((ooc: Continued from "The Blue Note".

Does the open tag work for you, Dryad? If it does, open to two other players. 'Cause anymore than that, and this would get craaaazy (in the bad way). ))

The Italian teenager wasn't anything special on a usual day. His brown hair was short and finger-combed into a semblance of submission; his baby blue eyes were a little odd on an Italian, but then, his Italian face was a little odd on his German eyes. He was a mutt in heritage; the slight curl to his hair was from Irish blood somewhere along the line, and the angle of his nose hinted of Hungarian. His behavior hinted further, that the Hungarian might have a few drops of Romani. Gypsy blood might explain some things about the teenager. All in all, though, nothing special. Just a Jersey boy in New York, sitting in a chair--slumping, actually, with his eyes closed, and steady even breaths that came either from sleep or inactivity, and which surprisingly few people could tell the difference between. His hand trailed out of the chair, where it was twined tightly into the heavy orange and black coat of a large Bengal tiger. Nothing special at all.

The tiger sat next to the bed, its wide hunches fairly blanketing the floor between the chair and the bed. The bed was nothing special, either: just your regular Generic Brand stainless steel frame, with white mattress and white sheets and matching white pillow. The same as you would find in any hospital or clinic. Or, in this case, in the Infirmary of Xavier's Sister School. The DocProf had worked his glowing-hand wonders on the bed's occupant; anything serious should have been healed, and probably anything minor, too. The man had retired to his office now, to make a few phone calls to people who knew less about healing but more about other matters. After all, the charges for a towed Volvo had to be paid. Disappearing accident victims had to be explained. And, depending on the police's take on the accident, Calley might need a lawyer. He'd killed two people. He hadn't killed this woman, though.

The tiger's head was resting on her bed, its blue eyes large, and blinking only when strictly necessary. Its whiskers were stretched towards her cheeks. It hadn't bothered to groom out the mess she had left in its fur: the tousled hairs, the dried spot of drool. There were warm blankets layered over the woman now: she didn't need the tiger next to her, anymore. So it wasn't. In fact, there were a solid four inches from the tips of its whiskers to her sleeping face. Its tail was curled around its body, snug and unmoving. The tiger had not moved a hair's breadth since it had taken up its vigil. Neither had the teenager. In fact, the only thing that was moving on either of them--teenager or tiger--was the slow rise and fall of their chests. Unfortunately, that was the only thing that had moved on the woman, too, since she had collapsed back in Buffalo.

If she wasn't going anywhere, then neither were they.

(I don't mind it being open ^_^)

Xavia hadn't realized the move, didn't wake up the entire time of transport, and slept well into the day. She looked so peaceful, and infact, the longer the warmth was around her, the more she seemed to bloom. A becoming flush crossed over her high cheeks, her lips seemed to deepen in color. However, it wasn't like it would be in direct sunlight, which is what she really needed, just like any plant would.

She had an unusual type of beauty, it wasn't the type you would see on the runway, but something about her may seem fascinating. Yes, like a flower, she bloomed in the right conditions, and wilted in the wrong. Assuming they had changed her out of the bloodied clothes, and put her into something befitting an infirm, she'd smell strongly of flora, no matter how much they tried to be rid of such a smell... But who disliked the sweet scent of fresh, hothouse flowers? Honeysuckle, magnolia blossom, primrose, lavander, a concoction of summer scents that drifted more than subtly into the air about her...

Who was this strange and mysterious plant girl that showed up that fateful day, when the van had flipped over and killed two? Why, the van had the answer, of course, if they remembered it. Surely there were answers, but nobody knew that but the dead men. Of course, the police would find all of the evidence soon, how would they explain her existance away when her blood stained parts of the van? The captors hadn't been so stupid as to be transporting the records on her. Those, those were locked away safely in the building, with the man who called himself an artist.

Xavia dreamed, of course, and by her expression, it was a good one, at least untill the moment she started to dream of that very thing mentioned, her "True Father." When those images started, when her mind saw the man who'd made her this.... Plant, this.... Thing that had no control, her face twitched.

