ArchivedLogs:Housecall
{{ Logs | cast = Micah, Rasheed, Iolaus, Jane | summary = The medical-type Humanfriends come to provide aid to Harlem. | gamedate = 2013-09-11 | gamedatename = 11 September 2013 | subtitle = One hell of a working lunch. | location = <NYC> St. Martin de Porres Catholic Church - Harlem | categories = Citizens, Friends of Humanity, Humans, Mutants, St. Martin de Porres Catholic Church, Micah, Rasheed, Iolaus, Battle for Harlem | log = This church is not large, but it has a quiet majesty to it all the same, in the way of many old churches. A tall stone building tucked into the center of Harlem, it is one of the earliest Catholic churches in the city, and it looks it. Inside, the wooden pews stretch off towards the alter, the crucifix an immense and solemn wooden carving that presides over it all. Most of the windows are stained class, rich and vibrantly colourful depictions of various saints and Biblical scenes. Small recesses along the wall hold the Stations of the Cross depicted in intricate stone carvings, and the prayer alcove holds real flickering votive candles unlike many modern churches who have switched over to electric. The vaulted ceiling has detailed painting done between its arches, and the distinctive scent of frankincense often lingers faintly in the air.
Below, the basement of the church has been heavily modernized; there is a pair of meeting rooms for classes, a pair of bathrooms with showers, a door leading out to the tiny adjoining rectory building where the pastor lives. In tribute to the church's namesake, ministries for the poor are a large part of the church community; one room holds a wealth of donated clothing that is free for any to take. With the large dining room and industrial kitchen that serve hot dinners six days a week and distribute donated bags of groceries every Monday, there are frequent visitors through here who are often in need of the helping hand.
It is just before the start of the city's lunch rush, and Micah is sitting outside the church's service entrance once again. More precisely, the TARDIS-van is sitting outside the church and Micah is sitting inside the van, quickly finishing off a cucumber, red pepper, and hummus sandwich to leave the rest of his lunch break (albeit one that has been widened significantly from its usual duration, just for the day) open for assisting at the church. After Monday's trip revealed a host of medical needs outside the scope of his skillset, Micah left rather vague messages for Drs. Toure and Saavedro about needing assistance with some pro bono work. In Harlem. (Ahem.) And requesting return calls to make further arrangements. Such arrangements have resulted in this: sitting in a van outside of a church, keeping a weather eye out for the good doctors.
Micah does not have long to wait before a car pulls up behind his van, a black Lincoln with livery plates carrying not one but TWO doctors within it. Rasheed has a large black bag in one hand as he steps out of the car, not bothering to wait for the driver to open the door for them. He's in mid-conversation, as he emerges, holding the door open for Iolaus himself. "-- some terribly maudlin commemoration dinner -- you'd think after the first ten years they could restrict these to, I don't know, /five/ year anniversaries instead. I think," he confides with a twitch of amusement on his lips, "that I'm to be their token Muslim. Show that America isn't holding a /grudge/. You could go in my place." He sounds so very hopeful, waiting for Iolaus to emerge and then heading towards Micah's van to knock lightly on the driver's side window.
"Just because I'm a bit of a brown person doesn't mean they're going to think I'm a Muslim, Rasheed." Iolaus says, bemusedly, stepping out of the car and taking a bright orange bag out after him. Jane follows, dressed in a pair of black pants and a dress shirt, looking distinctly unhappy about the large brown bag slung over her shoulder. "I suppose I could go in a niqab. Considering the general misunderstanding of Islam in America, I bet I could just about get away with it." Iolaus jokes, lightly, grinning at the other man. "At least they are counting the anniversaries only by years, now, instead of months. And it is dying down, a bit. Just a bit." He glances around him and looks towards the van. "I think I see our companion. His van is somewhat... easy to identify."
