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| Scene Title | Healing and Dealing |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Dump and run, it's starting to be a trend |
| Date | February 15, 2009 |
The Happy Dagger - Basement Tenements
It's a bedroom, for all intents and purposes. There's even a window, although it's high up on the wall, and barred with grill and glass. Should someone peek, they'll only see dirty alley way and the flat, nondescript backdrop of a separate building beyond that. The room itself is bleak, if comfortable. The walls are cement and unpainted, the floor cheaply carpeted and the bed adequately dressed, a single thing pushed into the corner of the room. An empty book case gapes from the opposite wall, and a heavy oak trunk, something of an antique and actual worth, rests next to it, previously empty but now filled with at least most of the room occupant's belongings.
Two doors after that, one that stays locked and leads to out, wherever out is, and the other torn off its hinges to reveal a very basic, slightly rundown bathroom. But it works, hot water running at will, a working toilet, partially cracked mirror moderately clean, and towels and bare necessities provided.
It's designed for existing. But not much more than that.
After nine, that's where noise really starts up above Abigail. She's gotten used to the schedule that the residents and customers of the building above established. Bebe's come and gone, and the tree lizard soup and ginseng tea have long since been devoured. The plastic spoon however, has disappeared to places unknown and likely not to be realized. She's saving that. Abigail is dead asleep though, thanks to bebe's healing and lack of coffee and any other such stimulant that she normally pumps herself full of on a daily and even hourly basis. Back to the wall, head on pillow and blankets covering her, the healer sleeps, oblivious to what has occured elsewhere.
Soon, the thud of footsteps will rouse Abby from her sleep, heavy and uncaring of the late hour. Masculine voices follow soon after, too quiet to make out words, but perhaps one tone will be a little familiar. Logan. The lock of the door is tampered with and the door swings open noisily, banging against the concrete wall and the light flicked on carelessly, sharp fluorescent white-light filling the room.
"Wakey wakey," Logan says, as if that all weren't enough. He's dressed very much like such a man that'd run this establishment, his shirt of expensive make but glaringly orange, sedated only by the charcoal-black pinstripe suit he wears over it. His eyes, also, are looking particularly green today, which may have someone to do with the young woman currently draped in the arms of a big burly security guard. Should she come too, and fight through the pain… well, he's not going to risk even a little bit of what Kain described, is he? Her powers are suppressed.
Incidentally, Logan has something in his hand, other hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket as he steps aside to let hired held and injured girl further into the room. He holds a six pack, not of beer, but of that glorious substance - Red Bull.
There is no movement from the girl, who looks particularly young in her unconscious state. She also looks vaguely peaceful, except for the extremely pale tone of her skin — and the crusted blood that stains her mouth.
Abigail's upright in a flash, light sleeper due to circumstances. Confusion reigns supreme on the blonde's face as she rubs her face. Wait, there's a woman.. "Again? Can you not keep them in one piece?" Is snapped out to Logan. She's tired, she gets cranky. Even Abby isn't mary sunshine twenty four hours a day. She backs up into the corner of the bed that is also the intersecting of two walls. "Kidnap her too? Or did you let someone run her through with something as well?" She's tired, really tired. She doesn't want to do this, even as her eyes fall on Cally.
"She's not one of mine, actually," Logan says, letting Abby's snippy comments roll off him as he shuts the door behind him. "This fallen angel was handed right to me just this evening. I've yet to figure a use for her, Abigail, although if you're going to be difficult, that use will be 'worm feed'." And with that, said 'fallen angel' is set down onto Abigail's bed, whether the woman chooses to move or not. Logan sets the cans down onto one of the shelves, breaking plastic as he removes one, and offers to throw it towards the blonde. He seems presumptuous, but vividly green eyes are now studying Abby, as if monitoring her behavior.
"I want my bible. I want it. Then I'll heal her" Abby's behavior is just barely this side of restrained, the green eyes taking her attention. She knows what the green eyes mean, the feeling that usually accompanies the glow. The redbull though. Seems Bebe passed along that little word. "I won't heal anymore people, until I get it" Poor Cally, for now, is neglected. Not even a press of her hands to check pulse despite the 'fallen angel' literally on her feet.
The girl, Cally, moans slightly, as her back hits the bed. Even so deeply out, the shivers of pain are evident. Her expression trembles, as if she might open her eyes, or stir some more. But she doesn't. The street girl just lays there, on the bed in the basement, her clothes matching the decor in shabbiness, especially the back of her jacket, which is marred with burns. Electrical burn marks.
A pause, a smirk twitching at the corner of Logan's mouth. There may as well just be two people in the room, his security guard a silent and menacing presence and Cally too out of it to contribute to the conversation, the real crux of negotiation flaring between the miracle worker and the brothel owner. "We can make deals when she lives," he says, finally, and now he tosses the can to Abby, whether she wants to catch it or not. It's not as though Abby is asking for anything Logan doesn't have. But that's not entirely the point.
