alexander2_icon.gif daphne_icon.gif delilah_icon.gif francois_icon.gif teo3_icon.gif

Scene Title Stable
Synopsis Teo brings a doctor to the Den to find the situation dire, but so far, stable.
Date March 20, 2010

The Den

Delilah and Daphne's room is significantly less morose than either girl on their own- well- at least for Dee it is. Samson can't talk back, but Daphne isn't much for it yet either most likely. At least she isn't a dog! Samson is lain out on the floor between the beds, head on his forepaws and eyes half-closed while he takes deep, slumberous breaths.

Melissa brought Delilah some books from the thrift store a couple blocks away, and while she can still open her eyes and sit up, the redhead is using the chance to expand her vocabulary. Reading! Yay! Well. It would be better for her if she hadn't been making the most soured face during all 3/4s of the book she has been going through. Dee takes a deep breath, and it is somewhat ragged.

"This is so terrible, can't put the fucker down though. 'S like a train wreck…"

Daphne hasn't been talkative, no — though she is trying to be polite. It's not the younger girl's fault that Daphne's life and future might be ruined by this virus, even if she does survive it. And she can't stand to sit still, but she has no choice. She's flipping through a magazine, scowling at the pretty things that she may never get a chance to steal, before casting an eye over at Delilah's bed and the book she's reading.

"I used to read a book but I never read one I didn't like unless it was for school. Too many good books in the world to waste on one that sucks, Red," she tells the other girl, her voice a bit raspy from coughing. Daphne's cheeks are flushed with a sheen of sweat; her fever's spiking again. Because of that, she's lying on top of the bedclothes, nothing but a pair of sleep boxers and a tank top on to try to ride out the heat flash of sorts — even if the room is a bit chilly.

In comes Al. He's tired, very tired, but strangely, no sign of the sickness. Which means he gets triple duty, these days. He's got new blankets draped over his shoulder, and a little fan with him. The kind you can set on a desk. "Ladies," he says, after knocking and meandering in. The pale eyes are bloodshot, as he glances from one to the other.

"Do you think ventilation's a problem?" Teo is asking, his boots clomping stolid echoes down the stairwell outside. "I've heard ventilation can be a problem. Lack thereof. Or having it. I suddenly can't remember if this is disease is airborne, but I guess it must be." With the speed it's been making the rounds through the mutants of New York City, there can be no other explanation. "The ventilation here is probably okay. Central heating, or Roosevelt Island would be a ghost town."

The door creaks open under a push of one hand, hinges giving and meltwater scudding damp half-moon tracks onto the floorboards. Teo has his other thumb hooked over his shoulder, backward, at one such ventilation grate that he was using to illustrate how precious little he really knows about disease. He's the same ragged-haired, scar-mouthed, slightly cold-stiffened figure who'd paid his last couple visits, handling supplies, peering dubiously at a certain Englishwoman's sleepy lump of body underneath the blankets, handling Daphne's transfer, but he isn't alone this time. He brought a bonafide doctor. "Hey.

"Jess," he adds, smiling. "Who's awake?"

He brought something that can pass for a doctor, anyway. Francois follows, currently fidgeting the zipper of his sweater down a few inches and giving an obligingly glance upwards towards the ventilation grate and only nodding a little at the conclusion that Teo reaches for himself. He's quick to wander a green eyed gaze around the place, observing the set up impassively and then including Alexander in that sweep, offering the man a crescent smile, distinctly aware that probably not many words have passed between them even if they—

Lived together up until the past week, although with the amount of people that Abby's upstairs den sees, Francois' fleeting presence was only so meaningful. "Is the caretaker here in?" he adds to the question.

Whump Whump Whump. Samson's tail hits the floor when Alexander comes into the room, but the dog doesn't get up, only raising his brows and perking his cropped ears.

"Well, people said it was good, but I have no idea why anyone would say that-" Delilah stops to greet Al, but ends up coughing loudly into her pajama shirt sleeve. The hacking drowns out most of Teo's voice in her ears, but she can tell he is coming in the door not long after Jesse. And someone else that she doesn't really know is talking a little- but- Delilah dog ears the page of the book, picks it up in her fingers, judges gorilla banana trajectory- and gives the book a hefty toss into the air at Teodoro.

Not a pop in the nose, just quite.

Samson, who had been seconds ago content to doze, is not so much anymore. Jesse, then Teo, then- WAIT, WAIT, WAIT. I don't know this one! The molosser dog jumps to his feet, pawing right up to Francois and becoming an obstacle instead of a Rockwell decoration. Grrrrrrawwwwwwwrrrllllll. Samson purses his lips and lets out a half-growl at the Frenchman. It's not mean-spirited because he came with Teo, but it is suspicious of motive.

