14183/We're all just animals

We're all just animals
Date of Scene:	12 March 2022
Location:	Hank's Lab - X-Men Base
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Beast, Rogue

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Beast has posed:
The lab is shut. It isn't locked, but it's doors have a 'do not disturb' icon on them. But as noted, they aren't locked -- he never locks them if he can help it, there's a need to keep the medical bay and lab space open just in case of sudden and unexpected emergencies. They happen so very often around the mansion when you have superpowered teenagers and pre-teens running amok.

There's odd sounds coming from inside though, the occasional grunt and one could be absolutely sure that there was a whimper, a clonk and a scraping noise too, as of chairlegs improperly picked up to move.

Beast has his back to the door, bent over a microscope by the looks of things, his broad shoulders hunched and dwarfing the items on the desk infront of him. You know scientists and their focus. Though he also appears to be muttering under his breath.

Rogue has posed:
Well the sign says 'Do Not Disturb' not 'Do Not Enter'. If it had said Do Not Enter, then Rogue would have obliged that. It just says do not disturb, which means one can enter, and set things down, and be all quiet and stealth like - thus not disturbing the doctor. Of course, this same doctor could likely hear a pin drop in the middle of a crowd, but this is besides the point!

So when Rogue makes it to the lab with a couple paper bags in hand and a drink holder in the other, she looks at the note for a few seconds before pushing the button on the wall that opens the doors so she can walk in. She says nothing, just admires the hunched over Beast for a moment and then moves to where she can set the stuff she's brought with her down as silently as possible. Tacos. She's brought tacos, and a root beer for the Beast while she indulges in what fast food places deem 'Sweet Tea' though it's not southern sweet. She'll refill the glass with cherry limeade soon enough.

All that done, she sits as quietly as she can in a chair and nestles down to rest for a moment. Not saying a word. Not at all being a disturbance.

Beast has posed:
That might change when she notices the hand nearest to her on the workbench. It's tense as all get out and the claws are out, digging into the surface of the bench with a tenacity that's left furrows in the wood. He likes wooden benches. It takes him back to SCIENCE! in school. Plus dents in them build character, tell a story and invariably are known intimately, rather like that hand, which doesn't usually look quite so ferociously like it's hanging on the edge of a cliff!

"Anna-Marie?" it sounds like a question, but has the feel of a plea. "Would you be so good as to get the vial out of the samples refridgerator that's marked #X-4 jj876? And a hypospray?"

Rogue has posed:
Rogue does manage to glance and see that Hank is holding onto the counter as if he's holding on for dear life. This mixed with the sounds she heard outside the lab just as she was talking up now give her cause for concern. "Oh. Of course." She's quick to stand and walk to the fridge to grab said sample and the hypospray. "What in the world have you gotten yourself into this time?" She asks this as she brings the requested items over to Hank. "Do you need me to do anything else?"

Beast has posed:
"Yes. Please." There's a very slight sound of grinding teeth and another almost pained whimper. "Could you draw up 0.1mls of it and add it to 10cc's of saline, in the hypospray capsule? And then if you wouldn't mind firing it at my neck, that would be /fantastic/." What comes out then is a snarl and a pop sound can be heard. His profile seems to be straining, as if his face wants to rearrange itself somewhat. "I'm having a regression. It's quite painful. I've been stuck focusing willpower for the last half hour."

Rogue has posed:
"Uh...I can try..." Rogue offers, but it's very likely that Hank has shown her how to do something like this a time or two for different reasons. Once it's all loaded and the hypospray is ready, she shifts to fire it into his neck as requested. "There you go...." She says this and then steps back. "A regression? Do these happen often?" She's trying to remain calm, but seeing him in such pain really tears at her. "How long does this take to go into affect?

Beast has posed:
"Couple of minutes..." is the strained reply "...it's my atavism. Remember for a while I had a muzzle? I managed to ... get my face back. Occasionally... it flares. Up. Nnnnnnnnnnnfffff..." the claws scratch the wood deeper and his head jerks downward, but the strain seems to ease. Deep breaths get taken through flared nostrils, then slowly it goes to a sense of normality and he takes meditational breaths instead, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow, the claws release and he eases back, blinking slow and steady. He looks up at her with a weak shrek grin. "Sorry, I couldn't move without things popping and cracking. Thank you. Holy cheesewhizz kids, that was something." And because: Bodysuit, he reaches to enfold an arm about her waist, leaning his forehead into her midriff and blowing a long raspberry into the hollow between them.

"And you brought tacos. Eeeeeeee. With extra taco sauce?"

Rogue has posed:
Rogue is wearing gloves, so even while he's fighting it and waiting for the medicine stuff to begin working, she'll actually run gloved fingers over his back, up and into his hair and down again. Soothing the Beast. Or at least doing what she can for such. When he seems to be getting his wits about him again, she eases back a bit until she feels him enfolding an arm about her waist and she smiles and holds him close. As best she can without skin contact.

"Yes. Extra taco sauce. And a root beer for you."

