Hiro Hamada (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bigdamnhiro) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
san_fransokyo2015-01-28 11:26 pm
bigdamnhiro) wrote in san_fransokyo2015-01-28 11:26 pm
Entry tags:
I've got a dark alley and a bad idea
[Hiro's really, actually sneaking into a bar called the Mean-Eyed Cat. The irony doesn't escape him.
He could be at home, at The Lucky Cat, but no. Mean-Eyed Cat it is.
That he even manages to sneak in behind a couple of conversationalists in ill-fitting suits is dumb luck; it's freezing out (it's snowing, it hasn't snowed in years), business is slow, whatever bouncer should be watching the door is hanging out at the counter instead where he doesn't have to deal with the drafts from the door. That he makes it to the other opposite end of the taproom and into the back hall before the bartender manages to mutter a hey wait is because he's small and knows how to duck behind obstacles and look inconspicuous.
Nobody comes after him, so that's a plus. He pauses at a corridor corner to get a good look around and listen to the noise, see if he can get some kind of direction.
He has a small port of Baymax's scanner, but it doesn't have the power to give him more than a general location. From there it was always going to take his own resourcefulness to find the guy. But he's definitely in this building - Hiro asked around, got some incredulous talk about the old-timer, yōkai, guy with the metal creepies, doesn't talk much, at that one bar down the street - stuff like that.
There's a couple of empty rooms - couches and televisions and darts, chipped paint and cracked baseboards, low hanging ceiling bulbs and so much dust and secondhand smoke he fights off a coughing fit - and then there's one with voices, near the back. He peers through the cracked door and finds who he's looking for, skulking on a couch in the back. Between the two of them, though, there's a couple of thugs playing pool and talking shit at each other.
Okay. He was sort of hoping Callaghan would be alone.
He tightens his grip on the folded duster tucked under his arm and stuffs the other in his pocket, fingers tightening around the solid metal object inside. And then he shoulders his way through the door.]
Hey. Delivery for the guy with the metal creepies.
He could be at home, at The Lucky Cat, but no. Mean-Eyed Cat it is.
That he even manages to sneak in behind a couple of conversationalists in ill-fitting suits is dumb luck; it's freezing out (it's snowing, it hasn't snowed in years), business is slow, whatever bouncer should be watching the door is hanging out at the counter instead where he doesn't have to deal with the drafts from the door. That he makes it to the other opposite end of the taproom and into the back hall before the bartender manages to mutter a hey wait is because he's small and knows how to duck behind obstacles and look inconspicuous.
Nobody comes after him, so that's a plus. He pauses at a corridor corner to get a good look around and listen to the noise, see if he can get some kind of direction.
He has a small port of Baymax's scanner, but it doesn't have the power to give him more than a general location. From there it was always going to take his own resourcefulness to find the guy. But he's definitely in this building - Hiro asked around, got some incredulous talk about the old-timer, yōkai, guy with the metal creepies, doesn't talk much, at that one bar down the street - stuff like that.
There's a couple of empty rooms - couches and televisions and darts, chipped paint and cracked baseboards, low hanging ceiling bulbs and so much dust and secondhand smoke he fights off a coughing fit - and then there's one with voices, near the back. He peers through the cracked door and finds who he's looking for, skulking on a couch in the back. Between the two of them, though, there's a couple of thugs playing pool and talking shit at each other.
Okay. He was sort of hoping Callaghan would be alone.
He tightens his grip on the folded duster tucked under his arm and stuffs the other in his pocket, fingers tightening around the solid metal object inside. And then he shoulders his way through the door.]
Hey. Delivery for the guy with the metal creepies.
no subject
On the other hand, a hug and an apology are no comfort at all. He's still upset and there's still leftover terror gradually winding its way down in his chest; he shrinks in Tadashi's grip and pushes at him, a childish and not-so-subtle signal that he's mad and the last thing he wants right now is a hug.]
Stupid. You'll just do it again, eventually.
[And he doesn't want to deal with it so he focuses on business, instead:]
Baymax. What can we do about his leg?
no subject
As Hiro speaks to him, Baymax slowly waddles around to face him. There's a single slow blink as he sorts the data he's gathered from Callaghan.]
There is not much I am able to do for his leg, it should have had medical attention as soon as he was wounded. As such, the injury may have worsened. There are several treatments that can aid in the healing of crush injuries and gangrene, however, most of them need a medical professional.
Because of the severity of the injury and the fact that it has been this way for an extended period of time, amputation of the lower part of the leg may be necessary.
[This wasn't a diagnosis that he wanted to give, losing limbs is a traumatic experience for patients. However, he'd much rather a limb be lost than a life.]
no subject
microbots flex uncertainly. the potential of threat is there, but they seem a bit more confused, now, slide-trickling over one another and back to Callaghan. even with him 'awake', there's still the exhaustion overriding most of it all, and there's a few ripple-spikes...but ultimately they seem more passively defensive than anything else. a few 'feelers' are even reaching out again as Robert leans back with a heavy sigh at Baymax's diagnosis]
That wasn't...an option. To get it immediately. I had to get away, first, and then I had to find one of the runners because a hospital wasn't an option...
[he swallows, closing his eyes again. amputation...]
...if it has to happen, it...has to happen. But a hospital's still not an option, and unless you've upgraded Baymax for surgery...
[ripple-spike-hold. Callaghan has to actually raise his
tremblinghand in gesture to get the microbots to 'smooth' back down. even then, it's like there's a resistance, or maybe he's just too tired to put much mental effort in to it...]no subject
Tadashi tries to keep up a strong front, but the thin-lipped grimace and the tightening of his shoulders give him away pretty obviously. And maybe the shade or two paler his face goes. Amputation?]
I- Certain emergency procedures are permissible, but... [But there's so much legal red tape in the way of something like that. So much more research and testing and licensing and other government approvals... One day Baymax might end up in the operating room (or another robot modeled off of his original purpose and coding), but Tadashi's always figured it would be decades before that happened.]
No. He has knowledge of how to treat accidental amputations, but not how to preform one.
no subject
[To be honest? He needs a little space to himself right now. All of this is over-much and he's just about to implode into a shrieking ball of stress if something doesn't happen to relieve some of the pressure soon. Dancing around the snaking, rippling microbots all over the floor isn't helping anything.
He clenches and unclenches his fists, glancing around the room like that's going to help anything. One step at a time. Keep it simple.]
Could we carry him to Fred's? And, from there, maybe we can figure out - or find somebody who can help. Some kind of doctor that's not connected to a hospital or...something.
[...That thing (not-Baymax) is still out there, though. Probably still hunting.
He glances at Callaghan.]
How long, usually, before it finds you again?
no subject
HE'S NOT TREMBLING SHUT UPRobert nods at Tadashi's confirmation; he didn't really think it'd happen. Baymax wasn't meant to replace skilled doctors and medical personnel, only as a companion. a way to support them. if he was mass produced, at best, he'da hundred thousand of them rampaging
the microbots take the errant thought as a threat, once again building between Callaghan and Baymax. this time, though, it's almost akin to a guard animal's bristling. there's no true shape to it, short of a cluster of pointed metal, but it's still reminiscent of teeth and claws and a ready-willingness to strike and shred
it's probably not helped by the fact when Callaghan raises his hand to calm it again, he ends up putting his hand on the 'structure', the slow sinking of his hand all but petting it. if he's aware of that, he doesn't show any sign, closing his eyes as he wearily tries to think without triggering another motion from them]
...it varies. Sometimes within the hour. Sometimes a few.