maskormenacelogs | I got lots of money but it isn't what I need

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I got lots of money but it isn't what I need

WHO: JUNE COVINGTON and NORMAN OSBORN
WHERE: norman's lab in de chima, va
WHEN: this evening
WHAT: strategizing: profitable evil science.
WARNINGS: human experimentation. standard evil science bullshit.

[ Minor healing amplifications are, it turns out, the easiest and most straightforward genetic plug-ins for initial testing. Fewer complications to worry about -- some of the more creative alterations have the potential for incompatibility with certain genetic structures; healing boosts generally don’t.

June’s seated on a rolling chair, her back to the door. The subject currently on the table in front of her -- male, mid-thirties; unconscious, obviously -- has been healing from various traumas inflicted at a rate around 400% higher than before being given the plug-in.

For the third time in a row, the treatment’s taken perfectly. A perfect waste, in a way, since he won’t be walking out of here any more than the previous two did. Except it’s not a waste, not really -- certainly not to her. She’s found out what she needed to this weekend, which was: the basic formulas of her genetic alteration technology are exactly as effective here as they were at home.

She hums, absentmindedly, examining an incision on his sternum made this morning. Already forming scar tissue. It’s hard not to be pretty pleased with herself, not that she’s made that effort. There’s a lot of possibilities here now.

Patting his unconscious cheek: ]

Not for you, sweetheart.

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[ Norman might have told June he'd be headed up to the labs this weekend, but he didn't say when; luckily for him and not for her, his security cameras provide him with just the information necessary to keep an eye on her, not just the whats but the whens.

It's a useful tool. Keeps the lab safe and keeps him up to date. He'd watched her progress the previous days, come during the late hours to examine her spoils, but now he's in De Chima allowing himself into his lab.

The door opens with a beep and a hiss of air, and he strolls in like he does in fact own the place. The man on the table gets only an idle glance. ]

Doctor.

Been making any progress?

[ It isn't that she's considered the possibility of remote monitoring so much as it is that it wouldn't bother her terribly if she had. The proprietary aspects of the process are in her head, or in formulas -- to say nothing of her confidence that the process as a whole is above… well, everyone else's head.

The only acknowledgement of his question is the nod she gives him. ]

You have good timing. [ And now she does, finally, look up, the examination evidently concluded. ]

This one's past his useful point to me. I was just going to dispose of him, but if you have any use for a sedated local with amplified healing--

[ She trails off. The physical components of her process -- like the one lying sedated in front of her -- aren't such a concern. A genetic structure that's been retroactively changed so that it may as well have always been that way can't exactly be reverse-engineered. Not a lot there at stake; anyway, it's meant as an amiable gesture. ]

I usually do. When time is a thing of value you learn to make it a priority.

[ He walks over to her "work station" of sorts, enough that he can peer properly over her shoulder at the man before he looks at her, smirk evident on his otherwise neutral face. He raises an eyebrow. ]

I don't, particularly. There will always be more.

What are you working on? I mean in particular.

Plug-ins for a boosted healing rate. It’s sitting at around 400% faster than natural, which -- that isn’t ideal, I might not bother with anything that slow for myself, but it makes a good control. Fast enough to monitor clear changes compared with pre-treatment rates without compromising anything major and getting in its own way, you know? You can see the most dramatic results are here -- [ she pauses, running a gloved finger along a bruised stretch of the subject’s side. ] -- Impact trauma. Swelling’s down considerably; I scanned it an hour ago, the internal damage has almost entirely self-repaired since last night.

[ June turns her head, briefly, glancing up at him over her shoulder. He asked for particular, but even so. ]

Anyway. The particulars aren’t really important here. [ Well, not to him, she imagines. ] What is important is what it confirms. It’s a one-to-one conversion, the alterations work the same here as they did at home, there are no... complicating factors.

[ A beat. ]

I can move forward.

[ When June indicates, Norman allows himself to inspect her subject more closely, admiring (if it can be called as much) her handiwork. He feels the bruise himself, pressing his fingers against it. ]

Right -- very nice. You never know when something like that will come in handy. [ Useful in torture, for instance. ] As long as the subject is responsive, since I've no doubt your research is all solid as can be. Have you your plans already for what you'll do with him when you're done?