She wasn't aware of the vigil of the young man and his feline friend, so what they saw was live and uncut, they'd be able to see her head rolling, her lips start to move with noises that didn't make sence. The smell that surrounded her started to smell like the forest in autumn, rotting leaves and foilage... She was dreaming of him....

Her heart pounded in her chest, and the twitching became thrashing, sporradic movements beneath the blankets. All the whispers! All the images, speeding across her mind's vision! Oh god, make it stop! Her hands smacked over her ears, pulled at her hair, and she started to gasp for breath. "No, no, no, no. No more, please stop, please, no more! I promise I won't leave you, don't do this! No!" It was as if the needles were injected into her veins again, tearing at her flesh, burning into her bloodstream... Changing her into a monster, changing her into something so frightening. She sat up and screamed like she had at the accident, startled awake by the nightmare...

Thumpathumphathumpathumpathumpthumpthump... thumpa... Thumpa... Her heart started to calm, as her eyes focused on the blurred surroundings, the blankets slipping unheeded to the floor as she trembled and sought to catch her breath.

The tawny color of her gaze shifted about, confusion etching onto her face as she failed to recognize the room. Sooner or later, she'd look at Calley, eyes rooted to his face, mouth lax some from her ordeal, a myriad of emotions easily read in her expression. Xavia blinked slowly, wordless for the moment, visably and audibly swollowing.

It would be a long lapse of silence and calm, the clock turning five minutes, at least, before her rhasping words would reach his ears, "Where am I?" It was asked in such a child like fashion, almost, the way the words rolled from her tongue in a sleepy accent, with just a hint of tightness caused by her fears and confusions.

After asking that question, she gazed around again, then rubbed her eyes at the sight of what looked to b e like a tame tiger, and he seemed to be keeping watch over her, protecting her almost... The back of her mind tugged with slight familiarity, but she still seemed confused about the sight of the big cat. Four inches away from her, but she didn't jump away in fear.

"Where am I?" She repeated, more clearly now, whether he had replied or not. She put her hands up to her cheeks and stared off.

The woman had a very peculiar scent--it filled the tiger's nose and the teenager's, too, though only one of them was able to make out the individual strands of the scent. Honeysuckle. Magnolia blossom. Primrose, lavender; a concoction of smells which Calley really didn't know the names for. They were flowers, and the scents brought to mind places: that tangle of bushes he'd lazed around in one summer in the white and black fur of a little tom cat, waiting in the shade for the coolness of the night. The side of a building where he'd perched on a windowsill and been invited in for a few weeks, with the family of a young who was clearly a Parentmancer; she'd even talked them into allowing her stray, unvaccinated cat to have it's bowl on the dinner table. A tall mutt dog he fought, and won against, in tall weeds that had been broken and crushed by the battle: their sap had bleed out into the Spring air. The smell of victory.

>> "No, no, no, no. No more, please stop, please, no more! I promise I won't leave you, don't do this! No!"

Her own smell seemed to waft more violently as she thrashed in the bed, battling her own personal canines. The tiger's ears twitched and slopped. Dreams. There was nothing they could really do against dreams, and it didn't seem like they'd earned the right to touch her, to shake her awake like a friend.

>> "Where am I?"

When she did wake up--or her eyes opened, in any case--it took her a long moment to speak to them. Calley couldn't blame her. He kept his eyes closed in the chair, kept his breathing level. The tiger sat up, putting a few more respectful inches between them, though she did not seem afraid. He wasn't sure that the lack of fear was a healthy thing. Probably more of a shock thing, really. She'd just woken up in an unfamiliar setting, and her voice sounded too young for her. Far too young.

>> "Where am I?"

The second time she said it, she sounded more like herself--or more like she looked as if she'd sound. It was a nice voice. It matched her scent. The Italian teenager in the chair finally opened his eyes. He half-stood, his mouth half-opening--then he eased back down again, his mouth working silently. He took a deep breath, and started again.

