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Post by Spinister on Nov 6, 2010 18:13:02 GMT -5
Spinister has provided cover for the courier to escape? Blast, that's backwards!
He thinks about Perceptor's words, and he pulls out one business card and scrap of flimsiplast. With a shaking hand, he copies over the contact information on Innana's card to the the flimsiplast, in that same glitter purple gel ink. Then, he adds a frequency. It's not his frequency. It's an old Iacon police band. He gave that line to Kup, too. It amuses Spinister, and he listens to it when he has reason. He waves the flimsiplast in the air to dry it and then sets it down on the table with the package, pointing to the contact information and explaining, "She treated me. Don't know if she'll be friendly to you. I saved someone she knew."
He does not explain the frequency.
Spinister doesn't trust Perceptor any farther than he can throw him, and sick as he is, he isn't throwing Perceptor anywhere. However, the scientist is all but begging to be haunted, and Spinister just can't pass that up.
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Post by Perceptor on Nov 7, 2010 19:19:19 GMT -5
Perceptor is already haunted. What's one more ghost in the machine? He accepts the flimsiplast with a very subtle nod. "Understood. Thank you," he replies. Oh, he's certain that the frequency isn't Spinister's own; even trusting as he is, Perceptor doesn't give his own out to Decepticons. Well, not his current one, but he has his old compromised one he can hand out if necessary. He ponders it for a moment before deciding against. If he needs to contact Spinister, he'll go through Shockwave, as planned.
"I will be in touch." There isn't much more than he can say, so he turns back to his interrupted autopsy, pulling on a pair of fresh gloves and flipping his clear face shield back down. His tools back in hand, he stares down at the laid-open body, pausing for a moment before continuing his examination.
"I'm sorry."
He isn't even looking toward the door, but the words are obviously meant for Spinister. Decepticon or not, Perceptor had no right to assume the worst without anything but purely circumstantial evidence to support his ideas.
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Post by Spinister on Nov 8, 2010 1:27:14 GMT -5
Spinister refrains from replying, 'You certainly are,' to Perceptor's admission that he's sorry, but he is very sorely tempted.
As he rolls out - it's slow going for him, anyway - he asks instead, "Why?"
Same question he's been rattling around the whole time he's been here. Why? Truly, a question for all seasons.
The bodies hint of cyanide, upon cursory examination, but cyanide from where? How might it have been administered?
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Post by Perceptor on Nov 8, 2010 20:32:31 GMT -5
Perceptor would answer, but Spinister is rolling away, and... "Why?" demands an answer that would even have Xaaron telling him to shut up all too soon. Instead, he narrows it down to but a single word that he isn't even certain Spinister will hear.
"Compassion."
He's lost his way if he cannot find that without reason.
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Post by Spinister on Nov 8, 2010 20:52:42 GMT -5
Compassion? That's why Perceptor's sorry? Yeah, Spinister decides, Perceptor certainly is sorry.
He wheels out, silent as the grave, leaving Perceptor with those bound for it.
OOC: Out of thread.
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Post by Perceptor on Nov 8, 2010 21:20:33 GMT -5
The silence weighs on Perceptor for long minutes after Spinister has left, until he cannot even stand to finish even so much as the incision he'd just begun. With a sigh, he sets his tools down and strips off both gloves and face shield, turning to lean back against the table that the body he had been studying before Spinister's arrival still rested on.
Standing there, he sweeping gaze flicked across the package, reminding him of the delivery. He should open it and inspect the new glassware before too long, to return anything that had been damaged or that was not up to his specifications. He makes a very brief detour to the sink to wash up, first, before pulling out a fresh scalpel and slitting open the tape, peeling it away to reveal t6he usual padded container inside.
Oddly, though, it wasn't taped together, as normal. In fact, he couldn't even seem to find the seam in the polyeurothane shell that the glass blowers normally packed his orders in to keep them safe. How curious! Did they develop a new packing technique? He pries a bit at one side, trying to peel the foam protection back and out of his way to get at the objects within.
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Oil Slick
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Post by Oil Slick on Nov 8, 2010 21:25:23 GMT -5
Once Perceptor manages to remove the foam, he is presented with another container. It also appears to lack visible seams, but after a moment, the device beeps, and a nozzle extends from one side, and begins to emit a green gas - a mild hallucinogen.
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Post by Perceptor on Nov 8, 2010 21:28:25 GMT -5
Another container? This one seems too small for what he'd ord--
He gasps as gas begins seeping out from the nozzle that extends; his first instinct, to block the nozzle tip with one finger, trying to halt the gas flow.
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Oil Slick
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Post by Oil Slick on Nov 8, 2010 21:33:55 GMT -5
The box beeps again, noting the blocked flow, and opens a nozzle on the opposite side!
And part of the top folds open as a panel - a screen is on it, and it flickers to life.
Perceptor should recognize who's on it - it's Oil Slick. "You magnificent spawn of a glitch...."
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Post by Perceptor on Nov 8, 2010 21:39:32 GMT -5
"Gah!" He shifts his grip to block the other nozzle with a finger on his other hand. When the screen pops up, Perceptor's expression shifts from one of shock and surprise, to cold, smoldering anger.
"You."
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Oil Slick
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Post by Oil Slick on Nov 8, 2010 21:58:54 GMT -5
Oil Slick smirks at the camera, leaning back in his chair. "I must admit, your little surprise was rather unexpected. I never expected such a wonderfully underhanded ploy from an Autobot."
If Spinister made Perceptor think that Decepticons aren't all bad, then Oil Slick is here to undo all that.
"Now, I must ask - I know of a Perceptor in my reality, but really, what brought on this lash out against me?" he asks, hand to his chest, feigning innocence. "What have I done to you to result in hitting me with a mode-lock virus?"
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Post by Perceptor on Nov 8, 2010 22:05:25 GMT -5
"Do not play the innocent with me, 'Doctor'," Perceptor spits. "You are not qualified!"
And he means that in ever sense of the words. Not qualified to be innocent, not qualified to be a doctor, not qualified to even call himself a scientist, this abomination of chemistry! Worse, though, Unless he wishes to risk a larger exposure than he has already gotten from Oil Slick's little toy, he cannot even extricate himself from this conversation, yet! His hands are trapped sealing off the nozzles until he can find something to attempt to seal the nasty little trap in!
Why can this autopsy room not have a fume hood? Even something as primitive as a fume hood would segregate much of the noxious fumes! He doesn't even know what the thin, green haze will do, yet, but his vision wavers, just a little for a moment, filling him with dread.
Perhaps a body bag? Oil Slick may notice that Perceptor isn't paying as much attention to him right now, as he quickly looks around the room for something to confine the chemist's little toy.
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Oil Slick
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Post by Oil Slick on Nov 8, 2010 22:19:15 GMT -5
Oil Slick chuckles. "Oh, I assure you, I am quite qualified, in many things. One might call me an artist, even - using wonderful chemicals as a medium to etch out a terrifying canvas." No sense in pretending he didn't do things anymore, though. "That Elite Guardsman was one I might call a masterpiece..." he says, then frowns. "Until someone had to go and muck it up! I can only assume that to be your doing, going by your lash out against me!"
A pause.
"Which is curious, as you two do not share a reality. I'm going to assume that unlike the Perceptor I know of, you've kept your emotions, including that disgusting Autobot sympathy."
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Post by Perceptor on Nov 8, 2010 22:32:49 GMT -5
"I've observed what you consider 'art', you third rate hack," Perceptor snarls, cursing mentally when he fails to spot an unoccupied body bag. He cannot risk contaminating the corridors, though, even to make a dash to the quarantine suite to throw Oil Slick's little gift in. He will not risk Glyph or any of the others who may stumble into him along the way, with whatever the chemical is.
Kept his emotions? It's confusing enough to make Perceptor pause for a moment, staring down at the screen with a look of perplexity that fades into disgust. "Unlike you, faction alone is inspiration enough to look after another Autobot." Maybe he could dump one of those new arrivals out onto the floor and use one of those body-bags?
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Oil Slick
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Pharmacists do it over the counter.
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Post by Oil Slick on Nov 8, 2010 23:36:37 GMT -5
Oil Slick laughs. "Hack? Just because I'm more open-minded about the applications of compounds, that makes me a hack?" He asks, holding his arms out openly.
A moment, then his expression turns a bit more sinister. "If it were me, I'd be calling the one looking for the easy way out right now the hack." A derisive laugh. "Can't even disable a couple of gas nozzles. Perhaps your restoration of the Prime was a fluke."
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