EVENT ★ (ABOUT) 28 DAYS LATER

[futurologists]

GENERAL HOSPITAL All signs point to the hospital having something to do with the virus, though further investigation is required in order to find exactly what is going on. The hospital is average sized, with contemporary facilities and equipment, and is usually considerably cleaner than it is now. The constant flow of injuries coming in -- from riots, attacks, and accidents that are happening from just sheer panic -- have filled the hospital to the brim. Many staff are too over-exhausted to show up to work, and those that remain are nearly to the breaking point. Due to the overall confusion and chaos, now might be an opportune time to quietly sneak behind the scenes . . . ON THE INSIDE The waiting room is crowded and there aren't enough staff people to go around. If you snag yourself a lab coat or some scrubs, you should be able to just waltz right in if you look harried enough to go unnoticed. Or, if you're not the doctor-looking type, fake an injury and get one of your scrubs-wearing teammates to usher you inside. Inside the hospital, it's just as busy -- gurneys line the halls, filled with moaning, scared patients. How many of them have the Bristol Virus? How many of them have just been injured in the unrest? It's impossible to tell, so be careful as you move through the halls. One of those grasping hands just might belong to someone who is very hungry. Be careful while you look through the hospital -- the staff are busy and preoccupied, but they’re not blind. If you are caught somewhere you shouldn’t be, you’ll find yourself escorted from the premises, or worse -- thrown in jail. PLACES TO SEARCH: MATERNITY. There are no pregnant women to be found here, and for good reason: the maternity wing has been converted to a treatment center for known Bristol Virus carriers. Biohazard suits hang near the entrance, and the doors are sealed by makeshift plastic shielding to prevent the virus from spreading airborne. Patients are strapped to their beds for their safety as well as for the safety of the staff, and seem to be heavily sedated. But be careful -- you never know when it’ll wear off. MORGUE. In the basement of the hospital is the morgue. Temperature controlled to 3º C (37º F), you may need a sweater if you choose to investigate here. The bodies kept in here have primarily died of natural causes -- that is, if you count being chewed on by cannibals as natural. The few bodies that are known to be infected by the Bristol virus are marked as such: the morgue drawers containing their remains have been sealed by biohazard tape. NURSE’S STATION. The most dangerous place to investigate, but perhaps the most lucrative. The nurse’s station is located in the center of the inpatient ward and is in the middle of all hospital activity. It will be very easy to get caught if you’re looking here. However -- this is where most paperwork is kept, as well as computers connected to the hospital intranet, where patient records can be found. OFFICES. Doctors’ offices are an obvious choice to look for paperwork clues, but be cautious and have an excuse ready: you never know when someone will come in. TOXICOLOGY. Because most of the patients being treated right now are in the hospital for injuries, toxicology is not as busy as one might expect during a viral epidemic. The toxicology department is filled with test tubes, beakers, and the like. This is one of the more dangerous areas to investigate, as you never know when a lab tech or doctor may walk in and catch you snooping. Other hospital areas include: cafeteria, doctors’ mess, inpatient ward, pharmacy, surgery, supply warehouse (entrance outside), etc. If you're not the investigative type, it might be a good idea to cause a scene and distract the staff from your teammates' snooping. While you're here, it might be a good idea to gather fluid samples from patients known to be infected. Their sedated state will make it easy (until, of course, the sedatives wear off -- hopefully not while you're in the middle of collecting a sample!) and not only will it help the efforts in finding a vaccine, it may also help your fellow recruits find a cure. Especially now that some of your number are starting to feel the effects of the virus themselves. FINDING CLUES This post, we will be holding an RNG to decide who receives clues. We have a maximum of five clues to go around, one per hospital area, so you'll have better chances if you team up! Please see this comment to sign up. We will be closing clue sign-ups after 48 hours, after which we will notify the RNG winners of their results. Those who do not hear back may assume they have not found anything of interest. OOC NOTES Because this log is being posted late in the month, threads are eligible for February or March AC, but not both. Beginning this month, we are also allowing AC threads to be eligible for AC Bonus Bank. Please remember that participation in the HMD is mandatory to pass AC this month! Please fill out your HMD comment by 28 February 23:59 UTC. REMINDER: activity and hiatus changes go into effect beginning this AC. Please review the changes thoroughly! Questions about Woodhurst can be submitted to this thread. Questions about the game in general should be directed to the FAQ. You may submit mission ideas or player plots at any time, and don't forget the Bounty Board!

