Scene #9500:

Owner	Pose
Foundation Scions	Hours later, at the venue of Vertin's Halloween Party, Behind cycled locks, where she's stood for longer than she'd planned, and certainly long enough to have lost track of when exactly she'd started, Mesmer's eyes bore holes into a bathroom mirror, trying in vain to assess her actions and interactions of earlier in the night. On the tile in front of her, opened up, sits her cigarette case, and the plastic baggie of pills, less-full than it had been earlier, through no action of her own. She'd sequestered herself in the room in order to, more covertly, smoke, evidenced by the half-forgotten cigarette tucked between the fingers of her glove, but getting a fix to her nicotine addiction is secondary, now- she's missing three pills, when, for sure, she's certain she'd packed eight- three two-sided capsules, red and blue, two beige tablets, small, and two red pucks, large. Missing three of eight is inexcusable. She'd counted it out, sealed it herself, and kept it on her person, there's utterly no way it should be there, just as sealed, with a few missing- surely, surely, something else must have happened, the fault can't lie with her, because she knows better than to have left things out, or loose, or anything else. It can't be her fault. And if it is- it isn't. Each time there's a tremble to her lips, or shoulders, the fact that her reflection in the mirror mimics her, makes her jump, scowl, and want to throw something. Nothing's at hand. Daring to move her arms, careful not to knock over the cigarette case, she takes a drag off the lit one between her fingers, shaky, like if she couldn't breathe through it, she'd grow hypoxic. No, the answer can't be a mistake by her. Besides. Despite her inebriation, she's sure she didn't consume them herself, as they aren't for now, but later, and honestly, she's sure she barely took her case out, in fact, she only opened up her case the one, single time, when Lilian- Mesmer's brows furrow, as she's an inch away from just letting out a high-pitched frustrated shout, right there in the bathroom- ash from her cigarette falls on the tip of her finger, and she does let out that shout. . . . Hip flask still in hand, Mesmer's investigation of the suitcase's manor is desperate and driven- she isn't the type, even this drunk, to curtly brush past people standing in the way of her, but by the scowl and haste she's carrying with her, 'bad vibes' can be a type of path-clearing snowplow. In the time that it takes her to spot Lilian, inside, she's circled the grounds at least once, outside, and through hallways both- though her boots aren't subtle, stomping against floorboards and garden pavers, uncharacteristically straightforward, and gut-wrenchingly close, the way Mesmer gets Lilian's attention is to walk up from her flank and place a hand on her shoulder. Without even a moment's wind-up, "Which ones did you take?" Mesmer knows, she counted, one of each, gone- but it's the most to-the point. More than anger, Mesmer sounds worried. That, and the dangerous amount of alcohol in her system, have her eyes dilated wide. "I know they're missing, and I know you did something. So. Which ones did you take?"
Lilian Rook	Despite being unbelievably embarrassing around Mesmer earlier (and in full view of TTT, regretfully), Lilian has had a much better party than she. Her time has otherwise been spent with her partner, roasting smores, telling spooky stories at the fire, talking fashion with Vertin, decor with Matilda, gossiping about drunk Sonetto (while progressively more drunk herself), hitting Interact on La Source, a karaoke break, a long walk around the nearby wilderness, and then nearly falling asleep in the movie room, shortly before deciding that the 'adults' should have some 'nicer drinks'. Dramatically more inebriated than she'd begun, the party, Lilian briefly detaches from her quiet side-room company to gather up her bag and strangely appropriate graphic tee, load up candy and cakes, and take maybe a little more punch (bowl two) with her to go. The second trip, after her first drop-off, leaves her empty handed, warmly distracted, and happily thinking about the 'haunted' rocking chair, all the way up until one and a half seconds before Mesmer makes contact. Ignoring her boots the entire time, Lilian turns to look back over her shoulder on some completely uncertain cue when Mesmer enters her bubble. Staring at her generally, first, then her hand only at the last second, Lilian is still processing what's even going on when Mesmer touches her, and that total reversal of fortunes paired with her BAC results in a similar reflex to when people she barely likes try to hug her: 'Which ones did you take?' "Get off!" Before acknowledging a single word, Lilian smacks Mesmer's hand away and shoves her back, flinching as if electrocuted in the opposite direction at the same time. Catchng her balance with a hand against the wall, Lilian shouts "Don't fucking touch me!" automatically. Her costume greebles don't make it hard to see just how much that suddenly elevated her heart rate, going by respiration alone. Three bleary seconds of frozen activity later, the fact that she was asked a question finally clicks into place. It's shockingly readable in the difference before and after a punctuating blink. "I didn't take any of them you freak." Lilian says, backing up one more step and brushing some invisible divergence in her hair back into place with hr fingers, venting nervous energy."I spat them out. God." As if that were the problem. 