Family Counsel


abby_icon.gif griffin_icon.gif

Scene Title Family Counsel
Synopsis Griffin comes for a little patching up after the incident in Prospect Park.
Date October 24, 2010

Le Rivage - Abby's Apartment

The gunshot wound really is painful. He's certainly thankful it wasn't any worse than it is; at least it didn't hit the bone. That does nothing to change the fact that it hurts. Griffin's eyes are covered by a pair of sunglasses he fished out of his bag as he made his escape, hiding the fact that his eyes are white, keeping invisible pressure over his new wound, with the jacket absorbing most of the blood. There's another jacket ruined by blood.

He also has an extra duffel bag, slung over his uninjured shoulder, as he knocks on the door to Abby's apartment. Her medical supplies. He'll be needing her to use them on him today.

Abby's been home from church long enough and a quick lunch with Robert, to still be in her sunday best, but at least the shoes are off, slippers on as she's figuring out what to wear and what room to start tackling in the moving process. Roberts is being handled by people but Abigail's the kind of person where, really, she can do it herself.

So when she spies Griffin through the peephole and cracking open the door to let him in, she's not worried. "Hey, I'm just back, I was going to come down and tell Owain that he didn't need to keep up with the animals after Wednesda-" She can tell a pained person by the set of thier body, even without the glasses on. "Are you okay?"

Griff winces a bit, holding out the familiar bag with Abby's medical supplies contained within. "Not particularly." He grins. "I'm a superhero, you know. Fighting crime, protecting the innocent." Yeah, he's gritting his teeth as he says that, gesturing to his arm, where the fabric is bunched up as if held by invisible hands. It's not far from the truth. He offers a pained chuckle, stepping into the apartment as the way is cleared.

"Brought your medical supplies back, temporarily. I was forced to defend an injured lady, and was injured, myself. Nothing too horrible." Griffin grins to Abby, gingerly slipping the jacket off to reveal the fresh gunshot wound. "My sister is going to kill me, I'm sure."

"Well, I hope she appreciates it, get in" She opens the door wider, taking back the kit from GRiffin. "Good that you brought it back, I don't need to worry any longer, folks came and took Peter's stuff" She doesn't know that Griffin knows Peter. "How bad is it?" Abigail closes the door behind him, even as Rhett is trotting out. Rhett's used to Griffin thanks to Owain, so he's tolerated and once he sees him, Rhett's making off to somewhere else in the small apartment. "To the kitchen, so I can see. You need anything for the pain?"

"I'm sure she will." As she says the name 'Peter', Griffin's brows raise up high. "Peter…Petrelli?" He has no clue if that's who she's speaking about, but that might be the reason why she wanted him to keep her supplies. With a grunt, he heads into the kitchen, removing his sunglasses and setting them down with his duffel bag. Then, he settles into a seat, careful not to get blood on Abby's IKEA furniture. "I admit that it hurts pretty horribly, though I would prefer topical pain killers to those taken orally."

"None other. Peter peter pumpkin eater. He was my partner when I worked in the ambulance. I was his EMT" Touch of sadness there, she really does miss working in the rigs. She wants to work in the rigs again. But for now, that's not an option, or so she thinks. Abigail disappears into the depths of her apartment, returning with some fresh towels and dishtowels. "I got a little of everything in that bag. Mouth, skin and I should still have some stronger stuff that is given by a needle. You can start getting off your top" She pauses, glancing at him. "If you break out into any Tom jones or are wearing a smiley face thong, I'm just gonna kill you"

Smirking, Griffin peels off the slightly bloody t-shirt, still using his vectors to hold the wound. He's done a good job of keeping himself from bleeding too badly, keeping pressure on it without even touching the wound. As a result, his arm looks quite bloody, since there hasn't been anything to soak up what has come out. The shirt and jacket are wadded up, held in his lap.

"God, I've gotten good at getting hurt, it seems." He frowns. "First, I get hit in the head during a scuffle with another man that I forgot about nine years of my life. There's fuzzy bits, but nothing I can remember. Then, I get the slash in my side," which is healing up nicely, "then I get shot while stopping some dumbass teenager with a gun." He sighs softly. "First gunshot wound, though. Hurts like I never thought it would."

As she confirms his suspicions about Peter, brows raise. "Peter is a good man…tragic, but good to the core."

"I've been shot… four time? Maybe five, I've lost track." She's got at least three scars to prove it in a row across her lower back. "Day I manifested, I got shot three times. They couldn't find any bullets because they'd melted and that was that" The towels are pressed to the wound and wiped across his arm to take care of the blood that's been pooling.

