xp_logs | Sarah, Hank, and Peanut Butter on White (Reply)

Occuring just after Alison's Email (iJournal isn't letting me backdate today), Hank goes looking for Sarah, who wasn't hard to find. Wonder of wonders, he coaxes her away from the Blaire residence and boys within for some few minutes, and they talk briefly about assorted sundry recent events in a wholly roundabout manner. Peanut butter is put on bread, and virgin strawberry jam jars find deflowering, which isn't half as entertaining as it sounds.

Hank had entirely missed the commentary in question, as he doesn't make a habit of scouring the entire journal system, and he doesn't have a sifter program looking for people bleeding on floors to call to his attention-- even though there's no real reason he couldn't, aside from an unwillingness to use it in that fashion-- however, it's rather more difficult to miss a worried email referring to such comments, when it graces his inbox. Thus, he has sallied forth from his figurative cave, to track down Sarah and investigate the matter further, his inimitable (well, *you* try it without a mutation!) occassionally three-limbed walk carrying him from likely locale to likely locale in search of the girl, while he hums some odd and probably obscure tune quietly.

Sarah hasn't moved much since she planted herself in front of the couch in Alison and Lorna's common room. Maybe a moment to stretch her legs, but always going straight back to having them curled up underneath her. She's doing a damn fine job of bleeding on the floor, and she'd rather not have people staring at her body as it tries to heal the hard way. With her back against the wall, and Artie sleeping at her feet, watching is just about the only thing she can do right now. Sleeping is certainly not an option at the moment.

So the first guess is the best guess. Capital. Spot-on, old chum. As some kids would like to say... 'Boo-yah.' Well done, fuzzy, you win the cupie doll. now.. as for the prickly proposition of actually opening conversation with the girl... well. It is perhaps fortunate that he's not unknown to visit of his own accord in these parts. A head to poke in the room, a flash of a grin to completely fail to charm, most likely. A quiet voice to avoid waking the young one, as he lets himself in. After all, the room's ownership was happy to invite him to come up. "Ah, good evening. I do hope I'm not interrupting you." Yes. We'll just start with pleasantries and offers of politeness. It's the safest of alternatives. Good call, old boy. Why thank you, I thought it was quite nice myself... Shush, and pay attention to why you're here.

Looking up, it only takes Sarah a moment to gesture towards Alison's room. She's not much impressed. "Blaire's in there." Then she settles herself back closer to the wall, and returns her attention to the couch and the floor.

Ah... ever charming, his times spent with Sarah. Still, he's here for a reason, and he pauses, ostensibly to give artie a looking-over. "Yes, I'm aware.. thank you. But, I'm not here to see her, this time about." On to the point, and it's best not to bandy about and irritate her, most likely.

Looking back up with one eyebrow slightly raised, and uncurling her arms from in front of her she scratches idly at her shoulder, careful to avoid the open wound there. "Does it involve going down to the medlab? Because, no."

He'd expected that. So it doesn't take long for her to recieve a rueful smile, and a shaking of the head. "No. I don't need fancy equipment and pokes and prods this time. You can rest easy on that score. I'd like to hand over a prescription of sorts, nonetheless, but as I'm am not counting myself inclined to pick anyone up bodily this evening, I think it perhaps it is not to be."

Shaking her head, she takes a moment to mull over what he said, or at least what she -thinks- he said. "I'm not sure I follow. Why are you here?"

Ah, good. If she's thiking about it and trying to puzzle out the language, then she probably gives some inkling of a damn that he's there. Brushing on sleeve of his labcoat, he turns his gaze over to Sarah, now. "I'm here because Alison is worried about you. Not, I hasten to add, her floor. Since she sent her missive to myself, and Doctors MacTaggart and Bartlett, I thought perhaps I'd get here before they did and decided you needed to be shoved down to medlab. I rather don't think it's necessary. I think I should like to perscribe a sandwch, though. And a scant few minutes with a new set of four walls. The boys will, after all, be here when you get back this time, and a few minutes outside of Leech range will probably allow the bleeding portion to solve itself. Is that a great deal more clear?"

