Steam-powered Shenanigans (for notaparker)

[slowspeedster]

To say that Bart had a plan was usually a case of being overly optimistic. In this case, he would have to be very grateful to Jessica for actually making the idea come together. He'd just wanted to tinker with the various mechanical contraptions and maybe build something of his own. The chances of anything being built during the island's holiday mood theme sicking around afterwards was essentially zero, so it couldn't be anything elaborate.

Thankfully one of them was good at planning the whole thing out, because they’d totally needed it by the end. Bart mostly did a lot of running out for parts. And felt really guilty about that, to be honest. Still, putting together their own mechanized wonder in about a week really wasn’t a bad deal.

The actual project turned out to be a lot easier than they'd had any right to expect, possibly because they just had to find a way to mount a motor on a rebuild bike chassis. In the garage, the steam-powered motorcycle looked to be running perfectly, but that didn't mean that it was a perfect idea to go with a test drive.

And there could be kinks to work out. Or spot repairs to make. Or something. Bart wasn’t really sure, but there usually was something that went wrong. The universe just worked that way. At least they didn’t actually have to worry about the phantom Londoners. They didn’t seem to be solid enough to actually run over in the event of an accident.

"I think I should be the one doing the test drive," Bart commented, as they wheeled the bike out. "I think you'd be in trouble with someone if you end up in the clinic again."

Comments

[notaparker]

"I'll take that as ohshit."

Everything is going fine, and then suddenly the entire bike is careening out of control, and the damn thing runs on steam. It might not be likely to explode -- not ruling it out, things can always get worse -- but it's liable to scald, or-

Yeah, or worse, because he's tipping over, it's going to come down on top of him.

I launch into a run after him and the bike, skidding past the same patch of slush as I pursue. He's going faster than I am, but that's not going to remain so, and that's... that's going to be bad.

[slowspeedster]

"Stay clear!" Bart screamed, even as he felt his leg start to scrape on the gravel path, the weight of the bike coming down as he tried to kick free, letting the machine's greater inertia take it past.

Then all he felt was pain, immediate, and intense. And all he could pray was that it wasn't his knee. Not again.

[notaparker]

"Like hell!" I say, because staying clear might mean not getting there in time to- I don't know, there's not much I can do here, because by the time I'm even close the steam-cycle is past and the damage is done. All I can do is watch it skid onwards and keep hurrying towards Bart. "Oh, this is going to be bad, this is- this is not good."

[slowspeedster]

Bart was still trying to to figure out what he'd done, what he'd injured. He wasn't exactly sure because it was impossible to separate the sensations. He was afraid he was going to black out.

"How...how bad?"

[notaparker]

He's alive, so that's one terrifying concern out of the way.

"You're still conscious!" I say, as my way of putting a positive spin on things. "Uh, it's- kind of around three oh craps on the scale. I'm not too sure. Don't- please don't try to get up."

[slowspeedster]

"For now," Bart said, well aware that he that status could easily change. His head was starting to pound, and hoped that there was nothing wrong with his artificial knee. "Don't think...moving's an issue."

He tried to turn his head to look at her, and that was enough to make his vision swim. "Sorry."

[notaparker]

"Don't be sorry," I scold, looking around to try and see what I've got to work with. I need to make a stretcher or something. The obvious loose pieces are the remains of the not-the-Bartmobile, but since those are kind of really hot from steam they're probably not the best option. "Why are you even sorry, you're lying here injured! I'm sorry."

[slowspeedster]

Bart was trying to pay attention, really, but he was drifting in and out of awareness.

"Get..." and he couldn't force out the rest of the statement. One person alone couldn't safely carry a stretcher, even if he could be moved. And he couldn't do anything to help. He closed his eyes, just for a moment.

[notaparker]

"Help, yeah, got it," I say, swinging around wildly, then stepping into the street and throwing my arm up, virtually throwing myself into the path of one of the steam-powered carriages. That are apparently made by someone less prone to making crash-bait than I am.

"You! Yeah, you! Hold it, we need to get to the clinic, and I need... to figure out how to get him up in that carriage."

At least the driver seems solid enough to help, some, even if I'm not sold on help from one of the strange vanishing ghost folks of the city. I'll take what I can get.

[slowspeedster]

Bart roused a bit again as Jessica brought the cabby over, and he forced another dim smile.

"Watch...back," he warned, before gritting his teeth. He wouldn't scream, not while he needed to stay strong and on top of things. He needed to survive this, then the tongue-lashings to follow. But trying to keep track of things as he got slid across the bench seat of the carriage was better than just passing out. He reached out, catching one of Jessica's hands and squeezing. "Be...okay. Promise."

[notaparker]

"You better," I say, wincing at every slight bump and not-so-slight bump as we get him up and into the carriage, and then at every shift as I tell the driver where to go and it kicks into motion.

I try not to think about how ridiculous it would be if this one crashed or broke down or something. Best not to tempt fate. Further.

[slowspeedster]

Bart was still drifting in and out of consciousness as they pulled up to the clinic, most of his focus on not screaming with every bump. Everything hurt, and his head was swimming. "We there yet?" he asked, not for the first time.

[notaparker]

"And finally that's a yes," I say, with a great deal of relief, hopping down and shouting, "Hey, we got an injury here!"

Time to scrounge up some more folks, potentially real folks. And doctors, and get this treated, and it'll all be fine.

Maybe not fine. But adequate. Major, but not major. I'll take it over something worse, although obviously I'd rather it not have happened, or happened to me instead.