[ He looks back at her. ]

What next, then?

Sure. Lethal dose of heroin. After he's healed most of the way. He'll be found under a bridge or something.

[ Seems that contact from the Maurtia Falls trip had panned out. The "or something" she hasn't gotten to, yet -- for this one -- but it doesn't especially matter. It'll be cut and dried once he's found: body, cause of death, no threads for anyone to follow.

She'd spent some time thinking these strategies over after being caught the last time.

And now she pulls off her gloves, finally spins around in her chair to face him. ]

Ideally? A retroactive biological incompatibility with certain... invasive digital work. So the body would reject--

[ That was probably a leading question from his end, she realizes, but still. No reason not to share, what she and Nygma had discussed. She indicates her digitally-tattooed wrist for clarity. ]

--After the fact.

Under a bridge.

[ Was that on purpose? Was that a dig at him in particular? Things Norman in his paranoia wonders immediately, though not out of any offense. He just wonders.

But bridges are simple -- people do jump off them all the time. He isn't read up on the statistics, but he knows they're up there in some impressive range. When she gestures to her wrist, he raises his eyebrow. ]

'After the fact' not meaning after death in most cases, I presume. Or rather, the relevant cases. [ And for the first time that day he offers a grin, stepping closer and grabbing her wrist in his hand to examine the tattoo. It's of course identical to his, but-- he wants to see if there's any change she may be withholding. ] What equivalent are you testing with?

After installation.

[ June doesn't laugh, not quite, but there's no effort to conceal the amused look. She shakes her head, pulling her hand away only after he's had a chance to examine the non-change. ]

There's no difference, I haven't started yet. [ Her head tilts, indicating the man on the table. ] These were really only to establish testing parameters. As far as I know the tattoos can't be replicated, not by anyone I've contacted. The only equivalent is... well, there aren't equivalents.

[ They'd need another imPort for testing, in other words.

And no. Not intentional. The intricacies of Norman's personal history haven't been high on the list of studying materials. ]

Edited 2014-05-01 21:02 (UTC)

Take your time. No rush exactly, is there? I'm sure there are more reliable test subjects out there.

[ He grins, tilting his head again with more interest. This only becomes more and more intriguing to him the more June lets him in on her experiment, and he's already going through options in his mind for possible imPort candidates.

Not Nygma, though. That one's Norman's and Norman's alone.

But it was nice to have someone to work with on this matter, regardless. ]

What are trying to accomplish with him, then? Practicing?

[ Sure is promising, she imagines, coming from him. ]

Was that an offer?

[ She frowns at his question. Try to keep up, Norman, she manages not to say. ]

Confirming. It wasn't guaranteed that everything would translate properly to this world. Formulas, procedure -- [ She glances back at the man, unconscious, slowly healing on the table. ] -- it does.

[ When she pauses, it's with a pointedly expectant look up at Norman. It's difficult to imagine his reasons for coming here are purely recreational. ]

It does so far, anyway. With this subject. But experiments will have to continue, as they always do in proper science.

[ He raises his eyebrow, looking at the man and then back to June, stepping closer to her. Very idly he brushes her hair with his fingers as he very casually slides his gaze back to the healing man, to the experiment.

Then back to her, smirking slowly, a calculatedly casual motion. ]

Not an offer, exactly. But I think there's a business venture in all this if we put our heads together.

[ Correction. Bristling: ] And with the previous two. Before him.

[ Well, it's abundantly clear there were a few gaping holes in her imagination with regards to his motives. Her eyes remain on him, since to follow his gaze would involve an awkward craning of the neck, so that by the end of this little moment it's more of a flatout stare.

She stands, her back to the table. A challenge. ]

I'm listening.

Ah. Of course.

[ He says it rather dryly, less in disbelief and more that he simply doesn't care terribly much. Her experiments are hers, and unless she cracks the tattoo code Norman doesn't anticipate having much use for any of them.

Moving past her again close enough that his hand strokes against her arm, Norman moves around her and crosses his arms, jutting one hip out to the side. ]

Have you ever given thought to cosmetics, doctor? Surely you have, given how much you seem to like wearing.