"You're at... you're at Xavier's Sister School for Gifted Youngsters. Ah, it's a school for people like us. And... and you're safe here. You were in an accident. I don't know if you remember." He ran a hand through his hair; all in all, that didn't make it look any more well-kept. "The DocProf healed you, though, so you should be all right now. You'll be fine. But--" He wanted to break eye contact with her, but he couldn't: more than that, he shouldn't. Calley wasn't the most honor-bound person in the world, but there were certain things even he knew had to be done. And looking directly at her while he said this was one of them. "I'm sorry. The two men you were with--they didn't make it."

Because I killed them. He didn't add that last part. She'd find out, soon enough. For now, this was about her, and not his own guilt trip.

The air wooshed out of her in a prolongued huff, and she swayed a little bit... Accident?? The last thing she remembered clearly was talking to the phony P.I. Oh god, yes, the kidnappers! She had the sudden urge to laugh, and a few, startled chuckles erupted passed her sleep swollen lips. Dead? They? The kid had saved her from them!

She turned her head to the side, an odd expression drawing her features taut, as if she was about to burst into tears, lips trembling some. "You save(d) me, kid..." She said, alto notes ringing in her voice. "Th-they h-hit me over (my) head... And... A-and, I think s-someone sent them." Her english was broken more out of distress than anything.

Xavia bit into her lip somewhat hard, swollowing thickly and wrapping arms around herself to try and get a hold her thoughts. She knew where they were trying to take her, know who wanted her, and thank god for the young man who had accidentaly saved her from something horrible.

No, no, the less he knew about this, the better.. She couldn't let him get deeper into this, he looked just about the same age she had when she became something other than a normal, bubbling teen.

"I have to go..." she said, then... "Can't be here..."

Now she was trying to get out of the bed, even if that wasn't the brightest idea in the world, she was still weak as a kitten, and still in shock.

...She was chuckling. That wasn't a good sign. That was never a good sign. Calley carefully blanked his own face out; he even managed to keep his habitual smile to a bare minimum. He let her chuckle in peace. And then the tiger cringed down a little, as it noticed that close-to-tears tremble starting in her lower lip. What came out was not what they had expected. Calley didn't know what he'd been expecting. Some kind of berating that left his hide thoroughly tanned for what he'd done, or the almost obligatory waterworks. Something else. Not this.

>> "You save me, kid... Th-they h-hit me over head... And... A-and, I think s-someone sent them."

The tiger gave one long blink, its blue eyes hiding like shuttered lamps. The teenager didn't blink. Didn't really move at all. So... so she was thanking him for killing them. They were the bad guys. They'd assaulted her, put her in the back of a van; where taking her somewhere against her will. In a word: kidnapping. And they were grunts, as typical in such a job as typical can be. Oh.

The girl bit her lip, the tiger saw. Wrapped her arms around herself, in a hug to ward off the violations that the Big Bads had been about to do to her. Had already done to her. Those men were Wolves No. 1 and 2, huh? Huh.

He realized, in the upper reaches of his mind, that maybe that should make him feel better. But down in his stomach, something was rolling sickly. Because he wasn't exactly pushing white on the moral scale, either. Chances were good, actually, that he had a lot more in common with those two men than he had with this woman. And he'd killed them. And they were dead. And no one mourned the wolf after the Woodsman turned him into a hat for cute Little Red. There had to be someone out there who would miss them. There had to be. Did they have families--wives, children, mothers who liked collecting ceramic Precious Moments figurines? Had they been carrying identification--would anyone know that it was them who had died, not the faceless men reported on the news that night?

Calley felt more than a little sick. It probably showed on his face. Still, though, he was smiling--that same stupid smile he always had.

>> "I have to go... Can't be here..."

Two blinks from the teenager, and a straightening of shoulders from the tiger. "What? Ah... ah, no; no, I don't think that's a good idea." As she tried to stand, the tiger stood (all the better to fret at your side, my dear), and the teenager bolted to his feet, with a half-step forward and arms outstretched uncertainly. She didn't look like the most physically fit person in the world, right now. He wanted to offer out an arm to steady her--but that wasn't really his right. "Err, why not stay here for a bit? It's safe. I promise. I, ah, don't know what those--" men that you don't care about, but I killed "--people had planned for you, or whether there's more of them, but you're safe here. We're filled to the rafters in mutants. It's like... it's like a whole school of your own private security. So, ah, I really think you should rest a little more. I can get you a phone, if you want. If you have anyone you should be calling." Not every mutant did.

