Participants:
| Scene Title | Frankenstein's Mortimer |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Mortimer does this whole 'Meeting Doctor Cong' thing right; don't be rude, offer him something interesting, as dragons are fickle and curious creatures. Mort comes for advice on his arm, though does not manage to get somewhere hopeful. |
| Date | August 18, 2009 |
Despite Tracy's protests for him to stay away from the criminal world, one criminal recently sprung to Mortimer's mind: Bao-Wei. Supposedly some great doctor, who knows what types of unethical treatments for not having an arm he's willing to offer. He shows up quite clean-cut, wearing his neatly fitting blue jeans, black boots, a light-blue denim buttoned up shirt, and a loosely fitting black suit jacket worn open. Hopefully the man doesn't recognize him, and he is supposed to be dead.
"Here goes nothing." The clinic's door is knocked on, at hours when patients are likely not swarming in, but when he's sure the man is still in his office, or somewhere in the clinic.
Mortimer: Expert stalker, even with sanity.
Mortimer may even need to knock a second time before anything really happens; a dull thumping of a metal door in its frame comes when no other sound does. The light from the hall flickers once, twice- and Doctor Cong's wide shadow casts itself over the yellow light, accompanied by a few sets of footfalls before the man himself appears in the lobby. Being not difficult to notice if someone were standing outside, he squints somewhat irritably at the window blinds before going to unlock the front door.
Mortimer is met with someone that looks less like a doctor and more like a white-collar Triad that smells of chemicals; sleeves rolled up, what looks like a white apron slung over one elbow, low-sitting glasses catching momentary fire in the light coming off the street. Bao-Wei peers out at the taller man to examine him closely, lips thin and mismatched eyes curious above all else. "…I take it that you are not here for a physical."
Mortimer holds up one of his black gloved hands, removing the one from his left to reveal a clockwork mechanical hand made out of some sort of bronze, opening and closing it a few times. "I need an arm, a real one. Can we talk?"
"If you'd let me have a closer look at that one-" Bao-Wei seemed to animated further upon Mortimer's brandishing of that mechanical arm, rather than the reason he came here. Curiosity is curiosity, and he is slightly more susceptible than others. The doctor steps aside, eyes giving one last tentative exploration of the street, notes filed away as always. "-we can talk for as long as it matters."
"I built it, but I have no idea how it works anymore, at least not the technical aspects. All I know is that it needs an electrical charge to keep the gears moving." Mortimer doesn't add why he doesn't know anymore, he simply enters and begins to unbutton his shirt. "You can call me Jack."
It is more likely that he will dub him 'that guy with the mechanical arm' rather than approach a first name basis. Well, it sounds like a first name, at least. "You built it? Fascinating- you do not seem like the type."
"Come back here." Though Doctor Cong does give Mortimer a few spare seconds inside, the older man has shut the door and is now heading back into the hall. He goes right to the last exam room, where most of the heavy equipment happens to be. The door is left open for 'Jack'.
Closing the door behind him, Mortimer completely removes his shirt and jacket, revealing the extent of just how complex the arm is. Laying his clothes in a chair, he walks over and holds the arm out. One can see thousands upon thousands of tiny gears working together inside the arm through the little openings in the armor, the entire thing stopping just at his shoulder, where it's apparent his arm was removed at. Going further up his arm is a pretty simple holster that goes over his shoulder, mostly to take the strain from what remains of his flesh arm. "I had an ability, I don't anymore. I could build things, anything, I usually used gears."
"So I see…" Doctor Cong takes his forearm first as it is offered out, seeming to be treating this moment with something between reverence and whimsy. To think that an Evolved man made himself a new arm? Most amputees would kill for the chance.
Bao-Wei's free hand pushes up the glasses on his nose as he first inspects the carapace armor over it, moving Mortimer at least once so that he can get a better look between the shelling and into the gears. "You say you had an ability? Some sort of mechanical intuition that you've lost? May I ask into how exactly, you lost something such as that? I daresay you can't lose it in your sofa cushions, hm?" The doctor's humor is better than it ever is- then again, he had one? Perhaps when he is faced with the abnormal, it manages to sneak back to him in the process.
"A man, an older man named Arthur Petrelli, people are saying he's dead now. My ability made me insane, each time I used it I got worse. But a fight, the fight that got rid of my arm, it rattled my brain and I started to realize what happened to me." Mortimer takes a deep breath, because meeting Arthur was… terrifying. "One night, looking for a way to get rid of my ability, he showed up while I was having a psychotic break. I begged him to take it away somehow, even though he was offering to help me control it, I just wanted it gone, so, he took it. I'm human now."