[ She turns in place, following his tight trajectory, though she folds her arms, too. ]

I cannot say I have. [ There's virtually no effort being made not to be terse, there. ] You have a point here. I suggest you make it.

[ Norman grins, not moving from where he stands except to crowd into her space just a subtle fraction more. It's not yet to an intrusive point, but a noticeable one, at the very least. ]

Come on, doctor. It's simple, isn't it?

I work in cosmetics. And you work in enhancements. [ So does he, though, in a way. ] We could capitalize easily on combining the two.

[ On the one hand, much of this visit is proving to be a solid reminder of why, exactly, she always worked alone before.

On the other hand, "before" was before prison and capitalizing on something is clearly a necessary step in the direction of her own facilities. Goverment pay isn't even getting her close.

And sometimes Norman's company is tolerable. Not especially so right now, not when it comes with veiled insults, but -- ]

I wouldn't be averse to something like that.

[ She doesn't move except to unfold her arms, resting a hand on the table. By the subject's knee, incidentally. ]

[ The motion doesn't go unnoticed; Norman watches where her hand goes, though his gaze doesn't linger. He looks back at her and steps closer, his smirk something like a leer.

Very faint, but it's there regardless. ]

Good. It'll be a good opportunity -- everyone has to start somewhere, and a little spare cash can't hurt the process.

Besides. I think we make a good team.

[ He cups her chin. ]

[ It is -- perhaps counterintuitively -- fortunate that his professional opinions don't hold a terrible amount of weight with her; the slights of a few moments ago are more or less water under the bridge.

The smile that spreads across her face now is almost cruel. ]

Have you gotten as far as specifics? Or is this opportunity still in its conceptual stages?

[ Her fingernails brush his stomach as she rests a hand on his belt. ]

[ Again, his eyes drop down to watch her hands, then raise back to hers. The leer remains in place, his eyebrow cocking challengingly.

He leans closer to her, the body behind them entirely disregarded, and murmurs in a lower voice: ]

I have a few ideas. But should we be getting ahead of ourselves? The night is still young -- we have hours to hash out the dirty details.

[ His gaze lingers on her face, eyes locked with hers, and then he leans closer, drawing her chin up so that he can kiss her. ]

[ It isn't that the kiss surprises her; there was ample warning there. Still, it's -- well, it's been a while, and it takes her a moment to process the sensation of mouth against mouth and tongue and teeth. Senses caught off guard.

That's all it takes, that short moment and all those well-rested synapses firing at once, to trigger the reaction. There's a little chirp in the back of her throat, a drop in her soft palate.

Still unaware of what's happened, she pulls back, pupils blown wide, a tiny toxic tendril trailing from her mouth like smoke -- a soft, orange little plume. ]

Edited 2014-05-16 02:32 (UTC)

Gh--

[ The only noise Norman makes is that; a soft sort of choke while his throat closes, leaving him unable to even cough. Or breathe. He's resilient, he can heal, yes, but that's a reactionary instinct. He still suffers the effects of poison.

He stumbles -- almost collapses -- backwards, hitting the table, his face pale and almost blue. His muscles try to stiffen but he manages to get his arm around his face to cover his mouth and nose. He wills his body as best he can not to go into shock. ]

[ It takes quite a lot, situationally, to throw June well and truly off. But she knows herself, she knows her abilities, and she's entirely unfamiliar with what just happened. For a long moment she's virtually frozen, watching detachedly as Norman processes the effects of the poison.

The last remnants of the little toxic cloud dissipate in the air as two and two come together.

It came from her, that much is evident, but she didn't -- that's not one of her modifications. She was ported in with her power set from home, nothing superfluous; they'd given her documentation, anyway, and she'd read it all, she'd -- ]

Fuck.

[ Oh, now she's focused; she snaps back to attention and turns abruptly, heels clicking across the floor, crossing the room to snatch her arrival folder up from her briefcase.

She hadn't read it all. She'd read the first couple of points on the page where they outlined her abilities as ported in and then not bothered to read through the rest. Of course she was familiar with exactly what her body could do; all her abilities she'd selected and implemented herself, methodically and in painstaking detail.

Except this one. A gift from her own future, as it was to turn out back home, but June here -- this June -- hadn't conceived of it yet.

