Fuzzy Recollection

Participants:

gillian_icon.gif rupe_icon.gif

Scene Title Fuzzy Recollection
Synopsis After the healing of Richard Cardinal, Gillian Childs finally awakens in Manhattan, in the home of Rupert Carmichael, with a very fuzzy memory.
Date Mat 26, 2010

Carmichael Mansion


That Gillian Childs wakes up at all after what she's done over the last few weeks is a miracle in and of itself.

That she wakes up in a bed is slightly more surprising. Dull and warm firelight illuminates a well-appointed bedroom, where the walls are covered with a cream colored wallpaper and the floor disguised by wall to wall red carpeting. An old four-post bed rests in the center of the room, canopy screen drawn around three sides and vague suggestions of candle light shining through the sheer red fabric.

At the side of the bed where the curtains are open Gillian is staring vacantly at the wall when she awakens, vision blurry and head swimming with fatigue. There's someone sitting there, by her bedside, hands folded in his lap and shoulders rolled forward. His beard is slightly grown in, like a goatee that hasn't been trimmed in a long time. Dark hair falls down in a messy coif over one side of his brow, parted on the other side of his head.

For all of a few moments he looks like Peter, until clarity of vision kicksin, and the wiry-framed man watching Gillian expectantly reveals himself to be less and less the man Gillian was expecting.

"How… ah— How're you feeling?" is an awkwardly voiced query to the brunette laying on her side, but Rupert Carmichael asks it with the patience of a saint and the smile of a salesman.

A miracle, just like the fact she's still alive at all. Gillian looks up at the bearded face with a few tired blinks, before beginning to push herself up, trying to look around. The furry face almost threw her off, confused her, but the voice is different, unlike anything she's heard before. "I feel like I just gave blood— after running twenty miles— in a sauna." An exageration, but not much of one, from the way her arm shakes as she tries to sit up.

Deciding to just fall back against the matress again, her eyes slide shut, even as she asks. "Who are you? Where am I?" He's not Cardinal. He's not Peter— not even Knox, who she thinks she saw for a moment. The last moment before she couldn't keep her eyes open anymore.

No need for a knot to hold her ability back. She's got nothing left to give at the moment.

"My name's Rupert, and… I'm a friend of Peter's family." There's an anxious smile across Rupert's face at the admission, and he reaches down to grab the sides of his chair, scooting it forward in scuffing hops across the carpet. "You were out for a while, Gillian. It's Wednesday afternoon… I ah," there's a crease of Rupert's brows. "I didn't know who to call, or if I should call anyone. But, you're safe… and you're going to be alright. Just— " there's a motion of one of Rupert's hands as he gestures for Gillian to lay back. "You just need to relax, get your strength back together, alright?"

Lifting his brows up, Rupert offers a mild smile and glances over to a plastic water bottle by the nightstand, pickingit up and unscrewing the cap before offering it out to the brunette in his bed. "I appreciate what you did for Richard, a guy like him didn't deserve a fate like that. It's good, you know, now that he's whole again… you did fantastic work, Gillian. You're— " he huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, "you're one of a kind."

"Sometimes I wish I were five of a kind," Gillian mutters from where she lays back on the bed, letting everything process. What happened couldn't have worked if she'd had to do it by herself. Peter'd known it. The tesla coil effect seems to have the biggest results, and at least it didn't destroy people's lives this time, or last time. Not like in Moab, where they'd ripped a hole in space and time.

"It's really Wednesday?" she asks, peeking out one of her eyes, following up with a, "Fuck. I need a cellphone, if there's any reception. I said I might not be back to— last night, but I didn't say I'd be gone today too." And she's really not sure she can move much…

Cardinal's fine, she knows this, but something else comes to mind, almost against her will, "Is Peter okay? I didn't see him after…"

There's a befuddled look on Rupert's face at the commentary about Peter, his head shaking slowly. "Peter hasn't called me or anything so… I really don't know. To be honest I don't see him very much, but, you know how he is." There's a somewhat knowing smile on Rupert's face as he looks dow to the water bottle still held in his hand, brows furrowed before he brings it back to his nose, sniffs at it inquisitively then shrugs his shoulders and sets it down on the night stand.

"I can get you a phone, yeah. Cell towers are starting to come back up and you…" Rupert just smiles faintly, "you can just relax here as long as you need. You're in Manhattan, by the way. My ah, my friends brought you up from Staten Island, weren't really sure where to take you otherwise. Peter's a little…" Rupert waves a hand at the side of his head to insinuate something, "sometimes."

"He's an assface," Gillian says with a hint of a smile tugging on her lips, causing dimples to appear. Even in her fatigue, she finds the humor in the man who seems to run around and do things, then run around and do other things— nevermind one who contradicts himself everywhere. Assface is back to being his nickname. Things were easier when she didn't… think of him as more.