"Halfway. Enough that she'll live for sure. You can send someone to get it" She knows he's likely gone through her bags. How else has she had some of her clothes. The red bull can is caught, a resentful look given to the brothel owner. It doesn't stop the sound of the tab being popped reverberating through the room or the blonde guzzling it. "What's wrong with her?" Seems like she's going to get down to business regardless.
The fallen angel remains where she is on the bed, not moving. Still, and silent, breathing so light it's hardly noticeable. Like the dead.
"She's dying," Logan says, with a shrug. The green of his eyes is fading down towards their usual paleness, now, and he gives Cally one last glance. "As far as I can tell." The pimp is, after all, a pimp and not a doctor. He didn't look awful close. "My guess is she wandered a little too far to where it's unsafe to go. Half-heal her, or whatever it is you wish, then knock on the door and we'll have her collected. Then perhaps you'll get your Bible, and we can further our negotiations." Busy man, it seems, because he glances to the security guard and tilts his head. The large Tongan man leads the way, Logan sparing one last look towards Abby, who receives a dazzling smile and a wink, and perhaps just the gentlest nudge of chemical happy, before he's making for the door as well. Things to see, people to do.
Fucker. Does it count if you swear and it's not heard verbally? She shudders at the frisson of joy that runs through her, looking down to Cally. "I want my Bible" Is all that's shot at him, more petulant now, than angry thanks to his chemical tweak, but it looks like she's going to do it, take care of the dying woman. The empty can put up on the small windowsill between the bars, a slender pale hand caresses the woman's cheek on her way to her neck, take her pulse.
Cally's head moves into the caress unconsciously, almost instinctively. Dirty strands of dyed hair brush aside, showing eyes that flutter slightly. Only a flash of her irises show, however, unfocused, unseeing. And then the girl lays still once more, breathing faintly, her pulse weak.
'Fabulous" Abby murmurs with a wrinkle of her nose. She'll see how badly the girl is hurt, whether she needs another red bull or not. Abby shifts, careful to lift Cally enough to drop the woman's head into her lap, make her comfortable before she puts a hand on the woman's chest, above the collarbone and the other on her forehead. "Let my heart be the vessel of God's Love. Let my thoughts be the blossom of God's Love. Let my words be the expression of God's Love. Let my actions be the fulfillment of God's Love." The healing flares to life, turned outward by the blonde healer. Warmth and tingling pour forth to start it work. Slowly, gauging where the healing is being pulled to and how greedy the woman's body is for it to figure out where the wounds are.
The girl's body is weak, that is clear. High volts of electricity have been run through her body, leaving her clinging to life. The worst of the physical damage, however, is centered around her back and spine, though it's also clear that her central nervous system has taken a hard hit from the electrical shower she was exposed to.
And as the healing pours into her, her body lapping up greedily, she begins to stir a bit. Her eyelids flicker a bit more, and her pulse grows steadier, a bit more pronounced.
"Hey, you need to stay still hmm? Your hurt, and… your really hurt, and it's easier if you stay still okay? I promise, the pain will go away, but you need to stay still" her hands are gentle, pressing lightly to give credence to her words though the pain is likely that too. She's going slow, since she doesn't know the extent of the damage but she gets the feeling that Logan wasn't lying. "There's a little white church in the valley, That stands in my memory each day, And it seems I can hear the bells now ringing, Though I am many miles away, And many times in church on Sunday morning, That whole countryside would gather there, They would all kneel down by the altar, As they lifted up their voice in prayer. Oh the church in the valley that little white church, Is the place I love so well. Now I'm sad and lonely yes I'm sad and lonely For that little white church in the dell" Abigail's voice pours out, hoping that it'll help calm the girl and it's a voice easily heard on the other side of the door and in the hallway.
The more the healing continues, the more the singing and stroking continues, the more Cally's consciousness struggles to the surface. And it's a struggle that shows, in her pained expression, in her balled fists; in the way she begins to, at first slowly, squirm.
Noises start in her throat, issuing in a gargling moan, and her eyes flutter again, fighting to open. It's clear this girl is a fighter, and even takes grasping her way back to life in a fighter's manner. As hard and fast as she can, whatever the consequences.
"They would sing the old song Rock of Ages, Oh Christ let me hide myself in thee, And I know some of them are now waiting, Just o'er the dark and stormy sea. I know that troubles all are ended, And happy forever they will be, They are waiting and watching up yonder, For the coming home of you and me." That song ends, and the blonde launches into another about Moses and his shoes. A veritable hymnal book she is, but then, when you've been raised like she has. It's only the surroundings that make it funny. The miracle healer, praying and signing in the basement of the whorehouse.
Eventually though, a good ten minutes on slow, Cally's well out of danger, far past the half that she had tried to barter with and there's just a little left to heal. Abigail falls silent, watching the other woman, her face and the little gold cross hanging over the other woman, concern and gentleness.
