I Make House Calls Too


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Scene Title I Make House Calls Too
Synopsis Coren stops by to see Abby after her name is broadcast to the entire city via the media. He's not happy that she spends so much time outside of his reach.
Date April 24, 2009

Village Renaissance Building, Abby's Apartment

An average middle class apartment, it's populated with decidedly not middle class furniture. A solitary red suede couch occupies the immediate living room, with a battered coffee table and side tables as it's companion. A decent sized TV sits on a cupboard with a stereo, DVD player. The kitchen sports a relic from the 70's, with matching chairs that still seem to be in decent condition. The two bedrooms off the hall are distinguishable from the other, one bearing a gold cross nailed above the door, the other not.

In the corner of the living room is an ornate cage on a bird stand, a blue budgie within it's depths. In another corner is a massive cat tree house, and often occupied by a black cat with a red suede collar. It looks barely lived in, like the owners are not yet investing their effort quite yet to move in.

It's one of those rare days off, and — surprise, surprise — Coren Shelby is perfectly sober. He approaches the Village Renaissance without the air of professionalism he would normally carry himself with, appearing to be little more than the average person. His attire is comprised of cargo pants and a plain shirt underneath a grey windbreaker. It's in part intentional, since he would love nothing more than to arrest some rat-bastard reporter for assaulting an officer, but unfortunately he has no such luck. He does, however, have to get around the press, and it's not the simplest job in such a case, but once he's past them, it isn't too hard to get into the building and to Abigail's apartment, thanks to his badge.

The badge really is the passkey to everything. Gets him the floor and the apartment number that she's on. 306. She gets a call from the front desk to inform her she has a visitor, because they don't want their residents to not know there's someone in and coming up to visit. Not that Abigail didn't see him. She's been parked at her window, a high stool parked beside it and watching the reporters below. The microphones that get held out to people as they come and go, the shifts taken. They got some pictures of her and "no comment" when she's been helped home last night after taking care of Felix.

So she saw Coren as he entered bustled his way past the reporters and the eventual phone call. Her door was open and the pyjama clad woman with her blue jersey and flannel robe over her shoulders holds a bowl of cereal with a spoon poking out from the top when the elevator deposits it's cargo on the third floor. Someone slept in.

Cargo. Sometimes, that's exactly what Coren feels like. He's somewhat concerned when he comes upon the open door until he spots Abigail there. "Aren't you concerned someone with less ideal intentions might manage to get up here, and you have your door wide open?"

"You're underestimating the security of this place" Abigail answers. "I saw you coming. Through the window, and then they called and warned me. This place is pretty heavy on security. I think they even have camera's in the elevators" Her southern drawl a little thicker today but nowhere near untranslatable. "Coffee?" She's not hanging near the door for long, leaving it open for him to come in as she disappears into the depths of the apartment. He'll come in, or he won't.

Yes, he will come in, and despite her reassurances, he closes the door behind him. Coren does not share her faith in the security in any building, having seen first hand how it can fail. "Please," he says, in response to her offer for coffee.

There's a black cat that's parked itself in a patch of sunshine, A blue budgie who hops about it's big ornate cage in a corner of the livingroom. Furniture that's a mix of mostly old with the couch being the new piece. That and the TV. Abigail's shuffled off to the kitchen, her faded and worn blue slippers making a shushing sound against the carpets. "In the kitchen Dete… Coren" He wants to be called Coren when he's off duty. The place looks barely live din, freshly moved to. Easy enough when one glimpses down the hall to figure out that the door with the Cross above it's arch belongs to the female of the place. "Bathrooms down the hall on the right"

"Swell," the Englishman says as he gives the place a trained once-over, his eyes flickering between the budgie and the cat. Coren follows Abigail into the kitchen. "Are you not concerned your budgie might become cat lunch?" he asks her. He doesn't say anything about the place looking barely lived in.

"Scarlett doesn't bother Pila. You can train them to not go after the bird so long as you get them when they're kittens" Abigails working some space aged machine that is the coffee maker but could very well be a rocket ship for all it's buttons. "Pila's not mine. She belongs to a friend who is afraid he can't give her the proper attention, but I can. Scarlett leaves her alone. He spent weeks training her, Scarlett, to be nice with Pila" There's a cup soon made out of the machine and the bowl of granola that was abandoned is taken up again once cream, sugar and a spoon is made available for the detective. "I'm guessing, you saw the news"

Coren takes his coffee black, so doesn't add anything to it, leaving the spoon nice and clean. "Whatever gave you that idea?" he asks. He takes a sip of his coffee. "Out of curiosity, how frequently do you pop on over to the other side of the city ruins?"

"Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays. School, psychologists, doctors appointments, the hospital. I ride my scooter or if the weather isn't good or it's heavy snow, I take the bus. occasionally a taxi when I can afford it" She's not having coffee like him. She's got a tall glass of something green, thick and slightly chunky along with her granola. The front of her fridge littered with a calendar, papers with what looks like a diet plan, reminders of various things to do. Pick up more kitty litter. Call home. Etc etc. "Because your up here, and the only officer who makes house calls is Elisabeth. You come to the bar"

"I make house calls too," Coren comments. Obviously. He is, after all, making a house call. "You really should try getting doctors and psychologists down here, and perhaps choose a closer school. It's an awful lot of effort to get around the ruins, and all the time spent doing it could be better spent doing other things. Less gas for your scooter, too, assuming it's not electric." No, he's never seen the scooter. He eyes the green, chunky liquid and takes a drink of his coffee. Yes, he's trying to make sure she stays a little closer to home. So sue him.

Nope, that is decidedly not an electric scooter. It's an old fashioned Vespa, modified to put out a bit more. Upside to having known someone who was a genius with bikes. "My psychologist is one who gets grants for working with those who are evolved and dealing with Post Traumatic Stress. She works with me for free, or I suspect, for very cheap and I never see the bill because it's paid for by my doctor. My doctor is someone who's office is on the other end of town and again, does what I need, for free and I'm not going to turn it down because we rarely see eye to eye on my gift, except when he's trying to get me back in shape and trying to make me more.. efficient" So that's not happening. Both are responsible for her being in the current healthy state she's in. "School, well. It's only to get the classes I need and then there's another one, closer that I can attend for actual EMT training. I live and work a few blocks away from each other, and my church is another few blocks away. I think, i'm doing pretty good. I used to live in China town and before that Brooklyn" The green chunky drink is offered up. "Just fruits and vegetables. Nothing bad. Tastes good, looks disgusting"

Abby's blue eyes focus on the Detective. "I don't cut through midtown. I learned my lesson about doing that. So don't worry. Can I ask though, why the concern. Are you worried someone might figure out my schedule and try to make another run at me?"

"With this recent incident with the news…." Coren swallows his coffee. "I can't lie and say the thought hadn't crossed my mind."

"I couldn't do anything about that. He was going to die in front of his daughter if I hadn't and if I had the chance to do it all over, i'd do it again. I'm already missing classes because of this. I'm being careful. Not that I wasn't careful before. But thank you, for your worry. There's not much anyone can do to Detective Shelby anyways. I have to keep going on with my life as best I can and hope that something.. better or worse comes along and they get tired of waiting for me to stick my head out of my gopher hole"

"Here's hoping the vultures find something more interesting to do than stand around here all day." Coren sets his coffee mug back down where he got it from in the first place. "Just please, try to keep your head down. There's a reason we call the press vultures."

"I'm trying. Really. I promise I am" There's a little more of a whine in it then she intends. he's not the first to tell her that. Even before the incident in the park that brought on said vultures.

Coren nods and starts out of the kitchen. "Well, I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing before I crashed through the door. I have a few errands to run." And by errands, he means try to find out what idiot let Abigail's name slip in the first place.

It was a nurse, they'll find. If they dig deep enough. Some woman who was well meaning, hoping to get the girl a little recognition and not realizing that while it would do that, it would also complicate and turn things a little worse too. Nothing screws up anonymity like good intentions. The bowl of granola is put down so she can walk Coren to the door, the cat parked in front of the closed portal, glaring at everyone in it's midnight black fur and freaky yellow eyes. Red velvet collar. "Thank you for stopping by and making sure i'm okay. If I need help i'll give Elisabeth a call but she's been keeping close tabs on me"

"Right," Coren says. "Have a good day, Abigail." On that note, he leaves the apartment and makes his way back to the elevator, and down to the main level and through the throng of vultures waiting outside. How he would love to be knocked over by one, but he makes it to his car unbattered.

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