Calley stayed were he was, arms still held uncertainly outwards, ready to catch her if she turned out to be as wobbly as she looked. The tiger, though, lowered its forehead to her side. Push: a striped nudge back towards the bed.

(Oh yes, just to make sure nobody is confused, I stuck unspoken words in parenthesis to help her accent become easier to read. She pours it on thick when she's stressed.)

"(You)Don't understand..." she said, pitifully, the waterworks finaly starting as she gave a mellowdramatic sigh. "(There) Might be more coming, might..." Frustrated groan, but she was too tired to fight being pushed, or otherwise, back down. Her words were also fading into slight babble, by the end of the tripple dots, hard to understand, and clearly a rushed, foreign language. (Think about Ricky going all to Spanish on Lucy). This goes on for several minutes, her hands gesturing through the air. Had she lost her mind?

Here was this woman, looked to be 25, and she acted alot like a young child. The plant part of her must have taken over her mind, the chemicals must have altered her brain so much, that she seemed crazy, or much like one of those loveable villian-turned-sidekicks like Golem.... Who was this woman?!

Of course, because she was so worked up, it took a few moments for other words he'd uttered to sink in, and the litany of words in another language, seemed to stop as quickly as it started, and she blinked.. "Wait, what? People like...? Us??" ---- She didn't ask if he'd killed the bad guys, it seemed she was still in the dark as far as that went. Indeed, when she had said he'd saved her, it was because she assumed it was him that pulled her out of the wrecked van, not knock it over and kill the bad guys. No! She had to latch on to the statement about being mutant, as if it had slapped her across the forehead repeatedly! --- "What do you mean, 'Mutants?!'"

Now he'd gone and done it, she rolled out of bed with a crash, and started to stumble for the door. "You.............. one of them! You... No, no needles, oh god, can't be here!" She had, of course, good reason to be freaked out, though she misunderstood the situation. She was thinking, of course, that they were going to jab her with the injections that made her into the amazing plant girl. Even though her legs were jelly like on this fine morning, she couldn't get out of there fast enough. Unfortunately for her, the door got in her way... Splat.

Garrett really didn't enjoy checkups. Now that he was experiencing feedback , he especially didn't look forward to the DocProf's ability being used on him. Though, he wasn't injured, so there was really no reason to go that far. He popped some Excedrin and had a sip out of a nearby water fountain as he made his way down to the Infirmary. The DocProf had insisted that since the incident that Garrett come in from time to time to have tests done to insure he didn't have a relapse. Garrett thought it funny. A Haywire relapse? How?

He arrived at the door and lifted his hand to knock, hearing a slight commotion inside. Someone babbling. Then a thud at the door. No reason to knock. He turned the knob and pushed it open as far as he could, with the resistance of a semi conscious body on the other side. Looking in, he could see a young girl he had never seen before at his feet and Calley with a tiger. A Bengal tiger might throw others off, but having seen Calley in action at the meeting, he knew to take animal presences around him with a grain of salt. Only if they were not attached.

" Calley. Calley.." The sound of a greeting, one to each of the shifter , or half or whatever it was. He pushed the door back shut and lifted the girl from the floor. She seemed to have already been treated by the DocProf, as there were some blood spots on her clothing but no wounds. He placed her gently back in the bed. DocProf was coming out of his office, but seeing Garrett he seemed to relax a bit. " Oh, good. Garrett, could you to see to her? I've got some important phone calls here." He turned and went back in his office. See to her? What did that mean? He knew what it meant, but what could he do? he looked over at Calley, the look of puzzlement still worn.

He stepped into the doctor's office, closing the door behind him. He was on the phone, putting someone on hold and apologizing." Garrett, I have to take this. What do you need? We'll have to put your checkups off for a bit. Just attend to that girl. Her chart is on the bed. " Garrett's hairless eyebrow went up. " Yeah, but I am not a doctor. What am I supposed to do? I don't even have a coat!"

