abby4_icon.gif eileen5_icon.gif

Scene Title Faux
Synopsis Abigail meets Eileen to discuss medical supplies, their respective health, Council nominations and Gabriel. Nothing here is what it immediately seems to be.
Date July 1, 2010

Grand Central Terminal

Upside to working in the bay for the day is that there's no 12 hour shift. 8 hours, lunch breaks, breaks, stamp your card and get out. Which was good today because there were boxes to get down to the GCT, and get back to the apartment. Eileen had given Abigail the list of medical supplies, antibiotics and the like and while some she was able to get on her own, others had required a call to Caliban to inquire how once would get something like antibiotics that was obviously not something you walked into a store and bought.

That had resulted in a delivery of antibiotics from her boyfriend. Most people get roses, jewelry, fancy dinners. Abigail gets antibiotics for her underground evolved railroad. Some men just know what a girl wants. A call to Eileen had been made, a request to meet her down in the GCT since it was the central point and given what had went down last time she was at the kilpatrick safehouse, she wasn't stepping foot there until Hana gave her better re-assurance or Raith got back to them. Especially in light of the news report at Central Park.

So in the busy juncture that is the terminal, parked in a side room, sitting on a chair with a coffee from the communal pot after inquiring as to the whereabouts of Pastor Sumter these days, she waits for the sick woman to come, keeping an eye on the time. Pink hair back and up, still in uniform, sweat long since dried on her forehead but visible at the collar of the white undershirt beneath the navy button down. Beauchamp proudly proclaimed on her chest and the patch on her shoulder proclaiming paramedic services.

At the very edges of Abby's hearing, there snags the echoed, hollow voice of Eileen Spurling being heard in the acoustics of the concourses, perhaps inquiring where the pink-haired paramedic is waiting for her. She emerges not so long after, her feet stuffed into flat-soled boots that lace and strap in her feet up to her calves, the hems of skinny jeans disappearing into them. Ash grey, thin sweater material is almost thigh length with a swooping neckline, a denim jacket pulled over the ensemble and her hair left long and almost wild, finger-brushed at best. Her face is devoid of make up.

Her pale, grey-green eyes roam over the setting before honing in on Abby, and her mouth twists before allowing for a small and reserved smile before she's moving on over. Pinched between the brittle, pale lengths of her fingers, a smoking cigarette trails its runoff.

At the entrance of Eileen, up from the chair said pink haired medic lifts, straightening to her full height which is a few inches over the more petite brit. "Eileen" A toothy smile breaks out over the baptists face at seeing her, hands dropping to her pockets, thumbs left hanging out and elbows canted awkwardly. "Sorry, for the call and needing this done fast but I got Peter in my place for a bit, and he's… twitchy.. about stuff. So I wanted to get it out fast as possible"

There's a gesture with her elbows to the boxes behind her that likely took a couple people to help her bring them from her vehicle and down here to minimize traffic. "Don't ask, how but.. a couple calls and I managed to get everything on your list. I don't know how long it will tide the Ferry over, I mean, it's probably a drop in the bucket, but.. there's more than enough antibiotics for a bit, provided they're not handed out like candy" She opines

Dragging blue eye'd gaze from the boxes, back to the other woman, a glance down to her hands. "Not taken to carrying it around?" Whatever it might be.

Coming to a halt, Eileen drops her gaze down to her hands, which both splay and then ball into loose fists, and doesn't allow her expression to shift from neutrally interested. "Not down here," she answers, after only a second of hesitation, before that right hand is coming up to bring the filter of the cigarette to her lips, breathe in smoke that doesn't see the light of day until the lengthy exhale that follows, as her gaze switches with cattish attention to the supplies set out. There is nothing particularly different, here.

Nothing obvious, anyway. Her accent is as it should be, her demeanor perhaps a little wearier than strictly necessary, and she still does not look healthy. That hacking cough and weakness seems to have left her, however, and replaced itself with a mild fever that prickles sweat on the pale slope of her brow.

"Asking how isn't necessary. Thanking you is called for." Her eyes are level on Abby's, before once again darting to the supplies, and she moves passed Abby to take a closer look.

"You're looking a little better. Not quite death warmed over this time. There's enough there that you can probably easily make off with a few packages for yourself, see if it'll clear up whatever you have, if you're not already taking anything. Maybe see Francois" Abigail ambles across the room to come to a stand beside the woman, looking down at the boxes.

"Well you're welcome. I was a little worried I wouldn't be able to do it but…" But she did.

"Eileen, can I ask you something?" The Medic looks over to the smoke, nose twitching that the woman is sick and smoking her cigarette's. "Raith talked to you about.. Susan and Clark and Damon? Delilah and I went to him with something we overheard and… he said he'd look into it"

Twin jets of smoke stream from flaring nostrils, and she glances sidelong at Abby, narrow jaw clenched without particular tension. She rounds around the boxes, a slender arm wrapping around her midsection. "And he will," she responds, swooping her gaze downwards. "If he said he would. But no, he hasn't told me anything. I haven't been well." She taps ash off her cigarette, and though she doesn't smile with her mouth, the smile of her eyes is meant to reaffirm reassurance. "But I feel a lot better. I've been on antibiotics already.

