An Unlikely Visitor


lola_icon.gif diogenes_icon.gif

Scene Title An Unlikely Visitor
Synopsis Diogenes visits a 'hospital', encounters Lola, tortures her, and leaves more or less empty handed.
Date October 5, 2009

Abandoned Best Western Hotel in Staten That Acts as a Hospital

Lola Mayeux has been recovering for days in one of the upstairs rooms of the Abandoned Best Western hotel. Some rooms were set aside for the purpose of healing, but of course it's impossible for anyone to have their own room. Instead, each room has been seperated by old sheets pinned to the ceiling, forming little cubicles, with sheets for 'doors' as well. The beds are little more than low cots. On one such cot, with her 'door' half open and facing the hallway is Lola Mayeux, bandaged with IVs and all the like drooping out of her. There's noise and activity in the room about her, but in her little cube it's quiet enough for her to be dozing.

Nope, no signs of any sort of paralysis.

Diogenes hangs the clipboard back onto the foot of the bed. His eyes rise to examine the patient, scarred by burnt marks all over; his system has to be flooded with morphine to let the man rest, and even then, occasional groans slip. The man, standing at one end of the bed as though the Grim Reaper itself, clicks his tongue and turns to leave that particular cubicle, resuming his journey to find someone whom he is able to heal. For money, naturally. There's money to be had in both heroic and villainous acts, and it's limiting your income to stick to just one field, after all.

It's not too long before he ends up in the same room with Lola. Curtains shield the girl, and as such he has no way of knowing with whom he's sharing his company. Eventually, he would, but not yet. He's visiting the neighbouring patient, examining the clipboard for anything the unlucky one was burdened with that Diogenes could rid him off. Alas, this little piggy is going on a boat trip to the Underworld. The notes cause Diogenes to snort.

"That must suck", he notes more loudly than he should.

The unfamiliar voice among the hustle and shuffle of the room causes Lola's light slumber to slowly disperse as she opens her eyes, fluttering lightly. "Wha?" She grumbles, rather drugged herself. It's actually kind of nice - she can't feel the effects of the refrain withdrawal due to the morphine. In her mind, it's a fairly good trade-off.

But that slight gap in her curtains allows her to glance at Diogenes as he stands over her neighbor's chart. Now she's fully awake, and her heart is going a mile-a-minute. She still has bruising from the last time she saw this man. She can't call for help - he'll hear - and there's no weapons - they took her gun when they checked her in. For lack of a better option? She starts to weakly pull her sheet over her head. Maybe he'll think she's dead!

The clipboard is returned to the bed, and Diogenes leaves the patient to provide company for the other one, the one to the left of Lola's bed. The woman looks up rather weakly at the stranger who has invaded her privacy. The question, "You're not my doctor, are you?" seems rather rhetoric, considering that Diogenes looks far too young to even be considered to be a doctor. Such irony is not unnoticed by Diogenes, who is quick to reply with: "If I were your doctor, your chances of survival would be even slimmer than they currently are…"

"…which is hard to believe, looking at this." He momentarily glances at the startled woman before his attention is returned to the clipboard in his hands. One page after another is turned, and eventually, he sets back into its rightful spot. "It's lupus. You're dying. Have a nice day." It's hard to tell whether he's joking, although if he is, then his sense of humour is extremely ill-chosen. He departs, ignoring that he has ignited hours of emotional torture for the poor patient.

Curtains glide to close around Lola's bed. It seems Diogenes likes privacy, especially when he invades privacy of others. Light steps bring him to the foot of the bed, where he snatches the clipboard and duly examines it. "Gunshot. Drugs found in the system." Whistle. "Just another day in Staten, huh?"

Lola can't help but blink. In her drugged state, she didn't even get the blankets up all the way. "Ain no drugs found in mah system, I told 'em they was there…" she says, her voice weak and scratchly. "Look sug, kin ya just hand me mah ginger ale right there from the lil table?" If she's going to die, she's at least going to get her damned ginger ale. "An lemme be. I didn' do nothin."

