Participants:
| Scene Title | It's The Drugs |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Following the morning after her incident, Yana is visited by a new-old friend who isn't quite prepared to let her skimp out on missing their meeting the night before. Could be an epiphany, but I think it's just the drugs. |
| Date | May 27, 2011 |
Special Surgery Hospital
Their first 'date' went well enough. The restaurant wasn't the most posh or exclusive place in town, but it was still on the higher end of the scale; being frugal with his Federal paycheck has given Moriarti some freedom to splurge every now and again, and this dance he has started once more with Yana is a definate reason to splurge.
And having never officially agreed that Moriarti would be accompanying her to the season opening of the Opera, having been distracted by his detour into the Midtown wrecakge and that flame-spewing robot; dinner was scheduled once again, a couple days later. A late dinner, what with Yana's packed schedule as of late, but a dinner none the less.
One that found Moriarti waiting outside the restaurant they had agreed upon, on the dot at the agreed time, waiting for her car to pull up. And waiting. And waiting. Granted, he had arrived a bit early to be here to meet her arrival, but as the minutes ticked past without even a phone call, the man grew concerned.
If Yana is still anything like she was before, she wouldn't even be a minute late if she could help it, and even then, she'd call if something else came up. Once a half-hour passed without sight or sound of his date, Moriarti left the restaurant, already placing a phone call. A few phone calls and promises later, and Moriarti had his answer.
Yana was mugged and shot.
He made it as far as the front lobby of the hospital before he even realized it; his course across town a blurry haze. Her father's hospital. A place he hadn't entered in almost ten years. In his rush, he was halfway down that little hall off the main entry, towards the elevator reserved for hospital employees, old instincts taking over as that familiar hospital smell washed over him.
Which left Moriarti shaken; he'd never lost control like this, let one life start to interfere with another. But then again, he'd never been in a situation like this before, either. Shaken to his senses, the Federal agent slipped back out the front doors; he didn't have a legitimate-enough reason to flash his badge to get in outside of visiting hours….
…only to return a few hours later with the rising sun, and the start of visiting hours. A brief inquiry at the information desk, and Moriarti is in the elevator, riding up to the floor where the private rooms are kept. Of course she would be up there, her father owns this hospital. Moriarti silently gives thanks that she wasn't placed in the same room; this course of events is strange enough without having to face the place that he died in.
And so, mustering the calm features of the Federal Agent, Moriarti raps his knuckles thrice on the door to Yana's room, politely informing the good doctor that she has a guest.
Mugged, yes that was the story that was told. Police reports say that the woman was attacked late that evening when waiting for her driver to bring around the car. There was a man with a gun, holding it to her and demanding her purse, to which Yana handed it over, and have the contents spilled on the ground, only to find 40 dollars in cash. Fortunate for her, she wasn't wearing any jewelry or he might have gotten those too. When in truth, she was, but she thought too much of it to risk losing any of it in the story that was crafted.
Needless to say, when the man demand more from her, and of course, Yana didn't have anymore, the man grew angry and shot her, taking off into the night just before Christopher pulled around to find the woman upon the ground. She was rushed to closest hospital, where she was provided emergency care, and then later transferred to her father's hospital as to be under his watchful eye.
Her police report being just a basic rundown, as her actual wording was a bit more dramatic, and closer to the truth than anyone really could have realized. She can be cryptic like that when she desires. The truth is so much more tangled than she would allow anyone to know, especially her father.
Still, once her wounds were stitched and dressed, and the bullet removed from her gut, Yana is given her drip of pain medication which allowed her to accomplish a few things in the morning, such as informing work, having some of her effects taken care of, and getting a message to Odessa. Which leaves her with visitors for the day, firstly Christopher who arrives to receive any orders that she may have for him to take care of, and then her family. All of them… From mother, to father to all living siblings in one setting. Their togetherness is rather eerie at times, more of a collective clan than just a family.
