Friendly Conventions


quinn_icon.gif sid_icon.gif

Scene Title Friendly Conventions
Synopsis Two strangers exchange friendly conversation while stranded in St. Luke's, and an offer is made between them.
Date May 10, 2010

St. Luke's Hospital

St. Luke's Hospital is known for its high-quality care and its contributions to medical research. Its staff place an emphasis on compassion for and sensitivity to the needs of their patients and the communities they serve. In addition to nearby Columbia University, the hospital collaborates with several community groups, churches, and programs at local high schools. The associated Roosevelt Hospital offers a special wing of rooms and suites with more amenities than the standard hospital environment; they wouldn't seem out of place in a top-rated hotel. That said, a hospital is a hospital — every corridor and room still smells faintly of antiseptic.

"Damnit!" If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Quinn wasn't normally someone who was easy to annoy most of the time, but it seemed like lately everything was hitting on her buttons like clockwork, and even as a few members of the staff looked up at her following her outburst she cursed loudly again, shaking her head. She had been willing to deal with the snow. She had been upset, but able to handle not being able to get back home, despite two attempts to venture back out of St. Luke's and into the snow. She'd even weathered the hours where her iPhone was dead and charging. But this was a bit too much for her.

"You got to be feckin' kiddin' me!" she exclaims as she holds her hand out, flexing her fingers. A bright red acoustic guitar sits across her lap. Even with the relative warmth of the hospital compared to outside, her hands were too cold to properly play her guitar, and that was the last straw. Slumping back in her seat, she sighs, looking around the room. Perhaps it was for the best anyway, all anyone'd done was gawk at her since she pulled the instrument out of its case…

A ghostly face peers out at Quinn from under a hood of blanket. It's a man's face, young and twisted in alarm as the lady shrieks. He's gawking, but the expression fades to mild interest as he eyes her flamboyant guitar. He's slumped, not in a chair but on the floor, huddled up in blankets so that only his face and his booted feet are visible. Finally, he speaks. His voice is hoarse, almost inaudible. "You play?" Dumb question, maybe.

Quinn raises an eyebrow as she looks over at the speaker, a smirk on her face. "That might be one way of puttin' it," she replies with a joking tone in her voice. She sits back up, taking another stab at a simple chord progression, but after it comes out sounding rightly half assed, she throws her hands up in defeat. "Ah, forget it. I'd be playing better if I was buckled up." Setting the guitar back in its case, she stands and stretches, looking back at the man. "Do you play, too?" she inquires curiously, walking over towards him with a notebook in her hand.

Sid cocks his head back and forth, blanket rustling as he does. "On and off for a few years now. I'm still shit. I think I nearly pissed myself when I managed to pluck out 'Stairway to Heaven'." A beat. "You in a band?"

The Irish girl takes the open seat next to the man, a bit hunched as she looks at the notebook, taking only a moment to glance up at him as he speaks. "Eh, no. Kinda wish I was. Been lookin' for a while now." She shifts in her seat, looking up with a smile. "Stairway's not really in my style, but that's still impressive enough to not be shit."

Sid slumps a little farther down the wall and the blanket is tugged to reveal a peak of dark hair. "Pfft. Thanks, but it's cool. I know I suck." He twists, eyes lifting to meet hers. "What's your style then?"

Quinn chuckles , shrugging. "I 'unno. Depends on the instrument, really. When it comes to guitar, I prefer to play slower stuff. A few friends of mine call it emo. I hate 'em for it," she replies, glancing over at the vending machine for a moment. "You live near here? I'm hoping I'm not the only one stranded from home."

Sid shifts at the question, repositioning himself under the blanket. "Yeah, I'm kind of screwed in that department, actu'ly." He doesn't elaborate. Just shifts again, and there's the sound of scraping linoleum.

"Eh?" It isn't much of a reply, and the confused look on Quinn's face relays what she thinks well enough. "That sounds rather unpleasant," she says, but she can't decide if she wants to press the issue further. "Well, not much better place to be holed up than a hospital, I figure." A pause, and then a grin. "Well, I think a café or something like that would be nice 'bout now," she remarks as she pulls a pencil out of her jeans and puts it to the notebook in her lap.

Sid nods, that scraping growing a little louder as he continues to fidget. Two blanket-swathed bumps emerge, likely Sid's knees, as he finally settles in this position. The scraping stops. "Yeah, no joke. I could go for a high right now." His eyes glaze a little as he stares off at the vending machine.

Before she can consider exactly what he meant by the statement, Quinn catches Sid's stare, and her grin widens. "I was thinkin' the same thing, actually." She hops up, tossing the notebook down on the chair. "Care for some crisps? Some candy?" she asks as she pulls her wallet out of a pocket in her hoodie and begins sifting through it. As she pulls out a bill, she flexes her fingers again, smiling.

