Trying to do good


bella_icon.gif ygraine_icon.gif

Scene Title Trying to do good
Synopsis United in the face of disaster, Institute and Ferry both feel they have to help
Date February 9 2011

Suresh Center

The lobby of the Suresh Center is an open, very well-lit space; the exterior walls are more window than wall. There's a raised half-level on the right side of the irregularly-shaped room as one walks in, carpeted in pine-green, decked with oak furniture and small table lamps; a comfortable-looking space, with actual living plants at the top of the stairs and scattered here and there elsewise. Continuing to the left brings one to the receptionist's desk, a small vending area located just beyond that.

Passing the receptionist brings a visitor to the core of the building. Here are the Kastin and Chapman auditoria, named for donors who provided the money that built them; rooms designed to seat many people for lectures and presentations, equipped with large projector screens, pervasive sound systems, and video recorders. Four conference rooms fill out the central section, reduced in scale but no less comprehensively outfitted. The wings which branch off to either side contain rows of classrooms: smaller, more private and personal, some with installed technology and some with nothing more elaborate than a whiteboard.

The classrooms, conference rooms, and auditoria are all available for public use; anyone who wants to reserve one may do so for a nominal fee, be it to teach a class, hold a meeting, or present a seminar. There are no restrictions on subject, nor even the credentials of the instructor or lecturer, though the Center waives all liability for courses taught by a third party (which is all of them). These courses and seminars are all by definition open to the public. Donations may be requested, or small fees charged, particularly for courses with a materials cost.

Outside, the noonday sunlight is filtered through the grimy haze of pollution now coating the paranormal field. Within, the Centre maintains its now-customary mixture of normality and aberrance. Amidst the blacked-out chaos and dislocation of the Dome, this is one of few buildings to retain a conscious air of organisation - not to mention access to electrical power, at least for systems deemed necessary.

Still, a sign of how unusual the times are might be found in the complete lack of unease shown to a woman clad in wrap-around shades and dirty leathers tramping in through the front doors and making her way towards reception. Amidst the colours and layers of filth - many smeared and faded, as if ineffectually cleaned by someone with access to no more than cold water - might be spotted everything from road-dirt to brick-dust, but dark streaks underlying much of it look very much as if someone spilt a good deal of some viscous liquid down her front.

Raising a hand in greeting to the lucky person roped into visitor-wrangling and reception duty, Ygraine offers a somewhat weary smile. "Hi there. I'm here to see Jacob Anderson again. Stillwater contractor, with partial amputation of the foot", she announces, as she has a couple of times before.

"I'm passing by Anderson," a weary voice says, in an attempt at crispness that ends up sounding more brusque than not, "I think they moved him since last time. Severity rotation," a smile, "good sign, I promise."

Dr. Sheridan has eschewed makeup if not showering, the business of a hospital being a messy one, and her bangs wisp, frizzly, above her blue eyes. Tired, she looks, but not necessarily unhappy. That or she puts on a convincing face. "Come with me," she informs Ygraine, motioning with a tug tug of fingers at the air, tapping her way around the other woman and heading for a pair of swinging doors and the hallway beyond.

Ygraine nods her acceptance of the offer of a guide, falling into step behind the weary medic. The older woman's back is eyed with tired curiosity, the Briton having the feeling that the stranger looks vaguely familiar from somewhere….

"How are things going in here?", FitzRoy asks quietly, sounding as if she's genuinely concerned rather than attempting to pass the time of day.

"Bad enough that they have someone with a speciality in psychiatric medicine doing trauma work," Bella replies, indulging in self reference - though it has been quite some time since she did a real ER shift. Just… out of practice. "But people are getting helped. And there's something like order, of necessity."

"As long as the doctors run the show and the grunts stay just grunting," the doctor adds, in an undertone, "I think it will be all right." Doing her little bit of obligatory (and consequenceless, of course) dissidence.

Ygraine cocks her head and arches a brow as she tries to figure out whether she is considered someone suitable for grunting. "I'm frankly glad that we have a place like this in here. I was… out by the edge, when it came up. I was worried that the very best we'd have inside the field of effect would be a few first aid kits and whatever prescription medicines people had hoarded in their homes."

"I was here when it happened, so I can't say I know how frightening that must have been," Bella says, casting a sympathetic look over at Ygraine as they navigate down the hallway. Gurneys, cots and stretchers line walls here and there, creating a rock rapids of activity. Bella moves with a forceful confidence, though, a 'I'm a doctor, dammit' stride that tends to let her make good headway. "How is it you know Mr. Anderson, if I may ask?"

"I carried him out of the wreckage of the rear half of the van he was in", Ygraine says quietly, her distinctly educated British tones rather at odds with the leather and grime of her attire. "A tenth of a second later, and… well. Of course, he's rather inclined to see it more in terms of not having been half a second later, which would have had him clean through and out the far side. But… I found him, got him out, and gave him his initial treatment. As you can imagine, I was… more than a little relieved to discover that there was somewhere better than a sliced-in-half chapel to put the seriously wounded cases."

