Participants:
| Scene Title | Chop Shop |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | They have their uses. Lola is HEALED! |
| Date | November 10, 2009 |
"You want to go to who?"
Cardinal wasn't exactly thrilled by the idea, but if that's where she wants to go for medical care… well, that's where he'll take her, if only because Deckard hasn't been available lately. That's something that's starting to worry him, but he hasn't had time to look into it.
A yacht voyage, a brief stand-off with some pirates docking at the same time, and then a long walk to the Rookery. "I hope you appreciate this," Cardinal mutters under his breath, his face shielded by shades and the lip of a baseball cap, "I fucking hate daytime. There's Filatov's clinic there."
"Of course Ah appreciate it. Ah'm tired a feelin' like shit, sugar, specially when someone kept promisin' me he'd take care of it. But Ah appreciate it." Lola, dressed in torn up jeans, boots and a sweatshirt, leans up to give Cardinal a little peck on the cheek and a squeeze of the arm. There, gratitude! "Though ya will shoot the shit outta him if he ain' on the up an up bout this, right?"
"I'd be shocked if Filatov was on the up and up about anything, given his reputation, but he's kept people alive before," Cardinal says in slightly-dry tones, "I know some've his former associates, though, so maybe that'll score us some points. Maybe not."
He rolls his eyes at the peck on his cheek, and he steps over to push the door open, "Oi! Doc! Office hours open?"
Lola follows along behind Cardinal a bit, peering around his form. Hey, he's the man, he has to go in first and be all brave! "Well he said he was already gonna service me fer free, seein' as Ah was nice ta his doggie an all." She sweeps a bit of her red hair back to look around. "Oh, and Ah'l get a jacuzzi after this, yeah?"
Office hours or not, the fact of the matter is that the clinic is, strangely empty. Empty save for a single familiar face that lifts itself up from the floor and looks at the two strangers that have walked through the door for a moment. Ranger, one of the seemingly permanent fixtures of the clinic, doesn't back or growl, but watches warily, as if waiting for Cardinal and Lola to make the first move. Not that he could do much if they had ill intentions in mind; his bones are probably half dust. The only other indication that someone may be present is a sign resting on one of the large examination tables, tented up and neatly reading, 'Please wait. I heard you.'
And nearly a minute later, Dr. Filatov appears not from the back hallway, but from the door with far too many latches on the far wall, which he takes a moment to secure completely before turning to face his guests. Wearing a set of eyeglasses, quite unlike when Lola last saw him, he nevertheless shows the spark of recognition on his face. "And you brought your wallet just in case," he says, clearing referring to Cardinal, "How forward thinking."
"You'll get a jacuzzi when the mission's over successfully."
The door's closed behind Cardinal once he's inside, the dog regarded with a brow's bemused lift before he leans against a wall to await the appearance of the doctor. "Wonderful," he replies in a dry tone, "I'm a wallet now. I just keep getting promoted higher and higher every day."
"You could be a jacuzzi if you got on top of that a little quicker, sugar." She gives
Cardinal a pat on the back, looking up to the Doctor. Then to the dog. Who gets a wave.
"Hi puppy!" Then to the doctor, who does not. "But he ain' mah wallet, sugar. He's….sorta mah hired gun. Since he said he was gonna get me one a my own an ain' - figure Ah'll have ta steal one again but that ain' the point - he gets ta come 'round an be one hisself. So ya said ya kin fix me? Ah'm here ta see if ya ain' fulla shit."
With no fanfare, Constantine simply gestures towards the large table closest to Lola while he busies himself with the rows of shelves, bottles and who knows what else that comprise his pharmacy, or what passes for one, at any rate. He's only busy for a moment, however, before he turns his attentions back to Lola, now holding a small squeeze tube of some ointment or another and a small pair of surgical shears. She did say stitches, didn't she? "Abdomen, you mentioned, correct?" he asks.
