Template:Featured Articles/26-2022

Moment of Awesome - Clea Lake: During a ritual sacrifice, Doug Ramsey needs Clea's help to get him through an unexpected allergic reaction. To magic. Doug looked around sharply at the mention of bees. Not that he thought the Nazi bee guy had abruptly shown up, but some traumas definitely lingered. "But I'm not allergic to bees, or seafood, or..." He looked down at where the synthetic 'skin' of his nanite prosthetic was...rippling. "That's...not good..." he muttered. Clea looked down at the skin and then back at Doug, and knelt down in front of him. "Doug, talk to me about what is going on?" She was pretty sure what he was experiencing but if it wasn't any of those things, she had no idea. Why would the nanites be so agitated? Doug blinked owlishly at his hand, trying to... Oh. Oh shit. He couldn't tell whether the shortness of breath was from the abrupt realization or possible anaphylaxis. (Both? Both was definitely NOT good.) "The nanites, they..." he gasped. "They filter the effects of that blood curse." He took several more panting breaths. "Y'know, the negative effects of a huge fuckin' magic spell?" He grasped futilely at his jacket, trying to rip it off weakly. "I, uh..." he trailed off as his knees gave out and he collapsed roughly to the ground. "Shite." Clea moved around and picked him up and dragged him away from the magic even further. Quickly she cast a summoning spell for an epi pen and looked down at him. She cast another spell to remove his pants and looked up at Doug's face. "I hate you so much right now." She looked at the nanites. "Especially you." "Whu..." Doug was still conscious, but his thoughts were sluggish and he had mostly only managed to be of some assistance rolling his body away from the ritual so as not to just be dead weight. Then as Clea's eyes came up to his face and then back down, Doug looked down as well. At his extremely bare legs. "Where'd my...pants go?" Somewhere in the back of his head that was still coherent, there was a joke to be made about how the British referred to underwear as 'pants', but he was definitely not in a place to make it. And then the EpiPen was jabbing into his thigh, and his heart approximately doubled its speed. His left hand pounded several times against the ground and he grunted loudly. As the initial effect started to taper off he laid back into a sitting position against a wall. "Ooooooooooooof." After a brief checking over by Clea, which mostly involved him awkwardly trying to pull his jacket so it would keep the rain from falling on his abruptly naked legs, Doug was definitely still woozy enough to have virtually no brain to mouth filter. "Hey, remember that alternate...thing?" he asked Clea. "And you were like 'you're too young for me'? Was that, like, a daddy kink thing or are you some kind of ageless eldritch...whatever?"