckles are from such a tight grasp as he stands up. Damn, what the hell is this condition called that incapacitates someone in such a way?

Quickly he rules out waiting for the elevator — it would mean less movement for her, yes, but that would mean more time waiting there and whatever is going on with her plaguing her. And it would be awesome (read: infuriating) if the castle decided to pull its trapped-in-the-elevator trick.

So, the stairs it shall be.

Thank goodness the clinic is only a floor above them right now.

A flight of stairs later and he is using his booted foot to knock on, or down, the damn door. (Unless the doors are automatic. If they're automatic, then he won't kick them down. They will throw him off for a moment because automatic doors...)

Okay, who does he know that's usually up here... Ino, the guy who played the piano at Molotov's wedding — House, he thinks? He just remembers his name was a building. — and his idiot apprentice, maybe.

[atrophied]

Watch the doors automatically slide open! Just because doors like one-upping people who would kick them for no good reason.

The moment he sees them, House zeroes in on Molotov. Getting up, he points to a nearby gurney.

"Put her there. What happened?"

[echivoc]

Damn! Cross enjoys kicking doors. Way to ruin his fun...

He moves right to where House indicates, setting her down as he answers the question, "Like hell if I know. I was coming down the stairs and she was screaming on the lobby floor."

[molotov]

When Cross sets her down, Molotov rolls onto her side, curled tightly into the fetal position. Her head is bleeding now from her nails digging into her scalp, but that's not anything she can even notice right now.

Unfortunately, she's not capable of giving any helpful details. She can scream and groan though. That's helpful, right? Sure it is!

[atrophied]

Cross is useless and as long as Molotov continues screaming, she is equally useless. He doesn't bother asking her anything. Instead, he gives her an injection (hydromorphone; 0.2 mg) and waits for any change.

"Was she responsive when you found her?"

[echivoc]

You're welcome on double the uselessness.

"Sure, if you consider her making eye contact with me before I picked her up responsive," Cross retorts. Oh, yeah, he has to let Mr. Cocktease know what's going on in a moment.

Well, more like just tell him where Molotov is, at least, because he still has no idea what's causing her to be like this.

[molotov]

It takes a moment or two for the injection to work, and when it does, it's the light and noise that fades back first. The headache dulls from fire poker hot to more of just a thumping and dull roar, tolerable, at least compared to what it was.

Molotov doesn't care at all what they're talking about, or what needs to be known. She just wants to feel better.

"More," she manages to croak, eye opening just a tiny bit to glance around.

[atrophied]

"What happened?" To make the idea of answering more enticing, he adds, "Tell me and you can get the really good stuff. This will wear off."

[echivoc]

Oh, sweetheart, now is the time to start caring so Dr. Drug Lord over here can dose you up once more. He stays silent, arms crossed against his chest as he waits for Molotov to solve this mystery for them — at least partially, if not fully.

[molotov]

She swallows hard, trying to make words into a coherent sentence that isn't just 'MEDICINE NOW RARRRGH'.

"Explosions, like grenades," she says, "but I couldn't see them. And hot drills in my head."

[atrophied]

As he speaks, he's listing diagnoses mentally. Those that don't fit see themselves summarily discarded; the others rearrange themselves fluidly in order of likelihood as he finds out more.

"Entire head or somewhere specific?"

[molotov]

"Behind my eye, mostly?"

It's questioning. The pain was so intense and sudden that she didn't get much a chance to think about where it was localized. But that's what the core was, she's certain.

[atrophied]

That give shim his theory. Treatment will prove his diagnosis. While he gets what he needs, he complains loudly.

"Walker better be dying wherever the useless ponce is."

Returning, he hooks Molotov to an IV drip. Through one of the connectors, he supplies her with Sumatriptan. "This will stop your headache," and as he prepares the Ativan, "and this will let you sleep through it while it works."

[molotov]

"Thank you," she says, rolling over to more easily accommodate an IV. "Do you know what this is?"

[atrophied]

"I'll know in about fifteen minutes. See you when you wake up." He tosses the used syringe. Turning to Cross, he asks, "You going to tell her husband?"

[echivoc]

Cross lifts up the journal in his hand, "Already on it. Having fun making my idiot apprentice suffer?"

[atrophied]

"He doesn't know the meaning of the word yet." He's supposed to be doing this while House sits back and criticizes. With the sedatives he gave Molotov, she will need constant monitoring for respiratory depression.

It's boring as hell and thus Allen's job.

"Make yourself useful. Help me wheel her to the back."

[molotov]

This is exactly the point at which Molotov feels the medicine kick in. Oh, that's nice, someone is going to tell Samson and something about zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

[echivoc]

Wow, that sounds boring as hell. Definitely right up Allen's alley.

Cross rolls his eye at House, but does come back over to the gurney to help the doctor move it.

[atrophied]

Once out of the way, House draws the curtains around the bed for privacy. His movements are efficient as he sets up the monitors. The last thing he does is slide the nasal cannula into place.

Lack of bedside manner aside, he's not planning on losing any patient.

"You going to stay here?"

[echivoc]

Good, because Cross really does not feel like dealing with a rampaging Brock if Molotov gets worse somehow in here, and he doubts House wants to deal with an angry buffoon husband, either.

"No, but I will be back later. Let me know if you need anything else before I come back."

[atrophied]

His tone is dry. "Like a mallet for Mr. Cocktease's head?"

[echivoc]

"You'll need a gun that shoots sedatives if you call him that," Cross retorts.

[atrophied]

"And you have that?"

[echivoc]

He scoffs. "If only. I certainly have a mallet, but it is generally reserved for the idiot apprentice. I do have a giant coffin and can stop him if he lunges for either of us, though."

[atrophied]

A giant coffin. You know what, he's not even going to ask. "Sounds good."