Participants:
| Scene Title | Aftermath |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | In the aftermath of Tyr, Amato seeks sanctuary in the Spider Queen's lair while she seeks help from an unlikely ally. |
| Date | January 25, 2009 |
The Ritz-Carlton - Lucrezia's Royal Suite
Rrrriiiiiiing.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Nervously, weak fingers tap on the polished wood of the desk in the Ritz Carlton's lobby. The young man behind it clings to the phone for comfort as much as he does strength. The face that he stares into isn't the most comforting. Still, the owner of that face and those fingers insists that the Lady Lucrezia Bennati in the Royal Suite would not mind him coming up at this late hour even given this current…state.
And he does have a key.
The current occupant of the Royal Suite — occupant, singular — is, thankfully, a nocturnal creature. Though she has retired for the evening and long ago abandoned her fancy clothes in favor of layers of silk and lace, she hasn't even begun to give a serious thought toward going to bed. At least, not for the sake of sleep. However, to have a formal caller at this hour is cause for some concern…
"Send him up. Send him up," she'll say and then dash for the foyer and the front door, as if her guest might somehow win the race with twenty-two floors conquered before she can make it a few hundred feet.
All the guest can do before he heaves himself away from the desk is smirk at the younger man through his bruises and bandages. The right up in the elevator is painstakingly slow, and he rides while leaning against one of the walls.
Even when the doors open to reveal the suite's foyer, he does not move. His blackened eyes have closed, reveling in a moment's rest where movement is not required. Movement, after all, hurts. But so does most everything else, and what pain medications are currently coursing through his bloodstream are starting to wear off.
The man in the elevator is Amato Salucci, if the color of his hair and cut of his coat are any reliable indicators. His face has been brutally beaten, and bandages on his nose imply that the feature has been broken. His left hand grasps the bicep of his right arm; the latter's final appendage unseen from the end of the wool sleeve. That's all that is visible of the man's injuries, for the moment.
It may be worth noting, though it is likely not noticed in light of the rest of him, but beneath the coat's hem, the man does not wear his usual crisp, black suit pants. Instead his legs are clad in trousers that are blue and white striped. His feet are covered in slippers.
By contrast, Lucrezia looks every bit the succubus still lurking in her lair — she's clad in a lacy negligee worn beneath a familiar black silk robe. Her hair is all undone, tumbling down around her shoulders in a raven-tressed cascade, and even without the barest hint of make-up she still looks smoldering. Amato is greeted with the usual courtesy, suddenly hacked short. "«Can I get you so—»" Words fail her on the double take as she gathers more than a casual glimpse of the man stumbling into her suite. "«What happened to you?!»" She is compelled by comrade's generosity to position herself at his side suddenly and support him, if he'll allow it, until they might both make it over to a chair or convenient lounging chaise.
Help is not denied, though Amato is hesitant to lean on the woman to whom he has come all but crawling. It is only once they are inside the suit and he has slipped onto a chaise that he speaks, wincing as he inhales even the shallowest of breaths. "«Someone's …looking for Eileen.»" Amato glances about without turning his head, praying the girl isn't here. If she is, and he was followed… well, it may just be the end of them all.
His nigra anga is at a loss. Clearly, her sacerdote has been put through his courses with an unspeakable brutality, and yet here she is — nearly dumbstruck and on the verge of useless. "«Eileen's not here,»" she says, without offering any further explanation for the moment. "«Who did this to you?!»" Her hands flutter helplessly like frantic butterfly wings over Amato's brutalized body; too terrified to touch him for fear that he might abruptly break into a thousand bloody pieces.
"«I do not know, Lucrezia,»" is Amato's answer, riding an exhalation of breath. He carefully adjusts himself even under hands in order to lie down, his left hand resting on his stomach while his right arm lies at his side. The man closes his eyes, thankful to be in the warmth of her suite and off his feet. Should Lucrezia be bold enough to touch his skin, she'll find it cold yet warming slowly. "«But,»" Amato adds after a moment, undoubtedly only after he is as comfortable as he can be, considering, "«It is good she is not here.»"
"«You need a doctor,»" Lucrezia insists, despite the obvious signs — bandages, the face mask, lack of bleeding all over the place — that tell how he must have certainly been to one prior to his unceremonious stumbling into her lair. She can't help herself; this is sort of a big fucking deal. Right, so… doctor. About that. "«Is there… do you know someone here I could — no. Wait. I know — I — wait here!»" Cue the not so slow withdrawing from her countryman in favor of fleeing off into the forbidden palace that is her dark and mysterious boudoir.
