Shadow King: Headshots (Forge & Betsy)
Feb. 10th, 2008 11:34 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsBetsy takes leave of both her sanity and the medlab, only to find someone in her way.
A keyboard flew through the air and crashed crashed against the wall right by Forge's head.
Betsy smiled sweetly at him, her head tilted at an odd angle as she studied him. "I wasn't finished."
Forge paused, considering trying to bolt past Betsy for the safety of the psi-shielded "Box", but chose instead to stay still, mug of coffee in his hand. "You're in no shape to be out of bed, and should probably get back there before Amelia does something horrible to you with forceps," he said as calmly as he was able. Something was odd about Betsy, that he couldn't quite put his finger on. The violence, well, she worked with Remy. That was probably normal. The overly formal tones... well, she was also British, more in the way of "Ye Olde Majestic Empire" and less of "Never Mind The Bollocks..." No, it was definitely something else.
Cautiously, he moved his hand to the back of his belt, reaching for one of the small pouches he carried as part of his 'crisis kit'. He wasn't sure if he could disable Betsy or even slow her down, but it was part of his job now to try.
"Back in the recovery room, crazy lady," he said softly. "I don't want to hurt anyone."
Betsy laughed, mockingly. She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "It's not nice to talk to your Elders that way, Tin Boy. And with how I'm feeling at the moment, I'd keep your hands where I can see them."
Forge arched an eyebrow. "Ten steps away, and I don't miss. You really want to be going back to your room now, Miss Braddock. Scott might have tried to be gentle, but me, I might still hold a grudge about that whole psychic-attack-in-the-hallway thing, so I'd remind you that right now I'm armed, and you've recently had your fleshy brainbits scrambled by god-knows-what. Don't be stupid here," he said, gripping the small handgrip of the device in his pouch, "you really don't want to throw down right now."
"It's Ms. Braddock and you didn't say Simon says." Betsy took a step into the room, saw the flicker of intent in Forge's eyes and grinned. "Dirty boy. Tin boy. Bad boy."
Forge's hand tensed, then he saw Betsy move-
-one step and his left arm moved, whipping around from behind his back and coming to bear on Betsy as she approached
-two steps and his finger was already tightening on the trigger as Betsy's arm flung forward
-three steps and the thump of the compressed-air projector in his hand echoed off the hallway walls, only a split second before the thrown scalpel sliced through the sleeve of his shirt, dulling harmlessly against the myomer of his bicep before clattering to the floor-
A mere second before Betsy slumped to the ground, unmoving. Forge froze, arm still extended, finger clenched around the trigger of the pistol-like device. He'd created it as a prototype for delivering medication through the skin of otherwise invulnerable patients, but when dialed up to maximum, it could expend an entire gas cartridge with the force of a knockout haymaker at short range.
With a smile, he stood over Betsy. "Hah!" he exclaimed, rising up slightly on his toes in triumph. "Robot one, ninja zero, bitch! How do you like tha---"
His taunt was cut off as one long leg snapped up in a scything arc, the instep of Betsy's foot catching him upside the head and sending him into a wall, then sliding unconscious to the floor.
Betsy stood up slowly, dusted herself off, and walked over to Forge's prone form. She began humming as she kicked his body over, checking to make sure he was unconscious. Betsy stepped over Forge and entered the Box. She retrieved his laptop and exited the medlab, singing now to herself . "Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. This is the end. Beautiful friend. This is the end. My only friend, the end."
A keyboard flew through the air and crashed crashed against the wall right by Forge's head.
Betsy smiled sweetly at him, her head tilted at an odd angle as she studied him. "I wasn't finished."
Forge paused, considering trying to bolt past Betsy for the safety of the psi-shielded "Box", but chose instead to stay still, mug of coffee in his hand. "You're in no shape to be out of bed, and should probably get back there before Amelia does something horrible to you with forceps," he said as calmly as he was able. Something was odd about Betsy, that he couldn't quite put his finger on. The violence, well, she worked with Remy. That was probably normal. The overly formal tones... well, she was also British, more in the way of "Ye Olde Majestic Empire" and less of "Never Mind The Bollocks..." No, it was definitely something else.
Cautiously, he moved his hand to the back of his belt, reaching for one of the small pouches he carried as part of his 'crisis kit'. He wasn't sure if he could disable Betsy or even slow her down, but it was part of his job now to try.
"Back in the recovery room, crazy lady," he said softly. "I don't want to hurt anyone."
Betsy laughed, mockingly. She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "It's not nice to talk to your Elders that way, Tin Boy. And with how I'm feeling at the moment, I'd keep your hands where I can see them."
Forge arched an eyebrow. "Ten steps away, and I don't miss. You really want to be going back to your room now, Miss Braddock. Scott might have tried to be gentle, but me, I might still hold a grudge about that whole psychic-attack-in-the-hallway thing, so I'd remind you that right now I'm armed, and you've recently had your fleshy brainbits scrambled by god-knows-what. Don't be stupid here," he said, gripping the small handgrip of the device in his pouch, "you really don't want to throw down right now."
"It's Ms. Braddock and you didn't say Simon says." Betsy took a step into the room, saw the flicker of intent in Forge's eyes and grinned. "Dirty boy. Tin boy. Bad boy."
Forge's hand tensed, then he saw Betsy move-
-one step and his left arm moved, whipping around from behind his back and coming to bear on Betsy as she approached
-two steps and his finger was already tightening on the trigger as Betsy's arm flung forward
-three steps and the thump of the compressed-air projector in his hand echoed off the hallway walls, only a split second before the thrown scalpel sliced through the sleeve of his shirt, dulling harmlessly against the myomer of his bicep before clattering to the floor-
A mere second before Betsy slumped to the ground, unmoving. Forge froze, arm still extended, finger clenched around the trigger of the pistol-like device. He'd created it as a prototype for delivering medication through the skin of otherwise invulnerable patients, but when dialed up to maximum, it could expend an entire gas cartridge with the force of a knockout haymaker at short range.
With a smile, he stood over Betsy. "Hah!" he exclaimed, rising up slightly on his toes in triumph. "Robot one, ninja zero, bitch! How do you like tha---"
His taunt was cut off as one long leg snapped up in a scything arc, the instep of Betsy's foot catching him upside the head and sending him into a wall, then sliding unconscious to the floor.
Betsy stood up slowly, dusted herself off, and walked over to Forge's prone form. She began humming as she kicked his body over, checking to make sure he was unconscious. Betsy stepped over Forge and entered the Box. She retrieved his laptop and exited the medlab, singing now to herself . "Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. This is the end. Beautiful friend. This is the end. My only friend, the end."
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