Participants:
| Scene Title | Just confirmation |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Mortimer opts to go the "shoot myself in the arm" route to confirm that Abigail Beauchamp works at Old Lucy's and is indeed, a healer. Because, you know, the registry is probably false. |
| Date | April 29, 2009 |
In a time that seems long ago, Greenwich Village was known for its bohemian vibe and culture, the supposed origin of the Beat movement, filled with apartment buildings, corner stores, pathways and even trees. There was a mix of upper class and lower, commercialism meeting a rich culture, and practically speaking, it was largely residential.
Now, it's a pale imitation of what it used to be. There is a sense of territory and foreboding, as if the streets aren't entirely safe to walk. It isn't taken care of, trash from past times and present littering the streets, cars that had been caught in the explosion lie like broken shells on the streets nearest the ground zero. Similarly, the buildings that took the brunt of the explosion are left in varying degrees of disarray. Some are entirely unusable, some have missing walls and partial roofs, and all of the abandoned complexes have been looted, home to squatters and poorer refugees.
As one walks through the Village, the damage becomes less and less obvious. There are stores and bars in service, and apartment buildings legitimately owned and run by landlords. People walk the streets a little freer, but like many places in this scarred city… anything can happen. Some of the damage done to buildings aren't all caused by the explosion from the past - bullet holes and bomb debris can be seen in some surfaces, and there is the distinct impression that Greenwich Village runs itself… whether people like it that way or not.
It's night, earlier in the evening, and while his men are across the city chasing Flint Deckard, Mortimer is watching Old Lucy's from a trashcan with binoculars and a lid shut on them. The can is at the entrance of an alley, so not many people are paying attention, but he's on the lookout for Abigail Beauchamp. "This is getting boring, it's times like this I wish I had a sniper rifle. Yeah, then I could take out those lizard guys from Fox and they couldn't stop me from going in. Aliens are always screwing up my plans…" he casually whispers to himself inside of the can, eyes silvery as he looks over a few news guys. "Damned lizards…"
He's looking for her coming from the front. He is likely not expecting the redhead to be coming from above. That is, the fire escape. So it's with a bit of raised brown that Abigail's frozen on the last few rungs of the fire escape, staring at the garbage can that has sprouted binoculars and is talking. Holy heavens, what the hell?"
"Why in the good Lords name are you in a garbage Can?
Mortimer suddenly springs up from the can, then falls and thuds on his ass and hands, looking up at her. His eyes are blue when he looks up at her, tilting his head curiously. "You Abigail Beauchamp? I'm not one of those lizard guys, I got business with you. But don't worry, I have orders not to hurt you, or capture you, or do anything crazy."
I have business with you, got orders… Abigail reverses her movements, scurrying back up the fire escape, then another level for good measure. "If I am?" There were only two reporters sitting in a car outside the bar, if she yelled loud enough would they come?
"See, my arm kinda hurts right now, a lot." Mortimer stands up, removing his jacket, then rolls up his sleeve, revealing an incredibly bloody arm. Apparently he removed his jacket before he shot himself. "I shot myself in the arm, he said I didn't have to, but you know, it's been a while since I got shot. Hurt like hell, I was screaming earlier, but now most of the feeling in my arm is gone. I just wanna know if you're a healer."
He points at the hole directly through his shoulder, and there's a graze next to that, suggesting that he missed and tried again.
Oh lord. Why her. Really. The man shot himself on someone else's orders. On purpose. Abigail's fingers wrap around the iron railing and look down at his arm. "Who said you didn't have to?"
"Mister Linderman." Mortimer says as he watches the blood begin to drip on the ground again when the shirt is no longer stuck to it and clotted. "But I'm thinking, why not, you know? Gotta get used to these things. You gonna heal me or not?" He looks up at her from his wound, seeming rather impatient. "It sucks when I can't just point a gun at someone." And yes, he's completely without a gun, or at least they're well hidden.
"The Mr. Linderman?" You think maybe he'd send a better messenger? Who just asked instead of shooting himself and asking to be healed. Abigail stand on the fire escape for a few moments more before she starts down the ladders and across the grates again with a sigh. "Lord help me if this is a stupid trick and I get hurt you'll be sorry" The lament about lack of gun point does not go unheard. One hop down from the bottom rung and Abigail straightens up and makes her way carefully to the garbage can that used to conceal Mortimer. "hold your arm out"
"Wait, not sure how your healing thing works, but I don't want this thing getting stuck in…" Mortimer slides his middle finger into the hole, and now he can feel the not-completely-numb arm, digging around and painfully scrunching his face up, trying his best not to yell, then he pops out his finger with a 50mm bullet that rolls into his hand. "Fuck, that hurt like hell…" he lets out a deep breath, then weakly holds his arm out. "You look like you're having trouble with people, want me to take care of those lizard guys?" he asks as he nods in the general direction of the two media men.
"Only two of them, they'll be gone probably by tomorrow. Something will happen that's better than a woman who can heal wounds" That's just.. where the hell did Linderman find this guy, if he was even what he said he was. Big business men just didn't seem the kind to… hire.. big.. strange men who shot themselves on purpose and hid in garbage cans. "What does Mr. Linderman want?" Even as she's taking his arm in hers with warm gentle hands. One palm over the wound, hand to flesh, she fires off a prayer in her mind and .. it starts to work. Flesh knitting back together.
"He just wanted me to confirm that you work here, everything else I did was for fun." Mortimer explains, his face suddenly turning to shock when he begins to heal, then his entire eyeballs turn a silver color as he stares at her, purely amazed. "Holy shit, you have angel wings."
You say, "Angel wings?" She's not done yet, letting it go slow, it's regular speed, but soon enough, even the nerve damage that he did to his arm. When her hands are removed, there's only clean flesh, little smeared with blood, but no indication that he'd ever been shot. "I work here. You can tell him that, though i'm pretty sure with his power, he already knew that""
"Alright, seriously, I don't have to tell him anything. I didn't even know you guys existed." When she's done healing, Mortimer starts to back into a wall, clear fear on his face as he views her with his inhumanly silvery eyes. "Seriously, when I did all the bad shit I did, I'd never seen one of you guys before. Why's an angel even in New York? Look, I'll owe you a favor or something, but if any of your other kind start looking for me, I'll start clipping wings. You're not gonna stop me from having fun, got it?"
"I'm not an angel" Abigail reiterates, though he's not the first to tell her that. "You have your answer Mr…" Since he didn't introduce himself. "I need to get moving, before curfew springs up. Try not to… shoot… yourself again okay?" She doesn't want to loiter in the alleyway with someone who suddenly had silver eyes for a few moments and claiming to be working for one of the powerful men in New York.
"Yeah, well, just don't try to send me to hell or anything, or I'll cut your wings off, I don't care how much they glow." Mortimer says as he slowly inches away from her, then just starts making a run for it after grabbing his jacket from the ground. "I'll prey to you tonight, so like, forget this ever happened!" he yells before turning a corner, then the rumble of a bike is suddenly heard.
Cut my wings off… The man is crazy. Abigail watches him depart before the redhead heads out of the alley. A look left towards the entrance reveals… thank the lord, no more at work. With luck… there won't be any at home. She'll have to say a prayer for whatever has taken them away, good or bad. She digs into her bag with her clean hand to get out some napkins, wiping off the remaining smears of Mortimers blood. "Crazy…"