The Doc Prof stood and removed his doctor's coat and handed it to him. " Now you do. Your abilities can help her. Now go out there, apply some bedside manner and do your best. I really can't be bothered right now." Though a little short in the sleeves, the coat fit well. Garrett felt strangely familiar in it. He left the office and returned to the young girl's side, covering her with the blankets. He looked over at Calley and tiger. " Looks like I am temporary doctor?"

Winter had finally arrived in earnest. There was no snow yet, but it was cold enough that it was only a matter of time before sufficient amounts of moisture gathered in the air to produce the characteristic white flakes of the season. The only people who dared to venture outside without a full ensemble of knitted garments to protect their extremities were either fire manipulators or teenage boys who thought themselves invincible enough that the dry frigid air could not possibly effect them.

The gardens surrounding the mansion were barren and unfriendly looking at this time of year. Leaves of plants and trees that not long ago had been scarlet, russet, and gold had withered to pale parchment browns and lay defeated on the hard frozen ground. Naked branches raked at the grey sky like claws trying desperately in vain to tear holes in the clouds large enough to let in a ray or two of sunlight. Areas of the gardens that had previously been blocked from view by foliage were now visible through the leafless twigs, but perhaps even fewer people could be seen strolling along the pathways than when viridian leaves had blocked most of the vista.

A blonde teenage girl glanced briefly out the window as she absently applied chap stick to her parched lips in a nearly automated effort to keep them from cracking. After a moment, she turned back to text in her lap once again; the landscape was even more boring than the math textbook. It was chilly even indoors, but the young girl had an afghan around her shoulders and a large black and brown rottweiler using her leg as his pillow, both of which were helping her to keep warm. The large dog had appeared at the same time the girl's animal shifting friend had returned from his brush with death. The hound was wary of strangers at first, and the thirteen year old girl had been wary of his large teeth at first,
but they had reached an understanding of each other easily enough after a shared piece of cheese or three from an afternoon study break snack.

The quiet of the living room was interrupted when two older students of the shorts-wearing male variety walked in carrying their own studying materials and made themselves comfortable on the opposite couch. Katrina glanced up at them when they first arrived and found herself shivering with cold just looking at their attire. The dog didn't even lift his head at their noisy entrance. The teenager was sure he was going to make a great guard dog, just like she was sure that the pair of students that had just walked into the room were really more intent on studying than they were on finishing their conversation.

“...we hardly got any pretty ones this year,” the tall thin one complained to his stock friend.

“Well, we hardly got any new students at all this fall. In years past there have been more.”

“You can hardly blame people not wanting to choose this school, though. We're supposedly a safe place for mutants, yet we were totally destroyed during reg and now we've got random other mutants breaking into the place. I just wish their were more girls available.”

“Or more available girls,” the short brunette elbowed his friend. “You know, I think there's a new girl up in the infirmary. If you hurry up there, you could be the first one she sees when she wakes up. It could be love at first sight.”

“Wakes up?”

“Oh, yeah. She was unconscious when she got here. I guess Calley hit her car with his or something, then Doc had to go pick them both up this morning. I heard they were both covered with blood when they got here...”

Katrina didn't even realize that she had stood up until both the boys and the dog were staring at her in surprise. Her math book lay on the floor where she had dropped it noisily, and the hound hopped down after it and padded his way toward the door. The girl was nice for sharing her cheese and all, but he was going to find a pillow that was a little more still, thank you.

She stared right back at the boys, but wasn't really looking at them. Car crash? Calley? Without Katrina directing them to do so her feet were bringing her closer to the exit. The dog skittered wisely out of her path. That idiot! She was never going to talk to him again. How could he get himself in a car accident so soon after almost dying in a fight? How could he do more things to worry her? Honestly, was she never going to be able to let him out of her sight again? Would she have to find an industrial strength, tiger proof leash to keep him home and out of death's path?

The thirteen year old stormed her way out of the living room and all the way down the hallway to the infirmary. She didn't even realize where she was going until she had arrived in front of the solid oaken door. That boy had some explaining to do. Then, as soon as she'd given him her ten cents, she really was never going to speak to him again.