"I am not a jacuzzi," Cardinal states deadpan. One foot lifts up to brace on the wall, both arms folding over his chest as he lets her get away with the 'hired gun' comment for the moment. "Seen Eileen lately?" A casual question as the doctor begins to gather his tools.
Lola slides up onto the table with greater ease than she might have a few weeks ago,
but still with some discomfort. "Yeah, sugar. Right through." She lays back, pulling up her shirt to just underneath her bust, reveleaing the bandaged entrance wound. In the while, her head turns to look over at Cardinal, red hair spilling across the table. She grins, playfully. "What's got you in such a shitty mood, darlin?"
"You kids and your gang wars," Constantine comments, although he doesn't particularly sound like he's expecting an answer. "At least it was a clean wound. One moment." Removing the cap from the tube, at this range recognizable as an antibiotic ointment, the doctor extracts a small amount and smears it over the top of the stitches.
Then, rather than resorting to any more conventional medicine, simply places a single finger against Lola's skin, just alongside where she was hurt, and works his magic, the only sign of it going into effect being a slight tingling as her naturally healing is kicked into overdrive for a few moments before it stops and Constantine resorts to his shears to remove the threads.
There's no response to Cardinal's question, so he just lets it lie. One hand lifts a bit, scratching under the curve of his jaw as he replies in mild tones, "I've been having a terribly busy week. You know how it is. Back-alley deals to have, bribes to pass out, equipment to order." He jerks his chin up and over towards Constantine, "The guy that shot her didn't actually want to kill her, and he knows where to shoot, so she shouldn't be too bad off."
"If he didn' wanna kill me, why the fuck'd he shoot me?" Lola shoots back to Cardinal, eyes narrowing as she considers him. She still doesn't know what exactly happened in that room or why, and perhaps it's a good time to start asking the tough questions. Her look is disrupted, however, as her flat belly ripples a bit with a giggle. "Oooh, careful sugar, Ah'm ticklish."
"My apologies." Constantine doesn't sound terribly sorry about it. The stitches come out, an experience not altogether pleasant. But once they're out and cast aside, Constantine again places his finger alongside the wound and the tingling returns, for slightly longer this time, and then once again it's over. As a final piece to the seemingly arcane ritual, the doctor withdraws from his front breast pocket a band-aid, then applied over the ointment. or where the ointment was, now strangely almost completely evaporated. "There," he says, "Almost like it never happened."
Recapping the tube, he returns back to where he got it from. "Keep an eye on it, just in case, but baring extraordinary circumstances, no more worries."
Cardinal's eyes roll in his head behind the near-opaque lenses of his sunglasses. "F'r christ's sake, if Zarek wanted you dead he would've shot you in the fuckin' head, woman," he insists irritably, "The man does that for a goddamn living. He was buying time for an excuse not to, and I gave it to him. Christ. One little bullet and you're acting like someone killed your fuckin' dog."
"C'mere sugar, Ah'll show you one little bullet. An just outta curiosity, how didja get him ta not kill me?" Lola snipes back, sitting up and rubbing her belly. "Huh, ya ain' bad, darlin." She drawls in the doctor's general direction. "Coulda told them blondes. My maman was a healer, an she could be as sketchy as you are." She pulls her shirt down a bit, streaching this way and that. She has three bullet scars now, but at least they're all scars. She's back, baby, and her grin shows it. "How much do I owe ya?"
"Your friend," Constantine begins, "Deals in 'equipment,' I understand. I'm interested as to exactly what sort of equipment, and what else he deals in." Once more, his attention is back on the pair. "I have an unreliable supplier, you see. And that drives up prices. Good for business, maybe, but socially inefficient. Any chance this can be fixed?"
"I'm a very persuasive individual, who happens to have a splitting migraine because the sun is still out," Cardinal bitches the latter under his breath, fingers rubbing against his forehead to try and work away that headache. Then he looks up and over to the doctor, a brow lifting as he considers Constantine for a few moments. "Depends on what it is you're looking for. I'm not really in the medical business, generally."
