milliways_bar | Special Delivery from FentonWorks! (AKA. The BRAWL!)

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Special Delivery from FentonWorks! (AKA. The BRAWL!)

"Maddie! Bring my fudge down when you come!"

You hear that bellow? It's coming from the Door which has just swung open on a set of stairs. At the top, you might glimpse bits of living room furnature...but not for long. The view is quickly blocked by a large, orange object which barrels down the stairs and into Milliways. As it skids to a stop, you can see it's a rather large, jumpsuit-clad human. A very shocked, larged, jumpsuit-clad human.

He stares for a moment, wheels in his head audibly grinding.

"GALLOPING GHOSTS! MADDIE! THE LAB'S BEEN COMPROMISED!"

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Off at one of the tables, two WWII issued paratroopers are talking quietly over cups of what one may think is tea. Well..in the medic's case it more than likely is tea. As the oddly dressed man bursts into the room both George Luz and Eugene Roe look up giving each other both a questioning look before Luz manages to call out. "Hey! Lower the pipes there, mac, some of us are tryin to have a conversation here!

Gene just shakes his head and replies in his drawled out Cajun tone, "People s' strange 'round these parts, George. Let 'em be."

Double-take from Jack. They look fairly normal but...

"Soldier ghosts!" he concludes. "I'll give you until I take these suckers out to clear out of here. If not..."

He grins darkly. "I'll rip you apart molocule by molocule!"

It is very much a what the fuck? look that crosses the radioman's face. Both look like they've been through hell already having most of their gear with them- helmets sitting on the table and Luz's rifle nearby. George can't help but make a face towards Gene. "I'm alive. Are you alive, Doc?"

"I'm a' doin fine, Luz. Jus' leave'm be. Nots our fight.."

Which prompts the radioman to stand. George isn't the type to being threatened lightly. "Just put the weapon down, pal. Ain't no ghosts here."

Jack looks a little closer at the man...then double-takes.

"Then explain your eyes, ghost!"

Brown eyes are never seen on humans in Jack's universe. And, in this light, it's easily mistaken for red

George is about two seconds away from getting ecto-foamed.

"Wha..? Okay you're fucking insane. I am very much alive now if you just put the gun down we can talk about this like reasonable people." As he stalks forward George raises his hand intent on grabing the gun thing when he gets a chance too.

Roe, on the other hand, is watching the goings on elsewhere and is already gathering his medical supplies and moving off to be of help. In his mind George can defend himself..for the time being.

Seeing Jack is built along the lines of Mount Washington, grabbing the gun is probably a bad idea.

His eyes narrow. "The most dangerous ghosts are the ones who refuse to believe they're dead."

And the trigger gets pulled.

And George is covered in eco-goo slimey stuff, full in the face and covering the top half of his uniform and gear. This just won't do. Captain Winter's along with the rest of Easy Company just won't have it! And neither will Sergeant George Luz.

"All right," he says, wipeing his face and slopping the goo onto the ground. "No more Mr. Nice Paratrooper!" Storming forward at a run, his jumpboots thumping loudly against the ground, he moves intent on trying to swipe Jack's legs out from under him.

As a note, paratrooeprs were trained in kenjitsu.

Maddie's the black-belt, not Jack. Ergo, the move works.

However, Jack falls forward. He's 6' 11" and weighs upward of 300 lbs.

And he falls fast. George doesn't quite have time to get out of the way.

"HOLY FUCKIN SH-!" KABOOOOOM!

At least that is what it sounds like from George's end as the 300 pound strange little man lands ontop of him. He swears to God he feels something, no, multiple things about his person pop and break leaving him winceing with pain. It's almost like when he had all his gear falling ontop of him on D-day but worse.

"Get..the fuck..off..of...me.." be wheezes."

Well, Jack does. Not because he's told to but because it's hard to cradle a sore knee when flat on your face...on top of a person-mattress, no less.

"Ow-ow-ow-ow!"

George just groans. He feels like he's been forced to climb Currahee more than usual in a day back in basic. "You...fucking...person!" the para says as he winces, trying to draw himself up to his knees and more than pissed off now.

"You're gonna wish...you hadn't picked with this paratrooper.." It's more than anything. Luz just remains on his knees holding his left side in pain.