Beast has posed:
In a low tone, like he was saying some great and terrible spell. "Rooooooooooooooot beeeeeeeeeeer," and turns to her cloth'd midriff with his face to 'gnarrgnarrgnarr' there fleetingly. THen manners reappropriate his frontal lobe and he eases back enough to look up and smile small this time. "Thank you, it was very kind of you. If you were to have read my mind you'd have seen nibbles and snackifications in my neo-cortex, as I was about to go trundling to the kitchen when the spasm hit." Pause. "Did you get the cinnabites, too?"

Rogue has posed:
"I mean I know you eat and such, but sometimes I have to wonder just how often you do actually eat when you're down here working in your lab." Rogue offers this much with a smile. "I'm afraid to ask it, but what would have happened if I didn't come here to find you in this state? Would you have managed to give yourself the medicine at some point?" Asking this as gently as she can while she goes around to give him his very own bag. Filled with tacos, a couple burritos, extra sauce and - yes - even cinnabites. "You can't go to Taco Bell and not get cinnabites..."

Beast has posed:
"I'm glad you asked that, because frankly you've just made my day. Most people wonder if I don't have hollow legs. That's why there's snacks stashed all over here..." Beast's eyes trail to various hidey holes and up to her eyeballs as they look down at him from above. SMall mouth, grave nod. Truth! Then in all seriousness, he looks over at the fridge. It's only about five foot away, but that distance seemed insurmountable not that long ago. "I eventually would have, yes. But it would have taken maybe an hour to get control enough and concentration enough to get over there and do what needed doing and I would've been utterly exhausted. As it is..." he takes the bag quite happily, fishing out a taco and very carefully doing some kind of origami folding affair with the wrapped to keep it tight and therefore much easier to eat "...this is an absolute godsend. As are you."

Rogue has posed:
"The hell are hollow legs going to do for you?" Rogue wonders and then shrugs her shoulders. "Also you can stash and eat snacks all day long, you should still get some proper food in you. Like protein and such. Hence, I bring tacos." She beams this for a moment before listening to him speak on how he would have managed to drug himself but it would have taken quite an effort to do so and tired him out plenty. She frowns at this and then looks around a moment. "There should be a button you press that can call one of us to come help you when you need it... cause you help us all the time, someone should be able to come here and help you." At his last words she squeaks and then shakes her head. "I... I ain't nothin' special, Hank. Just doin' what any...other person...would do for someone they care about..."

Beast has posed:
"Nonsense," Hank refutes "see, other people would've brought me a sandwich and insisted I eat the slices of apple and cucumber they artfully prepared with a dash of salt and pepper. You went one better and brought -tacos-. And soda pop. That's the art of caring down to a fine form." And no, he doesn't sound like he's mocking at all. "Take the compliment, Anna-Marie, it was meant from the bottom of my stomach." And thusly at the end he ruins it for effect. The taco is devoured in very short order though, washed down with a noisy slurp of root beer, a famished man indeed. The second taco is treated to the same paper folding technique that kept the first from dumping lettuce and sauce in his lap, as he looks up at her again. "I would feel a bit silly wearing a panic button around my neck, which is the only thing I can think of that would work. I did this to myself after all, with my own hubris."

Rogue has posed:
Rogue makes a face. "Do I look like someone who's gonna bring you a sandwich and fancy ass veggies? Hell naw. Even if I got you somethin' from the kitchen I promise you it'd be fried chicken, mashed tatoes and mac and cheese. Southern style." She offers this and then up-nods a bit. "The south didn't raise a fool, Hank McCoy." She finally grabs her own bag and fishes out her own taco, dressing it up a bit before taking a crunchy bite. "Mmn..." An eyeroll of the pleasured kind before she's putting on some hot sauce and taking another bite once more. "Okay, so no panic button... but... maybe a panic button. Somewhere. That you can hit or... I dunno..." Then. "An app! A phone app!"

Beast has posed:
"Hmm, now that's worth consideration. When am I absent of my device of telecommunication, I ask?" -- but there was a moment where there was nearly an 'amen' to the southern style, a bit of heavenly jazz hands offered like it was gospel, to the 'Deep fried or smothered'n cheese' doctrine. Them's words to live by, y'all! "I could likely knock that out pretty swiftly, have it send an alert to the faculty at least. You'd get a foghorn one though."

Rogue has posed:
"I don't care if I get some sort of cat screeching bloody murder, so long as it's something that gets my attention and gets you help." Rogue says this much before taking another bite of taco, polishing the first one off. She washes it down with a few gulps of the 'tea' in her cup and then makes a face. "Oh no..." Promptly rising to find a sink and pour it out, she then goes to the Hank-made dispenser of cherry limeade and serves herself some of that. "People need to learn how to make proper sweet tea. Anyway. App for the phone, yes, and ah... somethin' somethin', you complimented me. Thanks."

Beast has posed:
"YOu are infinitely welcome. But let me write that down..." a pantomime is made of this, writing in the dew of the root beer condensate "...Catawaul. Is. A. Go." With an exaggerated full stop. The reaction to the tea though in the aftermath gets a look of sympathy. "I'd be mortified if someone butchered a Chicago pizza for much the same reason. How dare you provide me with this travesteeeeeeeeeeeh and consider it sustenance!? Harriden! Shrew! You will suffer the wrath of being binned for this afront to my taste buds!" Puffed chest. "How -do- you make proper southern sweet tea, anyway?"