Participants:
| Scene Title | I Need To Score |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Brennan needs Methadone, Doyle is inquired as to whether he knows any dealers and Megan walks in on the middle of the conversation. |
| Date | February 17, 2010 |
Medicine is math. Complicated sequences of numbers that all make sense to the person who knows it, how to manipulate the numbers and pull from it what you need, find the answer. Ordinarily Brennan can do the math in his head. calculate the weight to medicine ratio, and how much total. There's standard doses for adults, children you break it down to varying weights. But he's never needed to calculate Methadone. He's never had a person come to his practice seeking a way to break addiction. Unknwoingly, there's one mother in his service who is a user. Someday in the future he'll find that out.
But for now, brennan's in a hallway, away from the immediate noise, in with the excess supplies waiting to be used. Boxes of saline piled high, fresh syringes in their packages, gauze, bandaids, rough woolen blankets. There's a pillow behind his lower back and a blanket beside him in case he needs it but Michelle's been vigilante about keeping the heat comfortable for everyone. A calculator in hand, and bunch of medical texts open to dosage charts, another one on Methadone and naltrexone. Information that he needs to try and figure out how much of this stuff he'll need. He's tired, working endlessly to oversee everything, deal with the worst cases, making sure that others get the necessary sleep. He's getting his own, but much like everyone else, it all wears down on you. he's also got a bad case of where-the-fuck-did-Colette-go-itis. A couple people have that bad.
There hasn't been much heard from Eric since he fled the scene with Colette; that's not to say that he hasn't been here, he's just been fairly quiet and subdued. He's still been there to help out, despite increasingly dark bangs under his eyes, his manner melancholy in the manner of a beaten dog.
"Hey," he greets quietly as he shuffles down the hallway, reaching over to pick up a stack of grey, scratchy woolen blankets. They're warm, though, which is what's important here. "Need some more blankets."
"If you need Michelle to keep one area a little warmer, let her know. She can go concentrate on a certain area for a little bit" Brennan offers, ducking his head down when Doyle reaches for blankets. "How are you doing Eric? You heard anything about Kaylee?" The mechanical pencil is clicked to produce more lead and more number scratched down as he comes to a final calculation.
As the stack of blankets is picked up, Eric pauses, looking over with a furrowed brow, "…why, is something wrong? I just saw her last night, she was— was alright, just was talking to Colette…"
"Kid took off Eric. I didn't get the whole story, but she had someone from a safehouse.. Andy I think? Had him bring her some clothes and she took off. No ones seen her down here. Don't suppose you know where she might go do you? So I can check in on her. See if she needs anything medical-wise?" He's unhappy, but the worry wins out over the anger that she up and left.
"I know," Eric says quietly, hefting up the blankets with a grimace, nearly ducking his face into the grey wool as he hugs it to his chest, eyes closing briefly, "She wanted to go… so… she went. I don't know where she went. I wasn't — going to try and stop her again."
Again? There's more than likely a story there isn't there? But from the look on Erics face, probably not the time to inquire. Maybe another day. "I'll see if Andy knows, or someone else. Incidentally Eric" Brennan taps the notebook, trying to figure out how to go about asking this question without getting on the bad side of the puppeteer or insulting him.
"Don't happen to know a drug dealer or two do you?"
"A— a what?" Eric leans forward, brow furrowed as he gives the man a baffled look, "I don't, no, I don't think so— why? I mean, I'm not exactly Mister Streetwise here, you know, Harve…"
both hands come up, palms outwards. "I was just asking eric. Not like I know where to get stuff here. I need to get my hands on more methadone that I can reasonably prescribe to a patient or two and not get the powers that be looking my way a little too close. I thought maybe you might but" It seems not. "Know anyone in the ferry who might know one?"
"I normally live… I mean… out on Staten, I might be able to find one," admits the puppetmaster, shifting a bit to straighten with the blankets held against his chest, "Methadone? What is it?"
"Drug used to substitute for drugs like Heroin. Ruskin suggested it, and Naltrexone. Instead of dosing people up with refrain. It's easier to get off of, and gives the same high. They'll need to take it for a while, the people that want to go that route, but it won't be as harsh a route for detox" Or so his information seeking seems to have scrounged up. "You can get it in addiction clinics, they carry plenty. Drug dealers will have it, it's a .. abusable drug, but- BUT… it'll work"
As she steps out of one of the curtained off areas, Megan Young has the look of a woman getting ready to crash hard. Isn't it her turn to sleep? She thinks it might be… maybe. God damn, she wants a cigarette. Leaning back on the wall, she looks up toward the towering arched ceiling of the Terminal and struggles with the urge to go find a set of stairs topside and just keep on walking. Away from all of this. Instead, she sucks in a deep breath and shoves herself off the wall, heading toward the room they're using for supplies. She catches the tail end of what gets said as she hits the doorway, and she looks alarmed. "We're looking for drug dealers for what now?"
