Snippets Of The Legendary: Hangovers and Consequences.
*Thwip-thwipthwip-thwip-THONK*
"Damnit, Pooky, what the hell?" Terrence Knight blurted, pulling bits of shattered arrow from his leather jacket.
"Sorry, sorry... " Pooky replied, reaching into his jacket for a tube of green inspirations and downing two. "I may sh-still be drunk."
"...what?" Terrence replied, ducking under a sword thrust and uppercutting a Praefectus into the ceiling, where it stuck. "You're a _demon_, how much did you have??"
"Well, I had a couple beers in the bar, I was gonna enjoy the next episode of the Decay Show, and I.. six.. bottles.. whiskey. four vodka. I had three empties of Everclear when I woke up.. sme other stuff, too....."
Terrence stood aghast, staring at the wobbling imp, as the surrounding Praefectus beat on him to no avail. "That's enough booze to pickle Hamidon!"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time?" Pooky replied. Reaching into his jacket again for more greens, the imp unceremoniously fell on his face.
Terrence cleared the last of the current batch of Praefectus with a foot stomp, and hopped over the pile of downed romans. Kneeling beside Pooky, he checked pulse and respiration, performing a rough-and-ready medical evaluation. Finding the imp to be in no danger of clocking out immediately, Terrence stood, and with a sigh, hoisted Pooky up to a shoulder carry, turning and heading for the exit.
Pooky, for his part, vomited an alcoholic bile down the back of Terrence's leather jacket.
The stress of teleporting into the base set off the imp again, and Terrence winced as he heard another gout of vomit splash onto the leather of his jacket, and cringed as it soaked into the denim of his jeans. Awkwardly, more because of the disgusting sensation of puke on his pants than the insignificant burden on his shoulder, Terrence walked to the medbay and deposited Pooky on the diagnostic table. The imp lay like a dead thing, and Terrence shook his head as he irrigated Pooky's mouth and turned him over on his side, before leaving the medbay for the showers.
A phone call later, Terrence sighed in pleasure as the pounding near-steam-hot water sluiced the stains of his good deed off his skin. He had just worked up a good lather when a grasping hand clenched on his left buttock. With a startle yelp, Terrence whirled, slapping his hands down, and knocked Emerald Blast's hand off. Through the foamy suds dripping off his hair, Terrence made out her face grinning up at him. Quickly rinsing off the shampoo, Terr bent down to kiss Emerald, but held her at arms length when her hands started wandering.
"Sorry, hon, but I need a favor."
"That _was_ the idea, Terrrrrrence" Emerald purred, one hand on the fastener of the zip-up top she was wearing. "A favor for a favor."
With a chuckle, Terrence kissed her again, and closed his hand around hers, still on the zipper pull of her top. "I'd love to, Rhea, I really would, but I left you a problem in the med bay. I'll be there.. shortly."
With a pout and another kiss, Emerald skipped out of the bathroom, plucking Mr. Whiskers from his safe perch on top of the paper towel dispenser. As she neared the medbay, her nose wrinkled at the sharp stench of alcohol and vomit.
Pooky hadn't puked again, fortunately, but the stench was astounding, even for an Army trained medic. Emerald threw on a light filtration mask, set Mr. Whiskers on top of a nearby medicine cabinet to oversee, and set to work. The diagnostic bed cranked Pooky to a recumbent position, and Emerald began the first part of her tasking, namely, stripping the vomit-soaked clothing from Pooky. She had just gotten the cummerbund and dress shirt removed, leaving Pooky's muscular torso bare, when Terrence returned from the shower, towling his damp hair.
"Huh," commented Terrence, eying the comatose imp. "No nipples."
"No reason for them, really. He may not be an Archangel, but he is a Celestial.. " Emerald replied.
"True enough. So what's next?"
"Well, that really depends on how much he's drank... "
"Six bottles of whiskey, three bottles of everclear, four bottles of vodka, and 'some other stuff'" Terrence supplied, looking puzzled as Emerald paled and glanced up at Mr. Whiskers.
"Mr. Whiskers says that he'll probably survive, but we should really pump his stomach.. Terr, that's enough alcohol to stand a decent chance of killing _you_!" Emerald said in a low, panicked tone.
Terrence shrugged. "He's not human, hon.. and I didn't do it."
"You have any idea what happened?"
"All I know is, he said something about watching 'The Decay Show' at a bar.. "
Emerald scowled. Glancing at Mr. Whiskers again, she nodded, and turned back to Terrence. "Well, we're gonna pump his stomach for him, that'll at least make sure he survives."