"Most people are idiots," the once speedster says matter-of-factly. "Half of America thinks that The Readers Digest counts as journalism."

When Alexander enters, Daphne looks up, eyes following the fan like Samson's might follow a rawhide bone. Is that for moi? Her look clearly says, hopeful and earnest. But then there are more people clomping down the hallway, and she frowns a little, looking to the doorway as the voices approach, then enter, speaking to their "nursemaid." Teo she recognizes — the other man she does not. Her dark eyes are wary, and she shifts into a sitting position, slowly and awkwardly pulling herself up to rest against the wall.

Al's a beast of very few words these days, and most of those are reserved for Abbykins. The book, however, stops short in mid air, as if it'd hit an invisible wall. And then goes wafting to the window ledge. He nods politely to the pair who've appeared, puts out a hand to soothe Samson, quietly. "If it's a true flu, then it's airborne," Al notes, quietly. He sets the fan down between the beds, on the nightstand there, stoops to plug it in. Somethings are easiest done with mundane hands.

The book hurling at Teo's head doesn't warrant elite ninjas evasive maneuvers: for the moment, it seemed like the Sicilian was going to take the assault by trying to catch the projectile in hand, but he's spared having to by the telekinetic. His hand falls empty out of empty air, and he's left to blink at the riffling of paper pages as Al steals them away.

"This is Doctor Allegre. He's here to help," Teo says, stepping forward, and around Alexander to square himself properly in Delilah's point of view. He aims a playful swat at the ex-soldier's (too-thin) belly, before stooping to scuff blunt nails over Samson's densely-furred head. Introductions, then.

"This is Daphne," he points out the blond, "who's new. And that's Delilah, with whom I go back— almost exactly a year now." With the mean overhand and the rebelling sneezes and the vampire books. Teodoro is not outwardly offended at thrown objects being the mode of greeting. "I take it Melissa's out. The operator," he adds, for Francois' sake.

Francois is opening his mouth to say something along the lines of, you did not tell me there are dogs here, but that might be unfair. First to presume that Teo is telepathic that way and also there is only one dog, as big as two dogs though it might be, and growling at him. He does the thing that non-dog-people do, which is back up a step with his shoulders all squared, but at least two people seem to be placating the beast, so he pays attention to introductions as he shuffles his way further into the Den, giving the canine his space.

"Bonjour, but you can call me Francois," he tells the wider room, glancing to the redhead with a slightly raised eyebrow after following the track of the soaring book, from both her hand through to Alex's own trajectories. "I saw some of the sequel — it's not worth doing that to yourself, mademoiselle."

Delilah's breath escapes in a mixture of a cough and a snort, the latter for Jesse. No! He needs a crack! The redhead fusses visibly and pulls up the blankets around where she is sitting. Nesting time, crossing forearms. She sniffs through her nose, swallowing the itch in her throat and looking very …sour again. "More'n a year. It was a year in Italy, actually." Dee lifts her knuckles to rub at her nose and cheeks, looking down at her covers. She is probably still mad about the Russian thing. It's not Teo's fault, really, but she doesn't have anyone else to fuss at!

"It was a thrift book. I dun'think I care anymore." Mmmf.

Samson, though touched by two hands in trying to get him to stop making noise, barely stops making that rumbling sound. It hiccups a little, and the shaved bear with a dog collar paws past the other men to sniff at Francois' pantlegs. He has to make expressly certain of what this person is!

The little speedster gives a slight nod — doctors are even more suspicious than mere strangers in her book, so she watches from the bed with wary dark eyes. When Francois speaks, she smiles slightly — French helps at least! She might be one of the few Americans who find the French charming but then she's a francophile. She murmurs a few words of French. "«Very nice to meet you, doctor»" — perhaps just to show she can. She reaches for the edge of a blanket to flop it back over her legs — she's not really modest, but there are three strange men in the room, even if they are here to take care of the sick.

Alexander makes a face at the swat, and nods. "She is. I'm night watchman, for now," Al explains, gruffly. "I'll be down working in the kitchen. Yell for me, if you need me," he adds, slipping for the door.

By the time the penny-haired Georgian is stealthing away, Teo has already set himself down at the foot of Lilah's bed and — he can't very well get up and argue the necessity of the night watch returning to shift, now, can he? His head is twisted around on its axis for a moment, watching Alexander beat his retreat, before blinking pale eyes into refocus on the rest of the room. At least Francois seems occupied with making a new friend. That's nice. "See you later, Al. Get some fucking sleep, all right?

