ArchivedLogs:Cyborg Parts

Cyborg Parts
Dramatis Personae Arturo, Hive, Melinda	2014-03-05 '
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. There is a point in the afternoon, after the lunch rush and before people start getting off work that there is a lull in the cafe. There are, as ever, a few people working at tables with their laptops in front of them, hot beverages steaming from the cups beside them, and others that are just getting out of yoga classes filling the seats, but the noise is low and the staff is cleaning in preparation for the next busy period. Well, not all of the staff is cleaning. Melinda is meandering out from behind the counter with one arm holding a clipboard and a stack of papers, while the other hand trails against the countertop to help her with her balance. She's in pain or limping, but she's uncoordinated and perhaps a bit off in her space orientation. The problem is, someone has stuffed a large ball down her front that is messing with her center of gravity. Because that 'ball' contains another human being, her body is reacting in all sorts of different ways: added weight, looser joints, and extra, lovely hormones. Teetering at about seven months, she accidentally hip checks the side of the counter as she exits, an annoyed look on her face. Dressed today in a layered ensemble of a green and blue striped tee under a gray cardigan, over long black skirts, and stretchy leggings, Melinda is riding the line of professional and comfortable. But who can blame her? She heads to the counter in her sensible black sneakers and orders herself some lunch, half a sandwich, a cup of soup, and a fragrant, nutty herbal tea. As she works here, she doesn't pay, but does chat briefly with the person on register before handing over a set of keys. When people wander into a cafe mid-afternoon, it's pretty natural for them to look bleary-eyed and in need of coffee. Arturo is no exception - although his bags might be a touch more dramatic than the average person. The doctor's checked shirt, sweatervest, slacks combo doesn't exactly fit in with the artsy set. Bit too square - or whatever it is the kids are calling it these days. He waits his turn in line, rocking idly back and forth on his heels. When it's his turn, he orders coffee and a muffin. When he speaks, he does so by barely parting his lips. He also avoids eye contact. Hive has been ensconced here for quite some time. He's in the working-with-laptop crew, tucked comfortably at a table with a cup of coffee (half-filled, long since gone cold.) He's dressed pretty shabbily, faded fraying old jeans, sneakers duct taped together, tatty old canvas jacket draped on the back of his chair, worn old Cornell sweatshirt hanging loose and baggy on his near-skeletal frame; the soft fleecey cap pulled down on his head (blue, dotted with red stars) looks to be the newest thing he's wearing. The laptop he's staring at through lazily half-lidded eyes holds architectural designs. Some sort of housing development. He's working -- slooowly. His hands shake, badly -- it's not very conducive to /easy/ mousing or typing and progress comes only gradually. "Should we get you a wheelchair? Starting to look like you need it s'much as I do." He's -- /probably/ tossing this idle comment to Mel as she hip-checks the counter. It's hard to tell, it's kind of directed surly towards his computer, narrowed eyes deceptively sleepy-looking for all the telepath's /mind/ is keenly /awake/ to all the idle surface-thoughts floating around the others in the room. "I'm supposed to be able to do this for another month or two," Melinda replies dryly, shaking her head slowly. She makes grabby hands at the coffee pot on the burner and someone behind the counter hands it to her. She's just about to turn away when she spots Arturo in the waiting line. "Still kind of chilly out. Does the cold not bother you, or did you come from somewhere nearby that you just ran?" She is still paying attention as she moves over to Hive's table and pours more hot coffee into his mug. "Here. A warm up on the house." It takes Arturo a moment to realize that Melinda is addressing him. He starts towards an empty table that's not far from Hive's. "Hm? Oh. That. Yes, I'm nearby. I thought the cold air would wake me up a bit." His words come out mumbled and muffled because he's making a conscious effort not to open his lips very far. "Doesn't look like it worked, dude." Hive's lips twitch upwards, faintly. He slouches down further in his seat, eyes flicking towards Arturo with a faintly appraising glance; almost subconsciously it