Log:Double the Price

2015/07/20 Malcolm Daemon Porter Grimm Jonathon Price 1 Porter doesn't like the idea of his friends being in the hospital. Even less when they aren't nice enough to tell him. When he last asked if she needed anything, it was only water. Now that he's had some time to think of other things, he's trying better things. A bouquet of flowers. A card. A box of chocolates.A bacon cheeseburger or two. The chili cheese fries and coffee are for him, though.

Grimm is sleeping soundly again in her hospital bed, something she's had to do a lot lately. There've been some complications, but it was caught early and they've put her on an antibiotic drip. Despite her other worldly and cosmic powers, her physical body is still very mortal and frail by comparison.

Outside the hospital...someone passing by gets a bad feeling about this as they pass the hospital.

Daemon's gauntlet systems suddenly ping him, wherever he is at this moment. Recognition software's retrieved a hit, and a feed of the hospital lobby is pulled up, showing the tall thin man he was searching for. He's walking in with a bouquet of red and black flowers for macabre condolences, wearing an expensive looking black suit with matching shift and silk tie. It's a tailored fit. He has dark brown hair, a little long, and an unshaven, roguish look.

Malcolm Gibbs is seated in a chair, just across from the foot of Gabrielle's bed. He's making his way through his fourth or fifth pudding cup from the hospital commissary today and making headway on issue 58 of his 259 issue backlog of Jegs... Just Jegs. There is an even larger pile of Auto Traders at home, waiting to be hauled to the hospital for light reading between instances of conscious Gabrielle.

On the plus side, Malcolm is blissfully unaware of the dapper visitor entering the hospital so many floors below him.

For those without their heads plugged into the internet, Daemon has activated his long dormant SpectreNet across the city- and in key locations worldwide. In these locations a large percentage of processing power (in some areas people report as much as a 25% spike) assigned to a trojan in over 1 Million PCs, phones and other Debian & windows based devices. TempleOS users were oddly neglected.

Now Daemon is receiving the fruits of his labors as he jumps from the roof he's on and races for the hospital.

He sends a message to Grimm's phone and prays she isn't asleep.

Porter isn't dapper. He's just bringing good cheer. He hits the elevator button and starts to wait. But then... a case of the heebie jeebies. In a hospital. With wounded friends and sick people. The last time he had a bad feeling about a hospital... it nearly exploded... He cuts to the stairs and starts jogging up them.

The thin man doesn't even stop to inquire at the desk. He can see exactly where he needs to go, and heads patiently for the elevator that Porter pushed a button for. Ding! The elevator doors open for him and he steps inside. The doors close before anyone else enters the elevator.

Gabrielle tosses a little in her sleep, as if having a bad dream.

Porter isn't fast, but hopefully Gabriell's not on the Tenth floor or something. It could be nothing, but he hurries on up. Just not so fast that he drops the food or flowers. That's be bad.

Porter takes the fast route and beats the elevator.

Gabrielle's phone vibrates on her bed stand. Of course she's asleep! Daemon's prayers go unanwsered, perhaps. But Malcolm should be able to notice her smartphone rattling around on the stand.

Thank goodness for small favors. Up two flights and through the door with an elbow, Porter heads for Grimm's room. The smell of lillies, bacon, and chili fries follow.

Looking up from his copy of Jegs, Malcolm quirks an eyebrow at the phone rattling away on the nightstand. With a sigh, Malcolm extends an arm in that direction - a cable immediately lashes out from somewhere under his shirt, coiling about his extended forearm to brace, before it attempts to ensnare that phone and haul it back to his hand.

"Gabrielle Grimm's office, Agent Gibbs speaking."

Maybe it's the wind shifting... Or just Porter opening the door. Well, jiggling the hand with an elbow and then pushing. His reputation precedes him, right along with the aromas. "Hey. I-" Then he immediately quiets, seeing that Gabrielle looks asleep. He turns to a whisper. "-brought you some things... Oh, hey, Mal."

Daemon swings down the street and drops down to the second floor of the Hospital. He runs horizontal across the building, his black leather jacket streaming behind him. He snaps as he nears the window. Grimm's own keyfob glows red. The center window pops open.

As Daemon gets right on the window he prays he's not late- and he prays that Gabrielle's metal-infused cro-magnon is standing near by.