Micah waves through the window, smiling a closed-lip smile (and quickly working to swallow his last bite of sandwich that made such a necessity). He opens the door just a crack, making sure those outside are out of smackin' range before letting it swing all the way open. He hops down, much less formally dressed in the universal rehabber uniform of khakis and a polo shirt, the latter a bright TARDIS blue that matches the van. "Hi!" His smile with that is brighter, broader. "Thanks for comin' out. Didn't bet on gettin' the both of you when I called, but so much the better! I'm not sure...how y'all wanna do this. I took a lot of notes a couple nights back, so y'could work as quickly as possible when y'got here. S'a little bit chaotic in there."
"You are /a/ brown-ish person. You have a funny name. What more do you need? None of them will tell the difference. I don't know about dying down, though. /How/ many drone strikes did we send out last month? -- Hello, Mr. Zedner." A small thin smile flits across Rasheed's face, and he steps back to let the door swing open. He is overly dressed himself, dress shirt himself paired with a pair of grey slacks; he's unbuttoned the shirt /two/ whole buttons in concession to the day's sudden spike of heat. "Oh, I think we're getting pretty well used to chaos. And last time around it didn't come with half so much preparation. May I see your notes?" He holds a hand out, fingers beckoning.
"Wrong kind of funny name. Not that most people would know the difference, I concede to you." Iolaus says, bowing his head once and giving a smile to Rasheed. His dress matches that of his guard's, at least in formality - a white dress shirt tucked neatly into dark dress pants and a pair of dress shoes in dire need of a waxing. "How do you want to split it up among us? Just each take a set of patients and go from there, or do you want to work together and switch off assisting, or something else entirely?" Iolaus gives Micah a warm smile. "Micah." he says, with a bow of his head. "Glad to help any way that we can. How many patients are there, do you think, in total?"
“Wait...what are we collecting people with funny names for?” Micah asks with the confusion of one stepping into the end of a conversation. “Please, just Micah,” he corrects gently, laudably managing not to make /faces/ at the honorific at least. “Admittedly, this is easier to handle than a couple of apartments stuffed almost entirely with severely injured people.” At the request for the notes, he begins to reach into his pocket for his phone. Thinking better of it, he climbs back into the van to retrieve a tablet. Quickly, he turns it on and swipes at the screen a few times to find the appropriate document before hopping back out of the van and depositing the tablet in Io's waiting hands. “Would be most efficient t'split up, but...maybe we should see one or two of the worst off as a group, first? These folks are a little hesitant about new faces, and most of 'em won't know you. It'll help that I'm there, since they've gotten used t'me a bit. Then I can kinda hop between the two of you after that?” One of his hands scrubs idly at his already messy auburn hair. “About 15 as really need t'see you guys. Another handful as probably would /appreciate/ it, but should be okay regardless. I tried to prioritize the list top-down.”
"For demonstrating inclusiveness," Rasheed explains, voice dropping a touch with distraction as he claims the tablet, tilting its screen towards Iolaus as he starts to look through Micah's notes. "At a 9/11 memorial dinner. It's important to have a Muslim there," he explains with a small smile, a touch of amusement in his voice, "so that the politicians can gloss over the past decade and change of hating us. You have kind of a funny name," he adds, lighter. "Though you are unfortunately way too fair to pretend to be me. -- I /would/ appreciate the buffer." This admission comes with a glance upwards, towards the church. "Though at /least/ here we aren't dealing with the /direct/ aftermath of mistreatment at the hands of doctors. General stranger-wariness is probably easier to navigate than active trauma. -- My goodness." His forehead wrinkles in a deep frown, finger tapping indicatively at one patient. "I -- don't suppose we could convince them to /leave/ here, ah, I somehow doubt this church comes equipped with a proper operating theater."
"Ah, thank you, Micah. And it could be worse - he could have called you sir." Iolaus' eyes twinkle, mischeviously, as he looks down at the tablet and sliding his finger up and down to look over the complete list. "Certainly could use it. But where would we take them, Rasheed? Somehow I doubt I still have attending privileg