She pushed open the door to the infirmary with more force than which she realized her small frame was capable. It made an impressive noise when the door stop hit the wall. Her eyes quickly scanned the room until they met the ice blue eyes of a tiger, then a russet haired multishifter. The other occupants of the room were unimportant at the moment.

In turn she fixed each set of azure orbs with a glare nearly intense enough to melt their faces right off their skulls, “I thought I told you to get some plans that don't involve dying!”

Calley was in trouble. Big trouble.

The trouble was not the woman who was losing her English on him, and shouting, and panicking, and splatting against doors. That was trouble, yes. And a problem. But not Big Trouble, with capitalization used in a place an English teacher might not approve of. Oh no.

And then there was Seizure entering, and mysteriously being ordered to take over her care by the DocProf. The DocProf, who was still making phone calls on his behalf. That was also trouble. But not Big Trouble, with italics needlessly accenting the abuse of capitalization.

Big Trouble came in the form of a door that BANGED against the wall, after a plant manipulator had been put back into bed by a teenager in a white lab coat.

Big Trouble didn't have to strike a pose in her doorframe: the rest of the room struck one around her. It was like the whole room froze. Or maybe that was just him, in both his tigger and human forms. Maybe that was just because a pair of blazing gray orbs was trying to force him to either spontaneously combust or be purified by fire from his sins: whichever happened first.

Big Trouble had exactly one thing to say to him. It was an entirely unfair thing to say, but she went ahead and let loose with it anyway:

>> “I thought I told you to get some plans that don't involve dying!”

Calley's jaw worked silently for a moment. The tiger took a step backwards, its head ducking inconspicuously as it attempted to hide its large bulk behind the scrawny teenager's legs. Finally, with a Righteous Arm of Pointing shot in the plant woman's direction, Calley found the voice to lodge his protest. It was a louder voice than he'd planned. And more stumbling then he'd hoped for. But it was all he had.

"I... I didn't plan this! I didn't plan for that stupid cat to run across the road! I didn't plan to crash into the van! I didn't plan to chase Miss... Miss Floral Glades through Buffalo, and-and I didn't plan to kill those men! So... so you can just stop yelling, and-and go study math!" It was an insult. The best one he could think up, right then: the righteous wrath of a thirteen year old was too much for him.

Talk about chaos!

"Miss Floral Glade" was stunned as she was deposited back onto the bed by one stranger, then another one slamming the door open firmly. Not cool, not cool at all. Her brows furrowed, she was starting to get worked up way more than should be allowed. Unless they sedated her, it was about to get really.... Uh... Yeah...

"Get........ Out....!" Xavia screamed this at the top of her lungs. "Get out, get out, get out!................. Getttttttt.... Outtttttttttt!" Her hands started to tug at her hair, temples visably pulsing from the ungodly pain in her head that often accompanied her anxieties and such, a possible side effect of the injections she'd recieved as a teenager. The only thing that seemed to be missing from the equasion was some demonic head spinning and vomiting.

She really... really hated crowds.

Her skin took on a purplish tone, and a sickeningly unpleasant scent of... something... Hanging in the air... If anybody recognized the scent, they would probably want to get the heck out of there. Nightshade was not a good thing to be messing with, with it's deadly, dark berries, and beckoning, purple flowers. Dull, green leaves started to sprout from her skin, causing her mouth to open in pain. Her body trembled as she changed, and her demand came out in wheezing breaths, "Get... Out..."

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, but they didn't look like any normal tears, they were dark and inky, the overly sweet juice of said berries. Xavia tore at her hair, only to pluck away the closed, nightshade blossoms, which are then discarded on the floor. She fell from the bed for the second time, and stumbled to her feet. She had to get out of there, just had to! She didn't want to cause anybody to get hurt on her behalf, especially not a bunch of teenagers, even if she thought they were there to inject more of that green liquid into her veins.

