#pieceofcakerp

[starman-john-tracy]

"A medkit...?"

There was silence on the radio, indicating that she was looking around but a sigh soon broke the silence.

"It's on the other side of the cockpit.. I'd get it, but my head's pounding- Feels like someone is tap dancing along my skull.."

A dry chuckle, followed by a slight groan of pain escaped her mouth, but she shook her head to rid of the gnawing pain.

"Legs up, head back.." That should be easy enough to follow, right?

"Ah! That's ok. Don't get up." John's voice is warm, reassuring and level - he's calm under the mounting time pressure presented by the prospect of his patient bleeding out, his long fingers busy flicking through the launch sequence of his pod. "You just stay where you are," the pod's engine roars to life and John pilots her smoothly out of the airlock. "I'm on my way."

"Let me know if the pain gets any worse." He requests, "Or if you start to feel dizzy while laying down. Hey, keep talking to me, yeah? Why don't you tell me something about yourself." It'll keep her mind off the pain, and it'll be a good indicator to John as to how conscious she is. "Are you, ah, a fan of baking then?"

For a man whose job is communications, John Tracy is traditionally terrible at small talk, but somehow it comes so much more naturally to him when the other person is hanging on to his every word, in need of his help.

If only some of the students at his science lectures had a little more of that interest.

[starman-john-tracy]

"Umm..."

The woman raised her left hand to her head to investigate the damage, wincing from the pain, then looked at her hand to look at it, a low laugh coming from her.

"Hard enough to make me bleed. But the pain is a six. It has been steadily growing, however.."

"Ok." John stays calm and collected, eyes sharp and assessing even as he gears himself up, double-checking his sash for everything he might need. A Tracy is nothing if not prepared. "Have you got any kind of med kit up there with you? Anything you can use to put some pressure on that headwound?" Bandages would be best, but any old cloth scrap could help slow the bleeding. The cleanliness of it comes second to keeping blood inside the person.

"If you're not sitting, can you do so for me? Feet up." That'll help blood stay closer to more vital organs, give them more time. The ship looks like it has artificial gravity, in the least, as most ships do these days, so that should keep most of the blood where it needs to be. "Rest your head on something if you can."

"Tracy Island." He turns aside to call through and appraise them of the situation, "Exopod is go."

[starman-john-tracy]

"Aside from hitting my head from the take off, I'm fine. I managed to strap myself in before hitting the upper stratosphere."

The woman couldn't help the nervous laugh considering that she was a tad bit scared, but she grew quiet about how long it'd take to get to Mars.

"I screwed up badly... I forgot the eggs.. The bad news doesn't sound all that bad, though. So uhh... How are you going to save me?"

"Ouch." John expresses, sympathetically, "How hard did you hit your head?" Even as he's grabbing the medkit, and checking he's fully suited up for spaceflight, he's starting to wonder if he's dealing with an astronaut with a bad concussion. Why else would they think they were on a craft full of cake mix.

Unless they are but then, that makes little sense.

"Could you give me an estimate of your pain, scale of one to ten? I'm taking the Exopod out to get you."

[starman-john-tracy]

"Yeah.... I'm on the rocket ship.

I was removing a few things to fit more cake mix on it, and I accidentially pressed the button to launch the ship... It's kinda crowded in here...

Help.."

John is torn between pinching the bridge of his nose very hard to keep him from sighing, and the fraction more urgency there now is to the situation.

"Are you injured at all?" He questions, well aware how easy it is to be thrown around on takeoff when you're not strapped down. An unexpected launch of a craft that was intended to be unmanned suggests a lack of proper safety seating.

John finds himself wondering, briefly, how soft cake mix is to fall into, then winces at the idea of having to go through an exit of the Earth's atmosphere without a space-rated moulded chair. You'd be squashed flat under the G's.

He flicks his fingers over his screens to calculate a few more readings.

"Well," John reports, "I have good news and bad news." But the way he delivers it doesn't suggest that the bad news is all that bad. "Your spacecraft departed Earth at a speed of about 39,600 kilometres per hour. The trip to Mars would take about seven months and is about 480 million kilometres. So, you'll be pleased to know you're not about to crash."

"The bad news is that Thunderbird Three is undergoing re-fit." His fingers input the priming sequence for the onboard exopod. "All you've got is me."

[starman-john-tracy]

"I need help!

I may or may not have stuffed a rocket full of cake mix, and.. It's on its way to Mars.."

"This is International Rescue," John responds, fingers sliding deftly through the data he's been collating over the past hour. "We have been monitoring the rocket's trajectory following its unauthorised launch." His brow scrunches minutely, "Are there personnel aboard?"

At least the trajectory is far away from the Helius colony. He's fairly certain that a rocket full of cake mix won't do a great deal of damage to the arid Martian desert. But it is a tragic waste of baking supplies.

[dolcetters-archive-blog]

Piece of Cake || DocWithTheLighter

Look, just go downtown. Find the stupid file. And bring it back to me. Simple! Piece'a cake! You two could do it in your sleep. 

Despite the overwhelming reassurance that the task would be easy enough to do unconscious, Dolcetto still found a cold weight in his gut as he and Doc ran along side each other in the alleys. He kept shooting second glances over his shoulder when they turned corners, or sniffing the air often as they entered new areas. The stupid sixth sense had either been irrationally triggered by something or it was honestly trying to communicate to him that something was really off. And considering it was almost always the latter case, the chimera couldn't help but feel increasingly antsy as they neared the target building. 

He side-stepped into the shadows of the parallel alley, just barely leaning his head out and squinting a little as he eyed the windows and the doorway and the roof. It was surprisingly small for a safehouse to hide this thing Greed was after, but... that was probably another damned illusion. After all... the Labs had been under a 'closed' building. 

"... so," he started, exhaling the word and tilting his head towards the crow chimera. "I smell... 'bout three'f'm. Maybe four--can't tell yet. Scents are blendin', but. ...we got a plan? I personally prefer get-in, get-the-fuckin'-hell-out, myself."