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02 October 2007 @ 03:08 am
 
Grey spent the night coming down off the "high" of a strawberry candy and attempting to write in the journal provided to him. Of course he had to scrap the first few pages that he'd written under the influence of the euphoric. What a bunch of mindless gibberish that had been.

But then he'd written. Every little detail he knew about everything he'd been on thus far and what effects it'd had. In the margins were little scribbles of various scientific equations and theories and such. And in the garbage, among the euphoric induced pages of blabber, was another page torn into teeny tiny bits. Unreadable. It was a page he'd started full of thoughts on where he was and the people he'd seen here, including Clair. His theories on her and her behavior etc. But it hadn't taken him long to realize that Clair likely had no sense of privacy when it came to her subjects (he could relate really). If she read what he'd written it would undoubtably alter her behavior. So he'd scrapped it as well.

It was a few days before he saw Clair again. She came into his cell and provided him with another candy. He was reluctant at first. Especially after she'd spoken of running tests on that awful numbing crap, not to mention of killing him, the previous time he'd seen her. But in the end curiosity had won out as always. She'd left afterwards, which he found peculiar. Not that he hadn't suspected the possibility of there being cameras in his rooms mind you.

So here he sat waiting for it's effects.
 
 
Current Mood: curiouscurious
 
 
 
Ockette: MRIockette on October 2nd, 2007 07:36 am (UTC)
Of course there are cameras. And sensors, in all the comfortable chairs and the bed, calibrated to read his biology. Clair sits in her lab, on a backless stool while the actuators curl still around her, feeding the data from the sensors through their own interpretive servers into her nervous system, the indescribable communication that she's never been able to put into words. Her eyes shut, she can feel his heart beat and blood pressure, the jagged line of his mental activity, and the tingle of oxygen saturation. At her elbow, the equivalent numbers spin on a computer screen, but she knows this well enough. Those are only for her records.

She'll know it, the moment despair saps his strength, makes it just that much harder to draw breath.
Dr. Grey: Poison.grey_matter on October 2nd, 2007 07:56 am (UTC)
There's that familiar dip. That sensation of being dragged to the floor. It hits him like a brick. So that's what the candy had been. Clair might notice his heart rate quicken at the realization. He stands suddenly and paces a few yards back and forth for a minute before finally sitting again. Clearly he's not pleased with this.

It all comes rushing back. The same thoughts that dragged him down the last time. But that much stronger. His failures. The hopelessness of his current situation. He'd never get himself out of this. Not this time. He stands and starts to pace again, running a hand through his hair as he attempts to clear his thoughts.
Ockette: MRIockette on October 2nd, 2007 07:58 am (UTC)
Clair won't interfere. He's in comfortable rooms, with no directly negative stimuli at all, except for the drug. Very nice control conditions. One tentacle watches the screens that show his rooms, twitching from screen to screen to follow his pacing.
Dr. Grey: Skull.grey_matter on October 2nd, 2007 08:15 am (UTC)
Grey's pacing becomes increasingly erratic as he becomes more obviously distressed. "Clair." He spits her name and kicks over a small end table. He stares at it for a few moments before grabbing the journal off the nearby desk and tearing pages from it. A difficult feat with one hand. Paper with carefully jotted notes goes flying. But it doesn't help.

He finally slumps, shoulders sagging. He doesn't even make it fully back to the couch. He slides down with his back to the bottom of it and rests his forehead against his knees. It's almost a minute before he moves again. This time he moves with a kind of agitated precision. A kind of certainty. He heads for the kitchenette and starts to go through the drawers.

Plastic. All plastic. Grey collapses to his knees and pulls the whole drawer out as if it'll prove something. Maybe the really sharp objects are hidden in the back? There's an odd sound not unlike a sob.
Ockette: MRIockette on October 2nd, 2007 07:54 pm (UTC)
No, nothing sharp. Considering the nature of the experiment, (not to mention basic self-preservation) of course she's not given him anything sharp. Even the dishes are plastic and unbreakable.