She'd stumble passed the teenager in the labcoat, who'd put her back in the bed, stumble passed the teenager with the tiger, and peer at the teenager in the doorway, a wordless demand to move, easily read in her gaze. The more frustrated and anxious she got, the more control the plant part of her seemed to have. Unfortunately, it wasn't as if she had learned to use her "curse", everything, so far, was based on emotion, or cold.

Her eyes were nearly black as her pupils dialated as she stared at the young girl, but more out of fear than malice. However, she did not wait for the girl to get the heck out of her way, she shoved her way through the door, smearing berry juice on the girl in the process if she did not move.(Possibly the face and her side). Sheerly unintentional of course, being that Xavia was not in her right mind and she wasn't actually trying to attack anyone. In fact, it looked as if she was trying to get away from hurting people

And now this crazy plant woman was on the loose, black berries falling every-which-way in her wake, along with clusters of leaves and solitary flowers, the latter of which, if she was followed, would be crushed underfoot and stink....

Xavia didn't know where she was going, she couldn't see clearly, but the way in which she stumbled, was off to the left....

---

If Kat ends up getting smeared with the berry juice by accident, and she consumes even the slightest bit, she would definately need help right away if she wasn't immune to toxic substances.

Symptoms:
-Eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and throat
---Enlarged (dilated) pupils
-Gastrointestinal
---Diarrhea
---Stomach pain
---Vomiting
-Heart and blood
---Pulse - slow or rapid
---Shock
-Lungs
---Slowed breathing
-Nervous system
---Delirium
---Hallucinations
---Headache
---Loss of sensation
---Paralysis
-Whole body
---Fever
---Lower-than-normal temperature
---Sweating

Regardless of any looks of disdain or disbelief offered by the shifter in front of him, Garrett really liked the coat. It had been a bit juvenile to demand it, but what had began as a half hearted joke became reality as here he stood, donned in said white coat. It felt rather natural and he was quite pleased to be in it. The girl who was put in bed seemed to continue to thrash about. It made Garrett wonder why they didn't get someone with vicious allergies or an annoying rash rather than these cases?

Though processes were jolted loose from their orderly fashion as the door swung open and slammed against the door it opened into.There, in all her fury, was little Katrina. Not the placid little thing he remembered from the garden in the summer nor the meek eavesdropper outside the meeting doors. This little Katrina was as big and nasty in her tone and glances as the storm that shared her name. Fortunately, it was not Garrett's direction in which the twin beams of blame flashed forth. Calley, the poor guy.

Now here was the flower girl. She had quite the aromas of fresh flowers when he had lifted her, the scent still lingering on the coat. Now another plant was springing forth, darker and sweeter flowers. She rose and began to march through the door. The chaos of the room with DocProf's sideways glances, the screaming match between Katrina and Calley and now the walking flower, Garrett had really had about enough. In lifting the girl, he seen her system. Now he was going to stutter it and let her take a much needed rest. Three skewers of pain hit her, one in the lower back, one in the central spine, and one under the base of the skull.

Garrett decided it would be enough. It should have put down an NFL linebacker. So if she was still kicking after this, he would need help. Considering her gift, there was a good possibility that she could generate natural toxins, so putting her down this way, albeit seemingly brutal, was actually the safest and most efficient way of doing so.

>>>"I... I didn't plan this! I didn't plan for that stupid cat to run across the road! I didn't plan to crash into the van! I didn't plan to chase Miss... Miss Floral Glades through Buffalo, and-and I didn't plan to kill those men! So... so you can just stop yelling, and-and go study math!"

>>>"Get... Out...!" ... "Get out, get out, get out! ..."

Katrina ignored the screaming and flailing of the plant banshee on the bed. She also chose to ignore the purple tinge that was staining the woman's face. Her own face was turning an angry shade of red as Calley made his excuses and did his blaming. An interesting floral aroma descended over the infirmary, Katrina had never realized anger smelled so sweetly. Miss Floral Glades, with her tearing of her hair and her frantic yelling seemed almost as upset as Katrina felt. Almost.

“You killed two people rather than run over a cat?! At least I can do math well enough to realize that two people are worth more than...”