Malcolm knits his brows together at the lack of response. Insistently, Malcolm intones, "Hello?"

Porter's arrival is greeted with a smile and a head-bob.

Then the window into Gabrielle's hospital room opens. Malcolm wheels around at the sudden draft, eyes widening for a moment before narrowing as he glares at Daemon. Steel grey eyes flick toward the smartphone in hand and then back toward Daemon.

"This you?" inquires Malcolm, although it's unclear if he's asking the person on the phone or the Daemon in front of him.

Porter startles and turns, too, then relaxes. Oh, it's THAT guy who climbs in through windows. The Ok one. At least Gabrielle seemed to think so, before. Hopefully there aren't a bunch of other guys climbing in her window... But anyway, he nods to Daemon and then starts putting things down on a side table. Before he drops them. Because Grimm waking up to find chili cheese fries mauled on the floor could be fatal. To someone.

"Of course it's me on the phone. Who else would be warning... " Daemon starts. "Nevermind, there's no time for your foolish questions! Grimm is in danger!" These words are echoed through Gabrielle's phone in Malcolm's hand.

Daemon crosses his arms after readjusting his coats.

Malcolm turns off the phone when Daemon's words echo into his ear. Setting the phone down, Malcolm's brows knit together and he growls out, "In danger from who?"

"Who do you think?" Daemon asks before realizing now isn't the time to infuriate someone who's about to be drafted into doing his heavy lifting.

Daemon says, "Jonathan Price- the bastard who put her in here." Daemon answers trying to check the attitude."

Porter blinks at Daemon. "Wait. HIM? The GUY? Or somehting else?" Not that Porter has any idea who HIM The GUY is, but knows of him. Sorta. He looks from Daemon, to Mal, to Grimm. Then to the door.

"Me. The guy," the thin man at the door announces, holding the bouquet with a card that says 'Sorry for your loss'. Jonathon Price smiles thinly. "I brought some flowers to give my condolences. Although...I'm not sure which of you is about to lose their girlfriend." He raises a hand and snaps his fingers, and the room falls into darkness.

"Yes THAT guy who's about to have his limbs torn from his body." Daemon says, proving his mouth works in total darkness too.

"Well," intones Malcolm, tone souring with each word, "Isn't that just prime?"

As the room sinks into darkness, Malcolm brings his hands up in front of his face. For some damn reason, it looks like he's emulating Naruto or some other fictional shinobi that went to the same school of hand signology.

Of course, Price might be the only one that actually sees Malcolm going all anime ninja.

"So you're the boyfriend," Price's voice sounds like it's coming from behind Daemon. "Then these flowers belong to you."

All three heroes can hear, from the direction of the window and probably just outside of it, the sound of crunching concrete, the flap of leathery wings, and the breathing of something that sounds very large.

Daemon is pissed. He lifts his arm and shoots his White Noise Cannon at the last place Jonathan was standing.

"Port, think you can do something about the lighting situation?" calls Malcolm. His hands break away from their signing position as he achieves the proper state of elevated, martial arts-y consciousness. Metal cables erupt out of Malcolm's body as he blindly sinks into a crane stance, keeping him from crashing into anything important whilst he goes through the slow, calculated motions of his kata.

"Maybe you should turn back on the lights, Buddy," Porter looks to the voice near Daemon. At least he hopes he's looking the right way. "Everybody knows she's my girlfriend. Leave them alone." Hell, everybody seems to think everyone is his girlfriend... maybe he can get some good out of it for once? At least distract him? It? Them?

"You!?" Price's voice drifts incredulously. He almost spits it out. He sounds insulted. "YOU? How could she pick someone like you?" That's about the reaction Porter always gets when someone finds out who he's dating. It's nothing new for him. The darkness drops away and draws into the Jonathon Price behind Daemon. There's another Jonathon Price still at the door. And the head of an enormous dragon by the window.

The dragon takes in a breath of air, the inside of its mouth glows with purple light before it exhales a blast of shadowfire at Malcolm.

The Price behind Daemon starts to grow shadowy claws and slashes at him.

The Price at the door is staring daggers at Porter and looks supremely offended.

The claws lash out at Daemon. He flips up and sticks to the ceiling. "Oh too slow. Now it's my turn." Daemon says.