But he could always try sticking his head in the oven.
Dr. Grey: Concoctions.grey_matter on October 2nd, 2007 11:33 pm (UTC)
Grey curls over the drawer still clutched in hand. After a few moments the quickened breathing and shudders cease. He doesn't want to move. God he doesn't want to move. He just wants to lay there and rot. Lay there and die. But he can't do that. He has to fix this. Has to stop this. Screw waiting for the effects of the drug to wear off. God knows how long that'll be. It's hopeless.

Grey manages to drag himself back to his feet by way of the counter, heading back towards the main room. He stops in the door way and slumps against the frame, eyes scanning the room wearily. Outlets. Electricity. That didn't sound like a very pleasant way to go. ..... It didn't matter. It didn't even matter at this point. Cords. There were cords naturally. And perhaps glass bulbs in the lamps.

Grey decides he'd rather not waste his time tying a noose apparently as he heads for the lamp to check if there's a glass bulb inside.
Ockette: Looooomsockette on October 18th, 2007 03:49 am (UTC)
Oh no you don't. Clair's eyes open and she follows the gaze of the actuator over to the screen where he's crossing the room. She stares a moment, eyes narrowed, but then...

Oh, no you don't.

Fast as thought, she's aloft on the actuators and darting for his room.
Dr. Grey: Poison.grey_matter on October 18th, 2007 04:03 am (UTC)
He can hear a faint, familiar sound as he tears the lampshade off the lamp. The sound of someone moving quickly on actuators. She's coming. She's coming to stop him. He can't live like this. He can't live like this.

He pushes the lamp down onto it's side and steadies it with a knee as he quickly starts to unscrew the light bulb with shaking fingers. He tears the bulb away from the lamp and raises it in preparation to smash it against the table. And hesitates. Just a split second that feels like forever as he stands there shaking and rethinking. It was unbearable. It really was unbearable. He'd never felt like this in his entire life.

He brings the light bulb down hard against the table.
Ockette: Claw!ockette on October 18th, 2007 04:07 am (UTC)
The actuators override the door lock before she reaches it, and suddenly, the room is filled with metal arms as she lunges to pin him down before he has a chance to injure himself. Hell yes, she's coming to stop him. He was expensive. She's not done with him yet.
Dr. Grey: Scalpel.grey_matter on October 18th, 2007 04:15 am (UTC)
Aw, crap. He flinches as he hears the door open and as he glances over his vision is filled with metallic arms. The bulb goes flying out of his hand as he's hit by the arms, sharp edges giving his fingers a good slice or two as he goes down.

He's once again made rather painfully aware of the broken rib as he hits the ground hard, his face scrunching a bit at the sharp pain. He just lays there, breath coming a bit hard and quick as he stares at her wide eyed.
Ockette: Scowlockette on October 18th, 2007 04:29 am (UTC)
"You die when I'm done with you, Grey," she spits, angry about her own oversight and the near-miss it caused. "Not before."
Dr. Grey: Concoctions.grey_matter on October 18th, 2007 04:47 am (UTC)
Grey's breath quickens even further, bordering on hyperventilation. He's not going to loose it in front of her. No way. He still has his pride. He closes his eyes a moment and swallows before opening them again, fingers twitching a little as the realization of pain from them too reaches him. Two have deep gashes in them which are currently dripping blood down his hand and onto the floor.

"I'll choose when I die." It's quiet but firm as he looks her in the eyes. He looks tired... ragged... worn.
Ockette: Looooomsockette on October 18th, 2007 04:55 am (UTC)
Clair glares back, her grey eyes steel-hard and cold. The actuator on his shoulder presses him a little more firmly into the carpet, because she's making a point. Time to put on the negative stimulous.

"No, Alastor, you don't. You never get to choose anything again. I decide that you live. I decide what you eat and wear, when you sleep. I decide everything about the rest of your short. Useful. Little life."

Abruptly, the arms haul him back upright, face to face with her. "And you're not going to die today."
Dr. Grey: Test tubes.grey_matter on October 18th, 2007 05:12 am (UTC)
Flinch. That name again. It's more than an irritation this time. It's this kind of pang. Hits him in the chest. Fuck her. Goddamnit.