They arrive together, stay together and leave her company together, after a kiss to Yana's forehead by her mother. The Puika family is grim and thoughtful. They aren't pleased with the state of one of their flock, and they'll seek out the man that Yana gave as a description as the culprit… No, not Calvin, but someone else that slighted her a while ago. A paid escort that got off light back at the gala last Christmas. He left her to be humiliated, and now, Yana is paying him back.
Surely, he'll be missing by the morning…
The family is just leaving, passing Moriarti as he arrives next to the room, moving down the hall and getting on the elevator to go about their business. Which leaves the man to knock upon her door, catching Yana's attention to look over, "Yes? Who is it? Come in."
Moriarti has met the man; indeed, he's met the whole clan. Just not with this face. But he knows what her father expects of everyone else, and so Moriarti is stepping to the side, next to the wall. Allowing the collected Puika clan to pass by as a group.
As Yana calls out in response to his rap-rap-rapping at the doorjam, Moriarti first replies in kind, "It's Thomas Moriarti, Doctor…" before he enters. Indeed, it is Moriarti, truth be told. Grey business suit (Federal agents seem to shop at the same tailor, or maybe the suit is government issued), black wingtips, and one of those large, eco-friendly reusable bags, dangling from one clenched fist.
A pause at the threshhold; no, it is not same room, stop stressing; and then the agent enters, stepping across to where the injured woman rests. "…when you didn't arrive at the restaurant last night, I placed a few phone calls." he says, offering a simple explanation of how it is that he even comes to be dropping in this morning.
A chair is pulled over next to the hospital bed, and that bag is placed upon the seat and opened. "…a mugging, though…" he says, shaking his head and holding his tongue; better to remain silent, then to say something that would completely give his secret away.
Of course, what he has in that bag isn't helping keep that secret. "…but since we missed dinner, and hospital food is always so dreadful.." he says, withdrawing a styrofoam takeout container of all things. "..I took the liberty of picking you up some breakfast.." he explains, offering the container out to her.
If Yana accepts, the first thing of note is that it's from that little deli down the street, the place that Gregori always stopped at if he was at this hospital around breakfast time. "..there's this quaint deli around the corner.." Moriarti explains. It's just a coincidence, is all. The next thing to be extricated from that bag is a travel thermos, a plain white mug, and what looks like two spoons fused together; a tea strainer. This is followed by a box of Earl Grey tea; not the little paper pouches, but honest to goodness tea leaves.
"Although I have to say, if you really didn't want to go to the Opera, you could have just told me, instead of going to extremes to get out of it…" he says as he pulls a smaller takeout container from the bag. Then the man switches places with the bag, settling down on the chair and opening his own take out container, revealing two croissants and a small container of strawberry jam. Another concidence, curiouser and curiouser.
Hospital gowns are not flattering on anyone. But to Yana's credit, she doesn't look half as bad as most people in the hospital. Thanks to her mother's nurturing care to make her daughter look pretty. Her hair is brushed, her face is washed and she looks about as stunning as one can while laid up in a hospital bed, attached to wires, monitors and IVs. Upon hearing the identity of her visitor, Yana is a little shocked, and she even reaches to adjust her gown a bit as not to be too disheveled or inappropriate.
She greats him with a half-smile. Sort of weak, considering her condition. A tray of untouched hospital food resting on the stand beside her. As if she is going near that stuff with a fork or a knife. Even their tea is atrocious. She spoke with her father about receiving better accommodations, considering his position in the hospital. "Thomas… It's nice to see you." There is a bit of lift in her voice, her greeting not lacking actual sweetness, the likes of which are reminiscent to the more vibrant Elvira. An apparent effect of the pain medication.
"Yes.. a mugging.." she echoes softly, turning her face away, and closing her eyes. If he could see her, that look upon her face, within those eyes, he could possibly recognize that there is more to the story than just a simple mugging. Her head a little foggy from the drugs, she finds it a little harder to be the hardened woman that she has become. "I live in New York. It was bound to happen at some point. I guess that makes me fully initiated, right?" A joke, something that Dr. Blite isn't much for making.
