I hate you (Attn: Cabal with No Name)
He could probably sleep through an earthquake if he was tired enough, but this was not an earthquake. This was a bone breaking and no matter what anyone tells you breaking a pinkie really freaking hurts. What followed were words that do not need to be repeated in polite company, but since they were in French people would assume they were meant for polite company. Such is the nature of the French language. 

He sat up much more readily than he had anticipated, wearing a nice dash of petechial hemorrhaging. William blinked. It was forced back to English. 


He caught a look at Margot the Blood Fountained and he paled. "Nope. We are dead. But... cake?"

There is that going for them?
The bag and its old chemistry set were not new to Margot, and while once she would have watched in rapt fascination while her mentor worked, now she shifted her focus to a sizable slice of cake that wound up on a plate on the floor beside her.  She needed to replenish her blood sugar, Ned had mentioned, and to look at how much blood had gone into the towel, to feel the deep awful ache in her chest and belly that told her something was very wrong inside, she knew he had to be right.  She must have lost so much blood by now, so very much that she shouldn't be awake anymore, should she?  There was a brief ridiculous internal debate about how worth it putting sugar back in her bloodstream could possibly be if it was all going to bleed right back out of her again.

Ultimately she did take a bite.  Then a second.  She was finishing chewing while Doc was applying the super-injection to Will and had turned her head to start saying something to Ned when the loud crack! cut her short and caused her attention to snap back over to the couch.

When she found the Doc mid-motion in his sprawling against the floor and wall, eyes rolling then closing to show loss of consciousness, she simply put her face in her hands-and-towel and started to cry.
Ned is....perhaps in shock.

Or just outright dumbfounded.

Or maybe just stewing in the 'serves you right' vein.

Or maybe all of the above.

He watches Doc fall over, having been inspecting the entire situation around barging into the study, setting down the ominous black bag and getting work putting Will back in functional condition. Their newest member wakes up with a startled and sharp blink, as quickly as the Doc tumbles into a bit of dazed comeuppance. Margot crashes on an already fragile current state and Ned eats his cake, staring at his Mentor with a buzzed sense of disconnect. He isn't detatched. More frozen. Abruptly displaced from the moment. Enough that the next mouthful doesn't it make it to his mouth. It hovers there over his plate, trembling slightly as cheesecake will approaching room temperature.

It isn't until Margot breaks down crying that Ned is jolted back into his own mental state. He sets down his utensil and cake bit and instead turns to the Tequila. One might think this is an admittance of defeat unless they knew something of the Orphan's tools. A shot of tequila goes down the hatch, joined by a second a moment later. Couple that with the aches and throbbing agony that are his spine and shoulders and he's sucking down a breath in search of some willful denial. His mind flares, his eyes peel open slowly and there is a forceful sense of calm layered over his gaze.

Ned stands up a bit shakily, already moving toward Margot with a mechanical sense of comfort. The Tequila bottle is in one hand and her sippy cup is refilled with a generous dollop followed by a brief lean forward to press his lips to the top of her blood soaked brow. He moves on next to will, a glass caught up in his other hand which is filled with another generous dollop as well before being handed off to the Hermetic with a nod.

"I'm not kissing your brow but feel free to get drunk."

He hands off the glass or sets it on a nearby chair arm depending on whether Will grasps it within the first couple of seconds of it being handed over. Then, finally, Ned moves toward the Doc with careful steps, Tequila in hand and crouches down alongside his Mentor's head and shoulders to peer at the man's fluttering eyes and ....complicated breathing. Ned tries to remember what he knows of medical knowledge back from his orderly days. There's a frown of distinct displeasure as the memories fail to come up with a large amount of useful info. He was fairly sure being unconscious after such body trauma probably wasn't a good thing.

Ned opts to move to one of the nearby couches, pick up a pillow and tuck it beneath Andres' head. Comfortable for the time being, he stands back up and drags a chair away from the table and closer to the collective trio that is situated on the floor and the couch and plunks himself down onto the chair, wrists to either spread knee, tequila bottle between his legs. He swigs once, exhales loudly and says

"Fuck ups."