Jack, however, is on to other threats now that this particular ghost seems to be cowed. In particular, the large rodents currying for cover with their trays.

"Ghost rats!" he shouts, and bounds to his feet, intent on extermination...Fenton-style.

Father Mulcahy comes across from where he had been speaking with Sally. "I seem to find you on the floor often, my son," he says, crouching down. "Are you hurt?"

There's a Sally arriving not too long after, because honestly, she'd never be able to live with herself if she knew someone had been hurt and just left them there.

"What the hell happened here?" she asks. She's carrying a field kit thoughtfully provided by Bar.

"Oh great..just peachie, Padre," Luz winces, trying to pull himself to his feet useing the aid of a nearby chair then table. "Nothing like having a 300 pound version of Bull Randleman landing ontop of you." Taking a deep breath he points to the retreating Jack Fenton.

"Lard ass there thinks it's a good idea to be pointin guns at people." The poor para is also still covered in the green goo stuff. It's a rather flattering color with the OD green he wears now.

Sally looks at Jack. He, however, seems to be well enough to even be able to retreat.

"Great, the day I show up, all hell's breaking loose here." She offers Luz a helping hand. "What happened to you? You look like a Mack truck ran you over. Any injuries you can determine?"

George just snarks a laugh, one that causes him to gasp and nearly find the floor with his arse again. He grabs at his left side and breaths in deep gasps. "Oh, yes ma'am. Lots of things cracked when the 300 pound tub of fucking lard just kinda landed on me."

Turning brown eyes up to Father Mulcahy he tries to laugh but again ends up winceing. "Great sense of humor she has, Father."

"I'm not a doctor, but it sounds like at least some cracked ribs," he says, worriedly, glancing to Sally.

Sally's used to people who can throw themselves out of buildings, or endure crushing blows and G-forces, or get trapped in massive explosions and emerge alive. She makes a mental note that she's dealing with a baseline, here.

"At least," she agrees. "If he's baseline, and that guy landed on him with the force that it sounds like he did. No doubt some pretty bad bruising and general soft tissue damage, as well." She looks at George again.

"I'd like to see someone give you a thorough going over in the infirmary. Are you having any numbness or tingling? You can still seem to move everything, so that's a plus."

Even if the guy can't really stand up on his own, being able to make the effort is a good sign.

"I jump from airplanes, lady. This ain't nothin.." Well, it's not the same thing but George just doesn't care. He's hurting. "Ask me that again when nothing is throbing with pain, okay?"

Winceing again as he takes a deep breath Luz starts to try to haul himself to his feet. Paratroopers can take more than this, he keeps telling himself.

Father Mulcahy takes his arm quickly, to help him, if he'll be able to make it. "Easy does it, son. This is Doctor Po, by the way. Doctor Po, George."

Sally goes for the other arm. "George," she says politely in acknowledgment of the introduction, ignoring the fact that he called her "lady."

"You may jump from airplanes, but in my army, that's generally something done with a parachute, and you don't land sandwiched between a 300-pound man and the floor. So unless bad landings are a habit of yours and trauma like this is an everyday occurrence..."

She shakes her head. In her experience, paratroopers who make bad landings generally only do so on their last one.

"At any rate, throbbing with pain is a better state right now than not being able to feel anything. As long as you can still feel your extremities, you should be okay in the long run. I don't suspect you'd incur any organ damage, unless the guy drove into you elbow-first."

"Only if Captain Sobel is involved." With Mulcahy's help up he all but tries not to lean into the smaller man, but it's really hard.

"I don't know how he landed on me just he landed on me," George whines, nearly doubling over again the longer he's standing. "I just know I heard lots of things pop and it really fucking hurts.."

Mulcahy nods grimly, patting his shoulder. "Should we be going to the infirmary?" he asks Sally, prepared to defer to her expertise in any and all situations.

"With all possible haste," Sally replies. "There's nothing immediately life-threatening, but I'd like to see him in a bed and bandaged up before he ends up with a punctured lung, or something. One good hit from someone else involved in this mess, and things could go south quickly."

She looks at George, supporting the side opposite Mulcahy. "Do you feel up to walking it, or do you want a stretcher or something?" She's known enough military guys from her own world to ask, because half of the time, they object so strenuously to help that they'd get hurt more if she tried to get them onto a litter than if she let them walk with a bit of help.

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