ArchivedLogs:Intruding

Intruding
Dramatis Personae Hive, Kate
In Absentia	2014-03-02 '
Location <NYC> Montagues - SoHo
Montagues harkens back to the day when SoHo was filled to the brim with artists, with its mismatched furniture, all plush and decorated heavily with carved wood, but remains trendy enough to keep its newer patrons by making sure that furniture is clean, in good repair and inviting. The antique tables all have been reinforced to seem less creaky. The real draw of the cafe is the smell: fresh roasted coffee mingles with perfectly steeped teas. Spices from crisp pastries mingle with the tang of clotted cream but don't overwhelm too much the scent of chalk on the menu boards. Montagues is quiet, Sunday evening, tables half-filled but barely any /line/ at the counter and plenty of empty seating around. Hive looks like he's been here for quite some time -- he's made himself good and comfortable at a table by himself, backpack leaned up against his chair and laptop in front of him. He's dressed blandly, fraying faded jeans and sturdy workboots, deep red sweatshirt with Greek lettering Theta and Tau on either side of its zipper in gold, a soft fleece cap pulled down around his ears, blue and dotted with red stars. There's a bowl sitting on his table still mostly-full of soup of some variety and a mug that once did have coffee but has long since gone empty. He reaches for the mug anyway, hand rather unsteady as it lifts towards his mouth; sucking at the little stirring-straw that has been placed into it nets him a sad lack of coffee and he scowls down into the empty cup before pushing himself slow and heavy to his feet, to place /that/ cup to be washed and head to the counter to order a fresh one. The door to the cafe swings open, bringing with it a petite young woman, bundled up against the chill of the evening in a gradient purple to pink puffy coat that comes to her knees. Only a little of her bright blue scrub pants can be seen between the hem of her coat and her cheery yellow galoshes. Kate tugs her gloves off and stuffs them into her pockets, doing the same to the striped and pom-pom'd ski hat she wears as she steps into line just behind Hive. She glances around the cafe, curiously taking in the decor with an overall amused mental tone, perhaps a touch too energetic for as late in the evening as it is. Each person she passes on her way to the line brings with it a quiet assessment - overall healthy, sick, very healthy. Just a constant undercurrent to her thoughts, barely registered consciously. Her mind is a rather unfocused jumble of distracted thoughts - wondering if this would be a decent place for meeting with that nice guy from the park, wondering how long it would take to get back her registration papers. How long after that it would take for her job to fire her. Hoping for a quiet night in the ER. Deciding on the bagel with cream cheese and lox, no onions, for her order, along with a tripple espresso - since obviously the mentally energetic woman needs more caffiene. Hive's current state is likely evident enough even /without/ mutant senses, from his rail-thin state to the way his naturally tan skin has managed to take on /pallor/ to the very noticeable unsteadiness on his feet to the quite visible tremor in his hands as he tugs his wallet back out of his pocket to pay for his order (plain black coffee, three shots of espresso for him as well) -- but past all these outward signs the quiet background assessment turns up very definitively Quite Sick. He moves aside from the line after managing to pay, tucking his wallet back away and leaning against the counter to wait for his coffee. << Healthcare? >> Outwardly he's actually looking down more at the counter than at anyone else in the room; it might be hard to immediately connect the sudden hammering /thud/ of mental voice to anyone in particular. << I give it a week after you're processed. >> Kate is already looking over Hive's visible tremor and thin appearance, chewing on her lower lip as she does, mentally running through a host of potential diagnoses that would produce those visible symptoms; the thoughts are almost automatic, an undercurrent as she steps up towards the counter. She is just about to place her order when her mind is mildly assaulted by the hammering mind-voice, and her jaw clacks back shut with a pained wince, accompanied by a wave of confusion. Shaking her head, she places her order, pays, and steps aside to wait patiently for her order, only now glancing around trying to find out just /where/ that voice was coming from. She does, however, answer, or at least, she thinks she is. << Emergency