Nodding, Sarah shoots a glare in the the direction of Alison's door. Everybody here was always so fucking worried. She nearly says no, but the temptation to "cheat" and let her healing factor do its thing is stronger than her determination to watch the boys until they tell her not to. Besides, the last thing she wants to deal with right now is a goddamned infection. Slowly getting to her feet with her hand against the wall for support, she gestures vaguely. "You may want to move over there somewhere. I don't want to stab you when everything pops back out."

Nodding and managing to keep some semblance of relief from actually showing, he moved as indicated, not rising out of his crouch so much as just crawling. but then again, it's just as easy for one such as he to move like this as walk upright.

If there's one thing that can be said about Sarah, it's that she learns from her mistakes. Moving out of Leech's range is something to be taken slowly, with plenty of preparation, and preferably one limb at a time. She doesn't take it quite that slow, but she somehow manages to leave range and not gasp as four bones sprout out in quick succession. There -is- some mumbled swearing though, as she stuffs not quite healed hands into her pockets. "I'm okay. We can go now."

Well, now, this was interesting. He'd never seen this particular process in action, and it was somewhat unlikely he'd get the chance any time soon, so he couldn't but help watch it with some small glimmer of interest leaking out. but it lasts only as long as the show does, and he nods, moving to hold the dorr for her in his usual, absently courteous fashion. "Capital." Oh, yes, we like that word, even if it's a little odd. "Do you have a preferred form for your sandwiching to take? Assuming that you haven't eaten more recently than I'd suspect, at any rate."

Sarah glances around for a moment, and returns her attention to the floor. "Peanut butter and jelly sounds wonderful right about now. Don't ask me why." Her stomach grumbles softly in the quiet hallway. "Maybe two."

Considering this as he once more ambles along next to his... comrade in snacks? Something like that. Which simply conjures up amusing thoughts of armored warriors in steeds venturing to distant lands and demanding for the release of sandwich materials from foreign sovereignties, a thought that manages to entrance the blue-furred man entirely for some few seconds before he gets around to responding. "Peanut butter and Jelly it shall be, then. It sounds most amenable, now that you mention it. I think i saw a virgin jar of the strawberry this morning, in fact, and I should think that it would feel very left out among the other jar were it not sullied soon."

Besides, the fleeting look akin to 'What the hell are you on?', Sarah's eyes never really leave the floor, especially when they reach the stairs, and she moves to the railing before she'll even consider taking the first step down.

Ah, the look. He knows it so well. it's almost like an old friend, after seeing it so many times. at first, her behaviour is peculiar, and he considers saying something... but then he remembers having been told that Sarah... dislikes being in the upper floors. To put it in extreme understatement. Let's see... what of the things he'd rather like to say here can he get away with, considering Sarah's general attitudes about things? Mrm. maybe none of them. So for the moment, he allows her silence to get herself through the ordeal that is the rest of the trip to the kitchen, where he parts to do the necessary task of moving plates and food items from their respective places to the countertop. "So, if you don't mind my asking, how is young Leech faring? I haven't had a chance to visit as yet, and I was tending to others when we did the requisite checking-over after everyone got back." The choice of one name for the boy over another might be deliberate, since Hank is certainly shrewd enough to do so... but then again, he doesn't seem to have the habit of sticking to more 'normal' given names that most people do, either.

Leaning back against the counter, Sarah shrugs. "He's been sleeping since I got up there. Sounds like he's been through a lot... again." She prods tentatively at the wound on her right shoulder that's already beginning to close up and heal. By the time they finish eating, there'll be nothing left but little pink scars.

Nodding, Hank makes a quick work of applying peanut butter and jelly to a pair of bread slices, with the help of a third limb to juggle jars. Ah, being capable of doing stupid foot tricks is useful in so many areas of daily life. He deposits sandwich #1 on the plate, and offers it over, before starting on the next assembly. "Seems to be par for the course," is the agreeable response. "And yourself? How are you doing nowadays? It's been some time since I was last graced with your being nominally out and about at the same time as myself." Well, as much as she ever is 'out' and about. But everything's relative... and of course, he's not exactly a regular sight, ground floor and above, either.