"That is yet another time someone has mentioned his name to me. He obviously was not dead the first time, so at this point whatever you say he did does not surprise me. At least he's supposedly gone for good this time. He was not a man I would want around forever." Bao-Wei moves his hand to examine each finger before gesturing at the exam table. "Sit."
Once he's sitting where Cong can better reach, he gets the root examined, where the metal attaches to man.
"If it makes things easier, I can remove it. I think it works simply by flexing specific muscles for the fingers. That's how it feels." Mortimer sounds like he isn't too sure, but he has been using the thing for a while. "I can remove the hand and put other things on. Being absolutely insane, I made gun attachments, and even a chainsaw attachment."
Mortimer has partially disconnected.
Doctor Cong takes a half step back, hands dropping away from the mechanical arm. "No need to remove it…" He almost does not finish saying this, as Mortimer has gone one to explain that he can replace the hand with something else. "Ah." Though really, he is not sure what to make of that, other than it seems like something on cable television or B-movies. There are probably zombies of some kind.
"Limb transplants are some of the most difficult. I hope that you realize that. To be frank- despite my desire to want to replace your arm-" Bao-Wei dips his forehead far enough to create some more dire shadows over his features. "-and despite my ego thinking to make me try- unless I were to find a team, I doubt that I would be able to help you myself. I'm going to advise you to try and find a healer, try and get that ability back, or to simply count your blessings."
"Where would I find a healer? I heard of a healer before, but I can't remember her name. Some of my memories make no sense after regaining my sanity." Mortimer stares down at his own arm, then back up at Bao-Wei. "Is there anyone you can refer me to? And is there any chance you have some sort of work for me? My ability is gone, but I think I have marketable skills, and I learn quickly. I was in the top ten of my school before my ability manifested."
"I have no idea where to find a healer that is able to bring back whole limbs. Put an ad out or something…" Of course he doesn't know any Healers, that would probably defeat the purpose of having a clinic. "You could possibly check the Suresh Center- they do have a hospital, though you may also get lucky and find someone with the miracle touch."
"Work? You're not the first boy off the street to ask me that…" Bao-Wei seems to sour slightly at the progression. "I can pass you along to somebody- but only if you're of the mind to not care about the ethics of your jobs." In other words, he has nothing but Criminal shenanigans up his sleeve.
Mortimer has partially disconnected.
"I'm going cold turkey on the whole murder thing." Mortimer admits a touch apologetically, standing up and moving to start putting his shirt on again. "Truthfully, I only want my arm back so I can play guitar again."
"Even if I were to attempt a transplant, you would probably never have full function again, even if the arm took in the first place. Despite what some people may think, I am not Doctor Frankenstein." True to Adam's eye, more like Doctor Mengele. "Your best option is to find a talented healer. If you found a way to get your ability back-" Bao-Wei eyes him up and down once over. "-and get help for it at the same time, you may very well be able to create a truly robotic arm, should you find specialists in that field. I have no doubt there are a few robotics departments in the nearby universities. They may even be able to assist you at this point. You've provided the canvas for brain-transmission, and I think they would be very interested."
"I'll definitely keep that in mind. You're not quite as unethical as I'd heard, I would think you'd want some credit." Mortimer snickers lightly, pulling his jacket on to head for the door. "Thanks again. If I suddenly feel a lapse in ethics, I might take you up on that offer for employment help."
"Make no mistake. If I had half the brass tonight as I usually do, I'd have stuck you with a tranquilizer just to study that arm." Doctor Cong sounds nonchalant about the idea. "Might have tested the brain transmissions myself if I were a technical man." Is he joking? No, but the flat tone suggests it to someone that does not know him well.
"And if replacing arms is the worst you've heard, clearly I am not doing my job well enough."
Mortimer has reconnected.
"I'm sure I've heard worse, but I like to think the memory from my period of insanity isn't as bad as it seems." Mortimer opens the door, looking back one last time. He has no right to complain about tranquilizers, god knows he's done just as bad. "If I get my real arm back, it's yours, provided I get credit." he offers, possibly insentive for the man to find a healer, or perhaps Mortimer is simply intrigued to see what one of his inventions could do for the world.
The next time Bao-Wei opens his door, he'll find a white piece of paper stuck in it with a phone number, and '- Jack' after it.