Still, as she reads, the poison would presently be in the process of entering Norman's bloodstream via an unfortunately direct delivery to his lungs. The breath she's now capable of producing is, like her blood, neurotoxic. That's quite a sweeping category, but there's a chance there. She fishes something else from her bag -- a little vial and a syringe, returning to her accidental victim.

Calmly -- especially so, compared with her fluster of a few moments earlier: ]

It's what you might call a long shot, but I do generally have the presence of mind to travel with an antidote to the toxin in my blood. In case of… hm. Incidents.

[ She draws the vial's contents into the syringe. ]

It's certainly not going to kill you more. That's something.

[ Though he still can't speak -- barely can even breathe, nor see well as the oxygen escapes him -- Norman hasn't lost consciousness yet, his healing factor kicking in but slowly.

The antidote will speed things up. Paralytics and poisons always slow him down. He grasps at her arm with a certain strength despite it all, gripping it with fingers that are hooked like claws.

He manages to get a breath out, hissing: ]

Well, do it faster.

[ His grip will probably leave a bruise, but for now, with her pain threshold altered as it is, it's not enough to distract terribly. There are other ways to do this, but he asked for faster, and so she grabs a scalpel off the tray on the table, slices open one leg of his trousers, and jams the needle into the muscle on his outer thigh. Antidote administered, there's not much but to wait.

She begins examining him as she talks, pulling each of his eyes open with a thumb and forefinger. ]

How obstructed is your breathing? Have you had any muscle spasms yet? Tell me when there are changes. Unless you lose the ability to speak.

[ She crouches back, watching him with either fondness or clinical interest. If there's a difference for her. ]

[ He just makes another noise like "Guh," at first, choking on air before he can gasp more into his lungs to formulate words or even consider which words to form, given the air not circulating readily to his brain at present, either. His body jerks viciously when June stabs the needle in, his eyes widening as the pupils immediately contract, then dilate. Better that than rolling back into his head as they had been threatening to do moments prior. ]

Nh-- no-- [ He hisses sharply through his teeth, biting down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood in order to shock himself back into a state of higher consciousness. Doing so reinvigorates his healing as well, and the process moves faster. He huffs: ] Getting better.

[ Dilate. Contract. Dilate. Normal. He continues with a mild lisp caused by his bleeding tongue, in a voice still weak from delirium: ]

Lingering affects I should know about?

[ She shakes her head. ]

Short-term? Headaches, drowsiness. Don't eat anything too interesting for a day or two. Neurological damage is a possibility, but you're recovering fast enough I don't think it had time to get there.

[ Leaning forward again, she's back to checking his eyes, pulse (normalizing). She's a little eager, her expression decidedly closer to "fascinated" than "concerned." ]

That's quite the healing factor you have.

Edited 2014-05-23 13:57 (UTC)

[ He coughs again, body jerking in spastic tremors until his muscles seem to tense abruptly, then relax. He pants, attempting to catch his breath.

He rasps: ]

Gotten me out of tighter situations in the past. [ One very infamous, at least in certain circles. He doesn't know or care if she's heard about his "death" or not. He opens and closes his hands, trying to get feeling in his fingers. ] Quite a toxin you have there.

Is that a new addition, or were you always looking to surprise me like that?

I assure you, Norman, had that been intentional, I'd have made sure it was better-documented.

[ She chastises herself, a bit -- she could, in fact, have at least thought to take a blood sample before she administered the antidote; the interaction of that particular toxin with his serum-enhanced blood would've at the very least proved interesting. A small disappointment, but one nonetheless.

Softer, reaching to smooth his lapels: ]

No. This one wasn't mine. New addition, it seems. From my, ah, importation process.

Cute.

[ The look he gives her as he says that is decidedly neither Cute nor Impressed. His face is pinched, drawn, but slowly regaining its color the more he speaks and the more he breathes; it's thanks to that fact and her soft reassurances that he doesn't grab at her throat with his fingers which are no longer spasming. ]

I'm surprised. [ He clears his throat again, his voice still a touch hoarse, blood still trickling from his mouth down his chin. ] Must have been quite new to catch you unawares, doctor.