Porter isn't surprised at all. He shrugs. "Yeah, I get that alo-" His words are cut off as very unpleasant images of very unpleasant things happening to those he cares for briefly knocks the thought out of his head. Sadly, that line of thought is not new to him, either. "You know, even with the lights on, two of you here in a small room... Asking for trouble if you ask me.

Malcolm blinks a few times as the light returns. He tries not to laugh (too hard) at Porter making light of the situation. Instead, Malcolm finds himself in danger of being sucked off of his feet by the shadow dragon's deep inhalation. The tall man whirls himself around rapidly, cables generating layers of disruptive air around his body as the purple shadowflame pours in through the window toward him.

Fire washes over the cyclonic shell Malcolm's spinning cables have made. When the gout of flames abate, Malcolm stands within a charred circle inset on the floor with his cables glowing an ominous cherry red - his clothes already sizzling and smoking.

And of course with the shouting and fire breathing, Gabrielle wakes up with a start, sitting up from the bed. Her eyes go wide at the sight of Jonathon Prices and everyone else around her. Her legs kick against the mattress and sheets as she tries to scoot away from Price in fear, but all she manages to do is curl up along the backrest of the elevated mattress.

Daemon's sticking to the ceiling has particular advantages, though few of them are readily appearant in this small of a room. Being able to see on the other hand is a vast improvement. He'd thank Porter if he did that kind of thing.

He turns towards the Price that slashed at him, deadly claws and all and fires off another blistering Sonic Blast. His arm lights up as the capacitors in the gauntlet release their stored energy and the circular depression in his palm lights up and the sound rips out after being folded and doubled and focused redoubled a thousand times straight toward this doppelganger schmuck!

The doppelganger Price is struck by the sonic blast, but stands its ground, seeming only mildly phased.

Malcolm stands his ground by the bed, eyes reflecting the red light from his multitude of super-heated cables. A slow, terrible smile spreads across his features as he watches Daemon cannon the Price between himself and the shadowdragon with its dear, sweet, unprotected head jammed in through the window.

"Alright, Smokey. Time for a taste of your own medicine," intones Malcolm.

The tall man flexes his muscles and narrows his eyes as liquid metal starts to pour out of his flesh to engulf his body. Forge's metal body gleams in the harsh hospital lighting even as his cables start to sputter and spark. With a frown, Forge looks at his cables and then back at the shadow dragon.

"I, uh... Look it's crowded in here, performance anxiety isn't unheard of..."

Porter winces at Mal's... stage fright. But it was a great idea. "Yeah, breathes fire, but can it -breathe- it?" He looks around hastily. He can't melt metal. Or make fire. Or noxious fumes. Well, not without first eat-Hey! With only a moment's reluctance, he grabs the bag of chili cheese fries... and chucks it at the dragon's face.

The shadow dragon's face is splattered with chili fries. Its long tongue runs out of its mouth to lick at the fries, but the tongue isn't long enough to reach its eyes. However, it does have keen ears. Its head takes up the entire window frame, and even scraps and breaks off part of the side framing. It opens its maw and tries to bite down on where it thinks it hears the Porter.

The Price doppelganger by Daemon stares down the masked hacker and seems to do nothing.

The Real(?) Jonathon Price shakes his head at Porter. "You're not good enough for her," he says disparagingly. Also something Porter is probably used to. Price extends his hand towards Gabrielle, black energy surrounging his hand. Then he curls his fingers into a fist with one finger pointed at her, and a lance of shadow with a sharp tip stretches out at her rapidly.

The blinded shadow dragon's maw snaps down on empty air, well short of Porter.

His worst nightmares begin to pervade Daemon's mind...

Considering he's standing right there, Forge can see something lashing out toward Grimm in his peripheral vision. The metal man whirls, flinging a shield-shaped disc off of his arm almost without thinking about it, eyes widening as the disc collides with the sharpened shadow spear. Non-sound reverberates through the air as the spear is repelled. Ricocheting about the room, Forge's shield somehow ends up returning to his waiting hand as Forge glares across the bed (and over Porter) at The Real Slim Shady(?).

Daemon wonders what the doppelganger is doing, when the doppelganger melts into the floor. The others all seem so far away, and suddenly he's poorlittle dweeby Cormac. Powerless, and on the run. He backs into the corner along the ceiling, never realizing he's sticking to the walls.