With a delicate groan of discomfort, she shifts her position, sliding a little higher on the elevated head portion of the bed so that she can better face him. Still very much sore almost all over, her legs and even her arms are a bit bandaged from where she had fallen on the shards of the mirror in the building. Other than the gunshot wound, her injuries were pretty cosmetic. She'll recover.
She accepts the platter, "Oh, you really didn't have to." She had just spoken to her father about the food thing not but 5 minutes ago, and here he is delivering her the very thing that she requested. It is like he read her mind, a sense of fondness washing over her as she remembers the deli in question. And the tea, her favorite. Earl Grey, imported and loose leaf. Perhaps he had been speaking to Christopher. "It's very nice of you to go out of your way."
She opens the lid to find a lovely setting of Eggs Benedict. With sweet ham and a lovely Hollandaise. One of her favorites. She gives him a gentle chuckle, "To be honest, things like this happen to me quite often. Not of this severity, but… I tend to attract danger, as you have probably witnessed first hand." The fire spewing robots being a solid example. This is.. just another day.
With the presence of the croissants and jam however, Yana begins to find the coincidences a little too… frequent. She had already begun to question the other night, when he used her name, and now.. this. "You get anymore perfect, and I'll swear that we've known each other in another life." She comments, a statement that is true for the both of them. More in the literal sense for him.
Yana's words wash over Moriarti as he has finished slicing the croissant in half and begun spreading jam across the pastery. At least Moriarti is left handed, as opposed to Gregori's right-handed-ness. Her words sink in, and his eyebrow twitches in surprise. Yes, surprise. It's probably a good thing that Yana isn't a mind-reader, or man would she be appalled at this language he's using in his head right about now.
"..I assume that means I guessed correctly on your breakfast choices, then, Doctor Blite." Moriarti replies as he resumes the spreading of jam on pastry. While mentally kicking himself at letting instinct take over and get the better of him. The older man takes a bite of the croissant to give himself a moment to think, while pushing the partially closed bag under the chair with his foot; suddenly just happening to "pick up" a hand-carved figurine of an orca isn't the best thing to add to this pile of coincidence. She always did have a certain way about her…
Another bite of the jam-covered croissant, which is chewed and swallowed slowly before Moriarti makes the attempt at changing the subject, as subtly as he can, "I would guess on the merit that you are being allowed visitors that the wound itself wasn't that serious? They do describe that sort of thing.." in medical school "…in our training, but it's not an experience that I have first hand experience with.." …being the one getting shot, anyway.
All things have an order to them. An almost precise order: from the way she sets her platter upon her tray, adjusting it to sit perfectly symmetrical in the center, to the little way she cuts the portions of meat, egg and biscuit in small squares, and the way she even eats and chews. She savors it's flavor. Something she hasn't done in quite a long time. Eating was a simple pleasure, and a necessity, but not much that she derived too much pleasure from. The taste is exactly as she remembered.
Awaiting to completely swallow her food, before she nods her head, "Yes, thank you, it's delicious." A more cold and calculative Yana would not have expressed what she thought of the meal, simply ending the sentence with a 'thank you'. Perhaps her drug induced emotions allow her to compare the man, and his actions to her late husband in a way that goes beyond simple attention to detail. She is still of sound, and logical mind, but a bit of a mixture, allowing her to say such things like… "I feel as if… somehow, Thomas, your appearance was pre-ordained. It is a silly notion to even begin to think it, but, if Gregori was indeed my soulmate, then it would appear as if he fought his way back from the great beyond to return to me. Which… is very much like him. Hell nor Heaven would hold him back. He went about the world as if neither would take him, always determined he would get what he wanted in the very end. No matter how long it would take. No matter how many times he was defeated."