Comments

[ex_mettacrusher33]

... [He doesn't mean to bite his lip. He doesn't mean for that look, the one he knows, that he saw on Keats, and never likes to show himself, to briefly come across his own face. That's ridiculous. Of course he'd kiss his own portrait. He's beautiful. He's...

He smiles, brightly, and poses himself against the side of the table. Gray glitter sparkles in the air around him.]

Yes, well. Look at me. [Look at me right now. Before the clock strikes midnight and it's back to pumpkins and rats.]

[headlining]

[He laughs, slapping the table a little as he does so. Congrats, Mettaton, you're getting some high quality genuine Keats laughs tonight. They're rare, treasure them wisely.]

Yes, yes, you're god's gift to beauty! Men weep in your hallowed presence. The gods themselves writhe in sheer jealousy.

[He's trying to take another sip of wine but he just keeps grinning into his glass.]

Ah, yes, well, I can certainly understand why you would kiss yourself. You can't exactly share such riches with anyone else.

[ex_mettacrusher33]

[Those are compliments, Mettaton. You love compliments. Your entire existence as yourself hinges on your love of compliments.

...It's his turn to down his glass, now. Ah. There's the regret taste of his glitter-cocktail. Everything sucks. Everything feels empty and terrible and if it was horrible when he temporarily damaged his cloak, what's going to happen when it's gone?

Oh, don't cry. That's stupid. Don't cry.

He laughs again. He's a fantastic actor! This is fine!]

Is that disappointment in your voice, cupcake?

[headlining]

[Keats' expression falls when he sees Mettaton's face change, his eyes start to well up. He thought Mettaton would be all over it, or do something embarrassing in his unique Mettaton way, not...get upset.]

Over what? You not sharing yourself with the world?

[He awkwardly rests a hand on Mettaton's back in some attempt to be comforting. Notice him not answering the question? He's not answering the question.]

I thought you said that being a star kind of meant you couldn't share yourself with anyone else, though. It's like your unspoken rule.

[ex_mettacrusher33]

I know what you're referring to, sweetheart. [Ignore him wiping at his eyes. He isn't even really crying, it's just this projected image reacting to what he wants to do to make him look human and

Ugh!

He leans in towards his friend again, resting his arms on Keats' shoulder and kissing the air. Mwah.]

Are you upset you're not a portrait of me?

[headlining]

[The meaning of that question sinks in. Keats' cheeks instantly turn as red as a beet.]

W-what's that supposed to mean? Are you seriously asking if I want you to kiss me?

[He lets out a huff, as if offended, gulping more of the wine down in some attempt to try to save face.]

That's just preposterous. I'm sure you think everything that breathes wants to kiss you.

[ex_mettacrusher33]

HAHA!! [Oh, that face! That's better. That's so much better. Mettaton's laughing again, genuinely. Without the benefit of preparing to laugh, it sounds horrible: like someone squeezed a very excited dog.

He smack Keats' on the back, briefly burying his face into his shoulder before pulling himself back up to give him a horrible grin.

He points to his own cheek, pressing a finger against his face and twisting it back and forth. Look how innocent he is.] Be that as it may, Mister "I can certainly understand why you would kiss yourself," that doesn't change what you want. [He's tapping his cheek.] Go on. Right here. Anything for a fan.

[headlining]

[Now, this is just impossible. He's here, getting drunk, there are zombies roaming outside, and Mettaton, also drunk, is trying to get him to kiss him on the cheek. He can't believe this. It's nonsense.]

You're just teasing me. [He says, trying his best not to look at Mettaton's cheek and failing completely.] How do you know what I want? You're not some mind reader.

[ex_mettacrusher33]

I don't have to be. Everything that breathes wants to kiss me.

[Haha... sigh.

He shrugs, the hand that was tapping his cheek now just... rubbing it disinterestedly.]

Not like I could feel it. You humans and your... [What's the word?] skin.

[headlining]

What, really?

[He shifts forward - the Mettaton statue slips into his lap as he does so, and he pauses to put it on the table before turning back to Mettaton.]

You don't even know what a kiss feels like?

[ex_mettacrusher33]

Tragic, isn't it? [Mettaton makes the motion to lean back and swoon and-- oh. Hello, ceiling. When did he get to the floor?

...whatever. He kicks his legs onto the table, rattling his now-empty glass.]