With Terrence assisting, Emerald snapped Pooky into the restraints built in to the diagnostic table. Considering the muscled column of the imp's throat, Emerald opened a drawer and removed a plastic tube in a bag. Handing it to Terrence, she motioned to the imp on the table. "That goes down his throat." Terrence stood in shock, the plastic tube in hand, looking from Pooky to Emerald and back. Emerald, bustling about the medbay, turned back to Terrence with a plastic bucket in hand. "Well?"
"Uh, ah.. buh?" Terrence mumbled, waving the tube confusedly. Emerald laughed, setting down her bucket, and took the tube from Terrence's hand.
"This should be easy enough for you, you big galoot." She said, winking, as she stripped the bag off of the sterile tube. "Once you've verified that the mouth and upper throat are clear." She said, pulling Pooky's jaw down. "You can insert the tube - it may be helpful to lubricate it." With a broad grin, Emerald drizzled clear lubricant on the tube from another drawer. Motioning Terrence closer, she had him hold Pooky's head tilted back, and his jaw open. With a gentle twisting motion, she slid the tube into the imp's throat. "Use of a larger tube, relatively speaking, tends to prevent accidental intubation of the trachea. However, confirmation is easily achieved by compressing the chest and listening for breath sounds." Emerald motioned to Terrence again, and he let loose of Pooky's head, which stayed in place thanks to the tube Emerald held, to push firmly on the imp's barrel chest.
Emerald gave a thumbs up, and gently rotated the tube on it's long axis, sliding it further down the imp's throat. "once you're past the initial junction, it's easy sailing." As the tube bottomed out, Emerald motioned to Terrence. "Hand me the saline please?"
Terrence handed over the saline, and Emerald squirted some into the end of the tube. Handing it back to Terrence, she continued. "The syringe, please?" Terrence handed over a strange syringe, with a length of tubing instead of a needle. Emerald fed the tubing into the larger tube sticking out of Pooky, and drew off a small quantity of fluid, which she emptied into the sink. Sniffing at it and blinking her eyes, Emerald turned back to the imp. "And that's definitely stomach contents. Mr. Whiskers says that there's some rum in there as well.. "
"So what comes now?" Terrence asked.
"Well, we fill the stomach, with saline, so we don't throw off his electrolyte balance, and then empty it.. two or three runs of that, and he'll be all empty, aside from what he's already digested.. that should be enough."
"You know he's going to be so hungover, he'll probably wish you hadn't bothered."
Emerald dimpled at Terrence before squirting another syringe full of stomach contents into the disposal sink. "Not my problem, I assure you!"
Pooky, for his part, contributed nothing.
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies
*Thwip-thwipthwip-thwip-THONK*
"Damnit, Pooky, what the hell?" Terrence Knight blurted, pulling bits of shattered arrow from his leather jacket.
"Sorry, sorry... " Pooky replied, reaching into his jacket for a tube of green inspirations and downing two. "I may sh-still be drunk."
"...what?" Terrence replied, ducking under a sword thrust and uppercutting a Praefectus into the ceiling, where it stuck. "You're a _demon_, how much did you have??"
"Well, I had a couple beers in the bar, I was gonna enjoy the next episode of the Decay Show, and I.. six.. bottles.. whiskey. four vodka. I had three empties of Everclear when I woke up.. sme other stuff, too....."
Terrence stood aghast, staring at the wobbling imp, as the surrounding Praefectus beat on him to no avail. "That's enough booze to pickle Hamidon!"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time?" Pooky replied. Reaching into his jacket again for more greens, the imp unceremoniously fell on his face.
Terrence cleared the last of the current batch of Praefectus with a foot stomp, and hopped over the pile of downed romans. Kneeling beside Pooky, he checked pulse and respiration, performing a rough-and-ready medical evaluation. Finding the imp to be in no danger of clocking out immediately, Terrence stood, and with a sigh, hoisted Pooky up to a shoulder carry, turning and heading for the exit.
Pooky, for his part, vomited an alcoholic bile down the back of Terrence's leather jacket.
The stress of teleporting into the base set off the imp again, and Terrence winced as he heard another gout of vomit splash onto the leather of his jacket, and cringed as it soaked into the denim of his jeans. Awkwardly, more because of the disgusting sensation of puke on his pants than the insignificant burden on his shoulder, Terrence walked to the medbay and deposited Pooky on the diagnostic table. The imp lay like a dead thing, and Terrence shook his head as he irrigated Pooky's mouth and turned him over on his side, before leaving the medbay for the showers.
A phone call later, Terrence sighed in pleasure as the pounding near-steam-hot water sluiced the stains of his good deed off his skin. He had just worked up a good lather when a grasping hand clenched on his left buttock. With a startle yelp, Terrence whirled, slapping his hands down, and knocked Emerald Blast's hand off. Through the foamy suds dripping off his hair, Terrence made out her face grinning up at him. Quickly rinsing off the shampoo, Terr bent down to kiss Emerald, but held her at arms length when her hands started wandering.
