Log:Mistaking Malcolm for Price

2016/01/25 Grimm Malcolm 1

A crescent moon hangs in the sky, giving at least a little illumination on the dark road leading up to the spooky house at the end of the street that Gabrielle calls home. It's the sort of place kids tell tales about growing up. Woe be it on those who accidentally lose their ball in that yard. They say the last couple that lived there was murdered in that house.

Which totally explains why Gabrielle got such a discount on the two story house with a full attic floor and basement.

It's an unexpected early end to Malcolm's shift, which may or may not be due to sudden medical leave, and he was dismissed just a few blocks from Gabrielle's house. The downstairs lights are on, indicating she's probably at home right now.

Malcolm rolls up the block to Gabrielle Grimm's House of Horror on his customized hovercycle, drifting to a halt on the driveway. He turns the vehicle off and pockets the keys before he makes his way to Grimm's front door, eyes half-closed and one hand working a hanky at his nose.

If he weren't so miserable, Malcolm would probably be audibly pondering why he had to be the person to fight Rey Enfermero - luchador with the mutant power to cause disease in others - when there were two guys immune to disease on the team helping with the biohazardous hostage situation at the "mom and pop" jeweler a few blocks away.

As it stands, Malcolm knocks on the door and promptly sneezes hard enough - and LOUD enough - that Grimm's door offers up an additional obnoxious rattle. It may or may not sound like Malcolm is trying to break into the house.

After rattling the already creaky door, Malcolm hears the tell tale dark whispers that herald Gabrielle's arrival. But it's coming from behind him instead of infront of him, or on the other side of the door.

But then, he hears the building up of coalescing dark energies, and the sound of air being rent as an oversized clawed shadow hand slashes through the air towards him.

Malcolm tips his head slightly as that low drawl of coalescing energy fills his ears. The tall man flexes his muscles - woe betides Grimm that she can't see this at the moment - to force his liquid biometal out of his pores. A split second later, as his Colossus' Flesh is finishing its task of enveloping his body in a difficult to pierce membrane of semi-solid metal, Malcolm lunges to the side in an ill-fated attempt to avoid the eldritch claw raking toward him.

Forge takes the hit hard, ricocheting off of the porch floor and automatically, reflexively performing a combat roll that leaves a trail of blood and ruined metal in his wake. The metal man remains on one knee, body twisted awkwardly as he wobbles unsteadily, momentarily dazzled by the sheer force of the blow that rained down upon him. Liquid biometal bubbles up from the ragged gouges in his Colossus' Flesh to start "scabbing over" the wounds.

"Whuh?"

In what can only be GRIM satisfaction, Gabrielle eyes the fallen Forge darkly. There's utter hatred in those red-rimmed eyes of hers, as well as gut-gnawing fear.

"Finally, something got through," she utters to herself, her breathing quick-paced. She flexes the fingers of her right hand, the digits gnarled as if it were some monstrous clawed hand.

"You have some NERVE trying this twice!" Gabrielle's voice growls out, strained, scared, and angry. "I won't let you lay a HAND on me again!" she spits out in utter contempt and disguist. This is not the welcome a poor sick Malcolm deserves.

Gabrielle's clawing hand swings back as her eyes squint, her pupils spreading until her eyes are entirely black. With a step forward with her left foot, she pivots at the hip and sweeps her hand forward. Those shadowy claws appear again across the distance between her and Malcolm, swiping at him.

"What?"

Forge does not, admittedly, sound quite himself at the moment. He has a nasal quality to his voice that is often the forerunner to a crippling case of the flu. The flu being perhaps the single most common "weapon" in Rey Enfermero's arsenal of diseases. Several sticky strings of biometallic "mucus" are already hanging from Forge's nostrils; he quickly SCHHHHHHNNNNERRRRRRRRKs them back up and into his leaky sinuses.

"Gabrielle? What are you doing? Why are you attacking me?"

As sick as Forge feels right now, he isn't quite in "impaired" mode yet. He uncoils like a jungle cat, employing that preternatural fluidity of motion that Forge/Malcolm calls his very own. One hand swings up and out, fingers angling to wrap around Grimm's wrist while his other hand ducks in and across Grimm's body. Forge twists his own body under her arm as he pivots up into the space behind her striking arm, which is is now somehow snared at the wrist and the elbow, keeping her from carrying through with her claw strike.