Her face drops, a sadness seeming a little distant, "I suppose I miss him terribly. But I feel that his death was… necessary. Apart of some grand plan of some sort." Yes, hers. To which she shakes her head, "Silly… really." And with a sigh, she straightens up, clearing her throat. "No, the wound wasn't anything serious. I was fortunate enough that it didn't penetrate anything vital. I got very lucky." Or Calvin knew what he was doing. "I suppose then that means I have one up on you. Which is ironic, considering the difference in our respective jobs."
Sure, Moriarti was shot _at_ when he was working for the Company, but usually the Evolved individuals he was tasked after weren't the type to go about shooting with guns. The man listens to Yana speak with the quiet politeness of an acquiantance, finishing his first croissant and beginning on the second. The tastes have remained the same, but the method, at least, differs. Whereas Gregori would take his jam and croissant a bite at a time, a dollop of jam on the slowly receding end of pastry, Moriarti once again slices his lengthwise, spreading strawberry across one half in its entirety first.
Yes, an apt description of Gregori, if she's off-base on the description of Moriarti's entry into her life. Two long lives and two reincarnations under one's belt does give one a sense of superiority over the mundane forces of death. Well, until that last time, cut short by the schemes of life. But never did he plan to be back here, sharing breakfast with her. Well, there's always room for change, if unexpected.
"How long were you married, if I may ask?" is the question. He knows the answer, but an acquaintance wouldn't have memory of that life down to the last breath, and the tug down that dark tunnel. She's feeling nostalgic, he may was well carry through with polite conversation. Even in this day and age of Evolved abilities, one doesn't exactly go '..a funny thing happened to me on a business trip to New York City, on the day your husband died…'
"Four years, 7 months, and 5 days." she replies to him almost effortlessly. A woman who daily recounts the days she was known as Mrs. Gregori Blite. She should, all emotional reasons aside, his death was an experiment, and she is meticulous in their execution and thorough with her notes, so this should come as no surprise. "We were married in June. Our anniversary is coming up soon, and I plan to visit the place that he was scattered." At least he knows now what happened to his former shell upon evacuation. Obviously an open casket was out of the picture, given his condition once the disease took him.
"And how about you? Have you ever been married before? I'm certain I haven't asked you this yet," Because she doesn't like to repeat herself, usually. "But I would think that some woman would have sank her claws into you by now. You're a rare breed, and women are quick to scoop them up when they find them." A true assessment, look at how quickly things went with her before. The woman manages to offer him a teasing smile from half of her face, lips curving upward. For now there is no need or worry on her mind of what her next move will be, or what state she will leave the world in, especially with the events from last night. Yana has half a mind to put an end to the virus out of spite. Though thoughts like that are reserved from later, when she doesn't have company she seems to enjoy.
Her answer does bring another blink from Moriarti, and a pause in the consumption of that bite of croissant. He lived that life, and he would be hard pressed to give an answer down to the day. But then again, it wasn't an experiment to him. And that answer to the unasked question of what happened to him after he had moved out.
"And where would that place be?" he asks with a careful casualness hiding the morbid curiousity. He couldn't even tell you where his other two lives had been laid to rest, if he was pressed. It's coming as a strange experience, to be able to stand at the spot where that journey ultimately ended, even if he's only a few room down from where his experience with it ceased.
At the question Yana poses, her teasing smile is returned with a slight one of his own, a small smile that could almost be considered one of regret. "…oh, none have really gotten the chance.." he replies. "…life as a.." Company "..Federal agent didn't give them the opportunity." a dip of his head, "Not that some haven't tried." he adds. A gentleman to a fine point, and he's playing on the correct side. Not that he ever had any doubts, but as she said, he is a rare breed, a breed that sometimes finds itself sharing Yana's tastes in partners.
