Participants:
| Scene Title | League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | After a support group meeting, a whole different group is formed. |
| Date | August 12, 2018 |
A Warehouse
Before the war, this warehouse had been a bustling place. Now, it's an empty shell, the equipment long since picked over by scavengers. A decrepit forklift missing its tires rests on its side in one corner of the vast space. The walls are covered in graffiti and, given the warm day, there's a scent undermining the aroma of freshly applied cleaning products that suggests both humans and animals have inhabited the building in the not-so distant past. Still, the building retains its structural integrity, which makes it a safe place — and a cheap place — to hold meetings such as this one, coming to its close.
"Thanks for coming and especially a thank you to those who opened up today," says a man in the center of the group of folding metal chairs, his arms resting on his knees as he looks around at each face. The group numbers about two dozen people, ranging in age from the young to the old, all veterans of the recent civil war. If any of them fought for the losing side, they certainly haven't said so.
People begin to rise from their seats and mill toward the table set up with coffee and the meager offerings of refreshments. Some speak to one another, having come together or met at earlier meetings. Chess, one of the youngest in attendance, moves a little slowly, as if she's not eager to leave, yet not quite pleased to be there, either.
Jim was not one of the ones who shared today, but he does share sometimes, and he's certainly an active listener, so he's not one of those people who just don't share and sit sullenly with their arms crossed like they don't want to be there. Or something. In any case, though, he leans over to murmur something to the man sitting next to him as the group breaks up, and they both chuckle as they rise, though they seem to be going their separate ways — the man toward the door, and Jim toward the donuts. He's clothed, at the moment, in some amazing Superman scrubs — ironically? Maybe!
He grabs a donut, and a knife, sawing the thing in half, before he turns, offering the other half to Chess. "Make me look healthy?" he asks, with a little upturn of the side of his mouth. It's a small smile, but friendly.
Lynette's isn't an unusual face to see at these meetings. Generally, she's facilitating or volunteering rather than attending. Although everyone here knows she fought in the war. Most know her squad was a front-lines staple. And yet. She's here because she provided the food and drinks, and has been helping people who need it in and out of the warehouse.
But spotting Chess there, she makes her way over.
"Chess," she greets, her smile warm, "you look a little lost." Rather than a tease, it's a comment laced with gentle concern. Like she doesn't want anyone else to notice that she might worry over Chess, or that there could possibly be reason to worry over her. Her attention shifts to Jim, though, since he's nearby, and she waves his direction. Since his hands are full. "Hi, it's good to see you," she notes, because she knows the faces of the regulars, if not everyone's name.
The doughnut is accepted, and Chess offers a small half smirk at the joke, before gesturing with the half doughnut at the scrubs. "If you have flight or x-ray vision or super strength as your SLC-E ability, I'm going to say you're taking things a bit too literally," she says wryly, but it does seem to be a joke. Unless he has any of those, in which case, she's got a big mouth and is probably making an enemy.
"Thanks," she says, lightly tapping her doughnut half against his in a mock 'toast.'
She turns at her name, and the comment makes her huff a small laugh. "Yeah, long time no see," she quips, given she lives in the woman's building. Sometimes. When Chess is not hiding in one of her own little mouseholes around the city.
Jim returns the clink, such as it is, and then takes a bite of his half, shaking his head. "I'm not that on the nose," he admits from around the mouthful, though he does make an effort not to be too gross about it. "That's why I don't wear The Hulk scrubs." But this might be a joke, too, judging by his expression.
He looks over as Lynette comes up to them, and there's a nod of semi-recognition, the same sort that she has of him, really — I know you, but I don't know you. It's made even more obvious at his next words. "You, too," he says. "Lynne, right?" Close, but no cigar.
Like Lynette, Robyn Quinn is also an unusual face to see at one of these gatherings. For a multitude of reasons, really. Sometimes, it turns out she's still more recognisable than she would actually like, and it can be offputting - and tends to make events like this uncomfortable for her and pretty much anyone who tries to talk to her or get her to open up. She couldn't tell you what brought her out here today. Maybe it had something to do with the recent combat action, maybe she had just been bored.
Whatever the reason, she spent most of the meeting stanging off to side like one of the people in a movie or a TV show who is actually way too cool for one of these meetings and knows it. Except, Robyn doesn't think that highly of herself. It's just… opening up is hard sometimes. It certainly isn't something she ever particularly finds herself inclined to do, unless she's talking to one of a select few individuals.
As it so happens, on of those select few is here tonight, and when Robyn finally catches sight of Lynette Rowen, and in turn Chess, she furrows her brow and starts over towards them.