comes with a /mental/ appraisal, too, mind glancing over the other man's mind even as his eyes skim over his appearance. "You still look half asleep. /Sound/ half asleep. -- Fff thanks." His chin tips upwards to Mel when she tops off his mug. "/I'm fucking half asleep and I have /no/ gorram excuse. -- We could get you a wheelbarrow," he tells Melinda solemnly. Melinda is amused, carrying the pot back to the counter and the barista, considering the doctor rather attractive, all (sleepy) things considered, then inwardly baps herself for that thought. She returns and finally sets down her clipboard on Hive's table and sets about lowering herself into a chair. "Oh good lord. Me? In a wheelbarrow? getting in and out of that would be so much more effort than a wheelchair. If I have to, I'm taking the former." << Or getting Micah to rig me up one of those belly support devices I've read on the internet about. >> Finally settled, she lets out an uncomfortable sigh, wetting her lips and eyeing the source of her lunch, waiting. Surely those behind the counter are waiting for her tea to brew. << Don't they know not to keep a pregnant woman from her food? >> "Well, if the cold air didn't work," she looks in Arturo's direction, "perhaps the coffee will do the trick. If you really need it, they'll add a shot of espresso." There's nothing /overtly/ strange about Arturo's appearance. But a more in-depth appraisal starts to show the cracks. His curly hair covers his ears, but there's something ever so slightly visible amongst the curls, higher than where the tops of his ears should be. Although he mostly avoids eye contact, brief glances show that they're quite unusual. The irises are a bit too vibrant and have a dark ring around the outside. His pupils a bit too big, though that could be attributed to fatigue. His body language too, is slightly hunched. Then of course, there's the fact that he talks like a teenager covering braces with his lips. In fact, that's his predominant surface thought: teeth teeth teeth teeth. "No," he mumbles. "It didn't work." He nods towards Melinda. "Yeah. Maybe the coffee will." He raises it to sip. "Mhmm, should have asked for a shot in the dark. That's a good call." He looks down at his muffin, hands wringing together. "You're about six or seven months along, right? I bet your ankles are hurting like a bitch right now." "Just to cart the belly around," Hive clarifies. He reaches for his coffee, shaky hand dragging the mug closer; he doesn't try to pick it up, just lowers his head to sip from the tiny stirring-straw stuck into the mug. His hand lifts, fingers kneading at his temple as his eyes slip back half-closed again. << Jegus fucking Christ. >> There is absolutely nothing pleasant about Hive's mental voice; it /slams/ heavy like an anvil into Arturo's mind, a painful thud of psionic energy that grates raw and powerful. << S'like the fucking langoliers up in there. >> "-- course on the other hand hypothermia can just make you sleepy as shit." "Yeah, seven, and boy am I envious of past me's ankles. And feet. And lower back." << and boobs. For all the tea in china, I would like my regular rack back. >> Melinda stops speaking when the object of her desire, her lunch, appears in the hands of one of her coworkers. The tea pot sits beside her food on a tray. They also included a tall glass of water to keep her hydrated. "Thanks, Steph, you're amazing." She slides her tray onto the table and starts to pick bits out of her sandwich. "Are you medically trained?" And then to Hive, "I still say 'bah' to your wheelbarrow." Arturo has his mug of coffee up to his lips when the mental voice slams into his head. He nearly squirts coffee out his nose. The mug goes back to the table quickly enough, then he's suddenly not shy about eye contact. He looks Hive dead in the eye curls his lip upwards. His pupils narrow to slits and his curled lip reveals a sharp canine. There's only a small window in which to see those two features, because the doctor is suddenly on his feet. He snatches up the muffin and moves wordlessly to the door. Uh oh. Looks like someone stepped on the puppy's tail. Hive lifts his hand, rubbing slowly at the back of his head as Arturo spooks. He winces, head bowing slowly. "... /whoops/." Sad to say, he does not sound as apologetic as he possibly /should/. Just a little tired, slouching further down in his seat. "My bad. -- I bet Micah could hook you up," he continues easily, "with some /sweet/ fucking -- fucking --" His eyes screw up, and he stumbles over his next words, finishing this thought instead with a