Doc nodded and set to with sutures and needle, expertly starting to sew up the many deep cuts from the netting lines. "Not much point bandaging the thing, however," he pointed out. "Not if it's normally wet. Wet compresses sound good. Hmmm... Maybe we can set it up in the second bathroom for now, on some old blankets." He flashed Betsy a wry smile. "Sorry, gal--you girls will have to share a bathroom with us boys."
"That thing's going to have to be restrained somehow, though," Jason growled. "Can you imagine what it can do if it's feeling better? You open the door, and you get your guts ripped out and face torn up! I've an idea, though..."
Lo-Jack shrugged and walked over to eye the creature from over Betsy's shoulder. "Dunno, girly... Maybe 'Spike' is a fitting name. Or 'Dexter'? He's a slasher, after all," he chuckled.
"Whatever your idea is, it had better not put it in danger of hurting itself any more than this. But you're right, we need to have some way of keeping it still," Betsy told Jason, feeling the creature's pulse absently as she worked. She realized a little too late that was a futile activity, as she had no idea what its resting heart rate /should/ be. Well, at least it still /had/ a heartbeat. "But yeah, get to work on that, then," she suggested. "As long as you're up to it," she added, realizing she hadn't really checked in with Jason regarding his state.
Betsy peered over her shoulder at Jack quickly. "I don't know what that means," she said, the serial-killer television show reference lost on her. "How about Darwin?" she suggested instead. After all, all scientists could relate to /him/.
Originally Posted by Car'mael
All the while, she kept working, feeling as though she were somehow racing against the clock.
Lo-Jack grimaced. "Darwin tended to get seasick. How about 'Jules', as in Jules Verne, of 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea?" he suggested. "Or an adptation of that--Giles?"
"Regardless, he's ready to go--that's the last of them," Doc announced, cutting the last suture-line. "Let's get him set up in the bathroom, and leave him alone."
Jason nodded, grabbing one of the stained blankets. "Let's roll it on this and use it to carry it. Then we can soak this and leave it to recover while I get the stuff I think we can secure it with."
Lo-Jack nodded, and even Doc moved to lend a hand...
Betsy shrugged at Jack's suggestion. "Your call. Giles it is," she said. "Hello, Giles," she said to their new guest, smiling down at it.
"A whole new species! Maybe it has new ways of communicating we've never seen before. Maybe it somehow produces some sort of hormone that could be paramount to our research. And just look at its physiology! I wonder what he has to teach us!" she gushed. She couldn't help it. Now that the immediate threat was passed, she actually had a few minutes to actually ponder the implications of all of this (other than the millions Jack seemed to want out of it).
Betsy wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, then backed away to examine hers and Doc's handywork. This was as good as they were going to be able to do. "I hope it doesn't try licking the wounds," she commented, planting her hands on her hips. "I really would hate to have to put it in an Elizabethan collar."
"Well, let's go then," Dr. Reed said grabbing the sheet near the head. With that, she gently began lifting Giles off the table and helped carry their find to his new, albeit temporary home.
Last edited by Celsa; 10-13-2011 at 05:33 AM.
Fynnar awoke slowly, blinking and groggily trying to focus. He flopped about, uncoordinated, finally curling up into a ball on his side, aching and dazed. His vision was hazy, but he could feel human-made cloth beneath him and on him, wet and comfortable against his overheated hide, the surface beneath his "nest" solid and stone-like yet flat and smooth. The air was warm, yet this place was out of the hot sun and safely away from the forest's deadly insects and carnivores. The scent of human waste hung faintly in the air, their main species scent strong all around and offering the individual scents of more than a mere handful.
Alarmed, Fynnar tried to focus, and as time passed he found it easier, his strength returned some, his coughing much eased. His bindings--the netting--was gone, and his cuts closed with some odd human means. Carefully, he unwound from his curled position, examining a few of the sutured cuts curiously, delicately poking a couple with his talons so as not to slice through them. Odd, yet effective--using weavings so small to close wounds? He did not tamper with it, puzzled yet deciding it was a decent solution that his own kind might benefit from. Damp cloth covered him from shoulders to mid-tail, and was comfortable beneath him for now.
His shifting disturbed something metal that clattered, however, and he hissed sharply, glaring at it. Metal links encircled his ankle, snugly closed with some strange box of metal, the far end of the chain likewise secured to a pipe at the far end of the room. He had seen the humans secure their beasts this way before, though usually with rope and not chain.
Did they think to make him some kind of serving-beast like the dogs and chickens? Fynnar rumbled, low and deep with displeasure. He would not be a food-beast or toil-beast for them, not without striking back. He would never fish for them, like the cormorants were trained. Yet they seemed to want to keep him alive, for some reason. The Singer could not understand what these creatures wanted.
All he wanted was to return to the river and his kin. Fynnar had a mate to find, offspring to breed, fish to catch, songs to sing. The humans' whims seemed foolish compared to such important activities. Did they not have similar important stuff to do?
His stomach ached with hunger, and he licked his lips, feeling thirst. Looking about, he found nothing, however. So Fynnar made use of the blanket on his shoulders--he chewed at a corner of it, trying to gain moisture from that.
She knew she was taking a risk, but one of them would have to check in on Giles sometime. Betsy figured that since she had managed to soothe him the first time around, perhaps she should be the one to try. It was likely that Jack and Jason would disagree, she knew, which was why she didn't warn either of them she was doing this. Still, someone needed to check on Giles, make sure it was at least still alive, and see that it had no further needs at this time.
