[Video/Action]

[chartom]

[If he were thinking clearly, Talbot would be approaching his first network transmission with a bit more finesse, restricting the communication to a voice or text message. But not only is he in a fix, he's fixated: if Drake or Sullivan were dragged down into this godawful place with him, he wants them to see his face; he wants them to experience the itching of a gaze on their backs every time they step outside.]

I need a surgeon. [The video feed is unreliable, but the splash of aged blood around the entry wound in his shoulder is hard to miss on the backdrop of his white shirt when it momentarily sputters into clarity. He tilts the screen up, putting his tired face into view.

There's a hiss of static, then:] --and I need information.

((OOC: If you're a castmate, your thread's probably going to get encrypted to prevent eavesdroppers!))

Comments

video

[totallytrustworthy]

[There's no mistaking that voice-- or that face. It's been burned into her memory like a brand after their last encounter with you. After all, getting shot squarely in the heart and striding up not even minutes later in perfect condition is a trick that would likely stump even the most talented magicians of the modern era.

The stress of the current situation has the better of her, (not to mention lack of sleep) and she responds more on impulse than thought.]

Shit.

Well there goes the neighborhood.

Encrypted video

[chartom]

[Familiar face, but not one of the two he'd hoped to snare here.

Talbot's eyebrows draw together in a moment of agitation, but then his expression relaxes into one of mild and pleasant surprise. As though he's addressing an old friend.]

Chloe Frazer.

There's a face I never expected to see again.

[totallytrustworthy]

[Oh lovely, he knows her name, too. She doesn't even know his, hardly seems fair. Not that from what she saw any of the Order played fair. Damned cultists.

Her poker face is pristine, (Talbot, even tallying in his cruelty, is still no Lazarevic, and she had almost a full year of practice feigning cool nerves around that powder keg.) inside, though, the gears are spinning at full speed.]

Was sort of hoping that'd be the case. No such luck it seems.

[Her gaze flicks down to the blood soaking his shirt.] That's one hell of a scratch you've got there.

[video]

[inwhichwar]

From the looks of things you need the surgeon first and the information thereafter.

[By now she's getting used to using the communications gizmo, which means she is poking buttons and talking at the same time, attempting to pin down his location.]

You have other injuries besides what one can see there, young man?

[Voice]

[uncalled_for]

I'm not a surgeon, but I can heal it. Where are you?

[Video]

[theconsummateconman]

Hey pal, you must be new!

[He taps his screen lightly hoping to clear the static-y picture, which actually seems to work. He smiles warmly at first, before his face falls into genuine concern.]

Whoa, kid. That's a helluva battle scar. I'd hate to see the other guy! Unfortunately I don't know of any surgeons around here. But I'm sure someone has to know, or have some useful skills to help. I wish I could offer more information on that front, but just... keep a constant pressure on it, hang in there. If I meet anyone who could help I'll be sure to let you know.

[Sully tips his brow and signs off. An inexplicable chill runs down his spine, but he shrugs it off after only a moment.]

[ video; oh hi roomie number one! ]

[obfuskate]

Tch... good luck. Receiving information about this world is much like pulling teeth from a great white.

[ He pauses, eyes on the wound. That looks, to put it lightly, pretty gruesome for a human. ]

I may be able to bandage that wound. It will do for now. [ It seems he's likely in the battlefield already, so he wouldn't be going too out of his way. Otherwise, he likely would just leave him there. Then again, if he could help this man, maybe he could use him somehow... ]

[chartom]

[Talbot's gaze slides lazily to his shoulder, and after a moment's pause, he chuckles. It's not an entirely sane sound, either, but she'll have to excuse him. Infection's setting in, after all. He's not at his most stable.]

I've a friend of yours to thank for that.

[His eyes on the screen again.]

I don't suppose you'd be willing to put him on the line.

[chartom]

[He might argue with the woman if logic wasn't on her side.]

None that matter. This one...has gotten out of my hands.

You're a doctor?

[chartom]

[He's more wary of the voice feed, as well as the suggestion that doctoring and healing are not one in the same.]

Underground. If the connection cooperates, I will attach my location.

[totallytrustworthy]

[What does that even mean. What the hell happened. Shit. Shit shit shit.]

What, that happened here?

[Nope. Ignoring that request because she's still trying to figure out which 'he'. There are three options, after all.]

[Voice]

[uncalled_for]

[Understandably so.]

Underground is a bit vast, if you haven't noticed. Are there any landmarks near you if you can't send the location?

[inwhichwar]

On my good days, yes. And it would do you good to apply some pressure to that wound, if a doctor may say so.

[Damn these network problems, anyway, as if the gizmo didn't give her enough headaches.]

From the look of things in the background there, and from you not being a dead man, I take it you are down here in the catacombs somewhere?

[Video]

[feel_nevermore]

I'm no surgeon but I might be able to help with that wound.

What kind of information?

[chartom]

[It's for the best, really, that Sullivan hangs up before Talbot channels sufficient rage to answer. And when he does, his fuse is so short that the cut feed has him flinging the computer down onto the cavern floor, raising his rifle from his side and putting a dart through it.]

[chartom]

[So many good Samaritans, but none quite like this. He has a good long, hard stare at his screen before answering.] It's an old wound. Bleeding's managed. Infection's not, I'm afraid.

[chartom]

I could use a directory of residents, if such a thing exists. [The girl's apparent age doesn't immediately inspire much confidence, but he's not about to turn away help at this point.] And if you can remove a bullet, I'm all yours.

[feel_nevermore]

[She quirks a quizzical eyebrow at that.] A directory of residents? [That's a peculiar request.] What for?

I can do that. Where are you?

[obfuskate]

The infection, then...

That much is simple for me to cure, if you are not squeamish.

[ Transferring some of his own blood, filled to the brim with antibodies and Chaos, would likely be able to prevent anything else from going on. He is the Ultimate Lifeform, after all. He was built to combat any infection, minor or major. ]

[chartom]

[She's clearly not very well informed.

Well then.]

I would reevaluate the company I kept if I were you, Ms. Frazer. Your health--and theirs--may depend on it.

[The feed ends.]

[totallytrustworthy]

[She has her mouth open to protest when the screen goes blank, and with the urge to say something still stuck in the forefront of her mind, all that comes out is one very frustrated]

Son of a bitch.

[video]

[alittlesweptup]

[The moment that static-ridden video feed of that smug face comes up, Charlie can feel his stomach drop and the urge to throttle someone to death rising. Heart over head: once given enough personal motivation, it's hard to tell himself to keep his head down.

No one would be surprised that he doesn't manage it here.]

So you do bleed, you bastard.

[chartom]

I am. But... [For the moment, the network seems to be cooperating. More or less.] I doubt you'll get far down here on a description of landmarks. I'll attach my approximate location, the connection willing.

[He shifts to lean forward over the keyboard, the motion stiff and unnatural.]

I'm not about to bleed to death. Wound's a few days old. It's the infection that worries me.

[inwhichwar]

Ach, well, better and better.

[The video feed on her end skips a few frames, then freezes completely as the audio shorts out, coming back to show her armed with a forearm crutch and a satchel of supplies.]

- biotic, at the least. Be so good as to try sending where it is you are and I shall come see to you.

[chartom]

Two lefts past the northernmost entrance, a right and then another left. Unfortunately, these walls don't offer much by the way of defining characteristics.

[He leans forward to enter a few keystrokes.

She will have received an approximate geocode by way of text message. But with the network as it is, who can say just how accurate the information will be.]

See if this doesn't give you a better idea.