projected mental /image/ of Melinda tooling around with some very /high-tech/ robotic ankles attached to her legs. Possibly they are shooting lasers, like all good cyborg-parts do. "Hive," Mel only sounds vaguely like she's disapproving, watching Arturo bolt without answering her question. She shakes her head and starts rubbing at her temple as well. "I bet he could. Just not sure when he's going to have time to and I don't know if I really need laser ankles." She leans back in her chair, shifting around a little until the back manages to support her aching muscles just right. "Speaking of things found on the internet..." She tilts her head to one side and purses her lips. "I want to give you my baby leftovers. I know I told Dusk he could have them, but if that doctor of yours can whip up something to fix your brain with a fresh bucket of stem cells, he'll have to get over it." Subtle? Nope. Hive's eyes open wider, fixing on Mel in blank confusion. "... what." Melinda's mind might fill Hive in faster. She goes over the research she's done, the fact that stem cells have been known to treat blood borne cancers, brain injuries, diabetes, and deafness. The initial readings about Rasheed Toure's published works. The fact that she's producing those cells anyway, because of the child, and once the child comes, they'll just go to waste otherwise. "Well, it could work, you know? It could possibly help repair some of the damage and fill in some gaps." They have some pretty powerful friends when it comes to manipulating brain chemistry - yeah, she's thinking about Lucien here, but she's relatively sure there are other healers around with more powers. "I may just be ... well, kind of hopeful I can help somehow." Hive is quiet, listening to Melinda's thoughts. His eyes slip back to their former half-lidded state, his brow creasing as his gaze locks down on his coffee. His teeth grind slowly together, jaw tightening and untightening with the motion. "S'that like a -- time-sensitive thing?" he wonders, finally. "Or can you -- I don't know. Bank -- all this. Stem -- blood -- whatever. Save them. Because I'm -- I'm not. Um." Crrrrk, his teeth grind again, slowly. "I'm not -- getting treatment. Right now. Yet." "Yeah, yeah, I can do that. Definitely." Melinda nods her agreement, despite the wrinkle of protest between her brows. Her mind was more set to whether or not she should induce early just to get the process started. She draws in a deep breath and pours herself some tea, letting it cool as she fishes another yellow pepper out of her sandwich. Shouldn't be eating those, given all the dye in them, but she just craves the spicy vinegar taste. << Jax kind of indicated it was something like that. Also was very evidently worried about the upcoming raids. Not going to judge the decisions made or the process - just concerned. >> "I'll make sure it gets banked." << I just -- can't. >> Hive's gaze stays fixed hard on his coffee. << Recovery from this shit takes -- months. If -- /if/ I fully recover at all. And they -- need me. For -- >> His shoulders tighten slowly, his eyes closing. << This shit's getting harder, you know? I'm not letting my team walk into a slaughter. >> His breathing comes slower, shakier. "Should talk to Toure. See if -- see what. See if this is. See --" His eyes scrunch tighter. "-- Thanks." Melinda reaches across the table to take his hand and squeeze it. << No, that makes so much sense. I just didn't want to pry and I certainly don't want to pit your wellbeing against that of all of the others. >> She closes her eyes, not letting go of his hand. "Okay. Next appointment, you can talk to Dr. Toure. I can go in for tests, if he needs them, and follow his instructions for banking the cord blood. Whatever it takes." Hive turns his hand up and over, fingers curling back around Melinda's lightly. He exhales sharply, finally opening his eyes again. "Whatever it takes," he echoes wryly. "Jesus but I've been hearing /that/ a lot, lately." "Fine. Not whatever it takes. Just, well thought out, intelligent acts of ... smartness." Melinda squeezes a little more and exhales, wishing she were at home, in bed, resting. "Moving at a manageable pace, with many water breaks." Hive's lips twitch into a crooked grin. "... or just cyborg parts." "Fine. With cyborg parts." Mel replies, amused. "With fucking lasers." Hive tips his coffee slowly towards her in acknowledgment, slouching down further into his chair. "-- Like all good cyborg parts should have." Melinda raises her tea cup with her free hand and smiles, "Like all good cyborg parts should have."