Born to be on stage, to act with such fire and feelings... [He briefly stretches a hand up, fingers outstretched, only to dramatically curl them back in. His arm flops onto his chest.] Only to never really feel them myself...

It's going to make a best seller, come autobiography time.

[headlining]

Ah, yes. To help with your fame. The Great Mettaton...a story for the ages. One robot's perseverance in making it big, through he must fight through the obstacles standing in his way...

[A short laugh. He turns himself, resting his chin on his palm as he watches Mettaton be as overdramatic as always.]

You should turn it into a love story. People would eat it up. Have some person that comes along that shows you the way of true feeling...or some magic mumbo jumbo like that.

[ex_mettacrusher33]

Ha. I forgot you were a writer; you certainly know what sells. [He extends his arm again, waving it in the air above his face as gray letters transcribe his words.] And then the magical kiss of true love finally bestowed upon him the gift being a real boy! And they all lived happily ever after with lots and lots of money and several movie deals.

[Ha. Ha...]

'Fraid it doesn't work like that.

[Pft. He nudges at Keats with his knuckles, trying to make him turn that shade of red that's strangely endearing.]

Though you're welcome to try.

[headlining]

Ha, yes, it...doesn't work like that, you're right.

[If only it did. If only magic (a thing that should not exist through any logical means) could just solve everything. It could heal all wounds, set wrongs right, reverse bad decisions, make the world a generally happier place.]

[But even here, with his own magic, he can't solve this zombie crisis. He can use it to help, but it's hardly going to fix anything. It's just a tiny bandage for a particularly garish wound. Mettaton talks about magical kisses and true love, but it still seems too abstract to work with, some fairytale trope that could never happen in real life. Magic isn't going to fix anything. True love isn't going to fix anything, either. And yet...]

[It's strange, somehow, how something could be so impossible, and yet so appealing at the same time. Like some wondrous mirage over the horizon...]

[He's moved himself so he's leaning over Mettaton, now. His head is buzzing with alcohol. His throat feels dry. He murmurs, looking embarrassed (there you go, Mettaton, you got your look) as he speaks.]

Don't say that. I'm a curious man. You'll make me want to see what happens.

[ex_mettacrusher33]

[Oh.

Oh.

Mettaton isn't someone that gets taken by surprise a lot. He's the star; he's usually the one doing the surprising. But... yep! Consider him surprised! Who knew all that teasing was... effective? Curiosity-piquing? Actually meaningful? There's an audible, repetitive thumping ringing in the air as his core pounds in its case, its heat flushing his face red and setting off his internal fans. He sounds like an overheating computer. It's not very attractive. At least, not as much as the face inches away from his own. That wasn't just a fluff piece, after all. For as obnoxious and entertaining to rile as Keats is, he's... admittedly attractive.

...but.

Mettaton knows what's supposed to be happening. He's read it so many times, over and over again, in so many different books. There's supposed to be the comforting warmth of being so close to another person. They're so close, Mettaton's supposed to be able to feel his breath. If he reaches his hand forward, like he does now, caressing the other's wrist, he's supposed to feel skin or a heartbeat.

Being able to just interact used to be enough. Coming here... This moment. It's all so... limiting.

He leans forward, resting his forehead against Keats', and chuckles humorlessly.]

You're sweet...

[The cloak shuts off. The man laying on the floor, once beautiful with dark skin and flowing hair, reverts back to being a doll. Cold and metal and chrome. Synthetic hair that sits far too perfectly to be real. White gloves covering horrifying, steel, skeletal fingers. There's a screw where a beauty mark used to be and vents marring the left side of his face.

He pulls back and smiles. It's miserable.]

You don't want me.

[headlining]

[Mettaton is so close, Keats can practically hear his heart beating in his ears. He doesn't know what he's doing, or why he's doing it. It just feels right, in this moment. Like some scene from a romance story.]

[And then Mettaton changes underneath him. Keats doesn't even react - he just stares at him for a moment, reaching a hand up to rest against Mettaton's now-metal face.]

Mettaton... [He clicks his tongue, a smile creasing along his face.] You're a star. A performer. And here you are, saying that I wouldn't want you?

[Keats chuckles, his hand moving around to grasp the gloved hand that had been touching him earlier, interlacing his fingers with the others in a fond gesture. He's tipsy, so it's helping with the nerves, the awkwardness. All he feels is comfortable and warm, like a blanket's been wrapped around him.]

