Participants:
| Scene Title | Free Medical Advice |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Often solicited from those in the field it's seldom heeded when it's nothing the patient wants to hear. |
| Date | May 18, 2011 |
It's not exactly an unexpected thing that rainy days, even only lightly rainy days, are not the best days for business at the Old Apothecary. People simply have less incentive to shop, and more incentive to stay at home or in the cafes. But the lack of customers is not the reason why Constantine Filatov is unhappily smoldering in the midst of his wares.
That his wares are in a jumble is the reason he is unhappily smoldering among his wares. Articles are out of place, in disarray, and some are not even on their shelves anymore. A few have been relocated to the counter. Most tellingly of all, some of the drawers containing herbs and roots and other assorted ingredients, normally kept locked, have been forced open. The damage is immediate and obvious in these cases.
If this was the work of small children, it must have been a horde of them searching for a quest item, making it obviously why this is most likely not at all what happened.
Delia hasn't shown up for work since Saturday, there was no note but at some point there was a call, probably during the wee hours. This is the second time she's been awake since Sunday and she's looking more lacking in sleep than overslept. Unruly hair that's been pinned into a messy bun hasn't seen a shower in three days, she didn't feel like it this morning. She's dressed in a pair of old jeans that are too loose fitting to be her own, a printed t-shirt that may belong to the same person she stole the jeans from, and her own hoodie pulled over the ensemble.
When she sets foot inside, it's with a heavy clump to her step. It's quite possibly for the first time since Constantine hired her that there's no skip. What she does notice is that there's a lot of things that are out of place and her boss is… out of sorts.
"Uh— " how does one begin this kind of a conversation with an angry Russian man? "— uhm.. Is the monkey still here?" And the framed rubbing behind it, but she doesn't mention that bit.
When the sound of Delia entering reaches his ears, Constantine spins quickly to face the source of the noise. Although he maintains his hold on both the clipboard and the pen in his hands, he stops his right hand right in the middle of reaching for his hip. There's nothing there, of course, but it's still a strange sort of reaction. Less like a doctor or shopkeeper, and more like a nervous police officer or soldier. Curious.
"Oh, the monkey's fine," the man remarks, "In fact, everything's fine." It's with a sarcastic gesture of his arms that Constantine says this. "Nothing seems to be missing, at least, although it'll take a full reconciliation to determine that." With a huff, it's back to the clipboard, and it's obvious what it's for: He needs a full count of everything that's missing, if anything, before he files a police report. Because, ripper or not, the shop is still legitimate, and Constantine needs to follow the usual laws expected of a businessman.
Letting her backpack slip from her shoulder, Delia pulls out a few treats that she'd brought for the dog. She didn't bring anything for Constantine, simply because she didn't think of it.. and likely his tastes are a little more expensive than a few quarters. "Everything doesn't look fine…" the sullen mumble carries just far enough to reach his ears. Then she blanches some and widens her eyes a little. "I— I didn't forget to do something important, did I? Like… lock the door? I mean, I know I was excited about leaving but I've never missed locking it yet. Anywhere I've worked— "
A sudden rush of guilt on top of everything else she's already dealing with turns her pale skin a little sickly as she surveys the goods on the counter. Her eyes fall on the little collection of novelty keychains that she and her room mate have painstakingly manufactured. They seem so— out of place.
"It's one less thing to worry about replacing," is really all that Constantine says on the matter of the door. He's not a many of many words, but he's not normally terse, either. Clearly, this is not a good sign.
For all the gloom, however, here comes Ranger from behind the counter, his usual sniffing, snorting self. Even he seems more upset than usual, although this is much more likely because of the overall mood in the shop. He's still plainly pleased to see Delia. But then, he's also a dog.
Shuch a wuvable widdle dog.
But the baby talk is kept to her inside voice, projected outwardly as a ruffle of the ears and slipping the two treats to the snuffling dog's tongue from the palm of her hand. When she straightens, Delia wipes the drool on the thigh of her stolen jeans and kicks her backpack to the side of the counter. "Do you want me to start somewhere else? Counting everything?" She reaches behind the counter and pulls out a notebook, a ledger of sorts. The notebook she's been using to keep track of everything she purchased and sold. Then another, smaller, notebook for the back room supplies that she sold and for how much.