[ Lack of familiarity with her own physiological capacities isn't something she's encountered, before now; she has no interest in experiencing it again. Her cheeks prickle. Instead of answering his question she stands, busying herself, while he catches his breath -- reading through her introductory file again. She bites her lip absentmindedly. To herself, really: ]

I'll have to find a way to control that. Do some adjustments, maybe.

[ She returns to crouch beside Norman, a fresh set of gloves on (force of habit), and tips his chin up, wiping away the trickle of blood with a tissue. ]

I can't see a lot of use for it if it's triggered by the combination of stimulated and perturbed, unless there's some need to deploy it on you specifically.

[ Cooperatively, though with a raised eyebrow, Norman tilts his head up for her as she cleans the blood, the only remaining evidence of his already-healed bitten tongue. He glides it, then, over his lower lip as if to catch anything she might have missed. ]

Are you saying I perturb you? The first thing I already knew.

[ He stands up straighter, flexing feeling back into his fingers. ]

No one said the powers had to be useful. Ones you don't make yourself usually won't be.

[ Watching him out of the corner of her eye, not trying very hard to conceal the smile now tugging at one side of her mouth, June pulls the gloves off. Her tone's entirely factual. ]

At times.

Inconvenient surplus powers, that is cute of them. But it won't be useless, once I have positive control, and I don't see this being difficult to fix. Reroute the impulses that set it off, maybe. I'll have to look at it.

[ That was all much more for herself than for Norman. She's aware. It just doesn't bother her. ]

[ Watching her with some combination of wariness and amusement, Norman stands still for a moment as the toxins continue healing over. He looks down at her hands, at her fingernails, then back up at her face as his lips part just enough to hint at bared teeth.

He grasps her arm within one big hand, pulling her closer to him. ]

If nothing else, there's always good old-fashioned self-control. A little can go a very long way.

Edited 2014-06-03 12:45 (UTC)

[ Her eyes drop to his hand; she raises them to meet his again with a soft, dry laugh. A hand spread across his chest, she nudges him backwards so it's his back to the table, now. ]

Well, I wouldn't mind doing a little testing.

[ She tightens her grip on his shirt, pulling him down so their faces are closer to level, brushes her lips against his -- barely -- and then hovers her mouth there, not quite making contact. A little laughing breath would indicate that it's less hesitance, more teasing. ]

Edited (literally just a bracket) 2014-06-03 16:14 (UTC)

I think we're in agreement there.

[ He leans back cooperatively, letting one of his hands find its way to her lower back once his weight has been adjusted accordingly. He doesn't lean close to seal a kiss, not eager for a repeat performance of what transpired just moments before or offer himself up to a possible mouthful of whatever other toxins might be there waiting upon those lips; he tilts his head, his eyes half-lidded and coy. ]

Clearly neither of us is in any hurry otherwise.

Your dedication to discovery is inspiring.

[ Her hand relaxes, flat against his chest; rather than pulling him back down she stands on her toes, this time. The kiss she presses to his mouth is brief, lips barely open -- almost chaste. It's all so exaggeratedly gentle as to be practically mocking.

Nothing happened, unsurprisingly. Nothing but clean air between them when she settles back onto flat feet. ]

That doesn't come as a surprise, does it?

[ Smirking, he kisses back just a touch more aggressively than her own kiss when their lips meet, but he allows the overall transaction to remain mild and oddly restrained, as if they were children beginning to court each other.

He strokes the side of her face with his finger. ]

Well then. I think we understand each other now.

[ There's a hint of a playful smile on her face; wordlessly, she gives him a slow nod, raising a brow. Mirroring (or teasing) his own gesture, she runs a fingernail down his cheek. She kisses him again -- still deliberate, much less tentative, licking into his mouth. There's a residual metallic taste of blood.

(She'll find out later that the kiss itself had had very little to do with the reaction. Mild anger coupled with any notable stimulus, on top of her unfamiliarity with the presence of new toxin-secreting glands, had all coincided exactly wrong. Or right, to make it happen. She's not displeased that she knows about it, now, in a relatively private way.)

Now, though, her quickened breath is perfectly without toxins. ]

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I got lots of money but it isn't what I need

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god bless us every one

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that icon i'm fuming FUMING how very dare you

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