Waiting for the conquering heros.

[lt-naraht.livejournal.com]

There is a Horta in the Bar.

That, by itself, has not been unusual for this last year. But, this time, Naraht is watching the area of the Door intently. On the table beside him are various devices and supplies: medikits, tricorders, folding stretchers, blankets. There is also a large, chilled keg full of Ray's Green Stuff standing by.

He's been in this position ever since the rescue party left last night...and he's not gonna budge until they get back.

Comments

[gone_byebye]

The door flies open.

The other side of the door shows an old, closed-up shop in Montana somewhere. It also shows several people- Peter Venkman, an Egon, Foxtrot X-Ray, and- ah, there. Just in the front, that's Danny Phantom propping up Ray Stantz- the familiar, dark-haired Ray who frequents the Bar.

Well, sort of familiar. Most of the time he's a lot cleaner, not dressed in clothes patched with elk skin, a whole lot less smelly, and way better shaven.

"Hi, Naraht," he says with a wobbly smile. "Got anything I could wash my hands with?"

[stilljustandrew]

RAY!

*There's an Andrew running over from over by the fireplace.*

[gone_byebye]

"hi, Andrew," says Ray with a wave. "Well- I'm back."

'course, Sam looked a whole lot better than that, but we won't go there, will we.

[stilljustandrew]

*He skids to a halt, looking horrified.*

Jesus H. Vishnu, you're a mess -- what'd they do to you?

[gone_byebye]

"As nearly as I can tell," Ray says, "they bought a piece of land Ted Kaczynski passed up because it was too remote, put up a cabin entirely without metal, glass, or plastic components, and called an interdict on satellite and aircraft overflights for the surrounding five hundred square miles. All, I might add, on Walter freaking Peck's orders."

[stilljustandrew]

... Peck? How the hell?

[gone_byebye]

"Typo," Ray says. "He told me. An actual typo. When the EPA demoted him somebody typed his info into a transfer form instead of another guy's named Walter Peck, and he wound up working for this super black ops organization called Foliage Census. He said they monitor technology movement everywhere in the world, and they wanted me out of circulation and working for them, so they were gonna give me time to think it over."

He scowls. "In Upper Wolf's Ass, Montana. Honestly. If I never see red meat jerky again it'll be too soon."

[stilljustandrew]

*Andrew's teeth clench.*

Right.

Next time he gets doused in melted marshmallow? Someone needs to hold his head under.

[gone_byebye]

"No arguments here, though I was thinking more along the lines of some form of enema or something just to make sure he absolutely gets the lesson." Ray grimaces. "Come to think of it I should ask my nephews what they think ought to happen to him- no, never mind. The last time I saw them Alex had just seen Return of the Jedi. He'd probably just say throw him to the Sarlacc."

[stilljustandrew]

Gah.

Anyway -- can I get you anything? Painkillers? Something to eat or drink? Or read?

[gone_byebye]

"Anything written in the English language that isn't either the US Army Survival Manual or written by Jean Auel," Ray says fervently. "I never, never, ever want to see anything about blond Cro-Magnons getting their freak on AGAIN as long as I live."

[stilljustandrew]

*In a tiny horrified whisper:* ... oh god.

I'll be right back --

*Andrew turns and dashes back to the couch where he was sitting, and is back in about five seconds with Arthur C. Clarke's The Nine Billion Names Of God held out in one hand like a relay racer's baton.*

[gone_byebye]

To extend the athletic metaphor, Ray grabs the book with the enthusiasm of a marathon runner offered a cup of water. "Thank you," he says fervently. "Man- no offense to Ms. Auel, but I really do think I put her books to their two best possible uses, even if they're both sort of desecrations of the printed word. I suppose in my own defense I should say she desecrated it first, but still."

[lt-naraht.livejournal.com]

"Oh, Mother bless!" Naraht cries as he grabs a tricorder with one bit of fringe and some antiseptic with another bit.

"Danny, get him into the chair. So help me, Ray, I'm sticking a sub-dermal transponder in your arm before I let you go through that damn door again."

[wyrd-fox.livejournal.com]

FX snickers.

"I knew that putting chips in pets would finally spread to humans," he says.

[gone_byebye]

Ray's only too happy to collapse into the first item of furniture shoved under his butt. "Oh, man," he says, "you have no idea how glad I am to see this place. None at all."

[lt-naraht.livejournal.com]

The Horta pours the antiseptic over his hands and whipes them with a towel while he runs the tricorder over the rest of him.

"I may have a faint inkling," he says. "Particularly since...Mother bless, Ray! What happened to your ankle?"

The instrument is reading a rather nasty fibular head break."

[gone_byebye]

"I slipped on a streambank and twisted it somehow," Ray answers. "I thought it was just a sprain- OW."

Some people never learn not to move things.

"Do me a favor, Naraht? The next time you see your ship's officer named Peck? Smack him for me. A lot. Tell him it's a belated payment on what I owe one of his ancestors."

[lt-naraht.livejournal.com]

"Oh trust me," he says darkly. "It will take a great deal of restraint to smack him rather than land on him from one of the engineering gantries."

He finishes the scan and his vapor takes on a rather sharp smell. Putting the tricorder down, he picks up a glass and moves to the keg.

"You need, in order, a splint and bone-regenerator, a course of antibacterials and antiparasitics, a bath, clean clothes, some nourishing but easily digested food, lots of fluids and a warm bed," he says. Then he turns and holds out the glass of Green Stuff.

"We'll start with this while I get the rest organized."

[gone_byebye]

The image of HORTA DEATH FROM ABOVE leaves Ray with an almost incurable case of the giggles. He hasn't even stopped by the time he takes the glass of green stuff. "Okay," he says. "Okay. I can- yeah."

He's not gonna start drinking until the laughter passes, of course- but still.

[wyrd-fox.livejournal.com]

While Naraht is getting things together, Alfred the Butler steps up. Well, it's really FX, but you know what I mean (and the tails are kind of a dead-giveaway).

"Master Stantz," he says in a clipped British accent. "While Mr. Rockhead is organizing your medical care, are there any particular garments you would prefer to have prepared for you? Or perhaps a lounging robe would be better all things considered."

[gone_byebye]

Ray peers at Alfred, in that peculiarly intent way that suggests he's not so fussed about the possibility of illusion as about the possibility of his own head playing tricks on him. He'll get it sorted out eventually, of course.

"I don't think I"ve ever worn a lounging robe in my life," he says. "But there's a company t-shirt of mine upstairs..."

[wyrd-fox.livejournal.com]

"Very good, sir," he says loftily. "It will just be a moment."

With that, "Alfred" floats up (still standing stiffly at attention) and vanishes through the ceiling. A few minutes later, he comes down the stairs with the requested t-shirt in hand as well as a pair of sweatpants.

"I took the liberty of selecting your trousers, sir," he says. "I presume that this will be more comfortable while you are being casted." The clothes are carefully laid out on the table.

"And, once you are feeling better, we can begin fittings for your vestments."

[gone_byebye]

Okay, well- that's new. Not that he hasn't seen it happen in other forms before, but phasing solid matter through solid matter's a new version of-

-wait. What?

"... vestments."

[wyrd-fox.livejournal.com]

Helps when you're solid only if you feel like it (with the help of a high level of ambient magic).

"Well, maybe not vestments," he says, morphing back into his preferred form. "But you're gonna need something formal soon, and don't worry. They'll be quite stylish."