"So— uhm— who do you think— I know it's a dumb question but.. Do you have a clue who might've done it?" The two notebooks are presented to the doctor/shopkeep before she turns to begin organizing.
"Somebody wearing shoes." The doctor indicates a set of footprints on the single rug on the floor, left for all the world to see, preserved with a combination of water and mud. Lovely. The notebooks are snatched away with no small amount of irritation. "I want," Constantine begins, "Things to rewind back to before this happened, so that it won't. Is that something you can do, because I can't."
Wrinkling her nose, Delia turns away to scowl at— the footprint— rather than Constantine himself. "No but I can find people in their sleep." Not a very useful talent when presented in such a way. "If you knew anything, I might've been able to track them down— maybe get your stuff back. Or something."
She lets loose a yawn that she can't stifle, it's not loud, just long. The sort that stretches out her face like something out of a Lovecraft story with a mouth big enough to swallow a man's head. Only without the sharkteeth. As she arranges a few of the items on the shelves, she stares at the footprint, trying to find some sort of clue to the identity of the— person(?)— that might have done this. She's not exactly a detective, not at all, but she's seen one on television.
"'Or something,' right." That wasn't very nice, Constantine. "I don't even know if anything is missing. All I know is they came in through the door-" A gesture that way- "Made a terrific mess-" And sweeping all around himself- "And then left." And a gesture to the door again. "Maybe they took, small things I haven't noticed yet. Nothing of obvious value is gone. All the medicines are still here, all the instruments, I don't, know. All I know is, in through the door, terrific mess, left."
There's a small moment when Delia, her head still bowed down to the floor as she tries to pick a spot to begin, stops breathing. Then her head lifts suddenly toward the caged monkey and she stands on her tiptoes to look for a frame behind it. Letting off a sigh of relief when she spies the red crayon, she turns away and begins to pick up and arrange the merchandise back onto shelves and into each item's original place.
At least, to the best of her recollection. Which is fairly good considering the shelves were dusted every few days.
It's tedious, slow, and takes far too long for her mind to stay on the task at hand rather than start daydreaming about other things. "A man came out of my television one night… His name is Luka Oolyasomethingorother… He's from Russia." Idle conversation that might annoy her employer or get his mind off of so much fuming.
It's true: Something that far out of left field might annoy most people. But then, most people, even most proprietors, are not doctors. Constantine is annoyed only for a brief moment, and then his mind wanders towards other possible meanings and implications of the statement. At the very least, Delia succeeds in that she has distracted him from fuming. "I'm, sorry, would you mind repeating that?" he asks. The edge has left his voice, replaced instead with heavily veiled curiosity.
"I was watching a movie one night, in my bedroom, when there was a loud bang and zapping from my television set and a burned man was bleeding all over my floor." Delia glances toward Constantine as she puts the unsold dragon skull sculpture back in its rightful place. Raising one shoulder and letting it drop in a shrug, she raises her eyebrows at the piece and wipes the dust off of it with her sleeve. "I can't understand a word he says but I have two housemates that are from Russia, so they can… He scared Tania half to death. She almost beat him with a bottle of shampoo."
Then she turns toward Constantine with a weak smile before going back to cleaning. "I bet he never has to use a door… just zaps in and out of places as much as he pleases… except for burning and bleeding all over. That wouldn't be too fun."
That the event happened, Constantine won't dispute. In this world, it's a very real possibility. It's the fact that she mentioned it, and while she may well have been just trying to change the topic, it pulls Constantine's attention enough to get a good look at poor Delia. "You don't look the least bit well," he says after a moment of quiet.
Pressing her lips together, Delia's eyebrows knit together and she tries to shrug off the observation. Caught between nodding and shaking her head, she avoids eye contact and finally settles for a firm jerk up and down of her chin. "Someone I know has that new flu… and he won't let me help. So all I can do is sit, and wait, and hope that he gets better. I've been looking for him when he's sleeping but I haven't been able to connect— I guess that's the right word." She pauses and lets out a mirthless huff at her own circumstance. "That's where I've been. Asleep. Just waiting for him."
Constantine's eyes narrow. "And you haven't suggested he see a physician for a particular and compelling reason, correct?" he asks, "Or forced him to see a physician?" Both questions are pointed and direct. And also just a little bit like statements at the same time. As if to mean, 'of course you forced him to see a doctor.'