"Lynette," is all she gives by way of greeting, combined with a nod of ackowledgement to her, and then to Chess. The man, though, she doesn't recognise him. An uneasy glance and a small smile is offered his way - she has business with both Chess and Lynette, but it will have to wait. "I'd ask what brings you out, but- well." That's at least partially selff evident.
The quip gets a crooked smile. "Hours and hours," Lynette responds to Chess, dryly. For Jim, it's a more even smile, but more formal as well. "Lynette," she corrects, but gently. Of course, then it repeats as Robyn joins them. Lynette manages to keep surprise out of her expression when she sees who it is. "Robyn," she says, shifting a little to give her a space in their little circle. "I'm only here to provide coffee and pastries," she notes with a chuckle, "Not the same level of solace, but I like to think they help in their own way."
Jim's joke gets a smirk and Chess lifts her brows. "That's one way to keep patients in line, I guess," she says, before hesitantly swapping the doughnut to her other hand so she can offer her right to the man to shake. "Chess," she offers, no farther explanation of the name to accompany the short syllable.
Robyn's arrival makes her brows lift with surprise at seeing the agent. "Hey," she says, not quite sure about using the woman's first name, given they've only met the once, but not about to call her 'Agent Quinn' in company that might not be too keen on the 'feds' in their midst. "Good to see you." She doesn't ask the questions she no doubt has of the SESA agent — it can wait. "You know the Hulk, here?" she asks, gesturing to Jim. "Or is it Bruce Banner, I suppose?"
"Lynette." Jim's smile tilts just a little wryly as he nods at the correction that comes one after the other, though one technically was not a correction. If only he'd waited a few more seconds before guessing! "Sorry. Jim." He gestures to himself with the donut, which as we know is excellent for gesturing with, before he pops the rest of it into his mouth in one go. Empty-handed, he brushes his fingers against the top of his scrubs before he reaches to take the offered hand, shaking a time or two before he releases it.
"Nice to meet you, Chess," he says once he's swallowed, before he turns to look at the newly arrived Robyn. She gets a nod, too, and though of course it's not in recognition, it's friendly enough. "Yeah, not how most people would want to spend their time unless they've got something to add," he agrees with a little chuckle. "I've missed a few, so I wanted to make sure I got one in this week."
"Only a few?" is a dry reply from Robyn as she takes a sip of a drink - equally dry, in case anyone is wondering. "I'm only here to enjoy coffee and pasteries," is a bit of a lie, but a response she finds amusing all the same, "so I guess it works out." She looks to Jim with a curious expression, offering a nod to him as well. Fingers curl in and out at her side in a hesitant motion, before she slowly offers her hand. "Robyn Quinn," she offers, "though I wouldn't get used to seeing me here." Maybe.
She smirks as she looks back over to Chess. "Can't say that I do," she offers. "Are you two forming the Avengers, then?" SHe doesn't know much about comic books, but well, that's one that's really hard to miss. "You have Thor here," she remarks, motioning a thumb to Lynette. "So that's not a bad start."
Lynette nods when Jim gives his name, filing it away for later. "It's a good habit to get into," she notes, at Jim's words, "and it's always good to be around people who understand your experience. Or part of it, at least." Obviously, people touched the war in different ways, but anyone who touched it at all saw how bad it got first hand. "Even if it can be difficult to convince yourself to keep coming to these." She gives Robyn a playful, sidelong look there.
When Robyn assigns her her spot, Lynette laughs. "Excuse me," she says, her offense only in jest, "I have never once hit anyone with a hammer."
Chess looks down when there's mention of 'something to add,' because she certainly hasn't, not at this meeting or the couple she's dipped her toes into over the past couple of years. Robyn's joke about the Avengers allows her to look up and smirk again, and she shakes her head. "From what I'm told, my power set is more aligned with the X-Men," she says lightly — clearly not quite the comic book aficionado herself. Her knowledge is second-hand.
She finally takes a bite of the doughnut Jim split with her, perhaps for something to do with her hands and to keep from speaking for a moment, but she does the latter anyway. "You work at Elmhurst?" she asks the man in scrubs.
Jim accepts Robyn's handshake much less hesitantly, once up and down before he releases it again. "Jim Clark," he says, offering the surname easily as well. "Nice to meet you. Maybe I'll see you somewhere else. Hopefully not in the ER." Ha ha. He gestures to his scrubs to illustrate his point, though she could have probably guessed it without help. The question, though, makes him look from Chess to Lynette, and back again, and he tips his head to the side, thoughtfully. "Still Marvel," he says, "so you're good. Now if you were trying to put Justice League in there, we'd have a problem."