There is no sense in insisting to Lucrezia that he's seen a doctor and that, if he can just sleep to avoid the monumental horror that is pain, he'll be fine. Amato is wise enough, even in his groggy and disoriented state, to know that much. Rather than inhale the necessary air to call to her across the suite and stretch the tender skin on his chest, Amato closes his eyes and lies as still as he can. His breathing his shallow, but it is controlled as such in order to avoid any additional irritation.
A few frantic moments later, Lucrezia returns with a business card tumbling betwixt her elegant fingers and a sleek cellular phone held against her delicate ear. The nearest seat to Amato not including the foot of the extended chaise upon which he is currently lounging is claimed by the lingerie-clad woman, who can't help but extend to him a very naked and unabashedly worried look. What he may or may not be able to detect is the slight rolling of her eyes into the black of her head until only the whites are left to be seen between cutely curled lashes — she's reaching out to tap into one very particular insect.
Meanwhile, in a very upscale apartment complex's penthouse suite, a little brown moth suddenly tumbles audibly into the lampshade of the light situated close to a king-sized bed just as Sonny's celphone rings…
Being a doctor, even one who doesn't work in hospitals, means he's got a fairly ingrained reflex to the sound of the phone ringing. He bolts upright, then squints and flops back against the feather pillow with a loud whump. He rolls over onto his stomach and feels blindly around on his nightstand for his Blackberry. Four or five rings later, he hits the receive button, then pushes the phone up against the side of his face. "Nngh…Dr. Bianco." If this is a wrong number, someone's getting yelled at.
"Doctor Bianco?" echoes the lush, feminine voice on the other end of the line. Her Italian accent is posh and prevalent, with a Sicilian flavor that might right somehow familiar in Sonny's sleepy ears. "My name is Lucrezia Bennati. Do you know who I am?"
Sonny rolls over onto his back and puts a hand to his head. He stares up at the darkened ceiling, then glances over to the alarm clock. Jesus. Almost 2 AM. "Luc… you're Teo's aunt? He's not here." If he was more awake, he might be able to make that sound…hurt, but given the hour, he just sounds tired.
"I know," comes the voice on the other end of the phone. How does she know, exactly? "I apologize for calling you so late…" Or early. Whichever. "…but, I have an emergency. I need your help. Can you come to the Ritz-Carlton in Central Park?"
There is silence on the other end of the phone and deep breaths. Sonny kicks back the covers. "What kind of emergency?"
"«There is no need,»" Amato states in a clear yet soft whisper, like the tickle of a brisk wind, "«to get someone out of bed.»" There is a pause, but Amato doesn't move during it. "«I am not dying.»"
Lucrezia, too, pauses and takes a moment to recall her own eyesight in order to regard the mangled man propped up nearby. "A friend of mine has been gravely injured." A beat as Amato protests. Lucrezia complies with none of it. "He is… stable, but he still needs your help."
Sonny rolls his eyes skyward and scrubs a hand over his face. Nngh. "What kind of injuries? I…I'm not trying to grill you, but I need to know what I should bring with me." The doc rolls out of bed and begins to change, one-handed, into jeans and a sweatshirt. The whole while, the phone's not away from his ear more than a half second.
There's another moment of silence on the other end of Sonny's Blackberry as the woman he's speaking to makes with a brief visual inspection of her fallen comrade. "He has a… broken nose and…" She even reaches out a hand to pluck lightly at the lapel of his jacket in order to personally behold the horror underneath. "…very bad burns on his chest." A beat. "And he's missing a hand he had yesterday."
Sonny is fully awake now. He rubs the bridge of his nose, then inhales slowly. "All right. I'll be there within forty five minutes. I've got to swing by my office for a few supplies." He starts down the stairs to the main part of the condo, grabs his medical backpack, then pulls on a pair of winter boots. "You said the Ritz?"
Amato winces when the jacket is pulled away from his chest, but he doesn't move to stop the woman. If it weren't for the fact he is still getting used to the warmer temperatures of her suite in comparison to the frigid whether outdoors, he might want to be rid of the garment.