room nurse, yeah. >> she pushes the thought to the forefront, leaning against the counter in an attempt at looking relaxed << And that's what I figured, unfortunately. I was rather getting to like New York. Don't wanna have to go back home so soon. >> << Where's home? >> Hive is still shaky when his coffee is delivered, taking a moment to try and steady himself before he drags it off the counter with a quiet grunted thanks to the barista. He heads first to grab a pair of napkins and another stirring-straw to add to the coffee, shuffling his way back to his table to drop down into it. << S'it going to be any /better/ there, this registration bullshit's country-wide. >> He looks faintly relieved when he sets his cup back down on the table without spilling any. He slouches back into his chair, pushing the sleeves of his sweatshirt back from his hands (he'd been using them as heat-insulation for carrying the mug) so that he can rest his fingers on his mouse and keyboard again. << You checked out the Mendel Clinic yet? I /know/ they're hiring, the zombie shit was /rough/ on employees and besides people aren't exactly lining up to work at place with a huge-ass target painted on it. But they sure as fuck don't discriminate. >> << Oklahoma >> comes the response, complete with an image of vast expanses of hazy flatness just beyond a city << No better, really, I suppose. Place was always a bit jumpy over it, but parents wouldn't be against letting me come back. They weren't too keen on me headin' here. >> Kate's dark brown eyes track Hive as he heads away, shaking her head and snorting a soft sigh. Once her meal is up, she snags it and her beverage with a cheery smile and thanks to the barista, before heading for an empty table; she settles down at a table close by Hive, perhaps coincidentally, perhaps out of concern. She manages to keep the wincing at the mental voice to a minimum, instead focusing on the sweet sweet caffiene that promises to keep her going over her midnight shift. << Really? >> she questions about the Mendel Clinic << Haven't made my way over there. Didn't know they were hiring, huh. >> She snorts out loud at the thought of dangerous work places << ER Nurse isn't exactly a safe profession. Had a gun pointed at me plenty of times in the years I've been doing it. Still keep doing it because it means helping people. >> There's a genuine ernestness to the thought, memories bubbling up of vague names and faces whom she had helped. << I may need to see if I can get an application in. Worth a shot, >> Kate thinks, musing quietly about being able to help people more openly, being able to openly use her abilities, but dismissing the idle thoughts with a shake of her head. << Kate, by the way. >> she thinks, with a smirk at the fact she just introduced herself to the voice in her head. << Can't imagine /why/ they wouldn't want you heading up here, I mean. Fuck. Terrorists and mutant-bashings and zombies out the fucking ass -- I guess the zombies kind of got /around/ though. Still, if you don't mind the constant risk of death New York's great. >> At his table by Kate's, Hive is slowly turning his eyes to his screen -- there's designs on it. Architectural blueprints -- or, well, alright, they're white on his screen -- that he is very /slowly/ adding to and adjusting, unsteady hands rather painstakingly labored in the process of mousing and typing. << They don't have an ER. I mean, just a clinic right now not a hospital -- though /fuck/ if we don't need one, most of them are shitty about letting freaks in. >> Hive's teeth grind slowly, eyes narrowing in a faintly pained wince on his screen. << But people always turn up with shit they /should/ be at an ER for and can't go so I'm sure they'd appreciate your knowhow. >> Only at a delay does he remember to introduce himself: << Hive, >> would without context probably not be immediately identifiable /as/ a name, but it comes with a background psionic /feel/ of introduction. And a helpfully clarifying mental image of himself by way of identification -- admittedly, in his /head/ his self-image is far less emaciated, wiry-healthy and lacking in pallor, but the outfit is the same save for the fact that in mental-space his hat has been replaced by a choppy-shaggy mop of black hair. << Oh yes. Can't imagine why. Little country girl like me, moving to the Big Apple? There was much pearl clutching and protests to be had. >> Kate rolls her eyes, idly nibbling on her meal << Fear of what would happen if anyone found out. Registration was still a 'what if' at that point, admittedly. >> She keeps her eyes to herself for now, though her mind is probably