2007-09-02: Vampirism or Alienism?

Starring:

Namir_icon.gif Samantha_icon.gif

Summary:

Namir and Samantha theorize about the marks on his neck. Samantha makes a connection to stable isotopes in Africa; Namir thinks vampirism is cooler.

Date It Happened: September 2nd, 2007

Vampirism or Alienism?


Namir and Samantha's Apartment, Greenwich Village

Blood was taken the day after Namir made his rather odd return and he's been getting back to life as though nothing happened (because it didn't for him). The mark on his neck has faded into dark, small punctures that cause no pain or discomfort — honestly, they don't even have to be there as far as he is concerned — and life has returned to normal. After an early release from work, he's laid out on the couch watching Die Hard with Fiyero curled up on his chest. There are a couple of IBC bottles, one empty, the other halfway there.

The door opens, and in walks Sam. She's just come off of shift, her jeans and blouse worn today as opposed to scrubs. She's got a folder in her hand and after hanging up her purse and heading to the fridge and doing the things she typically does before settling in, she offers, "Hey." and bends to give Namir a kiss. "Look what I got." she holds up the file.

A file! Namir squints up at Sam with the lazy grogginess typical of someone who has just spent nearly an hour relaxing. "I'm pregnant," he mumbles jokingly. "I knew it. I knew we should have been more careful. What are we going to tell my mother?" As he speaks, he scoots himself over to make room on the couch, disturbing Fiyero, who bounds off rather indignantly.

Samantha lets out a laugh. "Not quite. This is your drug test." She flops down beside him and opens it. It's printed, but has lots of polysyballic words that will make no sense to someone outside the medical community. "You know you were drugged within an inch of your life? I'd like to know what kind of training program drops enough tranqs to kill a rhino on its candidates."

Big words don't mean much to Namir anyway, as his latent disability makes them rather ugly. He's not paying much attention to the file as a result and instead occupies himself with burying his face in Sam's neck and draping an arm loosely around her. "Mm, maybe they were trying to build up my immunity." Doesn't sound like he's serious. "I showed the paperwork around, and nobody who saw it had heard of the program either."

Samantha reaches out a hand and strokes a finger about the marks. "Something about those has been bugging me." she says absently. "I've been rolling it around in my head, but I haven't figured it out, yet." She shrugs. "It'll come to me." She looks back to him. "I'm wondering if you're the only one."

"Well, you said I was drugged. It was probably just a hypogun they used to drug me." The fact that he was drugged doesn't surprise Namir. He had been pretty groggy when he'd woken up, and there was also the other puncture mark that has since faded permanently. "I'm the only one. Like Tigger." He doesn't know what he's talking about, he's sleepy.

Samantha shakes her head. "No, you had that needlemark on your torso, remember?" She wedges her fingers between him and the couch and touches the spot briefly. "I think that was the tranquilizer injection point. What's on your neck is different." She frowns a little in thought.

It is quite different. Namir hasn't seen anything like it, at least that he can recall. He still seems to be having issues with taking the conversation too seriously, however. He hasn't felt any different, so perhaps it was just a harmless something. "It was a vampire," he informs Sam in a muffled voice. "I'm going to suck your blood in your sleep." And just for emphasis, he attempts to playfully bite her neck.

Samantha gives him a thwap on the shoulder. "This is serious." she tells him, lips pursing in a scowl. "Doesn't it bother you at all that you've lost several days? That you've got mysterious marks, and wherever you went, you were drugged?"

That's enough to sober Namir, at least a little. He draws his head back and frowns, first at Sam, then at the file, then back at Sam. Fiiiiine, it is srs bizniz. He'll behave. "I would have had to be," he grunts as he settles again. "Was there anything that could have explained the memory loss?"

Samantha shakes her head. "No. That worries me. It would take a pretty powerful psychoactive to induce memory loss. And it's so specific. Exactly -that- week."

Precisely. He can remember everything else, just not that week. Like someone went in and just cut out that chunk. "Could it have something to do with the marks? Maybe they stuck something up in there and scrambled my brain after they gunned me. Or maybe they just used tools that leave marks resembling a hypogun." Hmm. "You should cut open the spot and dig around in there, see if there's anything in it."

Samantha reaches out and strokes the marks again, this time applying a bit of pressure. It's not just below the skin, if it was injecting something solid. It'd be in deep, and would likely show up on an x-ray - " she trails off, becoming distracted and thoughtful. It's just on the edge of her thoughts.

Namir waits expectantly for the end of that thought, and when it doesn't come, he lifts an eyebrow. "What?" She's obviously bothered by something else. She's got on Thinking Face. But it's Serious Thinking Face, not the cute Theorizing Thinking Face that he likes.

Samantha snaps her fingers. "In Africa, there was a project involving tracking viral spread by using a stable isotope and injecting it in people." She rises, scrambling for a pad and pen. She starts sketching a gun - kinda badly, but the point is there being two little prongs at the end. "The delivery method looked like that."

Isotope? Namir's brow furrows, but he doesn't move from the couch. He just props his head up on one hand and watches. "Why would they be wanting to track a viral spread with me? I haven't been to Africa in years, and even then, I wasn't there long." A moment's pause. "The bloodwork didn't show that I had a virus, did it?" Further proof that he wasn't really reading it.

