taxonomites | [Visual] EVERYONE I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE [also location: birdhouse]

For a moment the screen is at a crazy angle, and fingers smeared with blood scrabble over the glass, leaving red messy trails on the broadcast.

Paul Smecker rights the tablet, gives Taxon a visual of his face, paler than normal, dotted with sweat. The hand not holding the tablet is clutching at his neck, and blood is visibly welling out from between his white-knuckled fingers. His shirt collar is damp too, but the astute-eyed may see that it's mostly water, and not quite as bad as it looks.

He's sitting on the floor, leaned back against an overturned table-- a shambles behind him, signs of a struggle however brief. Paul sags against the table, tries to focus. Blood loss, his mind tells him, it's blood loss making him weak, shaky-- (not shock, not panic, not shameful fear over someone he trusted turning on him-- no, not weakness like that), but he has to focus, has to tell people.

"Dawn--" His voice is a croak, he clears his throat, tries again. "Anyone who's watching-- Dawn Summers's... a vampire. Attacked-- bit me..."

Yeah. Yeah, bit him, and the mere thought of that makes him start wanting to hyperventilate. Keep it together, Smecker-- but all he's seeing is an innocent face twisting into a smile out of hell, fangs gleaming. The strength, the speed-- how the fuck do you fight that? All his planning, and... he'd trusted her. Trusted-- stupid, fucking stupid.

"...hey.... Buffy?" Paul rasps. "So's you know-- holy water... works pretty goddamn well."

And then he closes his eyes, leans back against the table and tries to think. The tablet's heavy; he lets that hand lower it to his lap. His other hand is still keeping the pressure on the punctures on his throat; he tries to think, figure if he'd be better lying down or not. Elevates the wound, yeah, but doesn't let blood get to his brain either, hell. Handkerchief-- he's still got one somewhere, right? Pocket-- yes-- he folds the cloth, gets it over the holes in his throat, then lies down on the floor, taking deep breaths.

[OOC: So, I MADE A BOO-BOO, some miscommunication on my part. Paul's not as seriously injured as the initial tags would have suggested-- he won't be unconscious, and will be able to update people as to the situation. Anyone needing to alter their tags in light of that, I will offer you chocolate. Sorry!]

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"If you cram enough of them in my mouth, yeah." Paul wishes he was feeling together enough to find some innuendo to make that dirtier.

He sets his tablet down to free up one hand, takes the packet of marshmallows. After a few seconds of fumbling with it one-handed he grunts his tired frustration at the world. Among the many things Paul Smecker loathes in life, asking for help is pretty high up there.

"Right, I need two hands to open this fucking thing. You can take over keeping the hankie on my neck or you can open the marshmallows," he sighs, closing his eyes again. He does adjust position a little though, to let Cain get to his neck if he wants.

"Little dizzy," he confesses, because medically speaking blood loss is nothing to play macho about, even if Dawn hadn't managed to drink all that much before he'd brought a bottle of holy water down on her head. "Could be worse."

Nonetheless, Smecker gets the same arched eyebrow as always, if for a different reason than usual. But rather than voice his concern over a proverbial glass half empty in the banter department, he takes back the bag and tears one of the corners with his teeth.

Bag goes to Paul, Cain resumes his duties as first sensible guy on the scene. "I'll take care of this, you focus on your sugar levels. Get you some water in a minute."

Before taking a look, Cain gets out a few things from his assortment of recently hatched items (gauze, antibacterial solution, hospital issue paper towels). Then he reaches for the handkerchief. "You can relax now. Little Miss Monster's unlikely to come back here, and even then she'd have to go through me first."

Leaning a bit closer, letting a touch of cheek into his voice. "And I'm practically impossible to kill."

Just then, Jenny shows up, clearly having run directly from wherever she had been. She'd failed to help Paul once, and he had died. When she saw the broadcast, she had been afraid she might fail again. So she's particularly thankful that help has already arrived, and Paul doesn't look to be on the verge of death.

"Paul," she scolds lightly, irritated and relieved and out of breath, looking him over with a keen eye. She glances briefly at Cain, acknowledging his presence.

"What do you think you're doing, getting yourself bitten by vampires?" The little smile on her face lets on that she's only teasing.

It might be a sign of how shaken Paul is by the whole affair that he just wordlessly obeys Cain's instructions, jamming some of the white gooey sweets into his mouth without even the automatic grimace of disgust for the processed sugars.

"Let's hope she doesn't decide to test that," he says flatly at Cain, and starts to close his eyes until he catches movement at his peripheral vision. Fuck-- but no, it's Jenny, and Paul exhales.

"Spirit of scienfuckingtific enquiry?" he offers, and winces as Cain deals with the handkerchief. "...Cain... Jenny, you two met? If not... pretend I'm... saying horrible things about each of you to the other."

Cain gives the young woman a nod of courtesy and greeting - he'd tip his hat if he weren't otherwise occupied giving Paul a temporary fixer-upper.

And on that note, there being little time for pleasantries to his mind, he looks up at Jenny (filing away her name for future reference and safekeeping). "Could you do me a favor, Jenny? Paul needs to see a proper healer type. Medico, alchemist, anyone you can think of."

He has the nasty habit of not socializing with people like he ought, these days, and even if he could think of anyone to call, he'd rather keep his focus.

Back to their mutual, ever charming friend. "Maybe if you keep your big mouth stuffed, you'll actually get some sugar in you. If you're good I'll even let you have my coat, like a proper gent."

(As if Cain's anything but. Shhh.)

Paul makes a face up at Cain, summons his energy to stick his tongue out at him. But he shuts up.

Martha Jones is on the tablet, asking where he's at. Paul closes his eyes and hands the tablet over to one of the others. He just wants to rest now. Rest, and panic and plan and all the rest of it at some unidentifiable 'later'.

Martha arrived a moment later, seemingly out of nowhere. She disappeared and rematerialised in a matter of seconds, thanks to the hard work of the UNIT scientists that had created Project Indigo and the scavenged Sontaran technology that they had utilised. The transition was a lot smoother now than it had been when she'd first used the device. She'd even managed to bring her bag of equipment with her.

"Paul?"

There he was, along with Cain and Jenny. Good. If she needed anything that she hadn't been able to bring with her, they'd be able to fetch it. She'd dealt with blood loss before, but never blood loss caused by a vampire bite. She'd have to follow the standard procedures outlined by UNIT in response to alien attacks and how for the best.

"Hiya doc," Paul said with a fraction of his usual insouciance. He waved one slightly-bloody hand.

"Still here, still breathing, I've even got marshmallows..."

He closes his eyes. The doctor is here. Cain and Jenny are here. Friends. Among friends. Safe. He can rest. They're going to take care of him.

For now, the crisis is passed.

[Visual] EVERYONE I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE [also location: birdhouse]

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[location] ...and then 'twas TWELVE DAYS later. >_>

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Officially a wrap unless anyone wants to get in a few more tags!