Diogenes looks up, falling quiet. The clipboard is tossed carelessly onto the bed itself, landing somewhere close to Lola's knees. The young man wanders over to her side, closer to the head of her bed. Two fingers carefully dig beneath the blanket, and provided there's no resistance, he'd lean in and tug it far enough to take a peek at who's there. Recognition would appear in his eyes quickly enough.

"Doesn't matter whether you told them or they found the drugs. It still has to be put up in your medical record, Marie." Yes, that might not be Lola's real name, but that's the one the clipboard showed. Quietly, Diogenes reaches out to take the ginger ale she has requested and hands it to her rather politely. "Hookers don't get shot on Staten. I haven't seen any be shot, at least."

He tips his head to the side curiously and narrows his eyes, as if trying to mentally put together puzzle pieces. "They're a valuable asset in Staten. Boost its economy. And they never get in the way."

Lola, or Marie as she is now called, snaps her drink back and gulps a few tired sips, falling back on the flat cot. "Wrong place, wrong time, sugar. Ain' nothin' more'n that, an that happens on STaten all the time." It's true, too. Sorta like I was wif you. Just wrong place an time an all a that. I just wanna be left alone," To suffer in her withdrawal and figure out her next move.

"Wrong place, wrong time." That phrase alone is enough to draw a smirk on the man's face. Everything was different, now. Right place, right time. For him, at least.

His eyes fall on the IV that's supplying Lola with precious morphine. The idea that comes to his mind is obvious enough not to be mentioned. Still, considering Lola's drugged state, he ensures to share with her his elaborate plan. "The best thing about my ability is that I don't even need restraints. I could leave you chained to the bed and cut off the supply of that precious drug. How long do you think until a doctor comes by, and what are the chances of him noticing that you aren't getting your morphine?"

Diogenes cants his head to the other side, looking down at Lola expectantly. "I don't believe in coincidences, Marie."

Lola's chest rises and falls a bit quicker as he threatens her again. And here she is just laying here! "What exactly is it that ya want from me, sug? I ain' done nothin to you. I ain' done nothin' to any body." She looks away, making fists in her nervous state. "Just lemme alone, please."

"If you're as innocent as you claim, why is your breathing quickening? Are you afraid?.." The tone he harbours is both and dark and heavy in that it is intended to apply enough pressure on the mind to squeeze out what he wishes to hear. However, he is no psychiatrist, and it's hardly a guaranteed effect. More so a dramatic touch to the words he speaks, if anything. Both equally eerie.

"I want to know everything there is to know about you. The more interesting information you give me, the less likely it is I'll put you through immense torture." He nods in the direction of the clipboard absent-mindedly. "You're a druggie, aren't you? Just imagine what Hell you'll be going through without your precious morphine. Come on, you're not Queen Elizabeth in disguise. What is it you have that you don't want to give away?"

There are doubts. Plenty. Quite like when he pressed Lola against the car that day, making threats, it's highly likely that Lola - or Marie, as he knows her - was just an unfortunate hooker who is naught but fearful of the creepy stranger. Still, fear is among the best methods, he finds.

And indeed, afraid is what she looks. "There ain' nothin' to know! I just live here now, much livin' as it can be called. I was raised in Louisianna." Make up a good story. "Moved after Katrina an all. Thought livin' someplace what ain' been destroyed was better'n livin' in someplace what was, but apparently I missed on that, now didn I? Just let me alone, sug.." He thinks she's a hooker, right? Play it out. "Plenty a other girls what kin service ya who're in better shape'n me."

