maskormenacelogs | hell stays open all night long

That what you do with your powers?

[ Somewhere deep in the bowels of the Maurtia Falls Psychiatric Hospital for Abnormal Conditions, a voice cracks the illusion of privacy, rough and dry as tinder. Some twenty or thirty feet off Rincewind’s flank, a doctor stands in all white over grey -- bald, cut clean in coat and collar and tie. He has a stethoscope around his neck, and a clipboard in his hand. He’s wearing glasses.

His suit beneath the coat is plaid, charcoal barred with soot black.

No footsteps heralded his arrival -- no change in air currents or swinging doors. He’s just there, brow puckered in critical consideration of the scene laid out before him. ]

Free chips for life?

[ His half a grin reads friendly (if a little skeptical), and he takes a few steps closer. The stink of burning wood, and metal, and livelihoods (familiar, no doubt, to Rincewind) moves with him. ]

[Rincewind stops mid-crunch at the first word, wide-eyed, guilty instinct propelling him to shove the opened chip bag in his pocket, slam the vending machine's door shut, and whirl around with his back to it, all in the same motion. Smoothly done, but about as subtle as an ostrich at an ice rink.

Thankfully, it doesn't turn out to be Dr. Chilton glaring at him. Less thankfully, there's instead someone he doesn't recognize at all, wearing an outfit he's never seen a person in this hospital wear. Rincewind even glances between his own green jumpsuit and the man's pristine lab coat, as if momentarily concerned he might have missed the change to clothing policy.]

I, er - [he coughs on a stray crumb and swallows to clear his throat.] That is, I was fixing it. It's been eating quarters like you wouldn't believe, been an absolute menace.

[...Odd, he thinks. That smell he's getting now, that's very odd. It smells a bit like fire, doesn't it? The wizard flick a look over the stranger again, warier. Certain calculations are happening, and the initial tallies don't add up. He smiles, quick and harmless, and moves aside. Or would have, if he hadn't slammed the vending machine's door on a sizeable chunk of his own ill-fitting uniform. Tugged back, Rincewind mutters a curse in Trob and briefly presses his hand to the machine to unlock the door again and free himself.]

Right, anyway, it should be all good to go now. [he gestures in helpful offering and takes a side-step. Strangely, it's a side-step towards a large, brass-bound chest sitting on the hallway's polished floor.]

So it's all yours, doctor...?

[ A sound low at the back of William’s throat belays worry -- or at least guilt, as far as the chips are concerned. ]

Don’t worry, [ he shows the rest of his grin, easy-like as he makes his way to join Rincewind and all associate furniture. ] I’m not gonna turn you in over a bag of funyuns.

[ The origin of his drawl is decidedly southern of most imPort centric cities, warm as a rattlesnake on a rock. He’s shorter than the so-called-wizard -- rangy and grey, eyes quicksilver sharp, cool behind his glasses.

Cigarettes have a smell, and this isn’t it. This is something worse. Something destructive. ]

Doctor Robert Ford, [ he’s all too comfortable introducing himself, clipboard swapped right hand to left to free up the former for a shake. ] Here on behalf of the state of Pennsylvania.

Support staff failed the last round of audits, but I lobbied to give the place a second chance. Frederick’s a personal friend.

[ An inquiring push to one brow turns an invisible screw as he looks up to Rincewind’s hat, and back to his face. You happen to know anything about that fail score, support guy? ]

[Rincewind has an ear for languages and accents. This one reminds him of one he's caught on television shows full of horse chases and train robberies. It also reminds him of Teddy Flood.]

Oh. [he blinks at the offered hand, then hesitantly gives his own to shake. His nose wrinkles slightly, hairs prickling on the back of his neck; he really doesn't like that smell. ] Good to meet you, of course. I'm Rincewind. Here on behalf of... Dr. Chilton, I suppose. And make-up hours.