"As for Peter. He is. And an asshole at times, and sometimes very self centered. But.. but there are many more stories of the other, of when we're at work, that I could tell you that show otherwise. Show a very caring man who maybe tries too much, to fix the world that he helped create"

As Abby begins, blood-stained handprints suddenly float away from Griff's arm, and the bloodflow increases again, though thankfully slow. They hover before Griff's face, before suddenly seeming to reel into his back, leaving bloody splotches in between his shoulder blades. As he does so, his eyes fade back to their normal green color, the man turning a faint smile toward Abby.

"Goodness. That's awful. I'm glad you're still here, Mrs. Abby." He smiles. "And Peter…yes, I could agree with you on most accounts, there." He tilts his head to one side. "I'm sure you've heard of the recent mentions of his name in the news…is that why you wanted me to keep your medical supplies?"

"He stayed here for a spell with me. I turn into a great big ol pillar of fire. I don't do good at night, needed someone to hose me down with a fire extinguisher if they started smelling smoke." She gestures with bloody hands to her ankle and the GPS there. " Why I have that thing. Long story short, I'm quite literally out on bail and waiting. I plead guilty to subverting the registration system. Peter moved out a couple days before they went looking for him."

That Griffin knows Peter, brings her eyes up to his. "You own a red scarf?"

Griffin goes silent as she asks about the scarf, clasping his hands together in his lap as he lets her work on his arm. He doesn't meet her gaze for a long moment, staring down at a spot in the ground with a dazed look on his face. Then, green eyes meet Abby's, and the man offers a small, slow nod. "Yes, I do." He tilts his head toward Abby thoughtfully, as if sizing her up for the first time, though that sensation doesn't last as his eyes turn down once more.

"And what is your opinion of those who own red scarves?" He doesn't look at her, closing his eyes.

"My opinions of the people who wear them, isn't bad. I know and am friends with a great many. I don't approve of what they've done in the past" Abby smiles at Griffin though, giving him a nudge. "Let he who is without since cast the first stone and I can't cast stones. I'm a member for the Ferrymen" She may be talking, but she's still working away at the gunshot wound, pulling up a chair so that she can clean it, stem bleeding, numb the area in preparation for stitching that is inevitable.

Griff winces through the discomfort of having the wound worked on, gritting his teeth a bit, though he does manage a tight grin through the discomfort. "I've only been with the group for a short while, thankfully. Perhaps a month or two. I— I fight for my son." He tilts his head toward Abby, offering a rather hideous rendition of a smile; he'll probably feel better once the area is numbed.

"Ferrymen," Griffin mumbles thoughtfully, peering at Abby with another analyzing gaze. "Hmm, I suppose it is a fortune that I ran into you, then. Peter mentioned the group. Said many a good thing about it. It was enough to gain my interest." He raises his eyebrows.
"Underground railroad for evolved" Relief should be coming, the area numbed, just waiting for the drug to kick in and anesthetize the nerves as she sets about to getting the stitching materials set up. "They got you good but nothing that I need to send you to Delia for. She's a nurse I know. ANother nurse taught me how to do the rest of this, but for the trickier stuff" She sends them out to Delia.

"We all fight, for someone. I used to heal for the Ferry. Actually, everyone. I had a rule, that I'd heal anyone who came to me and asked. Like a doctor can't turn away a patient and Jesus didn't turn away anyone. Didn't endear me to some people, and on more than one occasion I healed someone that I didn't much want to. But I can't heal anymore, just turn into a person made of fire. BUt if you need help, you call, and i'll send you somewhere. Plenty of places to bed down if you need it"

Griffin's tension releases as the area is numbed, sweet relief washing over him as he can no longer feel the gunshot wound. He smiles faintly, leaning back against the chair. "Delia…I know a Delia. Beautiful little red headed girl, dating a nice man named Jaiden." He tilts his head to one side, turning to watch Abby work now that he's unable to feel what she's doing.

"I truly appreciate the offer. I may need to take you up on it one day. If you know a good place I could make into a more permanant residence without the whole Registration bit, I might have to give you a platonic hug of gratitude." The man smirks. "I'd like to help, if I can. I'm unsure how, as I'm a bit…homeless…but it would be good to have something to do in my spare time, when I'm not running around with a red scarf."

"I'll give you the name of my Lawyer, her name is Cat. She owns a place over in Greenwich called The Village Renaissance, or the Verb, depending on who you talk to. Tell her Abby sent you and needs a place to stay. She can set you up with some place that's permanent and if you're able to pay rent, she might even graciously deign to let you pay rent" Abby falls silent then, concentrating on her work, slower than Delia or even megan when it comes to doing this, but she's making sure they'll stick, they're not too tight and it'll hold the holes closed.