Then the network protocols he's been juggling in his brain start to break down. It's a full meltdown underneath that damned solid black helmet.

Price's Shadow seems content that Daemon is on full meltdown and not a threat currently. He turns towards Porter and thrusts his hand out, a shadow bolt flying towards him.

Price just shakes his head. "Do you really think you can keep her from me? She stole something of mine. I'm not going to let you two get in my way." He purses his lips a moment. "But why do the dirty work when I can have someone else do it for me?" His eyes settle on Malcolm. "Why don't you do it for me? While her new boyfriend watches. Kill her and set her powers free for me to reclaim." Price grins devilishly.

The Shadow dragon tries to shake off some of the chili fries. But that goey cheese...that's tricky stuff.

Malcolm can feel the dark influence seeping into his mind as Price's words ring in his ears, metal hands clenching into fists - and then hardened iron fists - as he struggles against that darkness trying to dirty his soul. Forge slams his fists down on the side rail of Grimm's bed and lets loose a roar of psychic agony, followed up by the horrific, shrieking crash of the side rail ripping clean off of Gabrielle's bed and into the floor tiles.

Porter isn't bitten, but does catch the spear like a pro. Luckily there's a wall, so he's not thrown out a window. Unluckily, the wall is hard. Luckily, the staff are nice enough to stack pillows and blankets on a chair for visitors... and Porter hits that, first. But taking a potshot at Gabrielle? Threatening to turn Mal against him? In front of her? Yeah, no. Hells no. He's way to familiar with that, unfortunately. And already all but watched Gabrielle die once. After seeing darkness turn to light in her eyes when she thought it was someone else at her door. So, again, no. He's no athlete, but the turned over chair isn't that heavy. Maybe the thrashing blind dragon right there gives an unintended helping hand...er, head, too? "Yeah, I do you sonofabitch!" And now the chair flies Price's way, without the comfortable padding of pillows and blankets.

The masterful throw/flail sails towards Price, just as the dragon tries to swipe at where Porter was before he was blasted back into the chair. Like a cat, the dragon bats the chair, sending it flying faster, where the arm cracks Price in the head as it flies by and hits a wall. Price is still on his feet, but he's clearly dazed from the blow to the head as he clutches his temple and curses.

Daemon's constant influx of data is his saving grace. It allowed him to see the edges of his paranoia unfounded. The nightmare simply a farce of his greatest fears. The room returns back to normal- his fears literally creeping back into the shadows. Daemon won't be handled. Not by doppelgangers, not by the real Price, not by anyone.

His dancing partner thinks him out of the fight. He springs to action striking out from the corner of the room- he shoots off a flying disc. As it flies a small spark can be see coursing over its surface.

The disc strikes the shadow that had discounted Daemon. Energy arcs around him and his body goes rigid until he manages to reach a hand up to the disc. He tears it away from his body and throws it aside.

Forge, having overcome that darkness seeping into his mind and soul from Jonathon Price's voice, cranks his neck one way and then the other. Inexplicably this causes a harsh mechanical grinding noise, as though gears were grinding one another to bits. He slides into a combat stance a moment later, fists coming up as the metal covering him from fingertips to elbows rapidly corrodes into a faintly glittery, blackened state.

"Nice shot, Port," calls Forge as he flexes not only his fists, but the semi-visible fists of intense magnetic force coalescing in front of Price. Drawing back an arm, Forge launches into a shadow boxing combination that is echoed by those disembodied magnetic fists. Unfortunately for Price, he is probably as susceptible to the diamagnetic effect as any other form of matter...

The already dazed Price, not expecting the chair that Porter through earlier, proves to be an easier target than usual. While he tries to gather himself up to say some snide remark to Porter, Forge's shadow boxing catches him by surprise. He tries to lean back rapidly to avoid the first swipe, but then a solid punch to the jaw sends Price sailing back out the door and embeds him into the wall across the way. He slumps there, half reclined in dry-wall as he loses consciousness.

Daemon decides to take the fight to the shadow-clone. He plants his feet against the wall and pushes off with all his might, once he gets withing an arm's length away he throws a good ol' right hook. Nice and solid.

The shadow's head snaps to the side, but with a shift in his step, he remains on his feet.

Porter was hoping Mr. Unsmiley Face would be down. So he's not going to give him a breather. Not when there's two of them. And that doesn't even count the dragon! Yeah, moving away from that is good, too. He steps for Price by the door hurriedly, leading with his fist.