'I know they're missing, and I know you did something.' Intoxicated in a more familiar, predictable way than utterly insane combinations of potentially dangerous medications, Lilian's first reaction to those words is the same as it would usually be, sans nine of ten different coping mechanisms that would ordinarily filter it out as nothing: Mesmer doesn't finish her sentence before Lilian's hand curls into a fist, rises halfway with a twist of her shoulder, and then something Lilian doesn't know whether it was meant to be a slap or a punch hits the wall next to Mesmer's head instead. At least she pulled it enough not to damage the decor. "How would I know? Nobody cares. Shut up and leave me alone." says Lilian, shaking just the slightly. "Don't blame all your problems on me just because I'm convenient. I don't have to prove anything to you." Missing the point.
Foundation Scions	'Don't fucking touch me!' "I didn't." No, she did, it still counts if she wears gloves. Did she not even realize? Mesmer takes an entire full step back, to stare at her slapped hand, squint her eyes, and step forwards again. She spends a long moment trying to get a read on Lilian's current state of alarm- alcohol isn't a substance that makes thought faster, and certainly not more accurate. Apparently, it also makes Mesmer say things she otherwise wouldn't, out loud- "An excitatory response- fear?" Then, more incomprehensible, "One-hundred thirty, if I'd have to guess." What the fuck. 'I spat them out. God.' "Oh. Good. So it isn't a symptom." Still staring, like Lilian is a disorderly jigsaw-puzzle that, if Mesmer just crossed her eyes and pieced together the silhouette of, some random solution could be seen, Mesmer puts the far-emptier flask up to her lips and takes a long drink, without even a grimace- -Until Lilian's hand hits the wall, and the surgeon coughs, chokes, and winces, jolt-reaction to the motion causing her to fuck up drinking really, embarrassingly bad. Wide-eyed, throat-burning, it takes her effort not to reel. Her hand doesn't even move towards the K-tope Calibrator in her purse, though. All in all, that's a tame reaction from Mesmer, the alcohol mutating her aversions and fears into slight reversals. In fact, Mesmer takes a half-shuffled step closer to the impact-point, putting her own head up beside. "'Seeing double'? I'd hope not- no, you spat them out. Disgusting, but it's fine-" Did Lilian dodge some massive bullet by not taking those? Incomprehensible, "No, it's best not to take an addict's words. What is it about pills that draw you in like a fly? I can't imagine it was your intent to repeat that disaster on the car ride, there's still alcohol about you-" Mesmer takes a step forwards, somewhat towards Lilian, mostly away from the wall, steadying herself by pressing a hand out to the wallpaper, only connecting with three of her fingers, and, with a disgusted look, pulling far enough away to leave her hand just hovering. Even with gloves, she doesn't want to touch building surfaces- but will grab Lilian's shoulder? She didn't even sanitize her hand afterwards. 'Don't blame all your problems on me just because I'm convenient. I don't have to prove anything to you.' "Who else is there to? I know the pills I brought along." Why'd she ask, then? Mesmer opens up her purse, taking items out before the cigarette case, instead of just shuffling through- her Laplace badge, carelessly dumped to the floor, a syringe, placed on the nearest countertop, and, opened awkwardly like a book, the case, baggie still taped closed inside. "If you didn't take them, put them back. I'm happy to give you a count down, and close my eyes, so long as they're returned." Mesmer herself realizes how impossible that is a moment later, and, nose-wrinkled up, instead of vocalizing any of the rapid-onset frustration, Lilian can just watch as tears well up in the corner of Mesmer's eyes, disgust and apprehension at them being permanently unsalvageable. "I was clear, wasn't I? You can't keep your hands to yourself, whatever it was you did, can't listen to simple instructions, or precautions. I can't stand it, you, you-!" Whatever Mesmer was trying to summon up after that, she silences herself, taking another sip of her flask. Not cooled in temper, she stands, arms crossed, fully in Lilian's face, tapping her foot. What the fuck does she even want.