And that was about when Miss Floral Glades, with her black eyes and black tears got her revenge for being ignored. It probably would have been better for Katrina if she had moved out of the way when the hysterical flower woman glared at her, but she was too busy sending her own twin beams of fury in Calley's direction to pay attention to the raving belladonna. Unfortunately for the tween, she also had her mouth open (yelling her response to Calley's excuses) when the plant woman forced her way past smearing sticky black juice on her face and side and in the process knocked her to the ground. Katrina closed her mouth instinctively as she fell to the ground and swallowed a small amount of the sweet, sticky substance. It actually tasted fairly pleasant, but it left a dry feeling in her mouth.

“Hey, watch where you're going,” she yelled after the crazy plant woman; she was in no mood to be shoved out of someone's way like a poorly parked shopping cart on Black Thursday.

((ooc: Lo siento on the shortness, but it occurs to me that I can't actually write all that much until after Dryad posts her response to Seiz's attack. )

Well. This was fun, wasn't it? Summer Scent Air Freshener was panicking like a fresh spring breeze between buildings, Painy McWhiteCoat had that look on his face like he might be trying something that wouldn't be healthy for his target of choice, and the thirteen year old who thought-she-knew-so-much was getting smeared with homemade berry jam and shoved over.

Ha! That's what she got, for being too self-righteous to move out of the way. He walked over to her, and offered a helping hand up while wearing a you-deserved-it scowl.

"You okay?" He asked, like he was asking the time of day.

She, despite being so filled with panic, turned in her tracks in time to see the girl falling. Oh no! She was covered in belladonna juice! The rational part of her brain fought for control, the plant part of her disipating some... "Oh no..." she said, "I'm so sorr----- AH!" Her attempt at an apology was genuine, but cut short by the pain that suddenly snaked theough her body, especially the back of her head. She went down to her knees and pressed her head down, screaming and clawing at the hotspot of the pain, real tears forming in her eyes this time. What was happening?

Xavia sobbed, immobile for the moment, and lord did hurt! The last thing she had thought about was the girl, hoping she didn't swollow the juice, before she'd gone down. All she could think about now was the burning sensation in the three places the man in the labcoat (Not teenager, my mistake), had focused on. For the third time in the last 24 hours, she found her vision swimming.

Her skin started to fade from that purple to an ashen state, flowers, leaves and berries starting to rot on the floor and wither, while the berry juice fermented and stank. She didn't look like a flower beast anymore, just a blood and juice stained woman, curled up in a position reminiscent of the fetal position. And now she was starting to lose focus on the world.

Xavia's world went blank again, and she found her mind floating in a state of oblivion, free of pain, free of fear, while her body reacted accordingly to the nerve attack (I.e. Seizing, or writhing, salivating profusely, if the attack causes it.) And of course, when she was in a state much like that... She dreamed. (See Dream a Little Dream ) (Post will be in there sometime tomarrow)

Garrett watched as defiant anger quickly turned into panic and pain. A smug smile creeped across his lips as he watched the girl begin crying tears instead of berry juice. It was quite satisfying. He looked down upon her as she lay twitching. " Let's see you run around and escape now." Her flashy plant colors faded into flesh and her posture went from hostile to fetal. She was all done now. So why couldn't he remove the manipulation?

His back was still to Katrina and Calley, who were right as rain and arguing amongst themselves. Since he had no visible mutation or green flash or anything, there was no residual energy stream pointing out that he had not yet turned his power off. He was reeling in the sensation of it. He knew that in her present state of consciousness, the girl wouldn't be feeling the pain. So why continue to push, to burn? It was something deep in his core. Perhaps the demon was the real person and Garrett was the splinter.

Garrett shook his head quickly. He held his head in his hands, massaging his temples, still standing over the prone girl. Was that for real? Was it a trick played upon him by his own mind? Every day that passed without a complete psychotic episode seemed to be few and far between lately. He turned around toward the others, visibly shaken, his face pale and clammy. " I-I've got to lie down myself." Shaky knees and sea legs without the sea precariously supported his trek across the room to an open bed. He eased down and stretched out, sweat pouring over his scalp.