[voice] I feel like a voodoo doll. It's grim, it's gross. [backdated a few days]

[ryuuzaki]

[There’s a soft, muffled expletive, then a few seconds of near-silence during which the transmission’s sender is obviously fumbling with his communicator.

When he speaks, Ryuuzaki’s English-accented voice sounds weak, rough, and exasperated: he’s been throwing up for the past few minutes.]

I could use some help with something.

[A beat of hesitation--]

It’s urgent, but you’ll need a strong stomach.

[He knows his condition isn’t too serious, but while he’s in this state, he’d rather not start by broadcasting his location to the entire network if he doesn’t have to. Never mind the fact that someone could probably find him by the reek... it’s as likely to keep people away as it is to cause them to investigate. He's considered just leaving the can in the kitchen, getting himself to medbay or at least a different kitchen for fluids, and allowing the entire situation to be someone else's problem, but that would only work if it couldn't be traced back to him. Just now, it probably could be.]

[OOC: L has fallen victim to a locker horror with an appalling stench: an unlabeled can of surströmming. He might need medical assistance (see this video, this video, or this video for what I mean, but be aware that it’s a lot of people vomiting). His current empathy link isn't helping matters.

However, he’s also looking for help with/advice on disposing of the fish, preferably without carrying it through the ship. It’s technically edible, if you’re interested in having your character feed it to a pet, or if your character wouldn’t waste food, no matter how disgusting; it could probably also be buried as fertilizer in the Oxygen Gardens, but it'll stink up the route between points A and B for a while. A character who eats the surströmming wins a more edible prize! Further details will emerge in tags.]

Comments

[ryuuzaki]

["Ryuuzaki" is tentatively glad to see Connor, who clearly isn't very glad to be smelling the open can of fish that's a room away on the counter in the kitchen. But L's gladness on a good day tends to be rather flat... today, he only brightens a little before returning to looking ill and overwhelmed. He notes that Connor is large, taller than him and quite a bit bulkier, but, at a guess, around the same age.]

No. I will be when I get out of here.

[Maybe. It still seems to him that he's been a little bit more nauseated on the whole than he should be. Then again, it's been a long time since he's gone to a crime scene on his own--years before he came here and all the time that has passed. After a certain point, he had chosen to focus on reports and photographs and physical evidence; technicians know their business and his own blood spatter analysis is unlikely to be any better. It's spared him the smell of what bodies are made of and what they can become.]

It's some kind of fermented fish. Lutefisk? Surströmming? I don't know. It's wretched. [The words are low and fervent, and he pauses here to swallow back a retch.] Wasn't expecting it.

[emergingspirit]

[Connor gives himself a bit of a shake in a futile attempt to ignore the stench and crouches near L. The sleeves of his standard-issue jumpsuit pull up a bit, revealing a flash of leather underneath he doesn't bother to cover. It's a terrible smell, but at least it isn't leaving him half so incapacitated as it's left L, which means it's obvious which of the two of them should take care of the fish.]

I will clean up the fish, but first, can you stand? If you cannot, I will help you.

[On assessment, possibly not, considering it looks like he's been throwing up quite a bit, but it's always polite to ask before unceremoniously picking someone up.

First: remove L from the area, else he get sicker.
Then: return and dispose of the offending fish, else it make others equally sick.

...With a smell like that, he wouldn't be surprised if the fish is poisonous. Shame he won't be able to make use of that, add it to his meager aresenal. He wouldn't be much of an assassin if people could smell him coming. Oh well.]

[ryuuzaki]

[L notices the leather, but has no visible reaction to it. As the smell spreads, it grows a little less strong, and he feels slightly less prone to retching... or at least, to retching as frequently.]

I think I can.

[He tries to stand, but the wall is smooth, and crawling his way up seems more difficult than necessary. He'll take an offered hand.]

There's a picture and a tin of jam in the kitchen, too. Please don't discard them.