He turns to grab a cup, sticking it under the coffee dispenser to fill it, though he keeps one ear on the conversation. "You sure?" he asks, possibly to Lynette — his gaze does go there for a moment before he turns back to make sure he doesn't spill all over the place. "Seems like you could get a lot of mileage out of it."
"Mmm. I set myself up to get lost behind my own joke," Robyn notes with a hint of amusement. Lynette's comment, though, earns her a sideeye as Robyn takes a sip of her coffee. "Well. It's either that or Electro. That's where my comic knowledge ends." And, well, they could be the Sinister Six if they wanted, but Robyn would need a career change for that and she's not sure she's up to it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Jim," is added afterwards, and at least that seems to be a genuine sentiment. "What do you specialise in, if you don't mind me asking?"
Angling a look over towards Chess, Robyn offers her a smile and mouths the words we should talk to her, trying to be as subtle about it as possible.
At the mention of the Justice League, Lynette glances down at Jim's scrubs, then back up again. She may not know a ton about comics, but she knows some things, likely gleaned in makeshift camps or during long drives through wartorn highways. But she doesn't call Jim out on his clash, just turns toward Robyn. "That sounds like it would be much worse," she says, of Electro. "That one probably also has ridiculous headwear, too." Like Thor, you know. Jim does get a smile, though. "In my experience, it's others who got the mileage at my expense."
"I've thrown hammers," says Chess with a small smirk — no one here has seen her power in motion, of course, though Lynette knows what she can do, through the grapevine (the grapevine being Luther and Eve) no doubt. Robyn too most likely knows, having access to Chess' file since the woman asked her for help — she's sure it's not a secret. "Not my favorite thing to throw, but it'll do in a pinch."
She follows Jim to make herself a cup of coffee, leaving creamer and sweetener behind in favor of unadulterated black coffee. She looks to the circle of chairs for a moment — a couple of people sit there, in conversation, but most of them have been vacated. "How often do you go?" she asks Jim, before catching Robyn's mouthing and giving her a small nod.
Jim catches Lynette's look, and probably guesses the reason for it, too, because his smile widens slightly as he gives her an exaggerated wink, and then puts a finger to his lips. That secret confirmed — clearly — he grabs a packet of sugar, as well as a creamer, and pours them both in one after the other. No black coffee for him. "Trauma," he says in response to Robyn. "I work over at Elmhurst."
The look and mouthed words exchanged between Robyn and Chess gets raised eyebrows, but he doesn't question it, instead replying to the latter. "At least once a week," he says, "sometimes a couple times a week. I don't always talk, but I like the routine, and I like the people. It can be nice to spend time with people who've been where you've been in some way." He takes a sip of coffee then, before adding, "Don't let me keep you if you've got stuff to talk about, though."
Robyn eyes Jim for a moment, and then nods. "I apologise for my comments then," is a perhaps unusually humble remark from her. "Far be it from me to put down something that helps someone get by." She smiles at him, setting down her coffee and leaning against the table. "A medical professional. Good on you." She offers out her a hand, a less confident and sarcastic handshake this time. "Elmhurst is a good place to be, by all accounts." Well, in the Safe Zone it's the only place to be, but she doesn't voice that comment.
It seems that Lynette has enough of an idea about Chess' ability for her comment to get a quiet laugh. "Well, I hope it isn't anyone's first choice," she notes, "Thor aside."
She turns back to look between Jim and Robyn, like she might be waiting to see if they're going to need a ref. But instead, it turns the other way. So she responds to Jim's plea for secrecy with a cross over her heart. It's all very covert, obviously.
"Trauma," she repeats, expression dimming some, although not because she disapproves of course. "That's a hell of a profession. Takes a lot to step into that." Perhaps especially for a veteran of the war.
"That's good," Chess murmurs, noncommittal, as if agreeing too whole heartedly might get her roped into a rigid meeting schedule. She takes a sip of the coffee, leaning against a corner of the table as she studies the others.
"You ever do anything…. I don't know. Freelance?" she asks, eyes moving back to Jim. It's not a bad question to ask — not everyone is comfortable going to a hospital where records and samples are taken, after all. She makes a face when she realizes the question might sound a little creepy, and her hand flutters from her cup in a never mind sort of gesture.