Lilian Rook	'I didn't.' "You did. Do you think I'm stupid?" If the two here share any one thing in common, it's that they think a lot of things that they don't allow to be any more than impulses, and alcohol results in a lot of words that wouldn't normally make it past thought-fragments. The way Lilian snaps with these is as if she's having to clarify something excruciatingly obvious to someone who shouldn't have been allowed here. "Don't fucking lie to me again." She almost brushes it off, and nearly shoulders past. 'An excitatory response- fear? One-hundred thirty, if I'd have to guess.' Alcohol is also tremendously bad for fine physical motions. The absurd motor skills that Lilian relies on to do practically everything, including regulating the kinds of physical expressiveness that someone develops when they're used to never being trusted anyways, are the second thing to go after general inhibition. Lilian reacts like a hand-sized spider just crawled down the back of her shirt. The sound she makes is hard to place, but surely stems from a sudden, intense urge to be anywhere but here. ''Seeing double'?' "I wasn't going to hit you." Lilian drunkenly halfway-lies. "I didn't miss. What's wrong with you?" The refrain isn't too different from usual, save her panicked breathing and the quiet clatter of her prop glove trembling against the wall. Questioning herself for whether or not she really was is slow and nerve-wracking enough to be useless. "Stop lying!" comes out like a panicked whisper. The claw tips breach the wallpaper and dig into the wood by accident. "You know I'm not on anything, so don't call me an addict!" There is, all of a sudden, the skin-crawlingly uncomfortable sense that Lilian is pleading with someone who isn't here. 'Who else is there to? I know the pills I brought along. If you didn't take them, put them back.' "I don't care! It doesn't matter! Just leave me alone for once in your--!" Lilian strangles down the rest with just a shuddery breath. She pushes her weight off the wall again, wobbles very slightly, then presses her face into the back of her sleeve, whining "That doesn't even make sense!" between loud and shallow breaths. "Don't start--" She isn't even looking, and yet somehow she's right that Mesmer is about to cry. Lilian tilts and catches herself again as though the floor had dropped out from underneath her, pressing her hand to her eyes then dragging it down to her mouth in sudden exhaustion. "Why?" she croaks, as if this were the millionth time. "That's not fair! You know what everyone's going to think! Just call me a fucking slur and storm off like a normal person! Why do you have to engineer this?!" 'I was clear, wasn't I? You can't keep your hands to yourself, whatever it was you did, can't listen to simple instructions, or precautions.' "You don't listen to anything I say anyways!" Lilian shouts right past Mesmer. Even staring right at her, the 'you' feels blindingly plural. "What's the point of listening to your shitty little rules?! If you can't even believe I'm following them, then why should I?! If everything's my fault anyways then you're just getting what you wished for aren't you?! Why are you disappointed?!"
Lilian Rook	Starting to lose even herself for a moment, Lilian pries her fingers apart to shove Mesmer back, then decides to stagger backwards herself instead, suddenly gasping as if Mesmer were using up all the air around her and making it impossible to breathe. "Twenty years . . . !" Her voice cracks from rasping it out, as if she could think too loudly and this were the result. When given an angry Mesmer, drunk and incoherent, blocking her way, expectant and waiting, Lilian fills in all the blanks on her own. "Why don't you people get it?! If you can't stop it, can't see it, can't prevent it, and can't prove it, then why fucking harass me at all?! If you think I'm some kind of animal who just does whatever she wants then why are you trying to make me want to hurt you?! You know I'm not! You know which one one of us has all the power! You just pretend you don't so you can act like this and feel good about yourself!" Breathless, shaking, eyes burning and with nothing to show for it, Lilian clenches and loosens the same fist several times, and finally glances away from Mesmer entirely. Squaring herself again, she swallows loudly enough to hear. "Get out of my face. Don't talk to me." Like an incantation that'll make Mesmer step aside.