"Can't have you succumbing, too." Hilarious words; Teodoro just doens't know it yet. He turns back around to look at Delilah's sulking-face, delivers an awkward, gingerly optimistic pat-patting of a palm on her knee. A year since Italy. Right. He remembered that. He totally remembered that. Teo is a great friend. "Haven't started seeing things or shit like that, have you?"

"Likewise," is a very American response to Daphne's French, Frenchman giving her a brighter smile before he's occupied with a bear. Samson will snuff up the scent of Red Hook's harbours, all smoke and water and earth, the interior of Teo's car, denim, cotton, the sweat that comes from moving through the late winter and dressed to accommodate it. No animals. Finally, Francois lowers his hands to pat pat the dog's head, some kind of assurance muttered in French before he's peeling gloves off his hands.

God forbid they ever get some conventional doctors down here. With the slice taken out of his left ear and the strange bent skew of his left hand's knuckles and by extension fingers, he looks like he's had more need of one, once, instead of need to be one. Somewhat barricaded until he somehow gains the mutt's approval, Francois lifts his head towards the two bedridden women, before smiling across at Daphne when Teo hones in on the redhead. "Teo couldn't say how much care you all are getting. How is your fever?"

Delilah is Very Sulky, for being Delilah. She isn't usually, so this and everything else seems to be catching her up. Her jaw juts out at Teo when he pats her on the top of her knee. "I'unno. I get bad and then I get better. Sometimes I see shadows when I get real hot and sometimes I can't even sit up or move my legs. The last few days have been good, considering." She is expecting things to nosedive, by the tone of her voice. Another sniff, before she looks between Teo and Francois, studying the latter longer.

Samson's nose feels like a small vacuum on pantlegs, pressure tickling at the Frenchman's knees. When he gets patted on the skull, the dog straightens to accept it. Hm. Fine. You're okay, for now. Deep brown doggie eyes scrutinize him long after letting him past, and the statue poise of him is clear when he sits down where he can see everything.

Daphne's hand comes up to push a shock of platinum hair out of her eyes — it's sweaty and sticking to her forehead, and she needs a haircut. "They feed us and give us Tylenol to bring down the fever and cough drops for the coughs and the stuff that they can handle," Daphne murmurs, as far as the care they're getting. "It takes the edge off," she says with a shrug, her red-rimmed eyes looking a bit heavy as she watches the doctor — she likes his demeanor and his French accent, but she still looks like she expects him to tase her and carry her off to some laboratory. Her eyes move toward Teo. "Seeing shit?" Just what she needs — hallucinations. She closes her eyes, leaning her head against the wall wearily.

"I haven't heard of anybody seeing shit," Teo hears himself say, distantly, as he flattens the blanket on Delilah's knee with a conciliatory hand. Smoothes it down. Nicey-nicey. She's being unlike herself, but the least he can do is acknowledge that it's probably because she feels like unadulterated Hell right now. Cut her some slack. "But when my fevers got really bad when I was young, that's what my mother used to be worried about. She was probably just trying to scare me away from absconding out the window to steal rowboats.

"It didn't work," he says, grinning crookedly. It's hard to tell whether the expression's lopsidedness comes from the scar bifurcating his cheek or if Teo's merely acting his age. "Treating the symptoms, eh? Guess that's as good as they can do for now. You two want some better books?"

Canine approval afforded him, Francois finally makes his way into the Den proper and towards Daphne's bedside, crouching down next to her as he stuffs his gloves into his pocket. She probably knows this look, from experience — the analytical stare through as opposed to the looking at of conversation, getting studied. "There is not much to do with a virus, non," he says, with a glance Teo's way, "although a fever is not completely a bad sign. It at least means your body is doing what it should do.

"May I?" A hand out, indicating that he'd like to touch and check, lacking a thermometer in the immediate future. "Eventually everything will run its course. The only doctoring I can offer is being in contact in case the symptoms worsen and the nursing you are already getting. How long have you both been unwell?"

"Mel's got some on a list for me. for when she goes out further than Roosevelt." Delilah murmurs after effectively waiting her turn. She seems unsure about what to do about Teo; her hands knot a little as they slink closer to his one over her lap, but she doesn't reach for him out of both pride and wariness about the whole- getting him sick thing. "A couple weeks, or so. I thought I was getting better- then douchebag came after me, and I think that gave it an advantage. I'm still getting headaches."