Only Porter has muscles ephemeral enough to conquer a two-dimensional absence of light! One wouldn't think hitting it would do much good. But apparently Porter knows the weak spot. Or just happens to find it. He connects and the thing falls. Or fades. Or whatever punched shadows do.

It does a bit of both! It fades AND falls, into a black stain of a shadow on the ground, which suddenly zips back over to the real Price and attaches itself to where a normal shadow should be. The shadow dragon does just the former and fades out of existance, the chili fries coating its face dropping to the ground like it was never there, leaving a nasty mess on the floor.

"Well. That was different," comments Forge as the shadows simply evaporate into dark stains. He flexes his muscles a few times, eyes scanning around the room before thrusting one hand out toward the Price embedded in the wall. Magnetic force wraps around Price to hold him in place as Forge looks to Grimm.

"You okay, beautiful? He didn't get you when I wasn't looking, did he?"

Grimm has curled up near the head of bed, knees drawn up to her chest and arms wrapped around them. She looks terrified, perhaps in the same sort of meltdown mode Daemon was without most people's knowledge. In her injured state, she couldn't even manage to bring up a dark field of energy to protect herself. She shakes her head, then nods, then realizes in her panic, she's answering in the wrong order. "N-no, I'm...fine." She doesn't sound it, though.

Porter pants some, straigthening up after the effort. "Yeah, you Ok, Gabrielle? Mal? Window guy?" Hey, so there's a bit of a priority order. (re)

Daemon says, "How is she?" Daemon asks, closing his mask and activating the modulator."

Daemon is thankful he nor Grimm had to use the explosive laced windows. He deactivates the dead-man switch. Geez who is this guy?

Daemon says, "How is she?" Daemon asks, closing his mask and activating the modulator."

Daemon is thankful he nor Grimm had to use the explosive laced windows. He deactivates the dead-man switch. Geez who is this guy?

He turns to Malcolm & Porter, seeing Grimm well attended he walks over to Price, and hits him again. His helmet opens and he spits on him. Directly between the eyes. Only then does he return to the room, and send his footage to the police and call the perp in.

"How is she?" Daemon asks, closing his mask and activating the modulator.

"I'm fine, in spite of Cap'n Creepy trying to get into my head," replies Forge to Porter. He frowns at Daemon, though he doesn't have a clear line on wrapping a magnetic hand around Grimm's "friend" or his armor-clad throat. "You want me to get you a doctor? A nurse?"

Grimm relaxes her balled up form a little as she watches Forge restrain Price and Daemon's parting shot on him. "I'm...yeah. I'm okay," she repeats to Porter and Daemon weakly, trembling a little still from the anxiety and fear. She tried so hard to act untouchable after what Price did to her a while back, but as soon as she was confronted by him, she just crumbled and became the helpless girl she was before. "I'm....I'm sorry I couldn't help...couldn't move."

"Hey, It's Ok, Gabrielle..." Porter isn't going to blame her for that. "You don't take it easy enough when you're hurt. You deserve a brea-" And the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Why can't he ever finish a thought?

Ghostfist would probably make a joke about Porter not thinking fast enough to finish his thoughts.

Forge reaches out with one hand to gently squeeze Grimm's hand, mouth opening as if to say something. His attention, however, diverts toward Porter when Porter simply stops in mid-word. That is never a good sign.

Daemon 's monitoring another situation & about to tell Grimm that she has done nothing wrong as a countdown timer starts counting down from 1. "Everybody DO-" is all he manages to get out.

The nanites in the glass all activate one final time. They increase their core temperature in concert. Laced throughout the glass this heat rises exponetially. Then they all open up tiny shields meant to deflect their own blasts inward. The glass once nigh-unbreakable bows out. Then it shatters and the shards come flying in

Porter would sigh. But there's not time for that. It was his OhSh!tometer that stopped his thoughts cold. So he reacts solely on instinct. And that's protecting his friends. Or at least Grimm. No offense to anyone else. So he gives her as much luck as he can spare. Which can be pretty surprising.

Thousands of sharp shards of unbreakable material flying around all over the room.... except, well, most of them are flying everywhere where people are NOT standing. Fancy that. Porter still had enough reflexes to flinch, and only had a single piece bounce off of his doohickey.