She finds the question a bit odd to be sure, as to the whereabouts of the remains of her former husband. Considering her role in his death, she does perhaps get a little suspicious when inquiries are made. But still, she finds the question to be harmless enough, in which she just smiles very softly, shaking her head, "I would do better to show you than to tell you. It isn't something that is really easy to explain, but… it is something that I believe he would have wanted." She knew him well. Well enough to find the perfect place to scatter his ashes.
Her meal is all but halfway gone, as she doesn't have too much of an appetite, given her condition, but she has always been something of a light eater anyhow. She takes a second to properly wipe her mouth, and then makes a slight shift in her position to get a bit more comfortable. A little wince and a sharp intake of a breath through her nose indicates her discomfort, which she manages to choke back, and force herself to smile.
"I can see how that would be a complication. You're a law official, and that lifestyle is unpredictable at best. Being in the line of fire, not knowing if you'll make it out of a gunfight alive. I imagine that would be difficult for both parties; husband and wife." At least from what she has witnessed. "So.. I missed out on our initial arrangement to meet, and I'll likely not be in much shape to spend very many nights out on the town, which limits any meetings we might have to but a few places. Dinner, at my place? My attendant is a rather decent chef. Or, at yours. I've heard that bachelors make excellent cuisine."
Indeed, it was a harmless enough question, born of a morbid curiousity. And her answer, born of suspicion or a genuine response, is enough to set his mind working as to where she felt he would find the perfect place to rest. On the outside, however, Moriarti is as polite as ever, giving a slight bow of his head at her answer, "Of course, my apologies if I was prying.." into his former life. "..such a thing would be a private affair, I wouldn't want to intrude." Which is the absolutely correct thing to say, even if internally he thinks otherwise, that curiousity piqued now.
His own breakfast since finished, Moriarti leans forwards slightly as Yana shifts through a bit of pain; long buried memories of Gregori's residency surfacing, and only the quick thinking of a man keeping his cards close to his vest keeps the question back, the old '..on a scale of one to ten..' that is common in the post-op care portion of the profession.
"…so some of my colleagues say…" he replies in regards to the difficulties of marriage. He doesn't have any of the facts, but he heard rumors about problems experienced by a particular Primatech employee out of Texas.
As the discussion switches to dinner, he gives another bow of his head, "..your place may be the better choice. Bachelors may make excellent cuisine, but we also seem to take our time settling into a new apartment." he says with a bit of a deprecating smile. Which is mostly true, he is still unboxing. However as he is want to do, Moriarti's style runs too close to what Yana was familiar with, living with Gregori. His tastes aren't nearly as expensive, but the style itself would be a hell of a coincidence, and he doesn't expect her to believe in providence for that long.
Back to the present conversation, he asks, "…did the doctors give an idea of when they'd be releasing you?"
"No no," she shakes her head, "It's no intrusion. You're.. quite a bit like him that I feel it might—" There is hesitation within her, as if the logical portion of her personality is trying to cut its way through the drugs. "Well, it might be an honor to his memory. I've not had anyone to go to the site since the funeral, other than Christopher." Why though? She cannot understand why it is she is including this man in something so.. personal and dangerously close to her showing regular emotion. It is a question she will no doubt ask herself later, when she can think more clearly.
She actually hasn't thought of much since the incident. Her brain almost insists on remaining broken. Calvin's action stripped her bare, snatched her control from her very hands. And yet.. she isn't sure how she feels, or how to go about this. There is.. much at stake, and so much else to consider. Perhaps that little voice that she was deaf too before is trying it's best to call out for someone yet again.
"My father will try to have me out of here on the soonest day. They say they want to take it on a day by day basis, but if he has anything to say about it, it will be 48 until they release me." Mikhail Puika does not believe in coddling or weakness. She has been wounded and he expects her to stand back up and be stronger than before. "So, perhaps clear your schedule within the next day or so? I'll make an event out of it, a get well dinner, just for us." she smiles.