I don't think the dishwasher can handle the fish, but taking it to the Oxygen Garden to bury it would require a closed container. I haven't had the chance to find one. I don't have any other ideas. It's not easy to get access to an airlock here.

[In the kitchen, on the counter, Connor will eventually find several small tins. One is still closed, its contents a mystery. One has strawberry jam in it, but there are small white lumps throughout the jam. One is clean, as if it was never used, but there's a small, scratched photograph beside it, a dark-haired woman whose face has been obliterated. The last is the source of the potent stench: preserved fish with some liquid spilled around it.

He'd opened the first tin over a month ago. When it had proven to be full of warm tar, and when he'd started to experience insomnia that was severe enough to make him doubt his ability to handle any unpleasant surprises, he had set the other tins aside: he'd open them later, when and if the situation improved. If it didn't improve, bizarre items from his locker would be the least of his worries.

The whole ship was bizarre in a way that often defied logical analysis, except that the weirdness was so consistent that "bizarre" was probably the salient point. Apparently random, often unpleasant, no real way to force the other passengers to reveal everything in a way that could expose any patterns. He would have preferred dismembered limbs to the can of fish, except for the damage they might have done to his limited wardrobe.

He should have opened the tins in a lab, he realizes now, but he doesn't have easy access to one. The tin with the photo had appeared to hold nothing else, but what if it had contained a pathogen of some kind?

What's done is done.]

[emergingspirit]

[Connor keeps close while L rises; he doesn't grab hold right away, god knows Connor doesn't like to touch people he doesn't know if it's avoidable, but when it's clear L is still struggling, he offers a hand and tucks his free arm around L's waist for additional support. He's not so much taller that it's awkward for either of them.

He listens quietly to what L says--"dishwasher" is a foreign word, but easy enough to figure out.]

Wait here. I will take care of it.

[He ducks back into the kitchen and god. The smell is infinitely worse in here. He coughs, but that's the end of it.

The jam looks half rotten with the lumps in it and Connor is tempted to discard it anyway, but if L wants to poison himself on old jam, that's his business. He leaves it where it is along with the closed tin and the photograph and hunts for something he can use to cover the rotting fish. Unfortunately, there's no easy way to clean this up; anything used on the spill will no doubt absorb the smell. Well. No way around it.

There are a number of towels around the kitchen so he commandeers a handful and uses them to wipe up the spill. They'll need to be disposed of along with the fish, most likely. Leaving the juice on the counter, however, wasn't an option. Finding a closed container that will fit tin and towels is a more difficult proposition and frankly, he leaves the area a bit of a mess in the course of his search. In the end, he uses a smooth, plastic bowl and wraps it liberally with sheets of thin plastic he finds in a drawer. It isn't exactly closed, but as thoroughly covered in plastic as the bowl is now, it's as airtight as Connor can make it.

There.

He retrieves the other cans, gingerly stacking the open jam tin atop the still closed one, and the photograph, leaving the mummified bowl on the counter for the moment. The items in his hands he takes to L.]

I believe these are yours.

[ryuuzaki]

[He stands against the wall while Connor is in the kitchen. It doesn't make sense... nothing should smell bad enough to make him feel as terrible as this. It's not long before he wants to sit down again, so he moves a little further away down the hall and does so.

The nausea is still present, but it continues to recede, bit by bit. His abdomen aches and will probably be worse tomorrow, and he feels too tired to get himself down to medbay alone. He could go to his room, that's not far, but he'd still need fluids and rest... aside from that, being shut away doesn't seem like the best idea right now.

Connor makes his reappearance soon enough, and L gets to his feet again, accepting the small stack of items given to him. The sight and smell of the jam hadn't bothered him when he'd initially opened it, but now, it pressed at the edges of his nausea.]

Thank you. These were in my locker last month, but it didn't seem like a good idea to open it then. [He doesn't say why.] I was going to take the jam to be analyzed... those are teeth in it.