Teo's grin gets another smile from Daphne — she would have liked to have met the friendly Italian in a different manner. "Red's doing better with the reading," she admits. "My eyes just hurt when I try." So far in her stay, she mostly stares out the window or sleeps, or pretends to. Bloodshot eyes track back to Francois' face and she gives a slight nod, closing her eyes before his hand reaches to touch her forehead or cheek to check her fever — it's a high one, but that much could be guessed from her flushed face.

"I lost my power a week ago," Daphne says quietly — she knows to the minute when the power fritzed out completely (forever?) on her. "And I was sick … maybe a week before that, maybe a week and a half."

There's a frown of sympathy for the speedster woman, and Teo pulls his foot off the floor — nearly sets his heel on the edge of Li's bed, but then remembers that, you know, this is her bed, so he drops it again with a slight fluster of embarrassment. "I used to have an ability, too.

"It was like missing a fucking eye for a month," he admits, his features blanking. "I got used to it. But at least I got to miss out on this fever and bullshit. If I can figure out power source in a way that doesn't make the Ferry crazy from the resource use, I'll try to get the Den some A/V. DVDs and shit. I'm sure fictional romps are consistent with some kind of placebo principle, with the making people feel better thing." Someday, Teodoro will have medicine words. Maybe he'll even bring a doctor who isn't half a gimp, himself.

Francois only needs one hand to be a good doctor, merci. The good one is up and doing the imperfect check of temperature, palm cool against Daphne's baking skin and eyes showing that glimmer of interested concern at the overt heat thrumming beneath the young lady's skin. "You can try a bath," he suggests, once he's taking his hand away. "Not too cold or hot, only neutral. We— " — is slightly assumptive,and his voice hitches over it before he continues, "can only make you comfortable until it goes away.

"Also those music players to keep you from being bored, what are they called? Walkmans?" That's a joke. No, it really is, you can tell by the quick smile towards the one soul in the room for which it makes sense, and the way it's easier to make that kind of comment and ignore the one about how Teo's ability disappeared. "I wish I could help more for today, but if it's alright with the house operator, I can help monitor their conditions."

Pattapatta. Delilah pats her palm onto the side of the bed when Teo anstes nearby. It's fine, I guess. It's just a bed. "I didn't know it went away." The third eye thing. "I haven't been sleeping well lately, if that's anything. Music's been giving me headaches too, so no getting Lady Gaga in my head."

Samson, still sitting across the floor, puts his front feet out, then draaaaaags his hip a few inches to follow. And he does it twice more so that by the time Francois might turn his head, the dogbeast is sitting right beside him, peering over the edge of Daphne's bed. Hmm.

Daphne frowns a little at the talk of Teo losing his power — he doesn't look ill enough to have lost it like she has, and it doesn't sound like it's from this illness. "Movies might work. I can't concentrate on reading. Or anything too complex," she says. "I'm a bear of very little brain right now I'm afraid." Her hand stretches to reach for Samson, petting the dog before looking back up at Francois. "Don't feel bad. I didn't expect you to help anyway," she tells him honestly, if a bit bluntly. "I mean — other than what Teo and Melissa and all have already done." Taken her in. Not left her to fester alone in her apartment.

Dark eyes flicker back to Teo. "Nothing … sappy. Moviewise." It's an after thought, and what she means is nothing romantic. "Unless Dee likes sappy in which case I'll just sleep through those."

Given pattapatta permission, Teodoro's face brightens slightly and he puts his feet up on the bed by the edge of his heel. He puts his chin on his shoulder and quirks a half-grin at the former speedster, before angling a glance over at the Englishwoman. Not sleeping well.

That's terrible, and terrible that he knows all about. Maybe some old flick she's seen before— that tends to either help, when he's trying to put himself to sleep, or to infuse him with the sudden urge to run around in inane hamsterwheel circles until he's tired enough to pass the fuck out and ergo relieve himself of that boredom. "Last I recall, Li has a fairly eclectic taste in films."

It's MP3 players, Francoiiiis, he could add, in a nasal voice, but Teo doesn't. He starts to swat his clothes flat, instead, and pull himself up onto his feet. "Mel. I think— she'd probably be good with it. I'll help you find her. I think I have her number somewhere."

Slight alarm squiggles up Francois' spine to find the large dog so close by, again, but he lets his uneven left hand rest down on the thick skull of the creature in an obligatory skritch of fingers. Okay. Okay! Affection, for you, because it's probably the best treatment that Doctor Allegre can provide in the immediate future. "Ah, oui," he tells Teo, peeking up over the hound's head before setting his hands on the edge of Daphne's cot to lever himself to his feet.

