Who: Rodney McKay & Open What: He's dying (only, not at all) When: Saturday afternoon Where: The clinic Warnings: Rodney is a warning right now Status: Open/Ongoing
Rodney hadn't planned on leaving the apartment today. Chickens were evil, horrible creatures that should only exist on his plate. And they definitely shouldn't be stalking him down the street as he headed out for lunch at Hinkles. The whole time inside, he swore that they were staring at him as he ate, which just made him enjoy the chicken tenders he had ordered even more.
When he left, the stalking continued, but there were more of them, and they were a lot closer than before. It was the first time since arriving that he had actually wished he was armed.
The attack came as he rounded a corner, intending on heading to Carson's house to see if he could stay there until the crowd of idiotic poultry dispersed. In front of him were a dozen or so chickens, and just as many behind him. Rodney made a feint, then dashed across the street, not screaming as he ran from them, but it was close. He was almost away of them, and turned back to look how far ahead he was, when one of the stupid birds landed on his head, pecking and scratching away.
Rodney did what any reasonable person would do: he flailed and knocked it away, screaming like he'd just walked into a beehive, and ran to a car that had slowed down to watch. "Clinic, now."
The poor person behind the wheel just stared at him, which just made Rodney yell more. "NOW! Gogogo. They could be poisonous, venomous, something that could kill me. Just drive before I die of anaphylaxis in your car!"
Ten minutes later, Rodney was rushing through the doors of the clinic, the scratches on his head barely bleeding, and calling out for help. "Dying genius here! Where's the doctor!"