"We can have these," she taps the boxes with two fingers, "put away down here and inventoried — I imagine it'll last us. How are you feeling, by the way?" And now, her focus sharpens on Abigail, as if belatedly swinging attention from her own health— and complicated, unfathomably Ferry issues— onto that of the fire mimicker.

"Hana told me it was all fine, just… You know me enough, worry wart. Listen, Eileen, she want McRae, and you and whomever, you need to keep an eye on Kaylee. In case Clark or Damon try something. Raith thinks it's nothing but… Susan's a persuasionist, and she's a federal employee and two years means nothing if… well, you of all people know that you can switch loyalties even after just two years" Which makes her unhappy and looks over her shoulder. "I just wanted to make sure that he said something to you, that it's not going ot be brushed off, they looked at Delilah and I something wrong and…"

A scratch to her wrist, a glance at the time. "He will, just like you said about Gabriel, but he still hasn't called. I've given up on his help, I don't know what Peter was thinking suggesting him. He's got bigger fish to fry and maybe this is something I gotta try and learn on my own" A twitch of her nose, wrinkling upwards and looking away.

"I'm good. Negation pills get me through the work day good enough, though I don't want to imagine what impact that will have on the Ferry supply. I haven't had time to practice on my days off between the baby and just… stuff. I found a trigger but… It's not going to work long term. It's a start but…"

Abigail reaches up, scratching behind her ear, staring off at the two boxes she asked to be put away and inventoried. Hopefully she wouldn't need to ask Robert again for a long time. "You can tell him it's okay. Really, I do understand if he doesn't have the time. It's not that important. Just means I gotta try harder, make time."

Watching as ash glitters off the end of her cigarette in a fall of fine ash and still lit embers, Eileen listens, her expression inquisitive without expectation, perfectly neutral around the eyes and her mouth drawn small in her pallid features. "I'm sorry he didn't call," she states, after a moment, words crisp from a mouth that wouldn't melt butter, if not unkind. Eileen is rarely, in day to day conversation, unkind. "But if you want my opinion, I'm not sure he could have helped you. He's good with controlling the powers he has, but he's not a patient teacher."

There's a smaller, secretive smile at that, as if remembering some fond memory. "I'll let him know you said it's okay. I wouldn't advise you not working it out on your own, certainly."

There's a soft huff of laughter from the medic, sinking hands back into her pockets, rocking back on her heels. "If I had that many, were hunted, and blamed for something I didn't do.. I don't know whether I would be too. Maybe… maybe he still remembers when I had healing instead of turning into holy fire and burning down bars or cracking tiles in the terminal."

A lift of navy clad shoulders, turn towards the door. "Anyways. I'll still work on it and… I'll take the nomination to the council. You're right. I can do it. I'll find the time, make the time. Because if I can't get a handle on this, it'll be to the Ferry I gotta go full time. I can't afford to screw up and go up in flames in public. Too much riding on it" Grim line to her lips. "Really, you like the cane? Have the others seen it? They haven't tried to take it from you? I'm worried that it might you know, have been in poor taste to give you Kazimir's cane and you were just… making nice"

There's a moment, there, a little off guard, before some sort of visible pain crosses beneath Eileen's features — and Abby might wonder if that instinct was right. Crushing out her cigarette on the corner of the cardboard box, Eileen shakes her head in a brisk fashion. "No. No, I don't make nice. I mean— " She drags her pale eyes up to meet Abby's blue, and gives her a pinched smile. "I'm glad that if anyone has to have it, it would be me. I wouldn't have it any other way." And she seems to mean that much.

Her hand flutters up to her chest in the next moment, pressing high as if to dampen down the bristle of a coughing fit threatening to emerge, but she manages to swallow it down. "I'm glad you're taking the nomination. I'll pass it on to— I'll pass it on."

"In for a penny, in for a pound, you must be feeling better, you're smiling and talking an awful lot" An arm comes out of her pocket, wrapping an arm around the other woman, fingers holding firm to Eileen's shoulder as she gives a one armed hug, careful of cigarette and health. "I should go. Huruma needs me to take the baby. Woman saved a newborn from her overdosing mother dead somewhere. Peter's in a snit over it in the apartment, and Huruma's .. just… I'm shocked that she's taking care of Kasha, but… Hopefully, the light house will be running proper again soon, and we can bring her there. I'll make you some muffins and the like next time we meet. Hopefully not fresh from a shift."

The hug is met with— what Eileen hopes is— British neutrality and tolerance, a hand only pressing to the small of Abby's back in return and a flutter of eyelashes meant to signal a degree of gratitude before she steps away first. When you lie, you talk more to try and make it real, and in this case, it's only just working. So Eileen is careful to simply say—

"Goodbye, Abigail."

— when the Baptist flusters about the same thing, talk of muffins, babies and her own healthiness allowed to breeze by.

'Take care Eileen" The cotton candied medic murmurs, gathering up her messenger bag, slinging it over her shoulder and heads out of the room, footsteps making a little more noise leaving than the other woman's had coming in. Drugs left in the room, off to notify someone it was there and to be inventoried, distributed to the necessary safe houses.

Oblivious to what was really in the room back there or what it might signify.

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