"I can't force him to do anything, I don't even know where he is. He dropped me off at his apartment and left. The only doctor that I know that's evolved— " She pauses, looking for the right words to describe Dr. Brennan. "He's not exactly someone I trust to keep secrets. He kept mine and didn't turn me in when I was sick but Nick's case is a little different." She turns a look at Constantine and shakes her head, turning her back to the doctor.
More items are put up on the shelves and every few seconds she stops working to wipe her cheek on her shoulder. It might be because she's starting to sweat from all the heavy labor. The small dark patch on the fabric of her sleeve might beg to differ. "Eileen will take good care of him, I know she will."
There's a familiar name. After all, given the circles they move in, there are only so many Eileen's they can know. But even if it is another Eileen, it doesn't matter. "I think you need a personal day," Constantine says, "Not one where you aren't here and are trying to find your friend, but one just for you. As it is, you look like the walking dead."
It's surprise that greets Constantine and an angle of her head that conveys suspicion more than anything else. "I'm fine," Delia insists, mirroring the same attitude as soooooooo many other of their mutual acquaintances. "Besides, I wouldn't know what to do with myself except for sleep. My garden probably looks like hell…" Another change of topics, this one taking the focus off of her state of being and placing it onto a hobby of sorts. "I started growing herbs and stuff, I want to learn all about using them instead of medicine. So I can be more help here. I think I'm getting pretty good at it."
"Then get your garden back into shape," the doctor suggests, "Or, learn more about toxicology. Go for a ride on a bike path. Do something other than worry about sleep. Mental health is just as important as physical health. Fail to take care of one, and the other suffers. Take a personal day, my professional opinion." On that, Constantine's tone suggest that he's unlikely to change his mind.
"I'll uhm.. help clean up first?" Perhaps a bargain on Delia's part before turning the table and lifting her chin defiantly to Constantine. "Do you know a lot about herbs and plants? Toxicology? Nick and I were camping when he got sick. If everything had gone perfectly, I was going to try to work on my plant journal… I'm getting a little better about identifying them when they grow in the wild, but I still need a book."
She pivots on the heel of one of her boots and moves toward the cabinet with the drawers wrenched open. "It'd be neat to know which of these would help Nick. I was reading the news and the symptoms are scary enough without thinking— thinking about the rest."
"I'm sure I have something he can take for his symptoms. But I'm quite serious about needing a day for yourself. Think of it this way." Constantine pauses for a moment. Possibly, he is thinking of how he wishes Delia to think of things. "You don't know where he is, and you haven't been able to find him, but you know that Eileen is caring for him. He is in very capable hands, in that case. You could worry about him, but it won't help him to get well. What it will do is impact your health, and then when he is well, you won't be. And then, he'll be in your position. You understand what I'm saying?"
There's a slight nod from Delia as she considers the argument in favor of taking the time. "You're right," she finally responds idly sliding the medicine drawers back into their original positions. "I was pretty sick after I got lost. I should probably keep my promise to him to only sleep eight hours at a time instead of days." Or weeks. Or months. "When I woke up after I found my body again, I couldn't control it very well anymore. He'd probably get a little miffed if I did it again, if he gets better."
Stalking to the edge of the counter, she stoops to ruffle the dog's ears before reaching for her pack. "If you have anything, and you know how to get a hold of Eileen… Do you think you could maybe pass it on? I can pay for it."
"I'll do what I can." If somewhat roundabout, Delia had the right idea to improve the doctor's mood. With something inside of his specialty to focus on, the issue of the break-in became much less immediately dire. "Antibiotics as necessary, rest, and water are what he needs. No matter how it mutates, influenza itself is rarely fatal for someone who is young and otherwise healthy. I'm sure he'll be fine. But, as I said, if you get sick yourself, he'll also be irate." That is probably true.
The fact that the break-in has, in Constantine's eyes, become less immediately dire is evidenced by the fact that he is setting the notebooks aside. Apparently, the reconciliation of current inventory with expected inventory can wait a bit. "And, as I said, it really doesn't look as though anything is missing. Nothing that should be, at least. There may be nothing to report, and I insist your energy is better spent resting or gardening than worrying. Exercise, or garden a bit, then come back in a few days and we'll see where things are then.
"Doctor's orders."