It had been several hours since they had set Giles in his, "recovery room." Several unproductive hours. Betsy had tried to return to her previous research, but she found herself unable to focus; her mind kept wandering, instead, back to Jack's find. She had then spent some time chatting with Jack, conjecturing about exactly what he had just unearthed, though of course much of that was based on brief observation of an injured creature. Unreliable data at best. Finally, she had settled for eating a light meal, and now she wanted to check in with Giles.
The zoologist pushed backwards into the bathroom, keeping her steps light in the hopes of avoiding startling their charge should it already be awake. In her hands was a tray laden with a bowl of water and a selection of several different food options, including some fruit, nuts, a bit of raw meat, and a some equally raw fish. After all, they had no idea what this thing ate.
"You are awake," Betsy commented softly as she turned toward the room and allowed the door to swing shut behind her. She was slightly startled to see it chewing on the blanket, and wondered vaguely what it was trying to accomplish there - was it seeking the moisture there, or was this some behavior of its species that was greater than that?
She maintained her distance, for now, just out of reach of the creature's range of motion allowed by the chain. She set the tray on the ground and pushed in gently in his direction, then made herself small by crouching. She hoped to make herself seem less threatening this way, and she kept her line to the door clear, in case she needed to make a quick exit, whether for her safety or Giles'.
Last edited by Celsa; 10-14-2011 at 02:06 AM.
The door opening made Fynnar crouch under his damp coverings, teeth bared ferally in threat and defense, talons gripping the blanket beneath him. He spat out the bit of chewed blanket, watching the human enter the room, tense and ready to defend himself.
The crooning female from before.
He still didn't trust her. He had been hurt while she tried to soothe, after all.
Yet she brought food, clean water, carrying them in human creations. His mouth watered at the scent of food, eyes flicking to it eagerly, then back to her warily. The water--he was very thirsty and considered lunging for it, but he didn't want to knock it over and lose it all in the haste to snatch it from her. Barely restraining his anger and impatience, his tail lashed as he waited.
When she set the tray down, he continued to eye her warily, cautious for further tricks. When it was pushed closer to him, and she crouched further back, he narrowed his eyes, considering the risks...
Then Fynnar edged carefully closer to the tray, eyes trained on her sharply as he reached out a ahnd, grabbed the edge of the water bowl, and drew it closer to drink from. The Singer's eyes dropped to the bowl after one swallow. The taste... it never felt so good to taste water again! He swallowed greedily, not caring that some ran down his face in his eagerness. With that gone, he set the bowl aside, and considered the food.
Gold-green eyes flicked back to watch Betsy again. Did she expect him to serve her kind for being given basics for living? That might work in taming dogs and the like... but he had no intention of serving in any way. Fynnar intended to leave, sooner or later... and if they dared get in his way, he would rip them to pieces without regret.
Betsy's nose wrinkled as she watched Giles. It was obvious he had been thirsty, and she made a mental note of the fact that they would need to provide him with some constant source of water. Maybe they could procure a portable bathtub and fill it. It could be bad to soak the sutures so quickly, but its skin seemed to need it; frogs, for example, could die if their skin became too dry. At the least, they would have to give it more soaked cloth to make compresses.
She watched its reactions to her closely. It was displaying some aggression. Its eyes were narrowed, using a body posture prime for pouncing and attacking... and the tail. The tail obviously was important in communicating its current displeasure, much as a cat's might be.
Suspicion was natural given the situation, though aloud she urged it soothingly, "Go on. Eat. You'll need it if you want to regain your strength." She remained where she was without moving and averted her eyes downwards and to the side in what she hoped indicated her docility and submissiveness.
Last edited by Celsa; 10-14-2011 at 12:22 PM.
Fynnar's ears perked at her submissive attitude, and he frowned, uncertain, tail growing still. Watching her from the corner of his eyes, he reached for the fish slowly, then snatched it up and backed up a couple feet.
When she made no threatening moves, he tore into the fish with his teeth, flesh and bones, gnawing on it with all the skill of an otter, holding it in both hands. Fresh, yes, but already dead. At least it was whole.
Watching her as he ate, Fynnar wondered what she wanted, what she was up to. This submissiveness made no sense. He was not a male, a potential mate for her kind. She was one who caught him, so if he was truly dominant, he would be free and not chained. She... did not wish to be a threat? In that case... what was she?
Betsy repressed the grin that wanted to grace her face, as showing teeth was generally considered a sign of aggression. How amazing was this? She was sitting across the room from an entirely new species, watching it eat its meal. The fact that it was allowing her this close and still eating was rather impressive - eating could be a vulnerable time for animals out in the wild. Perhaps it was showing some measure of trust? Or, perhaps, it was simply extremely hungry. The latter was the most likely scenario.
"So, you eat fish, then," Betsy whispered as much to herself as to Giles. "That's progress. Now we know a bit about your diet," she said, unconsciously leaning toward Giles in her effort to observe him more closely while maintaining her submissive posture. The result strain toppled her off-balance, and before she could catch herself, she flopped onto the tiled floor with a loud thud and a grunt.
Betsy managed to right herself and scoot back to the wall rather quickly, but her hand had skidded across the floor and she had cut herself on a broken tile. The blood ran in a slow trickle down her wrist as she cradled it in front of her, hoping she hadn't just startled Giles and undone the slight progress she had made.