a bit over-sharing, the idle concern about the shakey young man at the next table over still present. << I like New York so far. Just been snowpeople and stars sine I've been here. >> << I can imagine. There have been rumblings at my work about not wanting to accept mutants to be helped. Which violates a whole bunch of things we're taught in school >> she sighs, glaring down at her plate << I'm at Bellevue. Work late shift mostly, but darn it, I'll help anyone who comes through as best I can for as long as I'm there. They're gonna fire me anyway. May as well do good for now. >> Shrugging a shoulder, Kate responds << I've done triage, I've done my rounds at hospitals. Just found that the ER was the best use of my skills at the time. >> The introduction and accompanying image takes her aback, and she glance over toward Hive, blinking in realization as things click together << Oh. >> She chews on the corner of her lip momentarily, trying not to watch his shaking hands. << Pleasure to meet you >> she offers, a mid-western twang coming across in the pleasantry. << Man, the number of little country -- folk I've met up here -- >> Hive's lips twitch slightly up into a crooked smile. << Mostly seem to be doing okay for yourselves though. But. All /their/ parents back home fret like fucking hell, too. Seem to have this idea that New York's just chock full of -- >> His words break off as his brows draw together, a slow frown coming in time with a mental flush of /confusion/, sentence derailing. In lieu of words it finishes only in suggestions: a flash of gunfire, a mugger holding someone up in the streets, a teeming horde of zombies. He frowns at his screen, only slowly finding his way back to /words/: << ... then again, those impressions aren't really all that off-base. >> His teeth grind again as he works. Still slowly. << The stars were nice, >> he allows with a faint undertone of wistfulness to the words that is nearly drowned out by the typical sledgehammer-heavy slam of his mental voice. << Up at Sinai, Kings County, Lenox Hill, they've been actively turning away people who're -- fucking bleeding the hell out. Pretty sick world, sometimes. Nice to hear someone actually -- wanting to /help/. >> << It's sort of got a big neone sign declaring itself a key destination. >> Kate smirks, mental associations with the musical 'New York, New York', news stories, and a host of other things that had drawn her here. << My parents fret, but they're just as worried about my little sister out in San Fran. Parents worry I suppose, >> she offers with a shrug. << Every where has that. Even back home I saw kids, adults, humans, mutants, whatever, all coming in with signs of violence. New York is just has more people. >> There's an attempt to supress the swell of unfortunate images - gunshot wounds, stabbings, beatings, scratches and bites from the zombies - Kate closes her eyes, offering up an apology, unsure of exactly what can be seen or picked up from her mind. << The world is not always a safe place. >> << And that is not /right./ >> Kate bristles mentally at the thought of people being allowed to die because of prejudice and hatred. She winces once again at the mental voice, gaze fixing on Hive, concerned curiosity over the loss of words, the shaking, hesitant to question. << Do... do you need help? >> Kate asks, uncertain, cautious, and bracing herself for the inevitable resistance. << Oklahoma get hit hard by the biters? >> Hive wonders absently. << Kinda got so -- >> His teeth grind in a slow creak again. << -- caught up here it was hard to pay attention to what was happening in the rest of the world. >> His smile twitches again, very /thin/ at the comment on the safety of the world. << The world's a goddamn war zone. >> He lifts his hands, pressing palms in slow squeezing rub against his temples. He reaches down afterwards for his coffee, not even attempting to /lift/ it, just drag it a little closer so that he can lean down and suck slowly at its small straw. << Eh? No. I'm good. Just need some caffeine and to get a little more work done before I head home. >> << Not as bad as some areas, no where near as bad as here. But I was working the ER in the state capital. I saw most of what came through, >> Kate sips her coffee, finishing another bite of her food << There were deaths. Coroner's assistant was killed when the first rose. >> She shudders, hiding it behind a long pull of coffee. << It is. But there is good in the world. Just... sometimes it's hard to find. >> Her thoughts are decidedly skeptical at the insistance on being good, one brow arching as her lips pull to the side in a faint