Isaac had thrown himself into his work. Chymical and thaumaturgical batteries had gone into prototypes that shorted out or blew up in his face. He drew hex lines with paint that ate into the bony tables and caused his head to swim. He connected tubes. Exhaustively, a pair of right handed gauntlets had emerged into shape. Sheet metal, connected to thaumaturgical batteries by power cables that sparked when activated, connected to a Translation Plate which turned a weapon held in the hand into something puissant, glowing with power, an ordinary gun into a roaring tetragrammaton that took puissant bullets, a blade into something Jabber himself might wield.

It was a start...There was still the issue of capacity: the batteries were depleted after only a couple shots.

He stretched and cracked his back, suddenly feeling the ache of hours bent over the bench.

Title: Hey, Mamela
Location: Stacy; The Sensoriums






Renne was often awake at ungodly hours.

He was exploring at almost any chance he got, striving to understand the world around him.

On Stacy, the creature found himself doing a lot more exploring than he'd dreamed of, even back in that Nexus where worlds and time converged into one singularity. Things had been encountered, learned and forgotten back there.
Here, his explorations had rarely ceased as more and more knowledge was gained.

The problem was, Renne did not look into himself and his shadows.

You...bit the tree. He bit the tree.

His head whipped around as if he'd heard the voice from behind him over his left shoulder. When Renne didn't hear anything further, he crawled onward down the nearly endless halls.

I should not have saved you.

The left turn had him turning around to his right and his ears perking forward. His eyes narrowed and his face turned to a stoic expression. Simon and House Aventeal had been eliminated long ago. He'd not even been there to witness it -- only Abigale remained. She was there and alive but Simon's voice still echoed.
Renne shook his head and turned down the corridor.

...or I shall use you as a football and kick you into the ocean.

'Twas the night before Christmas...

Renne picked up speed and went down another hallway.

I must end this illogical contact. Goodbye

The Sensoriums and his imagination seemed to work in tandem with one another as he came in. The tavern was there again.

Hey, Mamela

Are the girls out?

A gunshot.

The tavern burned. From the fire emerged the sea and a tossing ship. Gale winds pounded against the sails and he heard a desperate scream through the storm. Renne clung to a standing line until his knuckles turned gray.
Ingonyama nengw' enamabala

Rain came down in torrents and the ship tossed in an uncertain sea. Somewhere, thunder clashed but he wasn't sure if it was thunder or a bullet from a gun.
A spar began to crack.
Renne tried to sing the gale away.

He lives in you
He lives in me...

Doc hadn't had occassion to relive his early college years in a long long time, but sitting in the media library neck deep in everything Stacy could dig up about performing surgeries on poikilothermic individuals he certainly FELT like a freshman again.

Surgeries for people with internal tempuratures like Kang's were... complex to say the least. Not insurmountable - nothing ever really was - but there'd been much consulting with the other staff and with Stacy about what the capabilities of the medical facility were. Kang's reluctance to be put under full anesthesia had lead to a lot of research toward numbing just a limb, with drugs or more accurately nerver response interruptions. Stacy was capable of some of the former but there would be catches, all of which needed some discussion.

All information and schedule cleared Doc left Kang a private message on the comms to come down to medical when he had a free hour or so.

Hopefully this would all go smoothly lest he made a one-handed enemy out of a big half-dragon man.