And then, as if the first time didn't take.

"Fuck ups."

He swigs again. Exhales loudly again and proceeds to wait for the Doc to wake up.

(Ned @ 6:57PM
(Mind 1: Calm Blue Oceans. Diff 4 - 1 for Foci.)
Roll: 2 d10 TN3 (2, 4) ( success x 1 )
Ned @ 6:57PM
(+1 Diff for Extending)
Roll: 2 d10 TN4 (2, 8) ( success x 1 )
kenna @ 6:58PM
Ned I'm telling everyone you're a softie -- witnessed
Denver @ 6:58PM
kenna has wandered out of Dedicated Dicing Den to explore other realms.)
On the plus side, the Etherite wasn't totally knocked out by that backhand from Reality.

He does however continue to lie in the uncomfortable position in which he had fallen, groaning involuntarily as Ned moves a pillow between the floor and his skull. His eyes move beneath their lids and he flinches with some unnamable discomfort. Had to be his jaw. About the only thing that ever shuts him up is injury to the parts of his body that enable him to speak.

They've got about thirty seconds before his wits return to him.
Look. I have school. And RP. And all my other time is taken up by sheer, unreasoning panic. I don't have time for Reddit.
-- ixphaelaeon
He isn't getting a kiss on the forehead, but Ned did give him the means by which to get drunk. For a split second he looked at the sippy cup in a way that indicated that he wasnt entirely sure if he was going to be poisoned or not. He then thinks better of it because booze very clearly would negate the effects of whatever horrible things might be there. Also that Ned has given no indication that he would poison someone. 

Will goes straight for the cup and downs it like a toddler would go for apple juice. Then?

There were things he noticed:
1: the cheesecake on the table was approaching room temperature. 
2: Sepúlveda was reeling on the floor but breathing
3: Ned's shirt doesn't rustle as loudly when it is covered in sweat
4: Margot is crying and blood covered and making a puddle and has a rhythm to the way she breathes when shes crying that reminds him of a drum cadence 
5: The floor is really, really nice


He got up, holding his left wrist protective and close to his body, "I should get towels but I don't know where they are."

He stands awkwardly. It is awkward. 

Fuck ups.
A sob shudders its way through the towel when she felt Ned kneel in front of her and lay affection upon her brow. She resisted the urge to cling to him to have a more effective cry, for he was already moving along and she just hurt too much in her hands and her body to want to move too much any longer. So she gasped and swallowed and quietly found a rhythm to her crying (the one Will noticed) while she tried to bleed the stress out evenly through her tears and pull herself back together again as quickly as possible.

It certainly wasn't easy, but somewhere amid the quiet following the Fuck Up declaration and agreement, through the low groans coming from Doc's pillowed head tucked alongside the couch on the floor, Margot groaned.

"He needs to rest..." clearly referring to Doc.

"But I think I might...," hiccup! She had turned her face away from the towel to breathe and to speak, and now brought it down from serving as a pillow for her head to pushing it gingerly against her chest and cringing hard enough that her eyes closed. "...fuck, I wanna puke and lay down."

Ned says it gently, leaning forward out of his chair to get Margot's attention. She begins to curl into a defensive ball against the pain and Ned leans further forward, the Tequila beginning to dull everything comfortably. He lays a hand on her shoulder, careful not to press to hard.

"Go find the shower. Sit in the tub and turn the water on hot and drink until the pain dulls. We'll see how long it lasts and after we'll have some more cake."

He removes the hand and turns toward Will, holding out the Tequila bottle to pour more into his own cup should it be offered for a refill.

"You and I are going to sit here for the next while and discuss any future possibility of those asshat satanists coming to find you, me, Margot or the Doc, collectively or individually and whether we need to act offensively or defensively or both about them because I would rather not have to go on a hunt for infernalists but if it means avoiding a potential fight with a demonic entity well alright then..."

The Doc would no doubt wake up soon. The Kids would all be wrapped up in their various machinations. Things would return to the level of normal this Cabal was capable of achieving and life would continue, for now.

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