purse. << Alright... >> she thinks, slowly, backing away from the offer, though maintaining the concern for the near stranger. Memories of applications of her powers surface, unbidden. There's a nagging voice in her mind that protests this retreat, though: a quiet 'no, you're sick,' accompanied by 'I can heal. help. my mutation, it heals, I heal people' echoes around, beneath the volunteered << Apologies for intruding. >> Said the nurse to the telepathic voice in her head. << M'sure that was a party. >> A faint shudder passes through Hive, felt as much mentally as it is visible. << World's getting stranger and stranger. >> He slouches down lower in his chair, and the slow laugh he exhales is tired and shaky. He sucks again at his straw, slumping back afterwards and turning a grimace on his screen. << Healer, eh? >> There's curiosity there, fleeting and a little distant. << You work in the goddamn ER in one of the biggest cities on earth. I am /so/ fucking sure you run into a whole /army/ of people every day who could use your skills. You set out to cure every sick-ass motherfucker you come across and /you'll/ be needing the help more than I do. >> There's amusement coiled through his tone as he adds: << Intruding? I'm a telepath we're like the. Fucking. /Definition/ of intrusive. >> << With cookies and party hats and everything, >> comes the dry response as Kate finishes off her dinner, a sense that the humor is a defense against the horrors she sees daily. << Yup. Where else would I work? I help who I can whenever I can. >> she responds gently, shrugging and sipping her coffee. << I don't offer to cure, not necessarily. Can't offer that unless I know what's wrong, exactly. Don't know that without prolonged touch, and that always seemed a bit rude. But... I can a lot of times make symptoms suck a little less. Palliative, in some cases, but... >> her thoughts trail off into a bit of a babble before falling quiet. << Honestly you're the first telepath I've met, well, that I'm aware of. Figure the least I could do is offer to share what I can do. >> She shrugs, starting to stack her dishes up in preparation of leaving, chuckling in silent amusement at the intrusion comment, << Fair enough. >> << Shit, man, we missed the fuck /out/ on the cookies up here. Were pretty much down to spam and saltines by the time they lifted the fucking -- >> Again Hive's words cut off, his eyes scrunching shut as he finishes the sentence with just -- echoed memories that don't seem all /his/, gathered from an assortment of people; the desperation and hunger as the quarantine stretched on and supplies ran dry. Scavenging from trashcans, hunting alley rats for food. Teeth sinking into human flesh with a very strong impression that this is /not/ a zombie feasting, just a -- very hungry person running on weeks of near-starvation. << Had party hats, though. We got it half right. >> He actually glances up from his computer and over at Kate, half-lidded eyes settling on her for perhaps the first time, really, through this exchange. His head tips slightly to one side, and he sucks inward at his hollow cheeks. << Woah. You can diagnose people through touch? >> He sounds impressed. << Does it bother you? I mean, hurt or anything? 'Cuz that's -- >> His hand turns upward on the table, extending over towards Kate's table with a mental suggestion of curious offering as she starts to stack her dishes. << -- Pretty cool. Be curious as fuck to see what it says about /this/. >> Kate grimaces at the images, her eyes closing briefly, << My condolences. That had to have been... rough. We never saw that out where I was. >> She actually jumps when he looks over at her, blinking back at him and chewing on her lower lip anxiously. Nodding slowly, she extends her hand towards his, hesitating << Doesn't hurt to diagnose. Might be a bit disorienting for you, especially if you can see what I'm thinking. But not painful. >> She reaches further, her fingertips hovering above his palm << You sure about this? I can't promise that it'll be good news, or anything different if you already know something. But I can look. I'll also know if I can help further >> If she is given the go-ahead, her fingers touch lightly against the skin of his palm, cool and soft. Her dark eyes close, and she begins to concentrate. << Oh, I already know what's up, >> Hive assures Kate easily. << Just curious how it works for you. >> His (faintly trembly) hand is quite warm in contrast, fingers curling in lightly against Kate's and his mind watching hers in curiosity. Inside him there is a mess of Wrong concentrated in his brain, a large and still-growing tumour -- anaplastic astrocytoma -- nestled in by his temporal lobe and cerebellum. On top of this more standard disease, though, there's something /else/ additionally screwing with brain function, an implanted chip with myriad small wires reaching out into his brainmeats, slowly migrating from its original position and accumulating a few years' worth of scarring. "Oh, god," Kate says quietly, the first thing she has said aloud in some time, her eyes closed. Her mind seems to be tracing backwards along a symptom tree, starting at the shaking hands and the headaches; ultimately the reached diagnosis, after several long minutes, is presented as a series of diagrams, the outline of the tumor super imposed on them, along with the presence of the chip and its wiring. Her eyes open, and she looks over Hive, not with a look of pity, but confusion. "You..." she starts out loud, clearing her throat << You have a tumor, yes. That's... not good. But... there's a foreign body? It's a void, but it's moved, I... I think. >> Kate takes a deep breath, and closes her hand around Hive's, gently, her eyes closing again. There's a feeling of coolness, and over the course of another minute or two, the shaking in Hive's hands should begin to abate. Some of the headaches may be temporarily relieved - but all of it is temporary, for now, likely only for a few hours. << I... I think I could help with the tumor. It might take some time, but I've helped with cancer before. The other thing... what... is that? >> Hive's eyes stay on Kate, mind watching curiously through the path /her/ mind takes to reach these diagnoses. His brows lift, a small smile pulling at his mouth, kind of /impressed/. << /Huh/. Neat. Was kind of wondering what it would say about the chip. It -- >> His eyes widen out of their sleepy half-lidded state at the relief her ability provides, and he draws in a slow breath. << Oh, fuck. That's. Excellent, maybe I'll get through the work I wanted to tonight after all. Shit. Thank you. >> He draws his hand back slowly, though his eyes still fix on her with his impressed look continuing. He reaches for his coffee, smile a little wider at the /ease/ with which he now picks it up to take a drink. << That, >> he answers wryly, << is a little piece of technology the government likes to pretend doesn't exist yet. Mine's broken as fuck though. >> He continues holding the cup up by his mouth, drawing in a slow pleased inhale of the fragrant coffee. His other hand flexes, relaxes, flexes again just because it /can/. << I have pretty fucking excellent doctors, >> he adds in quiet assurance. His mind flicks an image of Kate's dishes, stacked to leave. << -- Sorry. M'I keeping you? >> Kate smiles a bit sheepishly, nodding slowly, a low throb of a headache starting to blossom amidst her own thoughts now, either from the use of her abilities, or from the lengthy mental conversation with Hive. << You're welcome. I'm glad to be able to help, even if it is temporary. Given time, I could probably shrink the tumor, but it's sort of taxing on all involved. You might be a bit sleepy when the effects wear off, >> Kate explains further, eying her coffee cup. The explanation of the void, however, gets a worried look, and she chews on her lower lip again, << That is terrifying. >> The reminder of her dishes gets a panicked look, and she checks her watch << Oh, crap. I have to run. Shift starts in 30. I have to run. >> There's a glance towards Hive, and his work, a hurried smile on her lips as she stands, pulling out a slightly rumpled business card from her pocket, holding it out to him. It's got her name, a handful of acronyms associated with her degree, and a contact e-mail. << Here. Figure you probably could have already gotten that info if you wanted. But if you need help. I'm around. And chances are I'll have a lot of time on my hands once I get myself fired for helping. >> She snorts, and offers a wry smirk << Good luck, either way. See you around, Hive. >> Hive takes the business card, glancing over it and then tucking it down into his pocket. << Sorry about the -- >> His fingers wave towards her head, a quiet echo of headache-pain reflected back to her for a moment. << My brain's always pretty loud. >> He tips his chin up sharply in a nod to her. << Thanks. Good luck to you too. Feel like we all could use some after this registration crap. >> He lifts his coffee cup to her in a (rather grateful) salute. << See ya. >> His eyes linger on her for a long moment, and then he turns back to his work, sitting up a little bit straighter with a small smile lingering on his face as his hands return surer and steadier to his computer.