Participants:
| Scene Title | No Names, No Dates |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Lola wakes up after her surgery to find Andrew is still there. He takes advantage of her in her vulnurable position. |
| Date | October 3, 2009 |
Surgery. It's an experience Lola hadn't gone through before, but last night she was fortunate enough to experience it as the freelance doctors dug a bullet from her arm, sewed it up, and then slapped a proverbial band aid on the through-and-through wound on her side. She's wearing a hospital gown now, donated and old, as she lays back in bed, eyes closed, hair down. She's paler, smaller almost than her usual self. Her hair is still stringy, but someone's combed it back. There's an IV in her arm, and a clamp on her finger keeping track of her heart rate. Her throat has swolen, purple marks of a larger person's hand outlined there. Her breathing is light and even.
The room itself is dark, an old guest room from the motel. There's three or four other cots here, flat cots, low, not the fancy hospital ones. Curtains have been pinned ot the ceiling to give her a bit of privacy, but there's noise and bustle all around the outside of those light barriers.
Andrew knocks on the door, waits a minute or two to make sure Lola's relatively decent, then opens the door. "Feeling any better?" he asks. He hasn't changed his clothes, though the blood has been cleaned from his leather jacket. He doesn't look tired though; he definitely slept all right.
The knock doesn't bring Lola around, but the voice does. Slowly, her eyes open. She blinks once, twice, a drowzy/drugged blink. Then her dark gaze settles on Andrew and she shifts a bit on the low cot. "Don' feel much a anythin'," She answers, lowly, her voice scratch and weak. "Pretty sure I'm so drugged right now I could eat mah own arm off an never notice it," Her reserved voice, her sickly appearance, her lack of smile - this is a far cry from the woman Andrew'd known. "Are ya here fer Adam or somethin?"
"Well, I thought he'd want to know you were all right. Besides, it didn't feel right just leaving after you'd been shot," Andrew replies with a shrug. "The doctors say you'll probably have to stay here for about a week, and then you'll need plenty of rest for another few weeks; you lost a lot of blood."
The soft grumble that comes from the injured woman is probably enough to signify that she doesn't like hearing that. Still, the grumble doesn't feel quite right, so she reaches up, touching her throat, and she feels the swelling. No wonder she cam barely breathe. Little bastard. "Does he know I'm here?" Lola asks at last, turning her really drugged gaze to Andrew. "Adam, I mean."
"Not yet; no need to tell him anything until I've got something to tell him," Andrew answers. He frowns as her hands goes to her throat, noticing the swelling for the first time. "What happened to your throat?"
"Some fellah's hand," She says by way of an explination as she tries to tug the neck of her gown away, to get more air. But it's not the gown that's the problem, it's the bruising itself. Ah well. She'll just hyperventelate for a week. "Look sugar…I really appreciate ya carryin' me an helpin' me. But if ya don' tell Adam…I mean…we ain' exactly tight no more so I doubt he'd care anyway, there ain' no reason to tell him."
Andrew sighs. "Why don't you want him to know?" he asks bluntly. "If you really don't want him to know you're here, I won't tell him, but I'd like to know why first."
"Cause he might kill me, s'all," She says. She's much more pliable when under the influence of tons and tons and tons of medication. "Or…I dunno. I just..there's so much goin on, I don' even understand it all, ya know? Folks killin' folks, talkin' bout killin' folks, lyin' ta folks….I'm a thief, sugar, I ain' inta all a that."
"Why would he want to kill you?" Andrew asks with a frown, taking full advantage of all that medication. He knows he probably shouldn't, but he also knows it's the only way he's going to get any answers.
Lola grumbles, glancing away, bringing a hand up to touch her throat again. Her vocie is still low, still scratchy. "Do ya got some water, sugar? Or some ginger ale? I'd really like some ginger ale…." She murmers, coughing a few times. Through all this, she's still going through drug withdrawal. "I dunno, sug, it's all complicated. He walked in and told me bout how he strangled his wife an….an made it seem like I was next cause he thought I was…." A spy. Still, the word doesn't get said, so she just coughs. "He asked me ta stay after, but like I said, I'mma thief. I ain' a spy, not for him an not fer anyone else."
"I'll be back in a few minutes," Andrew says with a nod. A few minutes later, he returns with a glass of water. "No ginger ale, unfortunately," he says with a shrug, handing over the glass. "So why did he think you were a spy? What's he doing that someone would want to spy on him anyway?"
Lola leans up, taking the water in her hand and sipping a bit, but coughing about half of the sip back out before she hadns the water back and lays down on the flat cot again. "I dunno, sug. He's yer boss, ain' he? He never talked ta me 'bout the work he does, just fought with me or kept tryin' ta get into my pants. Sorta was the end-game, way I see it."
"You know more than me; I just work at the guy's bar," Andrew answers. "How do you mean the end game? Something he's been planning for some time and is only now actually doing? I mean, is he doing something illegal?"
"I meant gettin' into my pants, sug," She explains, chuckling a little, but pressing her hand to her side as she does so. "Ow,"
Okay, not going to do that again. "As fer what he was doin' I really don' know. Killin' folks, I know that much…right after we met he went on a tirp an I know he kilt while he was gone…" She looks over at him, groggy, drowsy, and drugged. "IF he knows I told ya all this…"
"He won't," Andrew reassures her. "Which trip was that, and how do you know he's been killing people?"
"I dunno, sug. A trip. An he told me so…." She sits up a little bit, reaching an IV-laden hand out for Andrew's arm. "Kin I have a bit more a that there water, darlin?" She asks. So frail! He may hardly be able to equate her with the woman who
stole his gun back in the day.
Andrew nods, passing over the water again. "Did he tell you how or why?" he continues with his questions.
Lola takes another few sips of water, laying back again and shaking her head as her small tongue darts out to slide over her lips. "Didn' tell me nothin, sugar, I told ya that. He wanted in my pants an not much else that I saw…" She closes her eyes a moment, letting out a tired sigh. "He asked me ta stay though, but I didn'."
Andrew nods. "You should probably get some sleep now; you need rest. Don't worry; I won't tell Adam what happened," he promises. "I'll come back in a few days to see how you're doing."
Lola seems all too willing - and plaible - to do as is suggested. She lays back on the pillows and closes her eyes. Her breathing never faulters - she's not getting enough air for it to - but it's rather obvious that within moments, the sandman has taken her.
Andrew sighs and walks quietly out of the room. The glass of water is left on the table next to the cot. He heads over to the person at the front desk. "If the woman in room 312 gets any visitors while I'm gone, could you do me a favour and call this number?" As the receptionist agrees, Andrew smiles and thanks him.