Ahh, Yana, if only you knew how much Moriarti was like Gregori. Of course, that revelation may just end with the acquisition of another test subject. Not that he has any clue, of course.
Moriarti's head bobs once more as she restates that invitation, "I'd be honored to share that with you then, Doctor." he says, and then adds "…you'll have to let me know when, of course." Because Moriarti would have no recollection of walking down the church steps on that fateful day, as the normally reserved Puika clan showered Gregori and his new bride with rice; it is tradition, and local New York City ordanance was satisfied by their hiring of a crew dedicated to cleaning up every last grain.
A slight smile crosses the man's face at Yana's description of her father, taken as amusement at a harsh description of a man Moriarti wouldn't know; but an actual description of a trait he is really all too familiar with. He can recall the occaisional silent visit from Mikhail, who no doubt expected Gregori to quit with the laying about. It was only West Nile, after all!
Bringing himself back from that momentary detour down memory lane, Moriarti nods once more, "I'll see what I can do." he says with a bit of his own smile. Not that this man has much in his schedule at the moment, but Yana doesn't need to know that.
But, Elvira was there at his side the whole time. The concern in her voice and the tones in which she spoke to her father, defending Gregori against his ways. She stood up to the one person that she would never stand up to, for him. All for the sake of her experiment, all for the sake of reclaiming her freedom, and all for the sake of destroying her own heart. It is a private hell that she no longer lives through. And Dr. Blite has long sense rid herself of any such weakness.
But, as little as she knows of this man, she requires his presence more than she lets on. There is a plan she has in mind that she will get into at a later day, when she is able to be crystal clear in her thoughts yet again. But for now, after eating and spending much of her time with visitors, she is just a bit weary. The drugs are wearing off, and the pain is starting to return, so she is getting the slightest bit tired, which shoes as she rests her head back upon the pillow. "I'm sorry if I'm not as fun as I was before. I think I might be tiring out. I wish that I had the endurance for being ambulant. I'd love to take a brisk walk."
"It's quite alright…" Moriarti says, letting only a bit of the concern that he feels show through that agent's mask; the amount that decorum calls for in a situation he is in. "…I should be getting to work, anyway. Government work is a harsh mistress, after all.." he muses, rising up out of the chair.
A tug on the hem of the suit's jacket, bringing everything back into line, and then he reaches down for that bag. The tug of the bag itself on its carry straps is apparent, but the heavy contents remain hidden for now. His takeout container is dumped into the bag, to be properly disposed of.
At her comment on taking a brisk walk, another slight chuckle, "…if the nurses here are like any other nurse I've.." ..worked with.. "..encountered, you would probably be quickly returned to bed. Forcibly, if necessary." he jokes, motioning towards Yana's half-eaten breakfast. "…I can leave that if you want to go back to it later…" he offers.
More than she will admit aloud, she is a little disappointed to see him go. Even if she wouldn't be much more company, as she will likely be sleeping within the next 15 minutes or so. Already her voice has taken to softer tones, weaker than when he walked in, so tired and slowly drifting. "Well, if you feel the desire to visit again, don't hesitate. I'll not likely get many visitors, save for my family, and a few others. Thank you for stopping by, and yes.." she nods to the platter on her tray, "Thank you for breakfast. It was refreshing. I'll try to finish a bit more later." The pain is really starting to come back now. It shows in her face. With a sigh, she closes her eyes, "Just a favor, on your way out? If you could send the nurse in, I would be very greatful."
As she opts to keep the breakfast, Moriarti dips his head in acknowledgement. "I'm sure I'll have the time to stop by again, if your father hasn't already seen to your release…" by convincing the doctor's to do so with that stare of his. The memory of it enough to send a shiver down Moriarti's spine.
"Sleep well, Doctor Blite." with only the slighest pause as he almost calls her by name again. The gentleman Moriarti still not feeling familiar enough to do so on a regular basis. With that, Moriarti departs, stopping by the nurses station to pass along the message.