"I don't feel badly," he tells Daphne, presently, with a half kind of smile. "Pity is not very good treatment, for the sick or for myself. I'm only glad you've received everything you can for now. We could see about something to help you sleep, though," he adds, with a shrugging nod to Delilah.

"I don't like those as movies, just books." Don't worry. Delilah's chest thrums when she holds in some coughing, shoulders rocking slightly. "Ugh- eh-" She stops coughing, but she has a shudder to her now because of it. "As long as it ain't awful I'll watch it. Okay- I-"

The redhead rocks forward in her seat now, cough whooping wild again as she buries her head in her forearms. A spittle sound comes soon enough, the slick smack of saliva coming up through her lungs with spots of bloody mucus. Leper! Flee!

Samson leeeeeeeeaaans closer when Francois scratches his head, nose wandering closer as if to warn of an incoming pink slurp. His attention jerks sharply when Delilah starts coughing, and he sways onto his paws to go back to her. <:(

The speedster, on the other hand, is perhaps sleeping too much if there's such a thing when trying to fight possibly fatal illness. She murmurs, "Merci," to the doctor, and when he reaches to scritch the giant dog, she slides back down in her bed, dark lashes batting twice on pink cheeks below before closing. She shivers a little, despite the fact she was too hot a moment before, and pulls the blankets higher and tighter around her small, decrepit form. Apparently the interview with the good doctor is over — sleep prevails.

Promptly, tissues come to Delilah's rescue: a wet rag after that, yanked off the tin tray on her bedstand. Teo says something near to inaudible in Italian, and near to incomprehensible for the girl herself. Pushes her hair back from her forehead with a rough thumb, and then closes a firm grip on her shoulder. It doesn't stop until that shock of coughing tremors fades, and then he's casting a look about for the book she'd thrown.

Al set it down nearby enough. Pulling away, Teo stops by the other cot to rest a brief hand on the little blond's shoulder, through the covers. A small frown makes a roiled S-shape out of the queasy contouring of his ruined mouth, and he lets a light pat loose on her fading frame before trotting to meet Francois. Samson's privvy to a swat at the side of his neck, a point at Delilah. "Go to Delilah," he enunciates, clearly. "Walk you later."

A hand goes out, crab claw affections around Teo's elbow before Francois sinks both hands into his pockets and tracks the path of the dog back to the canine's mistress once he's drrragged his focus from Daphne's tiny sleeping frame on over to Delilah recovering from her deep chested coughing. The inclusion of this particular flu seems largely— unfair. He, for instance, feels fine. Zipping up his sweater closed in preparation for outside, the Frenchman says, "It was nice meeting you both — I will come back soon. We both shall."

There are painful tears welling in Dee's eyes when she shifts back with the thumb to her forehead. She lies further back to get some of the pressure off of her chest, breath wheezing. In lieu of saying much of anything, Delilah just slinks back under her blankets, shameful and not wanting people to look at her right now. She just peers her face over the top edge of the quilt back at the two men.

It's clear that she really wants to not be here. Can't she go with you guys? Argh. She only just met Francois- seems like a waste of a first impression. Blah.

"Please." Both of you. Teo a little more- she can't stay mad at him- but Francois is the doctor here.

"Promise," Teo says, and it isn't the hardest thing he's ever done. He flits the redhead a brief wave, the warmest and brightest one that he can muster, to accompany her under and break through the lumpy range of her mountainous blankets. He turns away as Samson's huge snowshoe paws begin to wind his path back to his mistress, and Teo finds himself wondering briefly, at random, if Francois had put himself on his good side on purpose, but brusquely pushes that thought back. Idiot distractions, if a good excuse to smile at him. They have to find Melissa.

He digs his phone out with one hand, and takes the first five stairs in two long strides before stopping. The vent's breathing the smell of supper down here, means she's probably upstairs already or due in again soon. "They have time, right?" he's asking, his voice low, eyes carefully fixed on Francois'. "Even if there's no right medicine. They're— maybe serious but 'stable?'"

"Soon," is Francois' repeated, accompanying pledge, before he's swiftly following the Sicilian and making a checklist on the things he has to ask Melissa before the other list of things he has to ask the patients. Derailed, of course, when Teo stops and has them cornered in the stairwell leading up to surface, pinned briefly by an earnestly blue stare. "Oui," is probably a quick promise from the doctor, and then a slightly wan smile. "If their condition does not worsen, I think they can endure until the sickness finishes being. Daphne should be monitored closely. I do not know how closely Melissa and her helpers have been watching them but we shall find out now."

Come along. His hand briefly captures Teo's, offers another smile, and tugs him to continue up and up and see a girl about two more girls.

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