Foundation Scions	'You did. Do you think I'm stupid?' Instead of arguing, Mesmer, mostly staying still, squints her eyes, scans Lilian up and down, and tries to remember- with an utterly poisonous look of disdain, Mesmer sighs- "No, you're right. I sterilized my gloves earlier, so there's nothing to worry about. It's not as if that even counts in the first place, anyways. I didn't leave a stain." More than the demand to not lie, Lilian's clear discomfort with Mesmer's analysis makes her wary, staring down to her own stupid heels- still in that unhinged nurse outfit, god- to judge the space for a side-step, she moves one of her feet, and not the other, just widening her stance. Is she trying to get away? Is she just trying to steady herself for a fight? God, is this that self-defense stuff again? It better not be. 'I wasn't going to hit you.' "I'd hope so." Mesmer inhales, antsy, still staring at the point Lilian's hand connected. When Lilian eventually moves her hand back away, on some base impulse, Mesmer dusts off the spot of the wall, as if fixing damage that simply isn't there. 'You know I'm not on anything,' "No, you're drunk." Mesmer doesn't sound like she finds it funny, she doesn't look like she finds it funny, but she, to that, finishes the remnants of her flask. "What's anyone to assume? You take whatever winds up in front of you, like a factory machine. I've never seen an addict as careless as that, but I suppose the ones that are die before making it to the hospital. Do you know how easy it is to tell if a corpse was a drug abuser? It's in the veins, the teeth, the skin, the hair, but nobody wants to go looking. Still- everyone needs something to fuel them through the next day, and who am I even to blame them? It's as simple as that, to turn to, and kick across the grounds, back and forth, just until-" Mesmer looks down, suddenly cutting off her words, to a gloved wrist that doesn't have a watch on it. Then, she spins around, turning her back to Lilian for long enough to spot a clock on the wall. "Hm. Normally, I'd have been in shift more than an hour ago. That's funny." It isn't, really, and the thought re-awakens her worry about the missing pills- 'That doesn't even make sense!' "I-" No, it doesn't make sense. It's like a strike-indicator is flashing, with that weird knot of frustrated emotion unable to work itself sane with the burden of a sky-high BAC count. Mesmer sniffs, and, with the back of her glove, wipes across her face to clear up the stupid tears- "What do you mean it isn't fair? Thief. Why- you aren't still holding onto them, are you?" No, Mesmer, again, she took them and threw them away. There's an honest moment where it looks like Mesmer might lunge for Lilian's pockets, or closed-hands, and act far more the way an addict would than anything she could point out about Lilian, but it fades, passes, with another sniffle. 'Just call me a fucking slur and storm off like a normal person! Why do you have to engineer this?!' "Paraphilic nymphomania is a diagnosis, not a prejudicial slur, and it's a coincidence that your fiancée dressed the same way- I didn't 'engineer' that, and even if I had, it hardly speaks worse to me than it does to your hounding of my work-spaces." Haughty, Mesmer turns her face up at Lilian, and visibly gets dizzy from the head-motion. When she reaches for the wall for stability, it certainly looks like she's going to find Lilian's arm instead.