"Oh, so I'm dealing with a hero," Bella says, archly, her eyes crinkling in what looks like genuine good humor, "one of those troublesome cases against my general misanthropy." She lifts her chin. "I think he should be just up ahead. We'll see how he's doing, but I wouldn't be surprised if he were sedated, especially during initial recovery." She gives Ygraine a quick up and down look, taking in the whole ensemble. "What do you do when you're not trapped in domes and saving lives?"

Ygraine snorts - though she also looks as if she might be somewhat pleased by Bella's description. "I've been in a lot of crashes, myself", she says quietly. "I… was initially expecting broken bones and the like. Those, I've experience of dealing with."

Shaking her head as if to clear it, the Briton musters a smile for her companion. "Nowadays? I'm a courier. That's why I was out here, when it happened. Making a delivery."

"What kind of work is it? Most boring with moments of excitement, or all boring?" Bella inquires. A sardonic prefiguring of answers, not her best work, but that very cynicism has a useful distancing effect. Company and misery are decent bedfellows.

The doctor's hand goes out, pushes past a door into a room beyond, one cluttered with beds. "In here, I believe…"

Shooting Bella a rather amused look, Ygraine accepts the invitation to move onwards into the room. "I love to ride. In my glamorous past, I was a professional sportswoman. And… when I first came back here in oh-eight, there were only a handful of us running anything between the halves of Manhattan. I helped set up a mail collection service in Queens, for people whose neighbourhoods weren't considered 'officially' safe yet. Now… I admit that things usually tend to be more like the old New York. Insane drivers who treat anything on two wheels as a target, and constant traffic jams."

"More in this heroic vein, and a sportswoman as well?" Bella says, mildly mock incredulous, "I'd suspect braggadocio but I was the one who plied you for information, and there isn't swagger to your stride. I think I need to ask a woman this remarkable for her name," she dips her head to Ygraine, pausing near the entrance of the room, their progression halted for this formality alone, it seems.

Coming to a halt, Ygraine arches a brow at Bella, then laughs - and offers her an extravagant, graceful bow, replete with hand-flourish. "Ygraine FitzRoy. At your service, doctor. And might I have the honour of knowing the name of my gracious guide?"

Bella's brow lift at the display, but she retains her smile. With a name like Ygraine's and an introduction like that, it feels like some strange, archaic spirit has invaded this sleek modern building. Which, honestly, could use some variety. "Isabella Sheridan," she replies, "I'd offer you my hand but we're supposed to keep contact to a minimum so…" she lowers in a quick, slightly awkward bow of her own. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Quite understandable. I've… not exactly managed to keep everything as clean as I'd like, I admit. Wet-wipes don't really cut it with dirty leathers", Ygraine admits ruefully. "Perhaps from now on, I'll make sure to carry a change of clothes with me wherever I go, rather than just a few odds and ends. Which reminds me… how are you for power, here? I know you have the generator, but I've no idea how much you're able to tap it."

"Details for the administrative staff and facility maintenance," Bella says, with an air of helplessness, "I handle bodies, not buildings. However, I'm sure if you want to continue with what appear to be your routine feats, I can direct you to a staff member who may be able to let you know if they need help with something." She wrinkles her nose. "Government building, of course, so some people are still sticklers for security. Don't feel badly if they turn you down."

Ygraine chuckles softly. "Rather a smaller-scale offer. After the… joys of the previous Winter, I laid in some extra kit. On my bike, I had with me a mobile charger - a simple little crank-powered unit that you can plug small devices into to recharge their batteries. I'm keeping tight hold of it myself, rather than letting any one building or group stake a claim to it, but… if your energy supplies are rationed and you want to refresh your cell, I can certainly manage that."

"That- could be very useful, actually," Bella says, her tone suggesting that this came as realization and maybe a surprise - her first instinct, one born of crankiness and fatigue, was to think rather little of this. But cellphones are communication and communication is something Bella will never denigrate. "I'd suggest you relay the offer to the staff here as soon as you can. We could put it to do good use, and I admit I fear that things like that might get commandeered eventually, should this whole business drag on much further."

Ygraine nods, chuckling softly. "Hence keeping it with myself. I'd rather mention it to a few noteworthy people and carry it around with me, than have either the medics, Stillwater, the cops, or anyone else decide that their needs are paramount. Used sensibly, a cell can last for a very long time without being recharged. I'm happy to keep lines open, but it can also recharge things like laptops and other portable electronics. In all honesty, I'd hoped that there'd be more of them around, after last Winter, but mine seems to be a very precious commodity indeed."

"Whenever something like this ends, everyone is in such a rush to get back to normal that they forget that something like this always ends up happening again," Bella says, giving a small, wry shake of her head, eyes sliding up momentarily. Oh, people.

