#bevil

"What a lovely evening," he muses quite dramatically at the door of the infirmary. "Ten new samples noted and organized. More trespassers ignoring the rules, which means more experiments for me." He smiles at the lone figure on one of the bed, covered in blankets. "Did you have a fun day too, Jackie?"

Jack doesn't say anything, because he doesn't have a mouth -- or a head even - to speak. Still, he turns lightly towards Frank, the billowing smoke from the wound in his neck shimmering in a decidedly unamused manner. In the low light of the infirmary, the smoke only obscures their vision even more, but Frank is used to that.

You tracked mud across the whole foyer, Jack signs, quite accusingly. Frank only laughs in response.

"Aw, I'll clean it up later. A little dirt does spruce up the place though, don't you think?"

A heavy thud sounds somewhere above them, interrupting the conversation. Dust falls down from the low ceiling.

"Ah," Frank says warmly. "There's my favorite huntsman."

The elevator dings, then opens. Ian appears, water dripping steadily from his ragged-looking hooded cloak. His face sports that eternally tired look. Quite charming, actually, in Frank's objective opinion. He looks just like the type of vampire that every girl would swoon over.

And, behind him drags a little something. Or not so little.

Wash off the blood before you step in here, you leech.

Ian pauses at what Jack signs, only a bit, before trudging further inside the infirmary. He wholly ignores the dark fumes emanating from the headless monster and instead heads straight towards Frank.

"Your groceries," he mutters blandly, tossing the large bag of seeping blood in front of Frank. Excitedly, Frank tears open the bag, checking the roadkill and dirt-covered corpses inside. Exactly what he needs.

"Thanks, handsome," he croons, motioning Ian towards the bed where Jack is situated. "Come, sit. I'll bring the refreshments."

He skips down the kitchen, or more like a half-refurnished storage room that he hasn't found the time to finish yet. It's just two corridors away from Loná's bedroom, and the girl is asleep, Frank is sure. He has developed a certain caretaking streak towards the girl, to none of his surprise. Old habits die hard after all.

The kitchen has a whole freezer room adjacent to it, with Endogeny whining and huffing with a piece of hip bone at the entrance. Frank takes care to ruffle its slimy head with a muttered "good doggy" -- not for too long though so that he won't get absorbed into the Amalgamate -- before entering the freezer to fish out the many blood bags and IV drips he has accumulated over the time. He ducks a few hanging slabs on meat hooks and gets out before his body could freeze in here too.

There are sounds coming from down the hallways when he exits the freezer, faint one-sided conversations that confirm his partners are still here.

Good.

It's easy to tear the blood bag with his teeth. He doesn't and pour a cup in a tall glass. The IV bags are hooked expertly to the wheeling pole. The only hard part is bringing both the cup and the IV drip to the infirmary where Jack and Ian are. Thankfully, the trolley cart does its work, its wheels bumping and screeching on the uneven tiled floor. Frank laments working so late today; he could have had some time to try on the sexy nurse outfit he scavenged and see what Ian's reaction will be at that.

... Maybe some drops of his own blood in Ian's cup would be fine. Frank stops near the entrance to the infirmary and pulls out a small surgical knife, making a sharp, quick cut across his palm and letting his gooey, dark blood mix with the liquid already in the glass. He bandages his hand afterwards, of course.

Ian and Jack are conversing-- Well, Ian is rambling and Jack is listening and periodically signing some crude gestures, so it's just their usual. Frank has no idea what their topic of conversation is -- something about hunting, not exactly his forte.

"I brought juice for you both," he announces his appearance, prompting his partners to glance at him. Well, Ian does. Jack doesn't move one bit, but his smoke does at least. Frank beams nevertheless, giving the glass of dark red liquid to Ian first. "Here you go, darling. Locally sourced beetroot, pressed to juice."

If Jack had his head, he would be giving Frank an unimpressed look right now. Ian, for his part, murmurs an absentminded, "Thanks," while taking a sip from the glass with no suspicion at all. Success.

Frank turns to Jack. What comes next is familiar to them -- almost rote in its casualness. His hands neatly finds the leylines in the ulna, inserting the IV drip in so Jack can have his nutrition for the day.

"Any discomfort?" he asks, a familiar question, hand still holding the needle. Jack inclines his body, and Frank takes that as a yes. "Mm, good."

Next comes the gauze to hold the thing in place. In the middle of wrapping, Frank looks to the side, spotting Ian watching them again. The hunter averts his gaze, but it's all too late. Frank pats Jack's thigh once when he's done with the usual setup, then turns to Ian once more.

"Enjoy the local produce?" he asks Ian.

"It's nice. Bit tangy," Ian breathes out a reply. "What's with your hand?"

"Oh, this?" Frank looks at his bandaged palm. "Small explosion at the CORE. You know how it is."

Ian hums, taking another sip of the so-called beetroot juice. Frank watches his throat bobs with each swallow, unerringly.

He pointedly ignores the kick in his shin from Jack.

Ian's gaze flicks to Jack for a moment. "You coddle him too much."

"He doesn't get out of here much."