[He can hear when the Luggage finally stirs behind him, its legs unfolding with lazy ease. Technically it's not supposed to leave his office while he's at work, but at night when the halls are quiet and the shadows in them are just the right shade of sinister, Rincewind more likely to make small, short exceptions for it.

"Dr. Ford"'s next statement grabs him in two parts, readable in the tension suddenly stringing the wizard's skinny arm taut as the devil's fiddle. There's a brief, cerebral scramble as he sorts which information to be more important.]

Audit? Auditing. Ah. And - that's what you're here for? Right now? [in answer to that raised brow, Rincewind's face replies that while he didn't know about any audit before, he knows immediately he's part of its failure.] At night?

[Odd, remarks that quiet, inner voice again.]

Dr. Chilton hadn't mentioned one. But I'm sure you'll find everything up to code this time, absolutely.

...So, how long is it you've been friends with him?

[if Rincewind tried any harder to make his tone sound innocent, he'd be hitting an octave generally reserved for songbirds.]

[ The good news is that the stench of wildfire is slowly dissipating, stirred away by central air like dust, without the tell-tale haze.

Robert has rough hands for a doctor -- a better fit with the sand in his voice than it is the scalpel precision to his toilette. But his shake is friendly, and he doesn’t grip too hard, near apologetic, if anything, in his advantage. ]

Better if I’m not interrupting patients, [ sounds like of course at night, dummy. ] But you can relax -- I’m about done. Just need to drop these on his desk for him to…

[ Tension wired up through his jaw creeps into a harder pinch between his brows; he doesn’t get around to closing his mouth. He dips his clipboard slowly (slowly) down to point the business toward the Luggage instead. The unspoken question behind it is multifaceted: unsure if he should be alarmed, unsure if this is some type of dog with a serious problem or furniture with an even more serious problem. Unsure if Rincewind is aware of the Situation unfolding onto a hundred tiny feet behind him at all.

He’s reluctant to pry his eyes away from the box long enough to look back to Rincewind, WTF well-defined in the space between them. ]

[But we don't have any patients, Rincewind thinks, and it's not as quiet this time.

Thankfully, he catches himself before he makes the mistake of voicing that, pinching his lips into a tighter smile instead. A small part of him takes immediate, vicious glee that of course there's something suspicious about this Dr. Ford, because Rincewind is Dr. Chilton's best friend, and that means he'd absolutely be told about any "other" close, personal friends. Someone's just snooping about Chilton's hospital again. It wouldn't be the first time - there was that man who hypnotized him. This could even be Maeve's doing, she could have used her voice on this person and sent him in here to... to... well. He doesn't know that part yet, but still. There's all sorts of possibilities.

None of which Rincewind intends to make his own problem, mind. As soon as this man moves along, he'll just call Jack. Let him sort it out.

It's impossible to miss Dr. Ford's reaction. Rincewind glances back over his shoulder, where the Luggage is staring implacably back at the both of them. (Presumably.)]

That's only my Luggage, nothing to worry about. [the wizard clasps his hands behind him, his smile more natural now. And just a touch smug. So you didn't know about the Luggage, either. Hah! I'll bet there was never even an audit in the first place, you'd have known about the Luggage if there were.]

Anyway, don't let us keep you from delivering your report. I'll keep my fingers crossed for a good word.

Your ‘Luggage.’

[ Dr. Robert Ford MD tries the word out with matching capitalization, peering down at sapient pearwood.

Delays and a lingering sense of distrust for a heap of lumber that’s all feet and mouth aside, Ford adjusts to this new reality as best he can, weight shifted. Not as professionally precise as he was before, with his right hand hanging open at his side and his shoulders at a wary slant.

Who’s worried? ]

Actually, [ he says, with a less distracted tip of his board. ] Reason I tracked you down is because I got myself turned around. All these goddamn hallways. [ He grins again, apologetic -- self-deprecating in a show of his eye teeth. Plan hasn’t changed. Not for that queer little pinched smile, and not for sentient baggage. ]

I’m gonna need you to lead the way.