"Si, si, si. In the Royal Suite, on the twenty-second floor. I will tell the front desk to expect you…" Lucrezia flashes a hopeful smile to the man who is, undoubtedly, not too terribly thrilled with her good news. "«He'll be here in forty-five minutes,»" she says into Sonny's ear, though, presumably it was meant for Amato to hear. "Thank you, doctor. We'll be waiting." When she ends the call, she leaves her phone behind on the cushion of the chair and sinks down to her knees on the floor next to the wounded man in order to keep a closer eye on him and, perhaps, show some reverence for her special friend. With the utmost delicacy, she leans over to lay her pinkened cheek against his coat-clad thigh.
The man continues to lie as still as death, and he would appear so if it weren't for the slight rise and fall of his chest, mostly hidden beneath the thick wool of his coat. It's hard to tell if nearly an hour does pass while the two wait for the unnecessary yet insisted-upon doctor, but at some point in his struggle to snare sleep, Amato's thin-fingered hand finds Lucrezia's hair, resting gently upon it.
Tension fills the air like too much heat, choking the room. Perhaps that is why Amato is unable to fully rest, or why Lucrezia keeps so silent a vigil.
Sonny is on-time, at least. It's more like fifty minutes when the desk rings up to tell Lucrezia that she has a guest. A guest clad in designer jeans and sweater, a wool jacket, a toque pulled down over curly hair and carrying a well-worn backpack. An odd combination, especially considering he arrived in a Mercedes. It's hybrid Ferrymen/everyday wear.
He rides the elevator up high and then makes his way to Lucrezia's door. There's a sharp rap on it.
The knock on the door is enough to dislodge Amato's hand from Lucrezia's hair as the woman's head abruptly rights itself and she turns her eyes toward the foyer… not that she can really see it from where she is, four feet off the floor. Her pedicured bare feet pitter-patter across the cold marble by the suite's main entrance and when she throws open one side of the double doors in order to allow for their guest to come in, Sonny can see that she's dressed for what must have been bed hours ago — which is to say, she's not wearing much of anything beneath that black silk robe and, hey, did it just get awful warm in here?
"Grazie, grazie! Thank you for coming," she says, taking the young man bodily by the arm, her grip tight but her strength subsided and gently guiding instead of angrily forceful. "He's over here."
He winces when Lucrezia stops supporting his hand, but Amato does little else when the doctor initially arrives. "I have seen a doctor," he calls out in English, to the benefit of their 'guest', but it is clear from his voice that breathing hurts. "I am fine. Lucrezia, smetta di corrodersi."
Sonny has dark circles under his eyes and looks a tad unsteady on his feet. But he seems quite alert. Lucrezia is blinked at, and he allows himself to be tugged inwards. "I'll do what I can, but from your description I think that he might need to get to a hosp…" he stops a few feet in, then glances towards Amato. "You saw a doctor?" He shrugs off his backpack, then his jacket and the hat too. Bloody hot. "Are you on antibiotics?"
The first thing he does before examining Amato is to open his bag and snap on a pair of gloves. "What about painkillers?" Then he sets about the task of checking the injuries to see what has been done and what, if anything, he can do.
"Some," is Amato's exhaled answer as he opens his eyes to look at Sonny the best that he can without turning his head much. From the look of the bandage work, it was done by someone who was far from a novice. His right arm ends before the cuff of his coat, hiding that particular wound for the time being, but what is visible between the slightly open cloth at his chest is a very nasty burn, the details of which still a mystery. Knowing he will need to take the garment off in order to appease his host, Amato winces as he tries to sit up, using his left hand and arm to brace himself.
"Well. That's…quite the wound you have there." The bedside manner has clicked on unconsciously. Sonny seems satisfied with the bulk of the wound dressing, but there is concern for the burn. He makes a face and examines the skin closer to see if any bits of material got fused to the skin. "Mm. That's… it's going to need ongoing treatment. Have you been taking painkillers? Please, I know it's difficult, but I need specifics. I don't want to overdose you on painkillers or antibiotics if you're already taking them."
He'll worry about just who this man is and how the injuries might have been caused, later. For now, he's more concerned with treating his patient.
But Amato just shakes his head as he unbuttons his coat and goes about pulling his arms from it. He wears no shirt beneath it, and the skin on his chest looks as though it has been swathed with some sort of clearish cream. The burns, however, are textbook oil, save for the circular ring around the lot, caused by the skillet. The wound on the end of his right arm has been stitched up well, as if someone took a significant amount of time. Still, it is not the work of a cosmetic surgeon, though the closure is competent. Of course, the whole thing is wrapped in gauze to help prevent infection.