And soon after, Cally's eyes flutter open. Starting out hazy, the wide, almond-shaped brown eyes focus in with quick clarity. First they focus on the gold cross, brow crinkling in sleepy confusion. Then they look past, meeting Abby's eyes in silence.
Those eyes narrow, and suddenly she pushes away, skitting across the bed to the far side, and crouching like a cornered alley cat. Despite the lingering pain, and weariness, she eyes the Healer distrustfully. Briefly, she glances around the surroundings, before turning back to Abby.
And when she speaks, its with a dry voice that seems a bit rusty with disuse. Or just dehydrated. "I'm going to want to know where I am, and what the fuck happened. But first, I could eat a cow. And the rest of the livestock on the farm. But I'll settle for a cheeseburger if you got it."
She doesn't want much, does she?
There's no move made to restrain Cally, the healing ends with a thought, and the contact. Abby doesn't look threatening at all, sitting with her legs out in the corner of the bed of the sparse room with it's barr'd windows. "I can't help you much with food, but I do have red bulls" There's a gesture to the three remaining cans where Logan set them. "your in the basement, of a bordello, best I can guess. What happened, I don't know either. Just that you were brought here for me to heal you"
"Red bull. Bordello. Healing." Cally says the words equally, flatly, with the exact same intonation, and a dry look on her face. As if the words are all equally important. "Right," she finally says. "Just another day in New York. Think I should have taken the bus to Vermont instead."
The girl grunts to herself, remaining where she is for only a moment longer, before scuttling off the bed and towards the red bulls. She stumbles about halfway, nearly falling over. But she forces her way onward, unwilling to fail or fall. Grabbing up the can, she ruthlessly pops the seal and begins to chug desperately, only stopping when she has drank more then half of it, rubbing at her mouth. As bits of dried blood flake off onto the back of her hand, her eyes focus back on Abby.
"So who're you?"
'Abigail Beauchamp. Not a whore. Registered Faith Healer" aka, evolved. Cally's taking a red bull. Inwards, she's like some crack addict, calculating how much of the white shit she has left for herself. "Leave one for me. I need it. Your not done. I wasn't finished healing you"
The blonde girl grunts, eying Abby sideways for a moment longer. Her mouth twists slightly, her gaze taking on a thoughtful look, as if weighing something, considering options. Finally she shrugs, perhaps assent, perhaps uncaring dismissal, and finishes drinking down the red bull. She even spends a good minute with the empty can tilted upside down over her upturned open mouth, attempting to drain every last energy-pumping drop.
Once the can has been set aside, she turns back to the Faith Healer, and without a by-your-leave plops down next to the girl, tucking her legs under her, and tilts her head to the side.
"Faith Healer huh? So is healing the extent of your… power? Or do you also get reception for the God Talk Channel? Does he sound like James Earl Jones? Always figured he would. That, or Eddie Izzard." She regards her a bit dryly, but without aggression. Hard to tell if she's poking fun, or actually curious.
'Gift. And no" Abby doesn't know whether Cally's kidding or not and whatever the red bull had given her energy wise was used up by the woman before her. "God doesn't talk to me" She's too tired to deal with this. With socializing when she's been alone in the room for the longest and suddenly she has… That. She doesn't bother praying out loud this time, though she gets a look at the woman's back and settles her hand there. "No scars, I promise"
Cally grunts again in response, but takes a moment to peel off the burned leather jacket, the shirts beneath not in much better condition. She eye ticks slightly, and her mouth thins, but she makes no other complaint. Just sits there, letting Abby work her over however she will.
The surge of warmth and tingling again, abby's healing catching up with everything that's left wrong and hurting. "I'm sorry. I'm really tired. They had me heal someone last night, and.. I get cranky when i'm really tired and .. i'm not exactly being held here willingly" abby offers as an apology for her grumpiness. "You can call me Abby"
"I know the feeling," Cally says, her eyes half-lidded as the healing works through her body, repairing damaged tissue and cells. "I feel like someone stuck all available appendages in the electrical socket." She snorts quietly, then winces slightly even as a wry grin splits her lips "Makes me glad I'm not a man, at least."
Shaking her head, she glances to Abby, briefly considering before saying, "Name's Cally. And just be glad I do feel like shit. I'm usually less polite. Especially when I find myself in bed with strange women."
Letting out a brief laugh, the grin returning, she adds, "And in a whorehouse no less. That's a story."
"Oh, oh I'm sure it is. Almost done, then you can knock on the door. Take one of the red bulls with you. Leave one for me" Abby continues on with the healing. As she does, the routine of the cat house is explained as best that Abby knows. When breakfast, lunch and dinner are served, Warned about Logan and his green eyes and the affects of his ability that she knows of. The nice hookers, the not so nice hookers. When she's done, there's a gesture to the door for Cally to knock, if she wants out, but the blonde healer for all intent purposes, is curling up on the bed, back to the wall and in the corner again, falling asleep about as soon as her head hits the pillow.
 February 15th: Hurtful Heroics |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 February 15th: Batman's Sidekick |