Grimm cringes as Forge snorts his snot back up. "Ugh...your disguise is falling apart again, Price. Acting innocent isn't going to work this time!"

She seems to think she has the upper hand when Forge surprises her with his speed. Her hand is easily wrenched behind her, disabling her from lashing out with her powers momentarily.

Left in a very vulnerable position, Gabrielle's eyes go wide with abject horror and panic. "Nooo!" she shrieks with all tough composure lost. She trembles and thrashes about in wild desperation. "I won't let you kill me again!"

The hand closed around Gabrielle's wrist suddenly clamps down on itself as her wrist suddenly leaves a gap behind from her teleportation. She vanishes right through Malcolm's grasp!

Ten meters away, Gabrielle reappears and wraps her arms around herself. Anger has given way to terror and basic survival instincts. "P-pretending to be him won't protect you!" she threatens, but her voice is anything but threatening. She sweeps out her hand in an attempt to send raking claws at Malcolm again.

"Price?"

Forge is confused. Why is he being called by Gabrielle's murderous ex's name? He is even more confused when he no longer feels the pressure of Gabrielle's body against his biometallic flesh. The metal man pivots this way and that as he tries to find Grimm when he hears her voice from behind him.

Whirling around, Forge faces off with Grimm again. His eyes widen in horror at the least threatening threat ever. Both of his hands come up as Grimm sweeps her claws at him again, the metal man's biometallic flesh thickening across his hands and forearms visibly. Ebon energies swirl and twist in horrendous eddies against the metal on Forge's arms as he turns the attack aside.

"Gabrielle?! Why are you calling me Price? I thought Porter and I put his ass in a prison cell for life when he attacked you in the hospital?"

Grimm hesitates on her followup attack as Forge plays innocent again. Her eyes widen slightly, but quickly narrow again in disbelief. "If...if you're really Malcolm...tell me something only he would know!" she demands nervously, almost sounding as if she hopes he'll fail the task. Because if he passes the test, what that means would be worse than if it were Price coming to attack her again.

"You really love your grandmother's," Forge pauses his response because he has to sneeze. Gabrielle's porch becomes decorated with a leaden slime and several speckles that may be solid lead slugs. Did Malcolm just sneeze buckshot? Is that a thing that just happened?

"You really love your grandmother's streudel, but she hadn't made it for you in years until we went to see your family for Christmas. Also your mom may be trying to encourage you to be a wildchild so she can live vicariously through your experiences."

Grimm flinches as Malcolm sneeze-sprays metallic graffiti paint all over her porch. She looks horrified at first by the buckshot snot. And then even more horrified by Malcolm's answer. Her eyes well up with tears that quickly spill over and run down her cheeks, her face griefstricken.

"Oh god, Mal...it's...it's really you. What've I done...?" she gasps and claps a hand over her mouth to keep from sobbing out loud.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...I thought...Price. He was just here. He was disguised as you! I thought it was you. He...he touched me..."

She shudders in disgust at the thought, her voice sounding utterly broken. "I thought you were Price. I-I'd never hurt you on purpose, Mal," she pleads for him to believe her.

"You gave me an ouchie," comments Forge. He sneezes again, further toxifying Gabrielle's porch with bucksnot. Forge straigthens up, Colossus' Flesh starting to recede into his skin as he stares piteously at Gabrielle. Offering a weak smile - hey, does Malcolm's skin look pale? - Malcolm steps forward and murmurs, "I know, Gabrielle. I know you wouldn't hurt me on purpose. S'okay, beautiful."

There is a long pause where Gabrielle may feel, rightly or wrongly, like Malcolm is warding off a tremendous sneeze. He does not, however, sneeze again. Instead, Malcolm leans up against the door frame and looks curiously at Grimm.

"Can I get some chicken soup and crash on your couch? I think I've got the flu."

Of all the things he could've said to her, complaining about an "ouchie" is the dead last thing that would've crossed Gabrielle's mind. Through the sniffling tears, she just pauses as her brain tries to register than, her lips parting slightly as her jaw hangs open a little.

"You...you..."

Of course he'd just forgive her.

Once the illness and the sneezing registers, she flickers and is immediately at his side, opposite the door frame and reading to offer herself to help support him into the house. "Handsome, I'll get you all the chicken soup, hot tea, blankets, and pillows your heart desires," she quickly offers sweetly and with deep rooted concern. With a sniff, she tries to stiffle her tears.