Foundation Scions	'You don't listen to anything I say anyways!' Maybe it's the alcohol, but each time that there's the distinct feeling Lilian isn't exactly talking to her, Mesmer struggles to not turn and look over her own shoulder. This time, she fails, and does, bleary-eyed, spitting back with the- "Rules? What rules do you even mean? Talk to me when I'm talking with you, it's blood-curdling to be talked past in personal company, hallucination simply isn't an excuse, it's common, it's boring, and it's something others still learn to behave through." 'Twenty years . . . !' "No, Twenty-one." 'Why don't you people get it?! If you can't stop it, can't see it, can't prevent it, and can't prove it, then why fucking harass me at all?' "You took them, though! You said it, your words, not mine, that's admissible enough." When Lilian reaches to shove her, Mesmer steps closer, grabbing at fabric near her shoulder, sluggishly automatic, like they're standing together on the blue training mats of a gym facility, practicing escapes. All it really results in is Mesmer liable to stumble with Lilian. 'If you think I'm some kind of animal who just does whatever she wants then why are you trying to make me want to hurt you?!' "Mad, raving arcanists, always the first in line to say there's only spilled blood because of provocation- provocation isn't real. It doesn't exist. Things happen, or they don't, and that's it, that's all there is to it." What a statement by the woman in the cheap, shitty, sexy nurse outfit, worn specifically to provoke. 'Get out of my face. Don't talk to me.' Lilian can watch in real time as three distinct waves of nose-wrinkling and lip-twitching disgust flash across Mesmer's face, and one of petty, hungry, anger at the phrase- but the spell works, well enough. Fishing in the pouch of her hand-bag, a disposable surgical mask comes out, bands-snapping, she puts it on, not even a statement of 'now we don't have to share air', but arguably closer to 'now I won't spread what I've caught from you to others', she finally speaks on it- "Fine. If you want, I'll leave you alone. You'll know where to find me if you're keen on replacing what you took." What the fuck does that mean.
Lilian Rook	'It's not as if that even counts in the first place, anyways. I didn't leave a stain.' She doesn't even know where to begin. Not like this. Lilian stares at Mesmer through confusion so thick that she wishes she could cry. Like it'd unjam a stuck gear somewhere. 'I'd hope so.' "No you don't." Lilian tries to snap on instinct, but sounds dazed instead, on the border of a hiccup. Even she stops and widens her eyes, falling silent in sheer disbelief at what she's saying; and at a loss for why she even said it. 'No, you're drunk.' "So are you!" Another good warning goes unnoticed. 'What's anyone to assume? You take whatever winds up in front of you, like a factory machine. I've never seen an addict as careless as that' "That's because I'm not an addict!" Lilian shouts, right in the middle of Mesmer's unhinged tirade. All of a sudden, it's like it's impossible to let her talk for more than three seconds uninterrupted; perhaps more accurately, like it's too dangerous to let her. "Are you insane? If it doesn't make any sense to you and I'm telling you it's not true then why are you so hellbent on believing the complete and total opposite?!" 'Still- everyone needs something to fuel them through the next day, and who am I even to blame them? It's as simple as that' Whether or not Mesmer is done, or whether she's even listening, Lilian doesn't seem to to care. She keeps trying to drown her out with volume alone, incrementing in shrill frustration with each second Mesmer doesn't stop yelling just because she is; more and more clearly as if she can't figure out why it doesn't work and wants to scream that it's not fair. "You made that up! Don't you remember? I don't do that!" Five failed attempts to execute the incantation whereby she cuts Mesmer off and Mesmer goes obediently silent drives Lilian to tones of queasy, plaintive dread. "I go outside! I plant flowers! I draw! I play music! I meditate! I exercise! Why don't you ever pay attention?!" 'I-' One shining, breathless moment of hope, wherein Lilian somehow reads the room and slows herself down just enough to keep quiet, hoping against hope that Mesmer has simply realized this is all a big mistake, is dashed. Mesmer's tears were for nothing. Disoriented and briefly hypoxic from yelling, Lilian regrets holding her tongue. 'What do you mean it isn't fair? Thief. Why- you aren't still holding onto them, are you?' "I just told you!" Lilian protectively brings her hand up her chest when Mesmer eyes it, as if keeping something from a hungry dog. Even when she flattens out her fingers, incidentally revealing she's holding nothing, she instinctively takes on such a guilty and defensive look that it's hard to dismiss.