Samantha shakes her head. "No." she says. "You're healthy as a metaphorical horse." Shifting on the couch, "And believe me, if you had a virus, I'd have been a lot more worried when I walked in the door. But the isotope itself is used for tracking. Ever see any nature programs where they do that? That's a common usage nowadays."

So. Namir was drugged like a rhino and then injected with a tracking isotope — like a rhino. "Why would they want to track me?" His face twists into an unamused frown and he rests his head on the arm of the couch again. "What is this, America's new anti-terrorism tactic? Track all the Muslims?"

Samantha sucks absently on her lower lip. "I don't think so. Do you remember, months back, right before you got shot for the first time this year," Heh, for the first time, "I told you about a crazy guy who was trying to kill himself? He'd cut into his own shoulder, right around the same spot."

Namir nods a little, vaguely recalling her having mentioned something like that. "You think he was being tracked too?" Then again, he could have been considered a terrorist too, couldn't he?

"He was white, as I recall. So if that's what he was going on about, then it's not a Muslim thing." Samantha's brows furrow. Steam could practically be coming out of her ears. "You know there's another reason why you might be considered worth tracking, don't you? I could try testing for the isotope signature, see if I'm right."

Another reason? It hasn't even crossed Namir's mind. Likely because he's kept knowledge of his abilities rather close to home, telling only those he would trust. "What?"

Samantha says gently, "Your ability, Namir. Which means we might want to talk to the others and see if any of them have had a similar experience."

Namir seems surprised at first, but not in a pleasant way. He rubs at the marks with one hand, pauses, then sighs and stares up at the ceiling. Tracking him for his abilities is ridiculously unconstitutional. Especially considering that he's not dangerous. "Do you think you could get rid of it?"

"We need to see if it's there, first." Sam says. "The test is slightly more complicated, but with Bekah's help, I think we could manage it."

Really, Namir doesn't have a fear of needles or doctors (obviously). His health is important, as is his right to not be tracked everywhere he goes. He nods a little. "Whatever you need to do." A moment's pause and a smirk before he adds, "I know you secretly like sticking me with all these needles."

Samantha seems to realize he needs to not think about it. "Actually, it involves you drinking some really gross chalky stuff and having us do some scanning." she tells him sweetly.

"Oooh, I hope you have halal gross chalky stuff," Namir responds with a slight grimace. "We wouldn't want to damn my immortal soul, now would we?" Ha! As if he hasn't.

Samantha snorts. "I don't think there's anything unclean about the stuff." she assures him. "It's to make the actual radiological part easier to see."

"So I'll glow inside. Very nice. Like E.T.." And of course, his eyes widen and he adopts a rather spacey expression to add in his very best E.T. impersonation, "E.T. phone home." Namir grins some and snickers softly. "I liked my vampire theory better."

Samantha smiles, but it's tight. For her, this is very much something to be concerned about. She realizes it's necessary for him to whistle in the dark, but it still nags at her. "That's just because vampires are a lot sexier than wrinkly little aliens."

Having a gallows sort of humor is what's kept Namir sane in his job all these years. He has to be able to laugh things like this off, otherwise he'll deteriorate into a depressed pile of mush and be useless. His grin grows, but he can tell Sam isn't fully into the 'laughing it off' thing. "I'm glad you think so, otherwise I would have to question your tastes, and then be jealous of things like Yoda." And nobody wants to be jealous of Yoda. Really. He grows just a little more serious before adding, "Would you be able to tell where the isotope comes from, if you find one?"

"If the isotope's there, then the delivery method was pretty much obviously one of those injection guns, which would have made the marks." Samantha says. "Everything would fit. So then the question would be more who was tracking you, and though we may know why, a definite would be good. I'll leave Felix another message, see if he might be able to dig something up."

The fact that someone, somewhere could tell where he is right this instant is rather unnerving. It's not like he has anything damning to hide, but even still, nobody wants a Big Brother watching over his shoulder. Especially considering that they could track him down and snatch him up again for another week-that-didn't-happen. But again, Namir doesn't want to think about these things. He nods. "I suppose I should stay away from my secret lair and the homes of my three secret wives in the meanwhile, then."

Samantha makes a pffft sound. "As long as you're keeping all of us in the style to which we want to become accustomed." she says, tweaking his nose. "I'll talk to Bekah at work tomorrow and see what we can arrange."

Nose-tweaking! Pff. Namir blows a raspberry at that hand, then grins and nods again. "Sounds good." Without warning, he lunges forward in an attempt to wrap his arms around Sam's waist in a ferocious bearhug. "Am I keeping you in the style to which you want to become accustomed?"

Samantha laughs weezily. "So far!" she says, and taps his shoulder. "Breathing…becoming…an issue!" she's half laughing as she says it.

But suffocation is fun and brings people closer together! Okay, not really. Namir releases and settles for a plain ol' regular hug instead, grinning broadly. "Good. My plans have succeeded," he chuckles before he moves to give Sam a kiss.

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