"I do not know what she gave me," is the best answer Amato can give, but he does reach into his pocket to pull out a collection of syringes - four in all - and hold them out to not Sonny, but Lucrezia. "«These are for you and Eileen.»"
Plucked from her shadowy web of over-the-shoulder fretting done out of focus and in the background, Lucrezia once again comes into frame when Amato extends… what's this? Syringes? The woman looks quite perplexed and she curls her fingers around the thin vials instinctually as she asks, "«What are these?»"
"Well, tell me how much pain you're in. That should help me determine whether or not I can give you something else." Sonny checks the wounds more closely and frowns. "Well. I can't really help more than he's already been helped. I can give him some morphine and a bottle of antibiotics. A hospital could help you with ongoing treatment, but whoever tended to you did a good job."
He glances between them and at the syringes, but he knows better than to get into other peoples' business. Especially since he's assuming the two of them are somehow related to the Ferrymen. "I can help you mend the scars when they've healed." Now he really wishes he spoke Italian.
Amato's hand drops to support himself in his seated position once Lucrezia takes the syringes, and he nods to Sonny, his shoulders slightly hunched. "I walked here, once she was finished. It hurts…to breathe, it hurts." That's got to be some judge. At the notion of a hospital, the man shakes his head. But scars? "We will see."
Lucrezia doesn't really have any pockets to speak of in that flimsy robe she's wearing and so the syringes are delicately discarded onto a nearby table so that she might have both hands free in order to thank Sonny with a friendly and almost familial hug. "I… thank you. For everything." When she slips away, it's only by inches; she allows one hand to remain and rest against Sonny's cheek, regarding him carefully as she offers one small admonishment. "Do not tell Teodoro you were here." Mmmkay. She punctuates this request with a closing, "I do not want him to worry."
Sonny reaches into his kit. He pulls out a syringe of his own, but this one has morphine in it. Hey, a guy who had his hand chopped off deserves the good stuff. He tugs out a plastic tourniquet band and snaps it around Amato's uninjured arm. Once the vein is obvious, he quickly injects the medicine into his system and removes the tourniquet. He presses a cotton swab against the syringe site and secures it with a piece of medical tape. By the time he's done securing the injection site, the pain will have started to dull.
The closeness of Lucrezia causes a blink from the doctor. He's not used to closeness when he's in his medical headspace. "I…why? Why would he be worried? Is this man a friend of his?" Yes, he's well and truly out of the loop when it comes to any of the more complicated dealings in New York's underworld.
The doc reaches down to search through bottles of pills in his bag. He pulls out three, then empties a few out into other bottles. These are handed to Lucrezia.
"Here's the morphine. Go easy on it. Two pills every six hours, no more. These are anti-inflammatories. Three every twelve. And these are antibiotics. One every four." He reaches into his bag for a pad of paper and writes those instructions down, then hands it off to her. "Other than that, there's not much I can do for him. It should ease the pain. Just keep his dressings clean and keep the cream on his burn. Other than that, it will just take time."
The morphine is a much welcome sedative of sorts, and Amato certainly looks relaxed, even behind that mask of brutality that's been made of his face, and lies back down without much protest. He turns his head to watch Lucrezia and Sonny, though his pale blue eyes aren't quite focused. After a moment, they close entirely.
Lucrezia's voice hushes to a sweet, seductive whisper while Amato drifts off into a merciful, drug-induced slumber. "Because he doesn't need to know, doctor." As if that ought to be reason enough. If it's not, there's always money, which the woman summarily withdraws from her bosom — talk about a treasure chest — and places in Sonny's hand while escorting him toward the door. "This business is between you and me…" She tosses her raven hair momentarily over her shoulder in order to slide a suggestive look over to the sleeping patient. "…and him. No one else. It's safer for all of us this way."
Sonny looks at the money, then to the Italian woman. There's a brief moment of pause and a searching look in the young doc's eyes. Then he hands the cash back to her. "I'm not a secret doctor for hire, Lucrezia. I'll do what you ask, just this once. As a favour to you, as future family. But don't call me again for something you don't want Teo to know about." Then the doc's zipping up his jacket. He pushes open the door and heads towards the elevator without looking back. He'll be happy when he's back in bed, even if it is empty.
 January 25th: Backpedal |
 January 25th: Roselyn's Welcome |