"Even without the scar. Can hide all the scars, but they'll always be there… even when they're healed." Just like her own. Healed and gone, they are still there, in some form or another. Invisible tattoos of the past.

"Once I can move better, I'll go home. Get out of your nice beds. You— you're with Knox, I guess? I saw him just before everything went back." For a day and change.

"Not… exactly," Rupert offers with a grimace, eyeing the bottle of water that was supposed to be for Gillian, taking it himself and sipping from it. Only a few swigs in does he realize that's not exactly a fulfilling answer, and offers up one finger into the air while he swallows a mouthful of water; exasperatedly, he finishes his train of thought. "I guess you could say we're sort've like… co-workers?" Rupert's smile is a little toothy at that and his posture slinking like a tree wavering in the wind.

"Don't think too hard on it, really. I may be one of those trust-fund children, but I didn't grow up with a silver spoon lodged all the way up my ass." Furrowing his brows, Rupert glances down to the bottle of water and then up to Gillian. "You… feel headachey at all? Dizziness? Any weird ah…" his free hand waves fingers at his temple, "weird sounds or sensations?"

Truth be told, she does feel groggy in the way someone does after prolonged sleep, but given the circumstances that doesn't seem entirely unreasonable. The cowbebs and the inability to recall the last few hours, those presumably all come with catatonia.

The water had been for her? Gillian may not have noticed until he looks up and down from it and starts asking about her health. "No— should I be hearing voices or something?" It almost seems to be a funny question now that he's asked it, reaching forward to take the bottle and pushing herself up enough to drink it. With a gulp down, she presses it back down against the mattress. "I just feel exhausted— like, you know, just woke up after sleeping way longer than intended? Kinda needed it, too."

Doing what she did yesterday took quite a bit out of her— apparently more from her than Peter, if he's able to flit off so soon after and not crashed in a bed somewhere too. Then again…

She shakes her head, a glint of anger in her eyes for a moment. "I think I'm okay. More or less."

"More or less," is a really inappropriate answer for Rupert to give. "So ah, well… look, why don't you lay down, I'll go get someone— " Rupe waves a hand towards the door, "who actually works here to earn their keep and get you a phone and whatever else you need. In fact, I'll go tell someone to get you a meal from the kitchen. There's no reason for you to go hungry on my watch, right?" Flashing Gillian a somewhat nervous smile, Rupert comes up out of his chair, swishing the water bottle from side to side by the neck.

"Oh and ah… Gillian," there's a squint Rupert offers as his head bobs to one side slowly. "Try to be discrete about mentioning who helped you out after you get back home, okay?" Sheepishly wrinkling his nose, Rupert looks just a little bit hesitant to make the request, but it sounds like a reasonable one. "I don't really want anyone getting the wrong idea or just… thinking they can come to me for favors whenever, you know?"

"You're a very strange man," Gillian says, tired eyebrows raising a bit, as a hand goes close to her head in a mimic of the gesture he'd made when describing Peter. There's a lot about this situation that makes him look as crazy headed as he might have been implying the guy she'd asked about can sometimes be. Maybe everyone is crazy in this world. "I'm not even sure exactly who you are. Rupert— That's an old man's name." And a librarian!

"But yeah, I didn't tell people what I was out doin', I'm not about to tell them I woke up in a strange rich dude's bed, who looks like he crawled out of a Biblical movie and put modern clothes on." It's the hair's fault.

"I'll take a cab part way. Cabs are actually running, right?"

"No," Rupert admits with a grin, "but I think I can pull a string or two for you," he admits with a tongue in cheek tone of voice. Rupert's stare is a lingering one, watching Gillian quietly with a faint smile, trying to take her comments about his very practices eccentricities in stride. He looks askance, brows raise and there's a thoughtful look in that vacant stare before he looks back to the bed, taking a few backpedaling steps towards the door.

"Oh and, if you see Peter before I do?" Rupe wags a finger in the air chastisingly, "tell him that he needs to come talk to me more often, instead of just… disappearing?" Rupert's smile at that is a tense, awkward one, much like he's been this entire conversation. "Or you know, slap him upside the head," he adds with an uncertain laugh, "you know— whichever seems more apprioriate."

"Nice to meet someone as annoyed by his habits as I can be… He needs to talk to a lot of people instead of just disappearing…" Gillian says, perhaps having her own thoughts about that particular habit of the man's. Laying back against the bed again, she closes her eyes, and adds. "Kick to the shin. I always liked that thought. Though chances of me seeing him anytime soon are pretty low. Already got all he wanted from me."

Or so she believes.


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