"I think you'll respect me more if I just out and out make my case, rather than trying to be roundabot," the doctor says, without further ado, "I think you should make sure the medical personnel get that generator's use, first and foremost. We are under Hippocratic oath, so we're pretty much bound to only do good with it, and we need lines of communication open to help coordinate field help and retrieval of the injured." She dips her head, "just one hardly unbiased woman's opinion."

Ygraine chuckles, inclining her head to Bella. "I did freely mention it to you", she points out with a wry smile. "I want it to do good. The hope is that if I can spread around its benefits, fewer people will need to end up here in your care. But if you can provide me with a phone or two whenever I visit, I can get them recharged. And I can make sure to visit frequently. Just… remember it's not an infinite resource and that I won't be able to power up every cell in the building. It takes time to charge each phone from it, and time and effort to put charge into the unit itself. There are larger and more advanced systems out there - this is just one I had tucked away on my bike in case of emergency."

"Again, I'd rather leave all the details to the actual administrative staff," Bella says, dipping her head in admission of her limitations, "they are the ones who really run the show. God knows what doctors would do without staff. I know I have trouble organizing my own study, let alone all this," she gestures towards the beds around them. Bella tilts her head. "But I do believe I know where your patient is. Shall we?"

Another chuckle, and Ygraine nods assent, resuming her progress towards the unfortunate Mr Anderson. "How are things here?", she asks quietly. "How long's the generator got power for? Are you able to run everything you need to?"

Bella lifts her hands, clipboard clasped by one thumb, in a helpless gesture as they sidle between rows of cots and past hastily erected curtains, "I try not to know frightening things like that," she says, "I don't know how long we're here for, so I have to assume indefinitely. And I know the answer to your question isn't 'indefinitely'. Again, administrative staff might have to know horrible things like that. Who ever is in charge of that aspect of the operation. Maintenance, maybe."

Shooting Bella an apologetic look, Ygraine finds herself focusing upon trying not to jostle patients, practitioners, or beds as she wends her way through the packed ward. Acutely aware once again of her grubby leathers, she wishes - for the umpteenth but far from last time - that she had at least one change of clothes. Then they're nearing the bed occupied by Mr Anderson, and she attempts to look cheerfully encouraging… only to let out a quiet sigh of relief when it's revealed that he is, indeed, sound asleep. This long after the incident, the bruising on his face has mellowed into a riot of fading colours, but the major injury was always the truncation of one foot - and that remains a heavily-bandaged and somewhat elevated bundle.

Bella lingers by Ygraine and the patient she's visiting, watching the look the woman gives the bedridden man. Interested, always, on the personal aspect. It's not a bad thing that Mr. Anderson is out; watching someone react to the unaware is often the most telling of things. Pure curiosity motivates Bella, a voracious automation in her perception.

Still, she's not quite sure if she can draw any conclusions. "I- should probably get to my own patient," Bella admits, dipping her head, "but let's exchange numbers, shall we? In case either of us needs anything?"

Ygraine's expression is… somewhat odd. Sympathy and concern, but also relief - all overlying a significant degree of ingrained weariness, though precious little of the latter carries through to the woman's stance.

"I… oh! Yes, of course", the Briton says, shaking her head then looking around to Bella. Delving into a pocket, she produces a cell, flipping through menus to generate a new input to the address book, before holding it out to the doctor.

Bella takes the cellphone, tapping out a new entry 'Doctor I. Sheridan', with her number in it. No further information, no address or e-mail. Keeping it simple. Volunteering that information would be a little forward, anyways. She returns the phone and nods to Ygraine. "Call me, I'll shift you into contacts. It's- Ygraine FitzRoy, right? I want to make sure, I have concerns I might conflate it with something."

Ygraine looks surprised, flashing a grin as she glances over the entry, then flips her phone back to neutral and tucks it safely away once more. "That's right, yes. Usually considered a fairly distinctive name, I confess. Even in this melting pot of a city."

A momentary pause, then she grins again, albeit this time rather sheepishly. "I'd offer to shake hands, but… I doubt I meet the cleanliness requirements for the clinic." Another long glance to Anderson, then she purses her lips. "I should go and chat with reception, and let you get back to work. Thanks again, Doctor."

Bella dips into a bow instead of a shake, smiling. "That's precisely the problem. A young Briton named Ygraine? Too distinctive. I'd be worried about bungling, remembering you as Guinevere. Recalling the distinctiveness, instead of the name." She gives a mild shrug. "Maybe it's a personal insanity. In any case, it was a pleasure meeting you. When my phone has only one call left in it, I know to whom that call will be."

Laughing, Ygraine returns the bow with added extravagance and flourish. "You honour me, madame", she purrs, before winking, and miming doffing a hat. "Thank you. And do feel free to call on my help should you need it", she instructs the older woman, before striding off to have that chat with the receptionist.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License