Lilian Rook	'...diagnosis, not a prejudicial slur, and... Like a blow to the diaphragm. Chest-clenching paralysis and dizziness. She feels the blood rush to her face, and her mouth's recalcitrant refusal to open again. The urge to shrink down, clam up, and look away, clashes with the urge to make Mesmer's smug drunk shitty nurse face hit the wall, and results in turbulent spasms of indecisive body language, along with a non-verbal yet unmistakably hostile sound in the back of her throat. An intrusive thought compares it to shellshock, and then her ears start ringing because she expects them to. 'Talk to me when I'm talking with you--' "You try it first." Lilian stops to try and read the sound of her own words, briefly stunned by the heat in them, and hoping that they can tell her what she's feeling right now; at least whether she's about to slap Mesmer's teeth out or break down sobbing. Staring at herself from outside feels like the only thing that makes sense. "I'm not mentally ill, it's not a sex thing, there are no drugs; it just doesn't make sense to you, because you're a bitter, controlling, desperate and pathetic loser who can't think of anything except the fucking family name and being what you're not--" 'You took them' 'provocation isn't real. It doesn't exist.' "I said don't touch me!!" One thirty-- that deeply evil callback-- might be an underestimation. Stressed out of her mind and at least two thirds as drunk as Mesmer is, Lilian tears Mesmer's hand away from her clothes and forcefully shunts her back with her elbow, then grabs the collar of her nurse uniform anyways, reeling her right back in. 'Fight or flight' is too coherent to be the reflex that compels Lilian to bodily throw Mesmer up against the wall. Even accounting for the alcohol, it can't explain the burning urge that persists through ripping the condescending surgical mask off Mesmer's face and stomping on it where it falls, nor can it name what drives her so singlemindedly to pin Mesmer there so roughly that she can feel both heartbeats and jam her metal-shod thumb between her back teeth so that she can't talk. Lilian only realizes that she has after the fact; and at that point, the fact that Mesmer can no doubt taste the alcohol and tobacco on her breath feels completely unimportant next to what she finally grasps hold of. "And I told you that I'm not your prop arcanist." Lilian says, barely louder than a growl. She hadn't, of course. She'd said the first three words and cut herself off for how utterly insane she sounded, back then. "I refuse to be the Petra to your Basque you sick little attention-starved misanthrope." The sense of clarity she feels uttering the words aloud fills her with such a sense of relief that it's all the more a shame that she'll likely barely remember a single one.
Lilian Rook	"Whatever psychotic shit that you actually believe makes me close enough to your patients to dissect but different enough to be alone with, drop it. Whatever you're trying to figure out, I'm not a girl you experiment with. Do you fucking understand?" It doesn't sound like a rhetorical question. It can only be a misfiring thoughts at jumbled cross-purposes; otherwise Lilian wouldn't make it impossible to answer by pushing her thumb further back. "Find someone crazy in a boring, normal, safe way, go make them miserable instead, and don't talk to me again until you can speak a human language." She mentally catches up only a few seconds later. The muddled realization that she has to choose this encounter herself elicits a hint of confusion, a surge of shame, and a thrice-as-strong high; altogether culpable for her backing up so far and so suddenly that it's nearly impossible for Mesmer not to to fall. She stays only as long as it takes to say the words "Doesn't count. Didn't leave a stain." before hastily turning back down the way she came, holding her arms against herself.