It's not like I haven't seen this before. Come on now, you think a little metal's going to scare me off?

[He doesn't care. He's been among men and monsters alike. It's hardly going to matter. Keats keeps smiling, even as he bends down to finally press his lips gently against the other's.]

[He doesn't care one bit.]

[ex_mettacrusher33]

[It should. It really should scare him off. It's metal. Literal unfeeling metal and oh boy, those sure are lips on his own.

That annoying vrr of his fans have evolved into a loud rumbling. It sounds less like a sick computer and more like a plane taking off. The pink from his core has leaked to his eyes, turning the whole situation a bright magenta. It's a sweet gesture, really! It's... very romantic and sweet. Maybe not the stellar first kiss he's dreamed of, there's no music swelling or confetti or applause, but... It's nice.

...and empty.

There's no reciprocation and, honestly, that's for the better. He's not entirely sure how much pressure the human face can endure from metal lips and Keats most likely doesn't want to be the litmus test for that. So... for lack of anything to say, Mettaton just... gently pats the other on the side of his face.

Pat pat. You tried. Appreciate the effort.]

[headlining]

[This isn't Keats' first kiss (he can thank the magical mistletoe in Oska for that) and for sure, it's...different. He's kissing metal. It's not warm. It's cool and smooth and uncomfortable, but at the same time, it's not terrible. It isn't being reciprocated, though, and when Keats feels the pats on his cheek, he draws back.]

Ah, guess that doesn't work out as well as I would've thought... [He says, with a slight sigh, as he moves to rest his head on Mettaton's chest, fingers tracing some of the vents in his chest.] I'm sorry. If you didn't want that, I mean...

[He feels stupid.]

Just thought it would be nice.

[ex_mettacrusher33]

[Yep. Y-e-p. Little awkward. He drums the fingers of his free hand on the floor, the ones in Keats' grip copying the movements in the air. He's staring at the ceiling.] It was... sweet. [It's honestly the only word he can think of. "Sweet." Like a romantic side-plot in a buddy cop movie.] But. Well. You know.

...I'm metal.

[Wait, there's movement in the corner of his eye- where is he touching

GASP.]

N-no, wait, don't touch those, those are hot--!!

local idiot does more idiot things, more at 11

[headlining]

[Keats never said he was a particularly smart man.]

[Too late, Mettaton - Keats touches them and instantly draws his hand back in a short yelp, lifting himself up to start rubbing at his fingers. Luckily, they aren't burned, but they still hurt.]

Ah, that's...! [He hisses, shaking his hand a little. W H O O P S.]

Goodness, it's like touching a furnace. [He stares down at Mettaton, shaking his head.] Do you do this every time when someone kisses you?

[ex_mettacrusher33]

AHAHAHAHAHA!! [Oooh my god, this idiot!! This stupid idiot! He just... The cloak shifts back on as Mettaton drags his hands down his face, more hideous laughter finally peeling back out of him.]

Well, we're one for one, so, scientifically speaking, yes. [God, he can't stop laughing. This is stupid. This is all ridiculous and stupid. This cannot be an actual thing that happened between them.] Really. REALLY? Do you not know what a VENT is? HOT AIR comes from them, you technology inept DORK!!

[headlining]

Shut up! It's not like I knew you would heat up like some...like some computer processor taking on too much data!

[Now he's blushing again, but for quite a different reason now. He's still rubbing at his fingers with an annoyed expression.]

You should put some sticker on to warn for that! How was I supposed to know?!

[ex_mettacrusher33]

I'M MADE OF METAL!!! DO YOU- No. Look!

[Hold on. Okay. Mettaton pries himself back toward the table and throws himself at the wine bottle. Look. Look.

He pours it on his own chest.

It's sizzling.

He's laughing so much harder.]

[headlining]

I know you are!! I'm not blind!

[God, this is SO EMBARRASSING. He watches the wine sizzle on Mettaton's body, feeling his ear burn. Where is the ground when you need it to open up and swallow him whole??]

[He blinks, some realization coming to him in his alcohol-addled brain.]

Wait...did you heat up because you liked it?

[ex_mettacrusher33]

No, just stupid. [Really? REALLY?! He didn't expect metal to get hot?!! He...

what is he saying, what]

I said it was a sweet gesture!

[Instinctively, he splashes his wine at Keats.]