fffffuck
Just to be sure, Jocasta is going to put a couple (suppressed) pistol shots in its face.
She'll reload first, then see if there's anything she figures she can do with a first aid kit. After that, she'll sigh heavily, see if Mitch is okay, and then say, "Well, what next?"
"Also, should we, uh...display this fucking beast? To make the 'game' more real? Or would that be too real?"
"Shit, it got you. Shit." Mitch is aware the girtablullû have a venom in their tails. What can we do for her, he asked his First Aid skill he didn't have?
So both of you know from training that girtablullû venom basically acts the same as our regular Earth scorpions' venom in that it acts as a neurotoxin; more evidence that the Anunnaki used Earth DNA to create their servitor monstrosities. But of course the sheer size of this thing means it delivers much more venom in one sting. The good news is, mundane First Aid can help ameliorate the worst of the effects of the venom.
So what I'd like to do is have Mitch try to lavage the wound aided by Jocasta. Jocasta will roll just regular First Aid to aid, and then Mitch will roll his Default First Aid, aided by Jo's roll and then a +3 for a SANDMAN first aid kit (which contains handy anti-toxins which, while not guaranteed to work against every scorpion man, are a decent prophylactic against full on nerve-death).
So Mitch and Jo go to the nearest restroom to try to lavage the wound (as I mentioned) and Jo and Mitch do their best ... but a minute or two after the wound was inflicted, Jo begins to feel some numbness near and around the wound, and an occasional sharp electric keening in her left hand (I'm assuming a left-arm wound makes the most sense given the parrying).
"Shit, Mitch. This thing got to me worse than I thought," Jocasta says through gritted teeth. "I know there's more of these things down here to deal with, and that they've got their hands full upstairs, but I think we gotta call someone and see if at least there's a hotel doctor or something." She lights up a Slim.
"Thanks. You did good."
Aura sight.
"Okay, the good news is, it's like a nonlethal toxin, or maybe a nonlethal dose. That's good. We lucked out there. The bad news is, you're already feeling some symptoms, that's going to get worse before it gets better," Mitch says as he lights a cigarette of his own, one he found on the floor.
"In a perfect world you could just sleep it off. You'll metabolize it, be fine by this time tomorrow I'm sure. But, uh, yeah. I dunno if we didn't get the antivenom in fast enough or if it's the wrong kind or, hell, maybe the antivenom is what's going to ensure you're alive and cranky in the morning. I don't know." Mitch shrugs distractedly.
"You think they'd stab me, if I tried to negotiate with them? There's like four more down here. I've seen two different kusarikku and been unscathed. I think they want me alive. Not everybody may have gotten that memo, though."
"Shit. Well, if they want you alive, it's not for anything good; I've seen what they do to living people's minds." She gestures towards her bag, hoping there's some Modafinil in it.
"If I can stay awake, I can help," she says with only a little uncertainty in her voice. "We should probably call Roger, though -- see what we should do from here, maybe ask if there's a doctor in the house." She pauses again, looking around for signs of an imminent threat. "How about you? You doing okay?"
We left Roger like a minute and a half ago, right? So we can just turn around and head back up, if we want.
"I'm fine," Mitch says as he tries to see scorpion-men through the walls with his Detect ability.
Whether it's the recent combat, the bruising and wounding and the toxin making its way through her veins, or just the continued slippage of the hotel into History B, Jo's perceptions are starting to feel weird down here. She can't hear any other people down here; usually this level of the hotel would have people going back and forth to the service areas, to the guest services, and especially to and from the parking garage (Padden and Hall must have locked it down, good job boys, Jo thinks while wincing), but it's quiet enough to hear the buzz of the few remaining lit fluorescent lights.
The proportions and architecture of the basement go from Gilded Age-era hotel to Sumerian ziggurat in a flash in some forgotten part of Jo's ape-brain; the whole experience, it's not unlike tripping, now that Jo is thinking about it; two worlds, one perception. She can't hear the click-clack of girtablullû talons on marble, or anything else suspicious in the distance. The basement is eerily, maybe even completely, empty of human (or other) habitation.
No other sources of overt, concentrated History B energy between here and the parking garage (that radius covers the entire basement level).
Jocasta thinks she's starting to feel the effects of the venom.
"It's sure quiet down here, Mitch." She pauses for a beat and says, "too quiet." Then a woozy giggle.
"I'm not seeing any more of the scorpion-men right now." Mitch crosses towards the coin-polishing office, which requires stepping over the mangled monster-corpse. "Maybe they went out through the garage?"
Moving to be able to see whatever's pinging the Detect in the office, check it out. Can roll Observation if it makes a difference.
"There were five of them," Mitch says for like the fourth time.
"I feel like we're the only people down here, Mitch. I wonder if we can just seal the basement and contain it? I don't think they could have gotten out," she recalls.
"My FBI guys have the outside locked down pretty tight. We would have heard something." She fiddles around with her rifle, holding it loosely and making sure the clip is tight.
"Hey, Mitch," she says suddenly, with a tiny edge of fear in her voice. "Don't leave me, okay?"
Mitch turns his head towards her at that, nonplussed. It's not clear whether he's surprised that she might want him to stick close, or that she's worried he'd leave unexpectedly.
The coin-polishing office is only a few feet away, right? The scorpion-man was able to close with Jo quickly, I assumed it was maybe ten feet to where the coin-polisher had been polishing coin.