Forge hears the window cracking. He sees Porter flinching. Everything slows down as the adrenaline re-enters his system. Reflexes fire, launching Forge toward Grimm.

Time resumes its normal flow as Forge wraps himself around Grimm. Glass and heat and concussive force roll over Forge's metal-fleshed frame as he shields Gabrielle from harm. By the time it ends, there may be molten glass embedded in his reddened, dully glowing Colossus' Flesh.

Grimm hears Daemon's warning. She's slow to react, even though her mind quickly remembers the trap. Just as it's exploding. She inhales sharply and starts to curl up, trying to summon her powers to protect her, but nothing comes of it. She winces and closes her eyes, bracing for the glass to hit. As the chaos and noise returns to stillness, she blinks open her eyes and finds herself in the protective grasp of Forge.

"Are you alright...? Is everyone okay?" she asks, shakened.

"I'm Ok. I think. How're you two?" That's Porter, looking at the Collosusly covered Grimm, then to Daemon. "You?"

Daemon knows full well the explosion pattern that the imploded glass should have taken. He's leaping into the sweet spot he designed. It should have cut everyone off at the knees. Instead it looks like the results of a double slit experiment. Most of the peices miss him and everyone else that mattered. (sorry Mal) His jacket was shredded.

As he's analyizing the pattern left by Porter's weird whatchamacallitness he notices more than a few outliers have found themselves lodged into Jonathan Price. 2 molten shards- one in his shoulder and another in his thigh. One slashing his perfect little bastard face. Daemon smiles approvingly. Sure it means hours of decoding what the hell caused his nanites to malfunction, but that bastard is going to at least have a limp- hopefully it hit a major artery.

Daemon returns to the now gaping open side of the room. He nods to Grimm and says "Too bad we're in a hospital. He'll probably live." and leaps out into the city below- 2 stories below.

Forge slowly unfurls himself from around Grimm, frowning a little bit as he glances over at the glass-embedded Price before looking over at Daemon. Again Forge frowns. Peeling himself off of Grimm and the bed alike, Forge straigthens up and glances back and forth between himself, Porter, and Grimm.

"I'm fine. A little shaken up, but... Fine. How the hell did the windows explode? Is that a new thing?"

And then Daemon leaps out of the gaping chasm that used to be windows. Forge facepalms and lets out a groaning sigh. "Some vigilantes, man," complains Forge, "But at least Gabrielle's ex has... Paid the Price for attacking her."

Even Gabrielle has to wince a little at the pun. It's a good thing Gabrielle is in l-lesbians with Forge and will pretend he never said that. "He did some sort of thing with his nanites to the window to make a trap. In case Price showed up when I was alone. He said it was a last ditch type of thing. But I wear I didn't even touch the button!"

"You... Boobytrapped your hospital room."

Forge sounds either surprised or aggrieved or some other, even more esoteric option of emotion. It's unclear exactly what the metal man is feeling just this moment, other than beat-up.

"I didn't," Gabrielle says defensively. "I didn't even ask for him to do it. He just sort of...handed over this clicker device and said 'By the way, don't press that down for too long or you'll blow everything up'," she says in a pale immitation of Daemon's modulated voice. She's starting to feel a bit better. At least enough to make comments like those. Having Forge's metal body block her line of sight to Price helps.

Forge smiles at Gabrielle and lets out a long sigh, leaning over to kiss her on the forehead.

"I suppose, on the plus side, this means you'll be getting transferred to a different room in the hospital. They wouldn't want you to catch your death of cold in here," teases Forge, smiling thinly at Gabrielle.

Grimm closes her eyes at the kiss as she chuckles a little at Forge's other silly joke. She doesn't often feel the cold thanks to her powers, but somestimes, when they're running low, she can feel it again. "Maybe I can get a better room this time. Or just sent home to rest after all this. For public safety reasons?"

Forge smiles a little bit and kisses Grimm on the cheek again. He lightly strokes Grimm's hand and notes, "Maybe they'll send Wasp over to fix you up right as rain in a hurry now. Then you can stay at my place until you're sure you've recovered."

Grimm really can't argue with any of that plan. "Right, they bump known metas up on the list, right?" she asks about the hospital policy with Wasp. Staying at Forge's place sounds even better. But then, most things would compared to a hospital stay. And Forge makes some mean sandwiches. "Can I shotgun episodes of The Shambling Dead while I recover at your place...?" she asks with reserved hope.