"That would be marvelous, Abby." Griffin offers a smile to the woman. "I do appreciate the assistance you've given me. I'm unsure how I can ever repay you, but know that you are one of the few people in this world I think I can call a friend." He watches thoughtfully as she seals up the wound, tilting his head to one side. Plenty of scars to tell stories to Owain about. "If there's anything else I can ever do to help you, don't you hesitate to let me know."

"I didn't get into this or do what I do, Griffin, to be repaid. Strange enough as it is to hear, there is at least one person in this city that does things out of the goodness of her heart. Besides, I don't have any needs. If I do, my husband tends to them or the lord provides. Just keep your nose clean as possible for Owain. He needs his Dah. Every kid needs their Dah"

The last stitch tied, she snips it off, setting about to smearing it with cream. "Because I'm moving Tuesday, he's gonna have no more Rhett to take care of"

"Well, if you do ever need anything of me, just ask, Abby. I would like the opportunity to one day return your kindness." Griff smiles faintly, watching as she works. As she mentions Owain being his son, he pales slightly. "Am I that obvious about being Owain's dad, or did Marjorie tell you?" He tilts his head to one side, peering quietly at Abby.

"I'm sure he'll miss you very much. And I hope that you will keep in touch when you do move." A smile.

'You told me, the other day. I don't think you meant to. Marjorie makes a production of letting it be known he's hers" Cream smeared, she's taping it up with gause, securing it in place. "You know how it goes, if it gets redder and puffy and like, come back and find me, call, show up at the shop and I'll get you to Delia, or you can just go find her yourself since you know her"

"I didn't mean to, but…well." He tilts his head to one side. "It bothers me, that she makes a production of making him out to be hers. I know— I know she raised him, and I'm grateful for it, but…she's not his mother. It…gets to me, that he calls her 'mom'." Griffin frowns down at the gauze, nodding slowly. "I'll probably come to you, first. I'm unsure of where Miss Delia lives." He smiles faintly to the woman, despite the somber choice in conversation.

"Some day he'll know. Just… don't expect him maybe to be thrilled. Maybe sit with Marjorie and see if maybe right now is a time to tell him the truth? He seems old enough to understand and comprehend the situation." She's done, sitting back, dragging off her gloves and satisfied with the stitching job. "But, I'm being really rude, I"m sorry Griffin, this is none of my business. It's your family. I'm just a woman who turns into fire, newly married and the closest I'm ever gonna come to have a baby is going to the lightouse and taking Kasha for walks and picnics'

Griff offers a small smile to Abby, moving his arm experimentally once the stitches are covered. He'll have to avoid using his left side for a while, what with two wounds marking his left side. At least his side is healing up nicely. He takes good care of himself, at least. "I want him to know now…he's far more intelligent and understanding than Marjorie gives him credit for. Smart as a whip, like his mom was." Griffin smiles sadly. "She wants to wait. Give him a chance to like me for me, before we tell him. I can handle that…but I want him to know. He deserves to know what really happened." He smiles. "I do appreciate the council. It's extremely helpful."

"But you are you and you are his father" She points out. "Kids are smart, kids pick up on things. She wants him to like UNcle griffin. But you're not uncle griffin, therefore, she's wanting him to like a lie, and hope that he won't get mad when the truth comes out. And the truth always comes out. Lord does it ever. But you have my counsel yes" She's packing up stuff. "If you need to lay down a bit, before going downstairs, the back room still have a bed in it. You can stretch out there, or you can take up the couch and keep me company while I pack. I got some spare shirts too that you can wear"

"I'll happily lay out on the couch and keep you company, and I appreciate the offer of a shirt. I luckily have my duffel bag with me, so it's more of a matter of pulling a shirt out." Griffin smiles softly, raising to his feet. "As a plus, I'll help you out with packing while I'm laying down. One of the many perks of being friends with a telekinetic, I'm certain." He smiles faintly to the woman.

"I've known a few. They're pretty handy" Abby grins, pushing away from the table, taking her kit with her and thumping it down into a box. "They're also pretty lazy and use their ability when two perfectly good hands do just as well. I used to live with one. I don't think I ever saw him actually get his own beer by hand" BUt it's all in gentle ribbing, moving by the couch to fluff pillows and put them comfortably on the couch. "Mak eyourself comfortable, I'll get you something to drink and you can choose something on TV"

"In my defense, I use my own two hands as often as possible. For example, when I play piano, I prefer to use my fingers. I can easily play with the powerful muscle that is my mind, but I prefer the old fashioned way. And it's useful when more than one pair of hands are needed." Once a shirt is retrieved from his duffel bag and carefully slipped on, the man slips onto the couch, smiling to Abby. "But I do tend to rely on my ability when, say, the remote is missing, and I do not feel like standing up to change the channel." He winks.

"Laaaaaaaazy" Abigail singsongs, before she turns the corner into the back of the apartment.

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