Participants:
| Scene Title | When You Fall |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Someone will be there to pick you up. |
| Date | August 9, 2013 |
Outside a bar in NY
It's 2013, fifteen minutes after last call, and Deckard has officially been a reformed alcoholic for something like three years. Unfortunately, his intake occasionally deviates from said official reform, and while he may not have qualifed as an alcoholic today, he definitely qualifies as a drunk tonight. Off-white button down open over a dreary undershirt and dark jeans, he's sprawled lankily out on his back across the wood and iron ribbing of a bench not far from the pay phone he used to dial Abigail. He's smoking. He looks pretty comfortable, actually. Too comfortable for the bench he's waiting on.
The phone call itself wasn't entirely coherent. Hhhey it's Flint. I'm drunk but I found a bench. The bar is closed. It's hot outside have you noticed? And so on until she hung up or he ran out of spare change.
One call to the police station, two bribes of 'sure, I'll come touch you and get rid of this and that' to some operators, and a gratuitous use of sirens later to get to Starbucks fast, Abby's ambulance and her partner are creeping through the New York night, looking for the address that said pay phone belongs to and Flint Deckard.
So it's with a measure of success that the blonde makes it there. See, lunch breaks can be used for good things, even though they're at 3 am in the morning. Like picking up your drunk friend and getting him back on the sobriety wagon. Andrew, her partner, takes off to go find a bathroom while Abby gets out of the drivers seat, around the front of her rig to sit beside Deckard. "Flint" She bobbing her head, looking over at him in that "now what did you do" kind of look. "You called?"
Deckard watches the slow roll of the ambulance braking to a halt nearby without moving to get up. He doesn't move to get up when Andrew buggers off. Norrr does he move to get up when Abigail makes her way over, though he does bend up one long leg enough for her to have room to sit on the other end of the bench. Once she's settled, it's re-extended to drop down across her lap. Fortunately, the the whiskey stink of his leg region is far less than the head and shoulder regions respectively.
"I thought maybe you would be awake." Career hazard and all. "Hi," offered belatedly in greeting, he stretches still longer along the bench, spine popping several times down its length before it resettles. His next exhalation manages to form a loosely constituted ring before the wind kicks it away. It's possible that he's also a little stoned.
Abby's hands settle down on the leg that finds it's way on her lap. Check for matching socks, check for matching shoes, mentally cataloging everything. "Need a banana? We got a few bags in the back and I can get you set up while we take you home. It's been a slow night. Not a hint of disapproval at his little smoke rings, or the whiskey smell. He knows she's disappointed but she'll keep it to herself. One hand settles on his ankle, sock pushed down and there's that familiar feeling. He's getting some healing. Help with the kidney and liver to process the alcohol in his system. fix any bruises, everything.
Already heavy-lidded eyes rolled closed at the familiar sensation, Deckard doesn't actually complain out loud, but he's too far gone to bother with masking the resignation compressed into a smokey sigh. The bones in his ankle roll over once beneath her fingers, the movement as lazy as everything else about him at the moment. "I don't need any bananas." He's not hungry. Brows lifted in consideration all the same, he flattens a hand out across his chest and tips his head over sideways enough to squint at the ambulance. It's like. Blurry.
"You know what I meant, and your just being ornery. You wouldn't have called otherwise" Abby lets her hand roll with her ankle, he's not shaking her off, not with such minimal effort. "Want to talk about it? Or do you just want to sit here for a bit? Andrew's gonna make himself scare for a bit longer" Blonde hair is pinned up, out of the way of potential patients and her stethoscope glints in the steet lamps light. "Need a place to stay tonight?" Blue eyes track him, careful, worry tracing the edges of her gaze.
"Nrrghh," is what Deckard has to say for the failed escape of his ankle, cigarette rolled from one corner of his mouth to the other when it starts to droop towards the concrete, ash falling back into his face for the effort. He fails to notice, and the wind does away with the rest of it anyway, red ember glowing orange against the dry brush of it. "Need a place to stay," echoed at a skeptical mutter, he pushes his heel against the side of her leg, neatly passing over both the subjects of talking about it and just sitting there. "Are you hitting on me?"