"Shouldn't I get you to a hospital...?" she asks tenderly, looking over his pale skin and looking to see the extent of the damage she did.

"Why would I go to the hospital for the flu?" inquires Malcolm. He sounds confused. And also nasal. One arm wraps around Grimm's shoulders while the other rummages around in his jeans pockets. Eventually Malcolm produces some e-paper with digital instructions on it. Malcolm looks at Gabrielle, the e-paper, and finally Gabrielle's front door.

"Whassadoor lookin' at?"

"Didn't I...didn't I cut you?" Gabrielle murmurs worriedly as she slides an arm around him carefully. She glances at the e-paper, trying to steal a look, but then he asks a question. "Wassadoor? I...don't understand?"

Gabrielle glances around the street. A few dead leaves blow about on the sidewalk out front, stirred by a cold breeze.

"Let's get you inside and warm, Handsome. You sound like you deserve some spoiling," she says as she starts to come down from the adrenaline rush and fear. With a wave of her hand, the front door unlocks and swings inwards with a low, spooky creak.

"What's that you've got, Handsome?"

"Nawrilly," comments Malcolm at the question of whether or not Gabrielle cut him. He certainly doesn't seem to be any worse for wear - indeed, he doesn't seem to have so much as a drop of blood on him - save for his rapidly worsening flu symptoms. And Gabrielle Grimm can't give people the flu.

... Can she?

Malcolm weebles a bit in place until Grimm opens the door. He strides into the house, apparently unaffected by the eerie creaking and groaning of the door. Ignoring virtually all else, Malcolm makes for the nearest possible couch. With his back to her, Grimm can see that there is little sign of her claw attack at all. Aside from his shirt and jacket having some pressed in creases, Malcolm shows no real signs of the attack.

"S'rections 'n' 'scriptions..." mumbles Malcolm as he rather abruptly topples across a couch. There is a very long, very disgusting "inhalation" sound following this before Malcolm rolls onto his side and curls up on the couch.

Grimm lets out a sigh of relief to herself as she inspects Malcolm's back as he passes. "Thank goodness. I...let me take care of you," she says as he flops on the couch, sounding eager to make it up to him still. She's in doting girlfriend mode now.

"I'll be right back!" Gabrielle promptly vanishes in a swirl of whispering shadows, which can then be heard coming from her bedroom upstairs. Seconds later she reappears at the foot of the couch, arms loaded up with things for Malcolm.

For starters, she has a big comfy pillow under one arm and a box of tissues clutched in the hand. Under the other arm, she has an oversized black microfleece blanket; the super soft and warm comfy kind. And clutched in that hand, a wastebin. She fully loaded for this trip!

Gabrielle sets the wastebin near the couch, then sets the box of tissues on the edge of the couch next to where Malcolm lies. This frees her hands to drop the pillow and blanket from under her arms and into her hands. Fluffing the pillow, she positions it under Malcolm's head, then drapes the blanket over him.

"Do you need me to pick up those prescriptions for you?"

Malcolm makes a sound that may be him trying to clear his throat or him trying to dissuade Grimm from feeling obligated to care for him in his infirmity. Grimm is gone mere moments - two minutes, tops - but Malcolm seems to have fallen asleep in that infinitessimal span. Getting the pillow under his head requires something not unlike dark magic, but Malcolm seems otherwise easy to care for - he may be the Chia pet of boyfriends at the moment.

At the mention of prescriptions, Malcolm snorthackcoughs himself awake and stares blankly up at Grimm. It takes him a couple of seconds to figure out where he is and who he's looking at, though he smiles broadly when he recognizes Grimm. Cautiously, he holds up the e-paper so that she can acquire it with a minimum of germ transfer.

"Yspls, Gack-rielle."

Curling up gently under the blanket, Malcolm smiles hopefully up at Gabrielle.

Fun to look at and pet. If people petted Chia pets.

Gabrielle just smiles, gently plucks the prescription from, and strokes his head as he smiles hopefully at her. "I'll take care of it, Handsome. Did you put in the order already?" she asks, reading over the instructions and directions. "What pharmacy is it at?"

Taking care of Malcolm is the perfect way to make Gabrielle feel better about attacking him, and to forget Price for the time being. She puts the 'script in her pocket and lets Malcolm get comfy. She scoots towards his feet and helps pull off his shoes, then goes about tucking him in under the blanket.