"I can, I mean, I can ask around," Doyle replies quietly, shifting with the blankets in his arms a bit, "I guess they don't really… need me around here, I mean— I'm not a doctor, I'm not exactly a lot of help…" The last almost conspiratorially shared, before the words of Megan have him jumping.
"Bullshit Eric. Get a grip on your self esteem. You leave, that's one less person to help take care fo people who actually do need you to get them blankets. Sure, you don't have a medical degree, but you have a bedside manner, and you're a friendly face which is a lot more than they're had in the last couple months or less" He points out.
Brennan falls silent though on the topic, a supportive look to Eric before looking to Megan/ "Methadone and Naltrexone. Ruskin suggested we gets our hands on those two drugs to transfer them onto that instead of feeding them refrain"
There's a thoughtful look as Meg leans one shoulder on the wall with a brief smile at Doyle. "Will those actually counter the Refrain issues? I hadn't thought it was as simple as that, honestly."
"Oh, yeah, a bedside manner." Eric's eyes roll expressively in his head, "That's why I upset Colette enough that— " He bites off that sudden growl, turning his head with a grimace, fingers curling into the scratchy grey fabric, "— yeah, alright, I'll do some asking around."
"At the time, Colette was still very deep inside herself Eric, she wouldn't even let Kaylee touch her" He points out. "Trust me Eric, you're doing good, but if you want to go, i'm not gonna keep you chained here" There's a glance to Megan. "Supposedly, it'll replace the refrain, and we can ease them off the methadone and the naltrexone. Only if the tests come back with nothing that will dictate that it's unsafe to put them on it. It's a try, if they want to try."
There is sympathy in Megan's face for Doyle's worry. "It's not going to be easy for anyone, you know. She's likely to say a lot more incredibly horrible things to you before it's over. Don't take anything that Colette says personally… when she's better, she's going to regret it in a big way, Eric." She reaches out and touches the man lightly. "She knows that you're her friend." It's the only solace she can offer. And then she turns her eyes to the doctor as he speaks and nods slightly. "It's worth a shot. Anything is."
"No, it's not that, it…" A frustrated look crosses the puppeteer's features, and he screws up his lips in a grimace, giving his head a curt shake, "…nevermind. Yeah, you're right. I'm sure." A fake smile, "It'll all work out. Anyway. Methadone and— can you, uh, write that other one day?"
You say, "Naltrexone. I'm sure we can dig up the money somewhere. Someone said something about someone names Chesterfield footing the bill?" Cat's money's been volunteered. It's a matter of whether the pamnesiac knows it really. "I thought about seeing if any of the ferryman, two of them, might volunteer to be my patients and in need of "rehabilitation" so that I can prescribe it and get some that way too. Not that, they'd really be addicted but, I can get away with two patients I think."
Brennan scribbles the names down, all possible versions of the naltrexone and whatever it might be under trade wise and street wise before he rips it off and passes it over. "Just spread the message around. See what people can scrounge, you know… without resorting to actually stealing it. There's some other doctor that's helped with the kids uh… Corinne?" This is directed towards Megan."
Meg nods slightly and then furrows her brow. "Corinne?" She's flummoxed for a long minute. It's taking its toll on her memory. And then it clicks. "Filatov. Constantine Filatov." She nods to Doyle. "He might be able to get us what we need without raising too many flags. Works out on Staten, near the old Chicago Air landing strip. I don't know if he's moved from the Staten practice or not."
As they discuss possible sources of the drug, Doyle just leans against a stack of boxes to listen; the heavy blankets draping over his thick arms, falling across his front like half of some solemn robes. The note with the names is taken, and he glances at it before tucking it into a pocket without dropping the blankets, "I'll see who I can find…"
'Thanks Eric. Anything helps" He offers to the portly man. "He's an idea, in about as much as we can maybe get two more people on his service and Methadone prescriptions" He muses. Unknown to him really that constantine is a street doctor and not an above board legal one.
Megan… opts not to mention that part yet. "Harve, I'm going to catch a few Zs. Wake me when it's your shift, okay?" She waves to both men and slips out.
"I think I know someone," Doyle grunts, pushing off the wall, "I'll ask around. But. I mean, no promises."
"You, go sleep" A stern order from Brennan as he scribbles a number on another piece of paper and passes it over to Doyle. "You, go see your someone, that's a quarter of what we'll need, see if they have access to that. I'll give you money if they do and can. Godspeed Puppeteer"