Foundation Scions	'No you don't.' "What?" Mesmer Jr. looks confused, her train of thought, and the steps of this exchange, too beyond her reach to summon up. "No, wait, what are you talking about? Say it again. It wasn't clear the first time." 'So are you!' "So? It's not as if I'm an addict." Honestly, given how she showed up, she's not that credible in that regard, even if both she and Lilian have been toe-to-toe in substance use this evening. The shouting, though, makes her blink and reset for a moment, unexpected, and not something Mesmer can even match- at her most awful, she quiets up into hissed, frantic claims, and the alcohol in her system doesn't change that. Even if she's gritting her teeth in anger, worry, awful dread, that keep cycling in, and out, for no reason she can figure out, beyond making everything harder than it already had to be, like always, like always, like always- 'Are you insane? If it doesn't make any sense to you and I'm telling you it's not true then why are you so hellbent on believing the complete and total opposite?! -Happily demonstrating that tone, nasal, hissed, toxic, "If you'd stopped breathing with that dosage-mixture, I'd have been culpable, and 'addict overdoses' is what the clean-up would state. If ensuring that those were the stated circumstances kept me my career, I'd have done it." FUCKING HELL? 'I go outside! I plant flowers! I draw! I play music! I meditate! I exercise!' Mesmer blinks, which seems effortful, eyes dilated still to the point of looking uncanny- "Oh. Good for you. Those are healthy habits, and more people should." No, no, you can't just followup with something that's at least close to a truly-held belief, a neutral, positive statement- that's unfair! Does she hear herself? No, probably not. 'I just told you!' Missing, Mesmer tries to snatch at Lilian's hand, before she proves it's empty- who's seeing double now? "A magic trick, then? Don't tell me you're utilizing arcanum, not while this drunk." A grab, another miss- she's really doing bad with it, huh? The number of quiet moments Mesmer spends, just trying to figure out Lilian's ensuing body language, can't at all be productive- her thoughts are scattered to the winds, fragmented, motions catch attention and focus until others do, all comparison and analysis corroding with the memory of one-second-ago. Is she checking for intent? Is she surveying damage she's caused? Is she leering? If you wave a hand in front of Mesmer's face, will she even notice? Is she breathing? She is breathing? Yes? Well, she's not too sure how to feel about that either. 'I'm not mentally ill,' "For what it's worth, I'm not, either, I've checked." God, she's said that so often it's got to be the truth that she checks, and she's still one to diagnose herself on radio lines.
Foundation Scions	'I said don't touch me!!' With the air being knocked out of her lungs by the wall-pin, the sudden gasping sense of vacuum in her chest, mirroring the fabric-rip of wherever around Mesmer's neckline Lilian grabbed her by, sends some sort of sensory-match alarm signal of grievous bodily injury. Frantic, she smacks at the wall, finding no purchase- breathing is hard with a thumb between her teeth, and the pressure on her torso, in the already completely alcohol-addled state, whatever neurons can even fire in her head scream that she's in mortal peril. Are doctors often paranoid hypochondriacs, or is it just her? Is it a punctured lung, a heart arrythmia, pinched-off spinal nerve, organ rupture? Fear, anger, it's just about the same, the latter taking over when it's clear she isn't, in fact, in her last moments. The fuck's she going to do with it, though? Kick and flail? There's a threshold of powerlessness, and potential consequence, that, under even as absurd conditions as this, gets her to fold and carry on, be it by a credible threat to her employed position, or, an apparently-credible risk to her life, and the switch that Lilian keeps finding to get her to stop and be sensible, or at least, sensible enough, gets flipped. The down-side is, here, the fact that she's giving stiff nods (to the range of motion possible) in response to her, gives utterly no indication any of Lilian's words even register. That's not even a novel quirk, here, that's just disappointing. At least the emergency machine-stop function of the Mesmer can still be hit. 'Doesn't count. Didn't leave a stain.' Quiet, "Don't sound so proud, when you.." If there's more to that, Mesmer can't choke it out. It isn't a graceful fall, once she's been let-go, balance is a thing for people with a BAC still somewhere below 0.10, hers is no doubt at least twice that. She's on the floor before she's trying to stand up, scrunching up her face and trying to cough back out some intangible presence stuck coating her mouth- oh, god, and despite the stupid surgical mask getting trodden on, she still reaches for it, like it's actually some measure of real security. Freak. At least she doesn't put it on. Wherever she stumbles off to afterwards, some empty spare room, it's a blessing to the other party-goers that Mesmer loses consciousness nearly immediately within, sparing them the hazard of her still lurking around, and, no doubt, setting a time-delay bomb for Vertin the next morning.