When Gabrielle retrieves the e-paper, Malcolm smiles in contentment and closes his eyes. He sinks down on the couch and pillow again, three-quarters entangled in the microfleece. Malcolm's boots pop off and almost invariably PLONK onto the floor, weighing significantly more than the well-worn leather might suggest.

At Gabrielle's questioning, Malcolm just offers quiet, incomprehensible sounds. There may be some words mixed in, but Gabrielle surely can't make them out. On the plus side, the e-paper lists the prescriptions and exactly what pharmacies Starguard's insurance plan covers. It doesn't appear that Malcolm's sent in his prescriptions yet, being as this is the high-tech, wifi-enabled future that should logically include an Internet of Many Things. Gabrielle may have to select the appropriate pharmacy as though playing Select-an-Adventure with Malcolm's health.

Adult things are adult! Gabrielle scrutinizes the prescription, trying to understand what it's asking for. With the seriousness of her expression, you'd think this were a matter of life or death. She begins browsing through the list of pharmacies, trying to find the most reliable one that's relatively nearby.

Relative to Gabrielle's shadow stepping, that is.

She picks one and digitally submits the prescription, then waits to see how long it'll take for the prescriptions to be ready to pick up. There may be some brief pacing involved. Meanwhile, in her other hand, she fishes out her phone and starts browsing Mealwheel for local places to order a hot soup for the flue.

It takes a couple of minutes for the e-paper to update from 'prescription received' to 'T-1:14:04' and Gabrielle probably wears a rut into the shadow of the floor. Malcolm, in the meanwhile, takes up the noble cause of snoring. On the plus side, Malcolm doesn't have a slowly inflating snotbubble as though he fell out of a JRPG.

Damn you, future! Why are prescriptions so slow to be fulfilled!

Bah, no matter! While Gabrielle was waiting, she thumbed in an order for pickup chicken pho soup at the local So Pho King Good restaurant, which says it'll be ready in merely fifteen minutes!

There is some small victory in that. So Gabrielle puts her phone timer on to let her know when to pick up the food, then sits next to Malcolm and gently strokes his back while he sleeps and she waits for something to be ready for her to do. Out of paranoia, she keeps her shadow sight alert and scanning the area in case Price makes a sudden return.

Malcolm endures the indignities of the flu by sleeping. Grimm endures Malcolm and his flu symptom indignities by doting on him and waiting for Jonathon Price: Professional Jerk to appear from the shadows. This being an actual possibility, Grimm is probably at least somewhat justified.

Grimm still strokes Malcolm's back with slow, soothing caresses. As if she could wish him to be better with love and affection.

She just continues to give him rubs while her mind dwells on Price's dirty trick. She still hasn't figured out how he escaped. While she's left to ponder the how of it, her phone vibrates, indicating the soup is ready.

Eager to do something useful, she quickly vanishes and reappears outside the punny sounding pho restaurant and walks in to pick up the order.

Collecting soup is a simple task and, by the time Gabrielle returns to her home, Malcolm has inexplicably awakened again. The tall man blinks blearily, tissues shoved into his nostrils, before offering a tired smile to Gabrielle. Waving, Malcolm curls himself into a sitting position against the very corner of the couch as though trying to avoid infecting Grimm with his awful meta-spawned flu.

"Sorry, beautiful," he rasps, "I don't wanna get you sick too. Dunno ho-"

Malcolm sneezes. It is kind of like having a tiny explosion. Also it leaves tissues stuck to the blanket trailing off of Malcolm's curled up form. Rolling his eyes, Malcolm semi-blindly gropes around to collect his tissues.

"Rey Enfermo's the biggest jerk."

Grimm reappears with a styrofoam tub and box of goodies. "Rey Enfermo? Remind me to kick that guy," she says as she sets the items on the coffee table in front of the couch. She opens up the lid of the rub, and steam rises off the chicken pho noodle soup. When she flips up the lid to the box, there's mini-containers of various sauces, some lime wedges, bean sprouts, jalapeno slices, and thai basil to garnish the soup with, as well as some spring rolls with sweet chili sauce. There's a place setting of napkins, a spoon, and chopsticks that she takes out of the box and sets between it and the soup.

"I know you don't want me to get sick, but you look like you could use some cuddling after food," she smiles softly, preparing the pho just how he likes it.