Jim takes another sip of coffee, looking at Robyn from over the rim of the cup. "No need to be sorry," he says once he's swallowed, and he waves a hand vaguely as though to dismiss the concern. "Some people like it, some people don't. We all do what gets us through, right? What helps me isn't necessarily gonna help someone else. Don't worry, I wasn't offended." He returns the smile, lifting his cup to her, and he accepts the second handshake in much the same manner as he had the first, though maybe with a little more warmth. Not that he was cold before, but you know. It's relative.
He turns to Lynette then, and that smile fades, too, before he nods. "Well," he says, "I had a lot of practice." The laugh that follows is more wry than amused. "It helps, too, in a weird way. Hard to explain. What do you all do?" Since none of them can really be judged by their clothing as he can. He looks from Robyn to Lynette, and then to Chess, whose question gets raised eyebrows. Though he doesn't seem to have realized how else it could be taken until she does, and then a laugh escapes him. "Sometimes," he says with a nod, and he starts to say something else, but maybe thinks better of it, though there's amusement there as he continues instead, "There are people who know where I live and come see me if they don't want to go to the hospital. Haven't killed any yet, luckily."
"Freelance?" Now, this is a question that catches Robyn's attention, whether or not Chess intends for it to. Mostly out of curiosity more than anything else; she of all people can't cast stones for people taking…. freelance work, so to speak. Robyn offers a look over to Lynette and Chess, not sure how to answer Jim's question. After a moment of deliberation, she cuts out half the thoughts running through her head, and settles on: "SESA." Simple and to the point, easy to understand, and potentially a little unnerving depending on what you liked to get into on the weekends. "Though these days I work mostly with Wolfhound," she adds. It's not meant to be a brag, but no one would be blamed for thinking it is.
Lynette also seems interested in the answer to Chess' question. And the answer that comes gets a thoughtful hmm. "Do you have a card?" she asks with a crooked smile. It's possible this was the wrong crowd to let in on his side hustle. Or the right one, depending.
When Robyn looks her way, Lynette gives her an encouraging nod. Because her job is fine. Helpful. Positive. Even if ex-fugitives have a hard time shaking their apprehension. "I run the Benchmark. Rehab and recovery. This," she says with a gesture toward the rest of the room, "is right in my wheelhouse. Organizing it, anyway."
The laugh draws a little flush to Chess' cheeks, but she nods at the more serious answer to her question. "That's good to know," she says, nodding when Lynette asks for the card. "I'll take one too, if you have it. Have a friend or two who aren't really fans of hospitals." Herself included.
As for what she does, she lifts a shoulder. "I blow shit up. Demolitions." She doesn't offer him her card, because he probably doesn't have a lot of need for that in his life. That and she's supposed to be laying low — even if she's doing that by going to veteran support groups.
If Jim thinks Robyn's answer is bragging, well, he doesn't show it. He just nods, before he quips, "Do you freelance?" There's a little cheekier smile flashed at this, before he reaches into his pocket for his wallet, opening it and pulling out a card. How fortunate! Though not quite perfect, as he still has to get a pen and write his name and number on the back before he hands it to Lynette. The front of it just has the name of the hospital, and some of the attendings' names listed. Typical hospital-card fare. "Oh, all right," he says with a nod at Lynette's answer. "I know a couple people who go there. Heard good things."
He does the same for Chess as he speaks, handing the card to her just as she gives her answer. "Blowing shit up, huh," he says with a smile. "So, Iron Man then." And with that, the conversation comes full circle! "If I ever need anything blown up, you'll be the first one I call." He crumples up the little paper cup and tosses it in the garbage, before he says. "I should get to work. Nice meeting you all, though. Maybe I'll see you all around at another meeting."
"Oh good," Robyn notes dryly. "I almost said Iron Man too." It seems her and Jim think a bit alike, at least, which brings a bit of a smile to her face. His question gets a bit of a smirk. "My entire life is freelance at this point." At least it feels that way, sometimes. She takes a last sip of her coffee before setting the cup aside. "If you're going to blow anything up," Robyn notes in part because she has to, "at least do it outside the safe zone boundries." She grins, winking at the group of them. "Maybe," she notes to Jim. It's doubtful she'll be back any time soon, but- "It was nice to meet you. Be safe out there."
Taking the card, Lynette looks it over before sliding it into a pocket for safe keeping. Poor Jim, no doubt. "It was nice meeting you, too. I have little doubt we'll run into each other again. Hopefully not in the ER," she says with a chuckle. But really, in this group, who knows. As he makes his way toward the exit, Lynette turns toward Robyn and Chess. "So, ladies," she says, spreading her hands out, "lunch?"