"And whose fault is that?"

Frank maintains his smile. "Ah, well. Maybe when I can manufacture him some appropriate weapon to arm himself with. Besides, it's not just that I worry about. He doesn't keep his head well in a crisis, you know?"

Ian snorts into his drink. Jack delivers a meaner kick to Frank's leg, totally undeserved.

"Yeah, no-brainer," Ian drawls, a smile peeking from under his dark hood. "He's the type to lose his head, I'm unfortunately aware."

Jack turns to Ian, his smoke flickering ominously near the ceiling. Luckily, Frank had the foresight to install some ventilation here.

"What," Ian grins. "I'm just joking. Don't be so sensitive. Raise your head if you love a good pun."

Welp. Frank should intervene before Frank starts hurling bed frames at Ian's unstable head. It takes a lot of time to set up this room and clean it every day for Jack's unknown constitution, and the headless guy is also an absolute clean freak for some strange reason. Frank would never hear the end of it if Jack has to move room again.

So he pulls out a banana milk box from his inventory and starts slurping on it, putting on a disinterested affect as he interjects, "Enough needling him, Ian. He already has one. Anyway, how's your day?"

"... Got shot by another group of hunters this evening. They said they mistook me for a ghoul," Ian scoffs, drinking more of his glass. "Need to have their eyes checked or some shit. Do I look like an undead to you?"

Yeah, I wonder why, Jack signs, a bit limited in his movements. Ian glares at him.

"Sorry I cannot get enough sunlight because of my fucking allergy."

"You got shot, Ian?" Frank asks, looking the hunter up and down.

Do you need the nurse to give you a little boo-boo? Jack signs.

"It healed," Ian grumbles. "I'm all good. Just a bit pissed at those incompetent hunters." He takes another sip. "Me, a ghoul... Stupid greenhorns..."

"Well, you were in a graveyard robbing graves for ten hours straight," Frank beams, lightly squeezing his milk box. "Some people would mistake you for a ghoul because of that. It's normal."

"Whatever you do with those corpses better be worth it," Ian mumbles, sounding grumpy. Oops.

"It will be worth it," Frank reassures him. "We're already getting some progress on your iron deficiency, aren't we? Blood-related sickness is a very common symptom after getting attacked by vampires. Your case is a bit more unique than usual, but it's nothing I can't fix."

Lots of words to say you're not that close to fixing the fucking thing yet.

Frank huffs, "Progress is progress regardless. It's just difficult to procure a vampire corpse to find out how their digestive system works, on the account of, you know, they turn to ash once they perish. A live one would work as well, just..." He peters off, glancing at Ian before looking away, pretending to ponder on his own dilemma.

A live one. Sure.

"Well, we wouldn't know what disease they would bring to the whole base," Frank pouts. "Besides, if vampirism spreads through blood, like many hypothesizes, I'd rather not have vampire blood spilling all over my place."

There are people here he would be worried about. Frank. Loná. Himself. Turning into a vampire doesn't sound too bad until he has another reason to be hunted other than being a Killer. He'd rather not accumulate more bounty on his head, thank you very much.

"So... what?" Ian squints at him. "You say I have to be okay with my immune system being all fucked up now?"

"It's not that fucked up, and I can make some accommodations for you while I'm looking for a permanent solution," Frank muses. "You already have your supplements, you UV blocking clothes..."

Doesn't matter if he's going out at night shooting mosquitos.

"It does matter if he works overtime," Frank sighs. Especially since they now have more noncombatants than combatants. Three to one, the ratio is just insane.

Frank can fight, but he'd rather not. Medics aren't suited to be thrust on the frontline, logically speaking. Losing a medic is worse than losing a mere fighter -- everyone is aware of that to some level. Loná is a medic-in-training, and she doesn't have combat experience, so that's an automatic no. Jack is easily incapacitated with his current condition, despite his powers still working relatively well.

Maybe they should get another combatant here some time. Frank wonders if he could squeeze a deal out of any sucker that comes to him for help.

Anything to quell this climbing anxiety in his trembling SOUL. Stay calm. He should stay calm and let that pesky selfish trait disintegrate in the back of his mind.

... Jack is signing something to Ian, and Ian is fingerspelling back. Frank winces to himself. Is he zoning out again? How much time did he lose? His SOUL is fine. His vision is intact. Everything seems operational, so what--

A loud crash somewhere near the kitchen.

The floor rattles a little. Faintly, the barks from Endogeny could be heard.

"... Ian," Frank starts. "Are you sure you checked if the corpses you brought here are not ghouls?"

Another crash follows the first one. A litany of gurgles and moans echo in the hallway. Stars, are the Amalgamates waking up now?

Ian doesn't reply, just downing his drink as quickly as possible. Frank hopes Jack is cursing the hunter out with the most derogatory remarks right now, because Frank has to look out down the hallway to make sure no one else is-- Yup, he's pretty sure that's Lemon Bread trudging to the kitchen next. Great.

"Come now," he calls out to the other two, grabbing a cattle prod from the umbrella holder near the entrance. "Bonding activity."