"Sorry, hon, but I need a favor."
"That _was_ the idea, Terrrrrrence" Emerald purred, one hand on the fastener of the zip-up top she was wearing. "A favor for a favor."
With a chuckle, Terrence kissed her again, and closed his hand around hers, still on the zipper pull of her top. "I'd love to, Rhea, I really would, but I left you a problem in the med bay. I'll be there.. shortly."
With a pout and another kiss, Emerald skipped out of the bathroom, plucking Mr. Whiskers from his safe perch on top of the paper towel dispenser. As she neared the medbay, her nose wrinkled at the sharp stench of alcohol and vomit.
Pooky hadn't puked again, fortunately, but the stench was astounding, even for an Army trained medic. Emerald threw on a light filtration mask, set Mr. Whiskers on top of a nearby medicine cabinet to oversee, and set to work. The diagnostic bed cranked Pooky to a recumbent position, and Emerald began the first part of her tasking, namely, stripping the vomit-soaked clothing from Pooky. She had just gotten the cummerbund and dress shirt removed, leaving Pooky's muscular torso bare, when Terrence returned from the shower, towling his damp hair.
"Huh," commented Terrence, eying the comatose imp. "No nipples."
"No reason for them, really. He may not be an Archangel, but he is a Celestial.. " Emerald replied.
"True enough. So what's next?"
"Well, that really depends on how much he's drank... "
"Six bottles of whiskey, three bottles of everclear, four bottles of vodka, and 'some other stuff'" Terrence supplied, looking puzzled as Emerald paled and glanced up at Mr. Whiskers.
"Mr. Whiskers says that he'll probably survive, but we should really pump his stomach.. Terr, that's enough alcohol to stand a decent chance of killing _you_!" Emerald said in a low, panicked tone.
Terrence shrugged. "He's not human, hon.. and I didn't do it."
"You have any idea what happened?"
"All I know is, he said something about watching 'The Decay Show' at a bar.. "
Emerald scowled. Glancing at Mr. Whiskers again, she nodded, and turned back to Terrence. "Well, we're gonna pump his stomach for him, that'll at least make sure he survives."
With Terrence assisting, Emerald snapped Pooky into the restraints built in to the diagnostic table. Considering the muscled column of the imp's throat, Emerald opened a drawer and removed a plastic tube in a bag. Handing it to Terrence, she motioned to the imp on the table. "That goes down his throat." Terrence stood in shock, the plastic tube in hand, looking from Pooky to Emerald and back. Emerald, bustling about the medbay, turned back to Terrence with a plastic bucket in hand. "Well?"
"Uh, ah.. buh?" Terrence mumbled, waving the tube confusedly. Emerald laughed, setting down her bucket, and took the tube from Terrence's hand.
"This should be easy enough for you, you big galoot." She said, winking, as she stripped the bag off of the sterile tube. "Once you've verified that the mouth and upper throat are clear." She said, pulling Pooky's jaw down. "You can insert the tube - it may be helpful to lubricate it." With a broad grin, Emerald drizzled clear lubricant on the tube from another drawer. Motioning Terrence closer, she had him hold Pooky's head tilted back, and his jaw open. With a gentle twisting motion, she slid the tube into the imp's throat. "Use of a larger tube, relatively speaking, tends to prevent accidental intubation of the trachea. However, confirmation is easily achieved by compressing the chest and listening for breath sounds." Emerald motioned to Terrence again, and he let loose of Pooky's head, which stayed in place thanks to the tube Emerald held, to push firmly on the imp's barrel chest.
Emerald gave a thumbs up, and gently rotated the tube on it's long axis, sliding it further down the imp's throat. "once you're past the initial junction, it's easy sailing." As the tube bottomed out, Emerald motioned to Terrence. "Hand me the saline please?"
Terrence handed over the saline, and Emerald squirted some into the end of the tube. Handing it back to Terrence, she continued. "The syringe, please?" Terrence handed over a strange syringe, with a length of tubing instead of a needle. Emerald fed the tubing into the larger tube sticking out of Pooky, and drew off a small quantity of fluid, which she emptied into the sink. Sniffing at it and blinking her eyes, Emerald turned back to the imp. "And that's definitely stomach contents. Mr. Whiskers says that there's some rum in there as well.. "
"So what comes now?" Terrence asked.
"Well, we fill the stomach, with saline, so we don't throw off his electrolyte balance, and then empty it.. two or three runs of that, and he'll be all empty, aside from what he's already digested.. that should be enough."
"You know he's going to be so hungover, he'll probably wish you hadn't bothered."
Emerald dimpled at Terrence before squirting another syringe full of stomach contents into the disposal sink. "Not my problem, I assure you!"
Pooky, for his part, contributed nothing.
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies