sirenspull | Accidental Video; forward-dated to shortly before midnight tonight.

[The view is tilted, oddly angled even for an accidental recording; the NV has a slanted perspective on a long-panel bathroom mirror. The tile and stall doors in the background are fairly recognizable as the standard layout and building materials in the Underground Mall.]

[A young girl sits on the sink counter, stripped to the waist, twisted away, face largely obscured except for the sharp angle of a chin and a shock of black hair visible as she trys to get a view of her own back in the mirror. It's a mess, light brown skin scrawled with twisted burn scars, old and shiny and taut. On top of the old wounds are fresh ones, long ragged cuts in groups of four, claw marks of varying depths. The small of her back and the top of her pants are covered in blood.]

Damn. Worse than I thought.

[Her voice is tight, weary as much as pained. She starts sponging the blood away with a wad of wetted paper towels, dabbing the cuts with plain, harsh hand soap to fight infection. She grunts softly at the sting, her body wincing before she washes them out again.]

ETA: After a few minutes, she curses in Russia and cuts the feed, but the curious or concerned can still call her back.

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Doc said he was coming. ETA in twenty minutes.

[The place is pretty dark, since it's closed for the night, and while she's squinting for a light switch, she flails hard, leg twitching out. Whatever was on that thing's claws, it's going after her muscles, or maybe just her nerves.]

Sorry. Sh-should find a. Rag or something, to, to, to bite on.

Alright. Third pouch in the belt.

[Just going to keep holding her for a bit]

You sure do pick interesting first date locations.

Technic- nic- technically it's. Doc picked.

[She's twitching more frequently, and she makes a face before biting down on the rag before she starts biting her tongue accidentally. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to concentrate on breathing, shallow and fast, but evenly though her nose.]

[Look, some people can't just teleport around all willy-nilly, so it takes a few minutes before the sturdy door past the proofed gate opens and light from the clinic comes spilling out. Have an irritated doctor silhouette.]

Well, get moving.

[He glances at the doctor a moment, he seemed irritated enough that he had more work to do, seemed legit]

Aaaaaannnnn whats up Doc?

[Had to be said really, he then does carry her in without any strain at all]

[As he carries her in, she fumbles for the rag, though with the shakes it takes her a few tries, knuckles gripping the fabric tight as she spits it out.]

L-looks like. You got, got the venom right.

[Whatever clawed her up had some kind of dendrotoxin that is screwing with her motor neurons but good.]

[His gaze flicks to the masked guy, because yeah... that's normal, and he tries not to make a show of rolling his eyes at the comment as he steps back to allow them inside, turning down the dim hallway in a brisk walk to one of the exam rooms.]

It's not uncommon for most of them to be packing something nasty. Take a seat.

[McCoy snaps on a pair of gloves and flips open a case, loading a small cartage into a cylinder object not too unlike a syringe. He doesn't hesitate jabbing one side of it to Anya's neck, and while there's no needle, it still stings a bit as the anti-venom is administered with a hiss.]

Edited 2012-07-26 03:13 (UTC)

[Generally speaking Deadpool didn't really hang around doctors, they brought back bad memories when they were in a hospital setting. More importantly he rarely needed one, so why bother? He watches the doctor inject something into the girl, should make her better. He stands nearby with his arms crossed]

Sooooo, is that all it takes? Just a quick stick and done like dinner? Seems pretty simple, doc.

[She laughs shakily.]

Well, I don't feel like my muscles want to crawl away anymore.

May as well get stitched too while I'm here. Kind of an awkward angle to hold a needle at.

Nothing's that easy, but that'll neutralize the toxins and help fight infection. [He's been cooking up this stuff for months now.]

Kinda figured. Here. [He hands here a folded up medical gown in case she's feeling modest, reaching to turn on the overhead light for the exam table and fishing out the sterilized packages of gauze, saline and suture supplies.]

You got lucky, kid. [He's also being polite by not asking what the hell you were doing out there after dark, let alone what you're doing with this shady lookin' guy over here.]

[Deadpool is going to cross his arms and look around a bit]

That which doesn't kill you makes you stronger and all that jazz.

[Now he is pacing around the room examining things]

Everyone gets lucky. The question is how much.

[She says it plainly, matter-of-fact under the still-recovering shallowness of her breath. She peels out of her jacket and shirt - both ruined, although she's turned the shirt backwards to compensate - and gingerly tugs on the gown.]

If I'd curled up somewhere and had seizures until the poison ran itself out, and lived, I'd be lucky. And if I died and came back, I'd be lucky, and if I just died -

[Well. She wouldn't be complaining, at the very least. She holds her elbows and shivers lightly.]

Should I just...lay down?

[The burn scars under the cuts are extensive and very old, healthy skin stretched taught around the edges; she was much smaller when they happened.]

[He's trying to keep an eye on the guy in the mask and get open a prepared syringe of a local anesthetic at the same time, wary.] Don't touch anything, we're not exactly supposed to be here.

[Then lifts his chin.] Keep upright, that way they don't pull much when i'm done. [She's lucky he'd practiced with his sutures, it's a barbaric method in his opinion, but he doesn't have the luxury of a dermal regenerator right now.

McCoy pulls up a chair and makes quick work at cleaning the wounds, numbing the skin around the cuts. He's not exactly the small talk sort, so he doesn't ask about the burns, just gets to work putting her back together.]

Alas, my plans for a bedpan drum solo ruined.

[Its hard to tell whether or not he is serious. He is going to keep touching things however, because this whole thing is kind of boring]

[She gigglesnorts a little at deadpool's remark, then muffles it, wincing slightly.]

Can you...tell me what you're doing? I don't, um, have a lot of sensation left, there.

[Where the cuts penetrated deeper into the tissue, they hurt like hell, but the surface of her skin is mostly dead. Her shoulders are tight, more with nervousness than pain, not entirely comfortable with someone working at her back, even someone who has only been helpful.]

Accidental Video; forward-dated to shortly before midnight tonight.

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Action; oh god I'm so sorry I vanished guys

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