"Kin ya get me a gun?" She asks Cardinal, just to remind him that she wants one. Streaching left and right, lifting her shirt and looking at her new scar, Lola's happy to run her hand down her flat belly. Nice. Everything feels so much better. "Ah can' wait ta get laid, bout damn time." She shakes her head, looking back to the men and leaning on the table, contently. She's more than happy to stand here and listen.
Moving only his eyes, Constantine looks from Cardinal to Lola, and then back again. "No, but it seems you're in the business of death. I know plenty about that business, but right now, I'm in the business of life, and in that business, there are some things that can't be kept in jars on shelves with the expectation that they'll work properly when needed. They need to be kept, fresh." He doesn't elaborate on exactly what he's talking about, but trusts instead that Cardinal is sharp enough to figure it out. Lola isn't a concern. She seems to be on close enough terms to Cardinal that this sort of thing must not be that far from normal conversation.
"You have a rifle," Cardinal points out tiredly, and then he pauses; watching the doctor through his shades as he takes a few moments to puzzle the subject that he's talking about out. After a moment, he makes a faint sound of surprise, lips pursing momentarily before he admits, "Can't really help you there, unfortunately, doc. I try to keep the body count down, it's bad for business."
Lola sticks her tongue out at Cardinal. He's being a stick in the mud tonight! "Well it won' be too hard fer ya fer long, sugar. Way it's told, be plenty a fresh bodies round Staten soon nuff. An Ah mean it ain' like the dead can say anythin' bout it." She shrugs a single shoulder. "Ah means, their problems're over already, way Ah see it."
"Perhaps," is all Constantine has to offer in reply. Really, he can't fault Cardinal for saying no; organ legging is a dangerous business, no matter how good someone gets at it. "If you wouldn't mind then, find me someone who isn't worried about bad business. You can save a lot of lives with liberated organs, I think you'd find."
"Lola." There's a hint of sharpness to Cardinal's tones when he speaks, regarding her for a moment through those glasses before looking back over to Constantine, his chin dipping in a brief nod, saying in a neutral tone, "I'll keep an eye out for anyone who might be interested in that sort've work. There's always someone around willing to take on a job like that."
Lola rolls her eyes, sliding off the table and letting her feet hit the ground. "Was just sayin," she grumbles, beneath ehr breath as she starts to walk toward Cardinal again. Yes, she'll behave. See!
"If there's nothing else," Dr. Filatov says either to them, or to the air around them - who can say, really? - "I'll bid you both farewell. I am in the middle of conducting research right now, and I should like to get back to it as soon as I can."
"Sure thing, Doc." Cardinal pushes off from the wall finally, pausing for a moment as he turns towards the door to look back— chin tilting up in a slight nod, "Chances are that they'll be sendin' FRONTLINE to sweep the island once the mess in Chinatown's been dealt with, so you might want to keep anything illicit ready to move if you need to."
Lola manages to give the insane-doctor-man a nice little five-fingered wave as she turns for the door to follow Cardinal. Of course, she did move around his desk to do so, taking a glance to see if there was anything worth lifting, and an opportunity to do so. If there was? She may very well have taken it.
A bottle of pain pills and a pair or six of eyeglasses. The doctor is, at least, careful with what he leaves lying around. "I'll keep that in mind," Constantine states in reply to Cardinal's recommendation of moving. Business on the island has been lagging as of late, in any case. Maybe the mainland is where the future is, after all.
"Pass on word if you run into any trouble," Cardinal offers then, before the door's pushed open and he steps out— hesitating only briefly as sunlight spills through, causing him to grimace as it pierces his shades. "Fuckin' sun," he mutters, ducking out from the clinic.
"Poor baby," Lola coos as she follows, tucking the glasses and an asprin into her pocket. She jumps at Cardinal's back, wrapping her arms around his neck and pecking his cheek again. She feels fabulous! She's healed! And for that, the nice doctor-man gets yet another wave and a dimpled grin.
Shaking his head at the naive exuberance of youth, Constantine waits for them to leave, and once again heads back through his ridiculously high-security door, back to whatever it is that he does down there.