Oh, it's one floor up. [Rincewind responds automatically, as helpful as a man lacking the intention to actually be helpful.] Take a left out of the stairwell, there are signs and everything. You can't miss it.

[at that Rincewind takes a step back - disengaging. Brows lifted so far up his forehead they're lost beneath the brim of his hat. He's actually not afraid of this patsy, or spy, or whatever he is for once, not yet, but he's also absolutely not about to go getting caught up in whatever web's being spun here either, that's for bloody sure. Not this time. He's got a bag of crisps to finish; he's not involved.]

I've got to get back to work myself, but I'll tell you what, I could always call for security to escort you if you're really concerned. Entirely your choice.

[there - that should scare him off.]

[ Rincewind takes a step back.

The man in black takes a step forward.

Clipboard, glasses, coat. ]

You wanna know the truth, Rincewind? [ He’s still peripherally aware of the Luggage -- subtle in the way he deliberately closes it out of their little circle of trust. ] My name isn’t really Dr. Ford. I’m not even a doctor. [ There’s something a little acrid about his confession, twang stinging late after the fact. Like a snapped guitar string. The source is tough to pin down, with such friendly glasses to frame clear blue eyes and crow’s feet.

He reaches to poke Rincewind square in the chest with his clipboard. ] So why don’t you go ahead and give security a call.

[ The certainty in his voice cinches in its coils, stifling in exactly the way his handshake wasn’t. No wiggle room. ]

I’ll come with you.

[there's a shift in the air between them. Rincewind feels it with a sensitivity normally reserved for species whose evolution points to the bottom rung of a competitive food chain. He realizes, with some gloomy certainty, that he's gotten something terribly wrong here. That's one mistake already. Given the growing tension and the fact that he knows about as much about this older fellow as he would the inhabitant of a dark hole in the ground, he'd better avoid making another.

He hunches his shoulders as he's prodded, shrinking back as much from the touch as the imposter's cold confidence. Outside of their loop, but still within view, the Luggage creaks its lid open to a narrow slit. There are teeth inside. Rincewind sees them. ]

Well, those are - definitely things worth calling security over.

[timing, he reminds himself; it always comes back to timing.]

But given the hour, late as it is...

[Steady, steady now.]

...I think I'd better just let my Luggage escort you out.

[which is the moment the redhead chooses to spring backwards and turn tail down the hallway, and the Luggage charges in the man in black's direction. Doubtlessly, to show him the exit.]

You ever used one of these things before?

[ The call to security has been placed, either from Rincewind’s office, or close enough by for it to’ve been the next logical stop.

Now the doctor formerly known as Ford has Rincewind himself backed up to a wall, or a desk, or frozen tharn somewhere in between, with the head of a stethoscope pinning the rich green of the wizard’s uniform to his sternum. He’s in a dark suit, sooty plaid in shades of charcoal and black, with the stethoscope hooked in his ears and a look of concentration refined through a pair of professorial glasses.

His lab coat’s nowhere to be seen.

Lost to the chase, or to the Luggage.

He adjusts the position of the stethoscope while listens, intent. ]

Sounds like a stampede in there, [ he observes, muttered, half to himself. More conversationally, he prompts: ] You got somethin’ on your mind, Scooter?

[it's obvious from the start that the wizard hasn't used a stethoscope before. He's certainly never had one pressed to his chest by a menacing trespasser who's seemingly been kept entertained by Rincewind's fear, vulnerability, and occasional biting sarcasm. Yes, this is a new experience altogether.