Diogenes looks both disappointed and disgusted. Out of all the things she could have shared, she has decided to share what falls under the classification of 'sob story' in the man's mind. He stands unmoving at her sides, looking down at her as if she were some pathetic critter that does not even deserve a scientific Latin description in a scientific book. It seems as though he is about to turn away, to leave her in peace—

But then the last line reaches him. It renders his facial expression completely blank for a while. Then comes a ponderous look. And then he scoffs. "That was your first mistake." As soon as he takes away the feel and control of her arms, he reaches out and shuts off the flow of morphine into her bloodstream. The effect is apparently not instantaneous, but Diogenes figures it should work well enough as a motivating engine.

"I could have had you back there on the street with no fight from you, at all. You know it's not what I want from you. But it's what a hooker would say, so you went ahead and said it, even if it's obviously the least thing on my mind even— especially right now."


Lola flinches away as he comes back. "I just said somethin! I don' even know what I said! I just said words, just said somethin, I don' know what ya want, sug. If I did, I'd say that. I'll say whatever ya wanna hear, I just don' know what ya wanted ta hear! I just guessed, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" She begins to writhe her legs, nervously, as if she wanted to jump up and run away. But she's very drugged.

"You are perfectly aware of what I want to hear, yet you continue to waltz around it."

Diogenes glances at the IV before looking down at Lola. With a vaguely smug grin, he hurriedly departs her, although only to come back with a chair to offer him comfort, presumably while he waits for the fun to start. Once he settles down beside her, he ensures that his gaze stays on her at all times. He would sit in complete silence for as long as he would have to, seemingly waiting for something. He would also make sure that Lola doesn't stand; should she attempt in doing so, she'd find herself back on the bed. Paralysed? Yes, temporarily. Diogenes wouldn't want to rob her of the wondrous detox.

anna. Now I'm here. That's all there is. I don' got no kids, ain' seein' nobody right now - though I…I got an ex. Please just leave me alone. I didn' do nothin! I didn'…I swear I didn'. Why are you doin this?"

"I'm doing this because you are not telling me who you are. You are repeating yourself. I am not interested in where you were born, or your sexual life. I am interested in your line of profession. I know you are not a hooker." No, Diogenes does not know that, but what he does know is that a firm approach often tends to aid in discovering concealed truth.

"I have to admit, that's an admirable method of coping with torture. Let yourself go, and try to force your torturer to sympathise with you. That will not work with me. I want to know who you are. The real you. But if that's too hard for you to answer, tell me how you got shot, then. And don't feed me the same lies."

With every second passing, morphine was most likely wearing off, but so too did the man's convictions. Perhaps there was nothing to Lola.

Lola has gotten a bit more pale, and sweat is staining her brow. "I got shot when I found some folks shootin' each other in the Rookery. I tried ta get one ta stop shootin' the other, an another one turned 'er gun on me an shot me." It's the god's honest truth. "I was just tryin' ta help is all, ya know? Learned my lesson well, I did."

Slowly, Diogenes rises from his chair. With a sigh, he looks down at Lola; it is a gaze that, similarly to the one from before, sees her as inferior, and yet this time, it is strangely comforting. He lifts a hand and brings it to the IV to open the flow of the pain-abolishing drug. His lips part as a prelude of words spoken, but he soon seals them, swallowing whatever thoughts were meant to surface. He looks towards the foot of the bed, and wanders over to the clipboard to hang it where it belongs.

"What are you thinking right now?.." The question rolls off rather slowly and heavily, with him standing at the foot of the bed with both hands on the bed's frame. Paralysis has been longe removed from the girl.

What is she thinking right now? Why not be honest? She sighs, reclining back as she has the flow of drugs back into her system. "I'm thinkin' why yer bothin' me. What ya want with me." It's a curous thing, for her, that he keeps bothering her. Why?

There are tons of reasons. Some make sense, most do not. The fact that there are either too many reasons to pick or that he doesn't want to share the 'why' of things is apparent, for he lowers his chin and gaze, not uttering a single word for a fairly long while. When he does look back up at her, though, he has a surprisingly comic facial expression, comprised of lifted brows and an odd yet playful grin. "Because I'm a crazy jerkface."

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