Forge casts a sidelong glance toward Price, then looks back at Grimm. With a shrug, Forge replies, "If that'll make you happy, sure." Smiling warmly, Forge's metal flesh starts to recede into his normal dark skin. Over the course of a few moments, Malcolm re-emerges from the cocoon that is Forge...

Malcolm rolls his shoulders a few times, which may cause Price to get dragged in a few circles in that hole in the wall. Despite having de-metal'd himself, Malcolm's hands are still covered in that glittery black metal, which means the magnetic fields are still holding Price in place.

"That's the most important thing, beautiful."

"Well, I'd want to watch some of your stuff, too." Gabrielle doesn't want to hog the TV all to herself. There's the sound of some plaster falling as Price gets jostled within his nest within the wall. The adrenaline's finally leaving her system, leaving her feeling drained. But she still casts a nervous look towards Price, stiffening for a moment as she thinks he's rousing.

"The important thing is keeping you safe and happy," replies Malcolm, smiling warmly. He glances over his shoulder at Price again when he catches Grimm looking nervously toward Shadowy McCreeperson. Quietly, Malcolm murmurs, "He'll be out a while. I think I hit him enough for two."

"And then Porter hit him on top of that...and then Daemon...and then Daemon's trap. I really hope he stays out for a long time." Gabrielle tries to relax her body at least, while her mind is still trying to calm itself. Maybe the mind will follow the body once she relaxes more? She tries to smile up at Forge and keep a brave front after crumbling earlier. "I guess with you and friends here, I shouldn't have been so scared."

Malcolm smiles gently at Gabrielle, stroking her cheek with one hand. "Everyone gets scared, beautiful. It's what you do when you get scared that matters."

Pausing a moment, Malcolm seems to reconsider his words. Frowning a moment, Malcolm leans in to give Grimm a warm, affectionate hug.

"In your case, you've got some traumatic history with him. It's not the same as normal."

Grimm was starting to look disappointed in herself, her gaze shifting down to her lap where her hands clasp and her thumbs fidget. "..and I froze."

Because she's too busy self-doubting, Malcolm's hug catches her by surprise. She sighs and leans into the hug. "I guess so. Usually I don't freeze like that. I did it when I first saw him at the club, too..."

"That's the problem with memories," murmurs Malcolm, holding Grimm close in his arms, "Sometimes they come back. They hold you when you know you can do more. You'll learn to overcome your memories, Gabrielle. You're too strong a person, too good a person, not to overcome some pansy jabroni like that guy."

Grimm nods softly, hoping, wishing, she could overcome when with a snap of her fingers. "You're right, Mal. You're always right." She turns her head up to smile at him, putting on her brave face for him. "Maybe we can track down this Wasp friend of yours and get me out of here. And dump Price off at Starguard."

"Wasp's not really a friend of mine, Gabrielle. She's just this meta doctor on staff here; heals people with a touch. It's kinda faith healery, but less grandstandy," offers Malcolm. He smirks a little bit and bobs his head toward the yawning chasm that used to be an exterior wall. "I can hear the cops responding already. We'll hand him over, get you healed up, and situated back at my place."

Grimm lets out a relieved breath and gives Malcolm a big hug. She's still weak, but she hugs him with all her mediocre strength til it hurts. Then she stretches up to kiss his chin. "That sounds like a great plan to me, Handsome. Thanks for taking care of me. I owe you something big time for...everything." Everything just about sums it up.

Malcolm smiles and plants a kiss on Grimm's forehead whilst she's still in chin-kissing range. He just holds her gently, affectionately, in his arms as she squeezes the hell out of his muscular form. "I love you, Gabrielle. Why wouldn't I do anything - everything? - for you?"

Grimm gazes up at him, still awestruck every time he talks like that to her. "I can't think of a specific reason, when you put it like that," she grins at him. "I guess it's just something I'm still not used to. But I feel the same about you." And she definitely sees him as her knight in shining biometal on top of all that.

The sirens draw close and sound like they're just outside the window and down below, which means the cops finally arrived after calls of "Oh my god, there's a dragon! And it's not famous!" Shortly afterwards, down the hall, the hurried footsteps of law officers can be heard.