Rincewind grimaces, flinching not for the first time at the stethoscope's slide across his chest - still anticipating some eventual, painful jab. Instead only the edge of his desk bites into the small of his back, which the redhead's bowed backwards over in as far an arch as he could manage without simply lying atop it. So far he's been more effective in displacing his desk decorations than his unwanted physician, having already scattered several unread papers and knocked a handmade, glitter-strewn nameplate (belonging to one Ephraim Rincewind) to the floor. Behind the desk sits a mostly-empty bookcase with some telling, desperate titles, a small houseplant, and a smattering of plastic glow-in-the-dark stars taped to the walls. All in all, it's a sad place to find yourself cornered in. There's really nothing much of interest but Rincewind - and he'd be the first to claim he's not worth the attention.]

Oh, [Rincewind grits back in response, as aware of the galloping state of his heartbeat as the man he's currently close enough to share breath with,] just a few thoughts.

[like whether he could tumble backwards over his desk and return to a running start, and how much he hates that nickname, and the half-empty bottle in his bottom drawer (and if he could wield it to any success), and what's taking Jack so long, and if there's any point trying to kick between the legs of a man he already knows can turn to smoke.

Rincewind swallows, his blue eyes daring to match with a pair cold as a lake in winter.]

I'll tell you what, [he suggests weakly, bitterly,] let's make a game of your guessing them. You close your eyes and count to thirty, and once you've finished, I'll have some real humdinger clues picked out just for you.

[The call to security had been somewhat redundant considering Jack had spotted the intruder some time ago, curiosity had simply had hime delay his response, sat hunched over a deck of small screens and watching the silent movie take place before him. There wasn't any harm in waiting, not when Luggage was around, and if any tragedy had truly fallen upon Rincewind? Well, it wasn't exactly a big loss. He'd probably be back within the week.

It's with some reluctance that he eventually lumbers his way through to Rincewind's office, arriving all too conveniently upon a scene that some might label questionable.]

Am I interrupting? [Asks the voice at the doorway, droll but seemingly uninterested if one were to judge by the sloped shoulders and downcast gaze. Jack presents a bland enough first impression in simple jeans and a faded black t-shirt, but there's a readiness to his posture, squared off and tense to match with the sharpness behind that barely watching stare.

Experience has taught him never to judge on age alone.]

Sounds like a whole mess of extra work, [ Doctor Man in Black thumbs the stethoscope out of his ears, down to his collar, and splays the hand he still has fixed over the business end to bow Rincewind a few degrees deeper back. ] When I could just squeeze ‘em out of you like glue.

[ He doesn’t press too hard, testing the give. Checking to see if there’s a spine in there at all. Checking a few other things, too -- he keeps looking to the wizard’s hat, leaned in, on the cusp of another question when a voice behind him gives him pause.

Stood up naturally as if Jack’s caught him browsing a case of bagels, he opens his posture to look back. Trim, professional, eyes like little blades of glass behind his glasses. One hand still on Rincewind’s breastbone.

Saving his place. ]

Routine checkup, [ he says. ] You here for the fireman calendar?

[first impressions suggest more putty than bone in this wizard's spinal column. Wincing, a soft, frightened sound trickles out at the threat, as natural as breathing. Among the other information the Man in Black's scraped out and stolen today, he can add this line: when it comes to fear, Rincewind's a raw talent. A man might wonder if he's practiced.

Gripping the edge of the desk, white-knuckled, he opens his mouth to try for something closer to human speech - when Jack finally appears in the doorway. Hardly the conventional savior material a wizard in his (rather flexible) position might request, but damn if the sight of that lumbering cannibal doesn't ring every grateful bell in Rincewind's chest. He's never been so happy to share a space with someone who once tried to air his throat out. And in the moment between Jack's droll introduction and Doctor Pretend's slow ease from intimacy, Rincewind hears his window of opportunity crack open.