He jolts as he's brought back up suddenly and glares half-heartedly at her. It's taking all his effort to do just that. To not just beg her to kill him and scream and loose it and fall apart. Maybe he could get her to kill him. He'd still be winning then. He'd still be winning.

Grey smiles. And then spits in her face.
Ockette: CREEPYockette on October 18th, 2007 05:24 am (UTC)
Clair jerks, and then dashes it off with the cuff of her lab coat before delivering a back-handed slap with more than just her weight behind it. And then a punch. Grey, you are going to get beaten up by a woman who doesn't even come up to your armpit.
Dr. Grey: Heavy tools.grey_matter on October 18th, 2007 05:32 am (UTC)
The first hit's strength surprises him and snaps his head to the side, landing him dazed for a moment. He doesn't have a chance to recover before she's hit him again. He starts to thrash a bit, attempting to get away from her. He's helpless like this dammit. This is not going according to plan. He wanted her to kill him not beat the everliving shit out of him.
Ockette: Looooomsockette on October 18th, 2007 05:39 am (UTC)
One claw holds him up by his good shoulder as she punches him again, just below the throat, and again, in the ribs. Her aim is a fairly thorough workover, even if her only prior experience is on the recieving end.
Dr. Grey: Here kitty kitty kitty...grey_matter on October 18th, 2007 05:48 am (UTC)
Grey tries to wrench his arm free. Once again he's realizing exactly how vulnerable you can be with a missing limb. His other side is free but there's nothing there. He grunts as she hits him below the throat but it's not until she hits him in the ribs that she gets a reaction of real pain. He gives a short outcry as she hits the broken one and his body automatically curls forward.
Ockette: MRIockette on October 18th, 2007 06:12 am (UTC)
She wasn't expecting that, and she actually drops him. What'd she break!?
Dr. Grey: Anatomy.grey_matter on October 18th, 2007 06:17 am (UTC)
Being dropped surely helps things. Grey ends up on his knees as he's released, his hand moving to cover the offending rib. He's pretty sure he can feel it moving now. Nice. He glares at her.
Ockette: In His Shadowockette on October 18th, 2007 06:19 am (UTC)
Clair kicks him on the other side before an arm moves in to push his hand away and examine the rib, nudging expertly.

"Worthless."

This is, surprise aside, still part of the experiment.
Dr. Grey: Sink.grey_matter on October 18th, 2007 06:28 am (UTC)
Grey gives a bit of an "oomph" as she kicks him on the other side and then flinches away from the examination from the arm. It's just a little sore. "Don't touch me." He growls. He flinches again at her words, avoiding her eyes.

She shouldn't be seeing him like this. Not like this. Grey makes a sudden grab for one of the fallen shards of glass. The problem is he hesitates again. This time because he's not sure who to kill, himself or Clair.
Ockette: Claw!ockette on October 18th, 2007 06:32 am (UTC)
"Drop it!" The sharp, direct order is reinforced by a cold claw wrapping around his one hand, sharp edges pressing uncomfortably. "I'm going to examine this rib, and you are going to submit."

Another arm curls around behind him, the claw hovering near his head. The tiny, angry scientist is willing to assert her control.
Dr. Grey: Skull.grey_matter on October 18th, 2007 06:38 am (UTC)
Grey attempts to harshly wrench his hand free, seemingly paying no mind to the pressing of sharp edges. "Let go of me!" His voice is shaking now. He frantically tries to tear his arm away for a few seconds before rather suddenly slumping so that he's pretty much hanging from the arm she holds. His head is down in such a way that she can't see his face.
Ockette: MRIockette on October 18th, 2007 07:18 am (UTC)
Clair scowls at him, but takes advantage of the sudden slump to examine his ribs.

"How long has... You idiot." Two arms coil around him and lift him, so blatantly effortless that she must be showing off, and she turns to carry him back out to the lab.

"Can't even be trusted to have your own damn room..."
Dr. Grey: Art Grey.grey_matter on October 18th, 2007 07:23 am (UTC)
Grey is a rag doll in the arms. But suddenly he's laughing, his shoulders shaking with it. His voice is low as he speaks. "I'm going to kill you. If I'm going... I'm taking you to hell with me."