"No flint. I'm being a friend after a couple years of mostly sobriety, and spotty contact, you call me up" His ankle is released when she's satisfied, sock pulled up, pant leg pulled down. "My place is near. This is me, asking you, if you want to go there since I surmise it might be closer. I can set you up with a banana bag and you'll be right as rain tomorrow, no hangover" Duh. "Or is this your way of hitting on me? Because if so, you gotta learn to woo women better Deckard. Whiskey on the breath is not romantic" There, shove his leg off, lean over and offer her hand.
"If you are it's okay. I mean it's…understandable what with me being a hero now. Aaaannnd…" Odds are he has some other…positive attributes in there somewhere that he can think of. Windblown, scruffy head dropped down through the open space between the curve of the arm rest and the wooden slats of the bench beneath them, he lets it tip back towards the concrete, nearly upside down before his eyes flicker to life. A gaggle of hookers occupies the end of the block, talking, staggering around on heels, laughing. He can see their booones. "Educated." His cigarette flips out of his mouth at the 'u,' and falls up. His eyes go dark again to watch it roll away across cracked asphalt. This is how forest fires get started.
"Yeah yeah. Save the world" She'd heard his story, she'd watched from a room far away, sitting on a couch, to all their stories. She had them stored away on DVD somewhere, a well kept secret. Bursting with pride that they all got acknowledged while her own medal sat in a box in her closet. "Stop looking at their underwear. I'll take you home, but I'm not going to buy you a hooker. That's Teo's job. Come on prince charming." There's a tug on his jacket, a get your head out of the hole and come on. "I'll tell you a secret in the bus, if you come"
"Mmm." More with the grunty vocalizations than he is with the dialogue in his current condition, Deckard lifts his head part of the way at the tug, one eye squinched partway shut while he judges the clearance he has with the arm rest and…clocks his forehead off the bottom of it anyway. Tttanngggghh goes the iron. Flint just presses a hand up over the point of contact and pushes himself gradually up off the bench's support with his other hand, presumably with Abigail's assistance to keep him from tipping one or both of them over in the process. "Teo likes bananas. Maybe we should call him."
"Teo likes Banana's, yes" Wait a minute, does he mean banana's or is it an innuendo. Down Abby dips, swinging his arm over her shoulder and helping him rise from the bench, towards the back of the Ambulance. She smells like soap and rubbing alcohol. Her own personal scent always warring with the medical smell of her work when she's suited up. "I can call Teo when we get to my place, he can sit with you if you want Flint. Lemme get you in back, get you an IV. Your a Hero. Hero's don't lounge drunkenly on the bench leering at flipskirts" No chastising, he doesn't need chastising, not right now.
"Why not?" Deckard smells like an ash tray someone spilled a few cheap drinks on, and has approximately no ability to balance his own weight outside of some top heavy staggering and a timely brace against a lamp post in passing. "Sooounds like a perfectly legiterate passtime to me." Is legiterate a word? It is now. The obstinate set of his jaw fuzzes around a distant scowl as they move for the ambulance, probably not all that expediently. He's kind of heavy. "Don't call Teo."
"I won't call Teo" Why isn't she supposed to call Teo. Probably some ego thing. Slowly she makes her way to the ambulance, though at some point, Andrew appears, her partner, taking a silent place on the other side, Deckard frog marched between them as the door is opened. The light in the ambulance a contrast to whats outside, everything tucked away in it's cubby's. "You know the drill, get up there, roll up that sleeve" nope, not the first time she's done this.
"I'll cancel breakfast with Johan and get him to take the rest of my shift" Cancel again, like she always does for Deckard. He's been the topic of more than a few conversations between her and her Fiancee. Some good, some not so good. Even a fight or two that ends up brushed off. Something about he better not show up drunk to the wedding. Or her running off to help him, or help her friends. Even the span of time passed, she's still dropping everything and running to help them all. The IV bag of pale yellow liquid is slid out from it's hiding spot, tubing being unrolled, everything she needs to do her job as she looks down at the bedraggled man. "Oh Flint, what am I going to do with you?"
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