A more inexperienced coward might risk these precious seconds to smirk or break off some satisfyingly witty one-liner. That sort of move might play in ballads, but Rincewind, having a more cultivated appreciation for the fleeting nature of time and the universe's continued delight at his expense, knows better. The moment he sees his chance he pushes himself back across his desk like a lizard over a waxed floor, and draws his legs up enough to shove them into the MD in Black's chest. That's more than enough poetic justice for his tastes. The (literal) kickback sends him tumbling backwards off the other side and into a landing made painful and complicated by his office chair, but it doesn't slow him down. With one hand to his hat, the wizard jumps up and sprints around for the only exit, moving at a pace which suggests that if Jack doesn't step aside for him, he may just damn well take his chances sliding between his unlikely hero's legs for freedom.]

[As far as cowards go Rincewind was something special. In Jack's long ass life experience, it's rare to meet cowardice that actually sits right alongside intelligence, self-preservation and un-ending luck. Most would be long since dead, but he had to hand it to the wizard, he certainly knew when to grab an opportunity and run with it. And run with it he did, out the door as the immortal side stepped to let him past, swiftly replacing the empty doorway once again with his bulk to ensure their new company wouldn't be following.]

Maybe. You don't look like the photographer.

[Unless naked calendar photographers usual approach to work is breaking in and harassing staff.]

We going to have a problem, you and I? [Bristling but not aggressive. Not yet.]

[ The doctor’s not a big fella, peering across the office at Jack with a distinctly feline concentration of confidence per pound. Rangy and raw, without hackles to raise, bone and wrinkles and the nickle polish in his eyes mean as spit.

He’s just started to grin when Rincewind twists out from between his claws -- the wizard’s kick sees his spine seized up stiff, one hand raised too late to save the stethoscope.

It pinwheels away, torn loose of his neck to knock a diaphragm-shaped crescent in one wall.

Down one Rincewind, William turns the same hand out to Jack, like now look, his near smile thinned out to something that barely qualifies. He hasn’t lost any ground to the laws of motion, dress shoes planted as they were. Not especially threatening to angels of death. Not especially scientifically reassuring, either. ]

You know how hard it was for me to corner him without his toolbox?

[ It’s looking like they might have a problem. ]

Edited (comma) 2017-07-30 05:50 (UTC)

Got more than a wooden box to worry about now.

[Cat meet dog, one chunky little pitbull eyeing up his target with a creeping hunger and a keen curiosity, like he's not quite sure whether to tear this guy to pieces or to stand and study every line on him. There's no teeth bared or sharp barks, but a slow lowering of his head brings his shoulders up like the scruff of hackles lifting in a silent warning.]

Might be time for you to leave, Doctor. [The sharp edge to his voice scores a deep line in the ground, and the 'doctor' is standing damn close to the metaphorical edge of it. One more push and he'll see what it's like to test an immortal's patience.

Except Jack's not moving away from the doorway, doesn't look like he has any intention to either. This is one offender that he doesn't want out of his sights, not while anywhere near this hospital, and not while there's still folk like Rincewind wandering the halls and likely to get themselves unintentionally involved.]

Never said I was worried.

[ William’s game to close up some of that distance between them. Maybe more than he should -- an advance that’s casual enough to fit the scenery. This is an office, after all. And Jack’s blocking the only way out. ]

You know what time I think it is, Sweetums?

[ Somehow he doubts it, humor burned out black, weighted to one side, same as his swagger. ]

I think it’s -- past time I was offered a tour of my investment.

Edited 2017-08-07 04:55 (UTC)

[If Jack gave more of a shit about his job, that "investment" comment might have given him pause for consideration. After all, it wouldn't do to be rude to any genuine investors, and Chilton certainly wouldn't approve, but investors also shouldn't be skulking around and harassing staff. So.]

Sure. I'll show you outside.

[His body shifts just a fraction over, creating a space barely enough to squeeze past and one that's plenty easy to close back up again.

Those hackles have given way to simple dominating tactics, a crude but effective method of puffed chest and clenched fists.]

Don't think I caught your name.

hell stays open all night long

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SOON...

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i never did track this... ...

HELLO FROM THE OTHER SIIIIIIDE...

I MUST HAVE YAYED A THOUSAND TIIIIIMES!

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