entrancelogs | (no subject)

Who: Owen, Martha, and Clara
Where: All over the mansion!
When: Sunday, 6/09
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: Clara's piqued his interest about the fear gas, and Owen decides to investigate further.
The Story: For once, Owen's actually doing something during his shift in the clinic; he's busied himself in the laboratory section, setting up equipment and getting some more from the closets. It's not quite as advanced as the setup he had back home, but that involved some adapted alien tech rigged up specially for the purpose. He's quite capable of making do with an admittedly inferior setup.

As he starts running tests on the spectrometer, he glances at Martha. "Oi, Jones," he drawls lazily, "how do you feel about biochemistry and/or scavenger hunts?" Sure, he's got Clara to help (or he will once he enlists her), but there's a lot of mansion to cover. As he waits for her answer, he pulls his network device out of his pocket, firing off a quick text to Clara and asking her to come down to the clinic.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

At the mention of Sam, Martha tilts her head to the side, wondering if it's the same Sam she knows. It's a common enough name, but she's only met the one here, so she thinks that it's yet another coincidence.

After watching Clara struggle with her gasmask, Martha decides to slide the strap over her arm, letting it hang from the crook of her elbow for the moment. She follows the others out into the hall, already keeping an eye out for any teddy bears. She's more or less on the same page with Owen on this. "I'd like to know, too -- though we also have to remember that they may not have been able to help themselves with that event." It's easy to direct all of their anger against whoever did this, but she doesn't want to jump to that too quickly.

"Clara, were you talking about Sam Winchester earlier?" Martha feels guilty when she thinks of him, because she hadn't really been able to help him as much as she would have liked when Dean had brought him over after their return. She hopes he's been all right.

"That's the one. He's an interesting one, that's for sure." Clara considers him to be a friend, but also a source of information, someone to go to when she has questions or to ask for help researching. It's not much of any surprise that Martha knows him, she thinks, because they're both efficient and hard-working people that know what they're doing.

"Dunno if he has any experience with the gas," She fibs a bit, not wanting to reveal anything Sam told her because she's not sure if he wants anything told, "But I'm sure he'd be willing to help out if we find a sample."

Quite honestly, Clara cares less about finding out the one responsible for the fear gas, and much more about finding an antidote. They can't exactly lock up whoever did it in the first place, because Martha's right, they weren't themselves. So all anyone can do is prepare for a next time, because she's certain that in a place like this, there's always going to be a next time.

She leads the way up to the second story, where thankfully, the library is currently situated and not about to pop on up to the third floor. She opens the door for the other two, and makes sure they're both inside before slipping on in after them.

Owen's willing to give them the benefit of the doubt once, but if it happens again, without an event to blame, then he won't be quite so forgiving. On a personal level, he hates the lack of control panic attacks cause. He remembers all too well what it was like to curl up in a foetal position in the library, helpless and blind, and it pisses him off. He's got quite enough of that sort of thing to deal with without any sort of neurotoxin involved, making him look weak in front of other people.

He enters the library, glancing around to see if he can spot any teddy bears. "Mine was sort of tucked away next to some books," he offers for the other two, "not quite in sight. I brushed it while I was taking some books off the shelf."

An interesting one, Clara says. Martha wonders how much she knows about Sam, his brother, and what they do, but that's a conversation for another time. Her interaction with Sam has been limited, but just from those encounters she can tell that he's sharp. "We'll keep him in mind, then. With something like this, I imagine we need all the help we can get."

When they enter the library and Owen makes it clear that he'd found one of those stuffed bears here, Martha decides that it's time for the gas mask. She positions it over the face and then pulls the strap to the back of her head. It's constricting and uncomfortable, but after what she's heard about this gas, she's willing to put up with this if it means not breathing it in.

"Should we split up and search the shelves, then?" she asks the others. Her voice comes out distorted, but hopefully they can both make out her words well enough.

Clara isn't putting on her mask just yet, instead she gives Martha a thumbs up and sets off in the opposite direction. There's a lot of shelves of books here, so she's not all that excited to just be rifling through them, especially with the thought of being gassed again. Even with the safety of having the mask, she has a sinking suspicion that Wonderland would make them not function properly, just to mess with them.

It's only when her fingers brush across the first book that she reluctantly pulls her mask up and on, huffing at the heavy feel of it on her face. She knows it's necessary though, and wears it with as little disgust as possible. The first few shelves she checks have nothing but books, so she moves further down her row. She can't hear or see the others the further down she moves, and it's when she's feeling entirely alone that she becomes a bit more cautious and slow, which is a pity as the shelves only seem to be getting taller and taller.

So tall that she climbs up on one of the shelves to get a good look at them, it's not easy being as short as she is and doing investigative work. While standing up on the second shelf she reaches up above her head to try and reach to the top, and her fingers brush across something that feels fuzzy. With a shout, she jerks her hand back, balance shifting to she topples to the ground. A few of the items from the high up shelf fall with her, landing on her. The culprit of all this? Not a stuffed bear, but a worn peace of leather parchment. She lays there for a moment, a bit dazed by the fall. Oh, this hunt is going so well.