Sid blinks, snapping out of his little daze. "Uh… yeah. I'm… kind of starving." He sounds hesitant, unsure if this chick's offering to buy, or what. And she said 'crisps'. He watches her, eyes narrowing slightly to see what she does.

Quinn wastes no time in getting to the vending machine and slipping a dollar bill into it. The beep of buttons falls, and a green bag of chips tumbles down. The process is repeated again, this time a brown bag falling to the bottom. She winces as she catches her hand pulling them out, but regardless smiles as she turns back, walking forward with both bags in hand. "Sour cream or Barbeque. Gotta preference?"

Sid's expression grows covetous as he hungrily eyes the bags. "Either. Seriously." Yet another pause, and his eyes lift to meet hers. "But… I don't have any money."

Quinn laughs, tossing the BBQ chips to Sid. "No worries. It's nice to have someone to talk to who isn't depressed or acting like a muppet," she remarks as she tears open her own bag of chips. Plopping down in her seat, she turns and offers the empty hand to Sid. "Quinn."

The chips land in the net of blanket between Sid's chest and knees. Slowly, a hand peeks out past the grey felt to slip into Quinn's. The hand is oddly blackened, and sleeve of the exposed jacket he wears looks tattered and burned. He winces slightly as their hands meet, but despite the black, his hand seems fine. "Sid. Thanks. For the 'crisps'." A slow smirk curls his lip. His hand falls from hers and reaches for the crisps. He tears the bag about with his teeth and begins to scarf them down like a ravenous animal.

Quinn visibly frowns as Sid offers his hand, looking at it for a hard second before he releases his grip. "You sure you're not here for frostbite?" she remarks, slipping back into her seat. She sounds like she's joking, but there's a hint of seriousness to her words. "And not a problem. Being starving sucks, I know. After shoving a few of the chips in her mouth, Quinn rises again, flexing her fingers. "I think it may be warm enough now…" she observes as she grabs she unplugs something from the wall next to her old seat, grabbing a bag and her guitar case and moving them to where she sits next to Sid.

As she sits, the latches slip open and the bright red guitar is pulled out. The other items set aside, Quinn stuffs her mouth with a few more chips before once again attempting the same chord progression she had attempted several minutes earlier. This time, it sounds much better.

Sid looks up at her, cheeks stuffed like a deranged hamster. He swallows with a big gulp and tosses his head. "Not frostbite. My place burnt down. Tried to save some shit, but only got this." There's a hard 'slap slap' from under the blanket, the sound of flesh hitting hard plastic. He eyes her as she works, almost seeming to size her up. But he nods as she plays. "Sounds good."

"Yikes," Quinn replies, not seeming to notice the compliment. "So that's… huh." She pauses playing for a moment, instead putting the guitar down across some seats. Grabbing the notebook, she begins to job several things down. "You don't mind lots'a loud music or anythin' like that, do ya?" she inquires as she writes.

Sid cranes, trying to see what she's writing. "How loud can it be without an amp?" he retorts with a grin. "Just go ahead, and I'll tell you if it sucks or not." He settles down, what smirk still plastered on his lips as he looks expectantly up at her, as if ready for the performance.

She looks up, puzzled. "Huh?" She doesn't wait for an answer, instead turning back to the piece of paper. After a moment longer, she tears it off and offers it over to Sid. "You seem like a cool guy, so.. if you need a place to sleep for a night or two once the storm bugs off, swing by," she says, smiling - the paper has a name, phone number, and address. "I've almost been out on my arse before, and that wasn't too fun," she continues. "You just have to not mind a lotta music."

Sid … was not expecting that. He blinks down at the paper, then up at Quinn, then back down at the paper. "Are you… serious?"

Quinn shrugs. "Sure, why not. It's like all the space is being used for anything, don't have a roommate anymore. Studio apartment though," she replies smiling. "Just don't make me regret it." She pulls the guitar back over her lap, slumping a bit. "If you don't wanna, that's fine. Strange lady offers you and address, I'd be wary too!" She giggles at that, strumming a few times.

Slowly, the paper retreats into Sid's blanket fortress. "No, I'm… I mean…" He sighs and smiles. "That's really cool of you." He shuffles for a moment, odd angles jutting out of the blanket as Sid words. Then, he suddenly stands, letting the blanket curl about his shoulders like a cape. It only goes to his knees, his long, skinny legs exposed. He reaches out a free hand to Quinn, "Good to meet you, Quinn."

Quinn looks up, removing her hand from the neck of the guitar and reaching up to take Sid's. "Better than lettin' it go all to pot, you know, " she replies with a grin, nodding. "If you're goin' out in the snow, be safe. It's driven me back here twice now."

Her words are pretty apt! Sid's grin widens as he releases her hand and slips down the hall. Left in her hand is a neatly rolled joint. No money, but there are other ways to say thanks, apparently.

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