Another shrug. "I'm here." She takes a bite of the offered sandwich, (apparently it's very good because she doesn't complain) and after a moment of thought, adds, "But I'm still a bad influence, and I'm not apologizing. I guess how I'm doing, and how people judge how I'm doing are two entirely different things."

The next sandwich is added to the plate, before he starts in on a third to call his own, and her response is given quiet consideration, before a nod, and he decides that perhaps she's feeling expansive enough for the next question, delivered peering over the rim of rectangular glasses. "And... what about how you feel about how people judge you to be doing, vis-a-vis how you judge yourself to be doing?"

Again it takes Sarah a moment of consideration before she can simplify what he'd just said. "I guess... I don't expect them to understand the way I work. But when they can take it upon themselves to tell me when and how I can see the last family I've got left, it makes me wish they -did-." She stared down at her sandwich for a minute before adding quietly "It's hard enough to please the Morlocks."

Once more, a thoughtful nod is earned by the response, while he finishes assembling his sandwich, taking a bite and swallowing while he mulls over the response. "I can see how it would be... I don't believe I shall ask why you feel the Morlocks require pleasing..." A corner of his mouth pulls upwards, in a sort of lopsided smile. "Family is, after all, family. And that is often more than sufficient reason."

Sarah only nodded. her attention returning to her half-eaten sandwich. "It's just like that. I don't expect you to understand, just to... accept maybe? Accept that this is just something I have to do."

Hank gives that a long consideration, while he fetches some milk from the refridgerator. Because... Peanut butter is sticky and everyone knows milk is the proper liquid to wash it down with. "Hmm... I'm not sure I'm convinced that you have to do it. However, I will readily accept that it is something you feel you have to do, if that is... an acceptible middle ground to tread." He holds up the glass of milk, casting a questioning look in Sarah's direction, as he's not precisely an expert on her taste in drinks. or much else where she's concerned, outside of her trips to medlab. Which of course, are of the grumbling variety.

"It's a start," she shrugged, shaking her head in response to the offered milk. "And it's more than I've got from most people."

So the milk stays his, and washes down the sticky peanut butter. "True. But then, I get the feeling it's somewhat unusual for many people to stop to have a chat about it, either."

"Oh no, there aren't any chats. More like ultimatums and the occasional screaming match with somebody who's just trying to help." She took another bite of her sandwich, not even trying to make an effort to change the glowering expression on her face.

Considering this, Hank tilts his head, and then nods slightly. "Perhaps that is where the problem really lies. In that 'trying to help' involves more telling, and less conversation. Well... they do say that the road to damnation is paved with good intentions and well wishes."

Finishing her sandwich, Sarah crossed her arms loosely across her chest. "Yeah, well you try telling them to keep their thoughts and ideas to themselves. I've been trying to do that since I got here a year ago."

A thoughtful *frown*, this time. Variety! "Hmmm. Well, I'm not sure how successful such a thing might be. Of course, if others do not modify their behaviour, my dear... you could, perhaps, take another tactic yourself to get through. After all... they expect you to dig in and yell back, I would imagine. Perhaps, angling for rational discourse would suit your campaign better. If nothing else, it cetainly has the advantage of an element of surprise. It could be worth your time to consider. In any case... you seem do be doing just fine, and I'm sure your trip down here will alleiviate the worries Alison expressed... And while I realize it's entirely a case of pots and kettles, do consider getting some sleep. Im sure the boys would prefer you being awake to play with when they are conscious to enjoy it." She's probably had enough meddling presense for one session, anyway.

"I'll see what I can do," she nods halfheartedly, and takes her plate to the trash like a good little mutant. "Thanks for the sandwich."

The Beast from the Basement simply nods amiably, returning to finishing his own. "Anytime, my dear. And if it should come to pass that it would be worthwhile, do keep in mind I make housecalls outside of the lab. In any case, have a pleasant remainder of the evening."