http://house-of-mystiq.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] house-of-mystiq.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] elseworldexiles2007-05-23 12:41 am

House Call

Raven perches on the edge of a stool, fascinated by a local newspaper. It's like something out of another era. There's no AP wire, no Reuters. The local news section is the thickest part of the paper. New York is a big town, but the paper is full of small detials: local middleweight boxing matches, the Shriners hosting a benefit circus, a Catholic church potluck, the death of a dockworker's union boss.

She keeps an eye on the front desk. People checking in, checking out, asking for directions. Finally the little crowd dies down. Before the clerk takes a breather, she slides up to the marble desk.

"Excuse me." Her voice isn't quite a whisper. "But where can I find a discrete doctor?"

[identity profile] exiles-2h.livejournal.com 2007-05-23 04:51 am (UTC)(link)
The clerk's eyes widen. She looks over the woman's shoulder to make sure no one is in hearing distance, then pulls out a pad of paper. "If you need, er, assistance, there's a clinic not four blocks from here. They don't ask names."

She scrawls down an address.

[identity profile] exiles-2h.livejournal.com 2007-05-23 04:53 am (UTC)(link)
The clerk looks distressed. "I can call an ambulance."

[identity profile] exiles-2h.livejournal.com 2007-05-23 04:57 am (UTC)(link)
The clerk's eyes close. That poor girl.

"When do you check out."

[identity profile] exiles-2h.livejournal.com 2007-05-23 04:59 am (UTC)(link)
The clerk pushes the money back across the desk. "Dr. Shumaker will be there within an hour. Keep this to take her some place nice afterwards."

That poor girl.

[identity profile] rogue-starsr.livejournal.com 2007-05-23 03:34 pm (UTC)(link)
Sarah is, indeed, not in much condition to travel. But finally, she doesn't have to be. She's braced and bandaged within an inch or two of her life, as best those among the Exiles with medical training, herself included, could manage - but none of them are doctors. She's finally found a position where her left arm doesn't hurt too much that doesn't cause her to put any weight on the burns or broken ribs. It took a while, but she's resting reasonably comfortably, and making a mental note to do something nice for Spider for providing a little luxury.

[identity profile] exiles-2h.livejournal.com 2007-05-23 05:09 pm (UTC)(link)
Dr. Davidson twists the strap of his visiting bag. Shumaker's on another housecall, so it's his turn.

He's nervous. The Wundagore is an unusually nice hotel for this kind of house call. Most of the time, he's called to the ironically named Grand Hotel or, worse yet, to Madame Pomfrey's Home For Wayward Girls. They always try to pay him in trade.

He knocks on the door. At least here he knows he'll be paid in cash.

[identity profile] rogue-starsr.livejournal.com 2007-05-23 05:14 pm (UTC)(link)
Thanks to Mystique, Sarah is expecting a doctor eventually here. The shifting brings a wince, but she manages a smile, and calls, "Come in, its unlocked."

[identity profile] exiles-2h.livejournal.com 2007-05-23 05:17 pm (UTC)(link)
He glances up and down the hallway, just to make sure he isn't seen, then quietly pushes the door open.

"Hello, dear. There's nothing to be afraid AAAGH!"

The doctor staggers back against the door, aghast at the sight of Sarah.

[identity profile] rogue-starsr.livejournal.com 2007-05-23 05:27 pm (UTC)(link)
The smile fades to something more of confusion. Mystique mentioned her injuries to whoever she was bringing in, right? And this guy is supposed to be a doctor, right?

She blinks a couple times, then manages, "Are you ok?"

[identity profile] exiles-2h.livejournal.com 2007-05-23 05:35 pm (UTC)(link)
Normally, the girls he sees are picture perfect models of health with ruddy pink cheeks and that special glow about them. Even at Madame Pomfrey's, the worst he usually sees is some skinned knees and a few small bruises.

"Your arm's broken." It doesn't take a medical doctor to tell that. "And..." His training takes over. He's at her bedside in a second, turning back the hotel's fluffy comfortors and deftly examining the girl's injuries.

"Does this hurt?"

[identity profile] rogue-starsr.livejournal.com 2007-05-23 05:50 pm (UTC)(link)
She winces at the touch to her left arm. Quite obviously it hurts, but most girls would be screaming, rather than wincing, given how badly the arm has been mistreated.
It'll take a while, but there's signs of deep bone bruising, an only partially set dislocated shoulder, and, worst, a torn tricep.

But on the upside, no burns... that's the other arm... and shoulder... and the right side of her face.

"I think I've got a couple broken ribs too, but I think that's it for actual skeletal damage." she replies, once the pain fades a little.

[identity profile] exiles-2h.livejournal.com 2007-05-23 05:59 pm (UTC)(link)
The burns. Her face will never be the same again.

The broken bones. The dislocated arm. The battered body.

All of it above the waist. From there down, just a little minor bruising. Someone wanted to keep the good bits in usable shape but didn't care about the rest of the girl.

"Who..." he's not supposed to ask. No names, no questions, no judgement. "Who did this to you?"

[identity profile] rogue-starsr.livejournal.com 2007-05-23 06:11 pm (UTC)(link)
The probing and checking about her arms and ribs gets a lot of winces, but no screams of pain.

She's pretty sure her description wouldn't mean much to the guy anyway. "Doubt you'd know him, even if 'The Hulk' is a pretty distinctive name... or nickname, I guess."

Thankfully, 'Joe Fixit' is well beyond her time, and she's certainly not going to mention a Dr. Banner - who she hopes is a typical nerdy research type in this world somewhere.

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[identity profile] canadiansixpack.livejournal.com 2007-05-23 11:25 pm (UTC)(link)
Logan usually wouldn't be seen dead or alive in the Wundagore, but the paperboy's given him some good info on another potential contact within the hotel, and he's called in a few outstanding favors to scrape up enough cash for greasing a few more palms. Information is the lifeblood of any investigator's work.

Even if that work isn't about the money: it's about revenge.

Logan's short stature and intimidating demeanor that just dares anyone to try and approach makes it easy for him to pass through the lobby without interference. The hotel itself is a decadent display of ostentatious wealth that invites a bilious reaction. Different scents of human and mutant pheromones both fake and natural mingle with the smells of aged leather suitcases, cleaning product, fresh flowers and silver polish.

As always, he sorts through them and discards them; a reflexive process that keeps his senses from being constantly overloaded.

One persists, refusing to be ignored.

Logan pauses near the elevator, nostrils flaring.

[identity profile] canadiansixpack.livejournal.com 2007-05-25 12:42 am (UTC)(link)
No, his senses tell him. No mistake.

It's been over twenty years since he caught that scent; the day they handed Logan his infant daughter and told him his wife had died in childbirth.

He'll be damned if he's going to ignore it now.

He threads his way through the organized chaos of the hotel lobby, and stops short a few yards from the figure's retreating back. He could be wrong. Some part of him wants to be mistaken. He could be imagining it. Only one way to find out. A second passes before he finds his voice.

"Raven."

[identity profile] canadiansixpack.livejournal.com 2007-05-25 02:28 am (UTC)(link)
She turned. That was enough.

"Yer lookin' pretty good fer a dead woman."

[identity profile] canadiansixpack.livejournal.com 2007-05-25 02:42 am (UTC)(link)
The doubt reignites. Scents can be familiar and yet not.

Twenty-three years. He can't give up just like that.

A black and white photograph, looking rather the worse for wear, is held out to her. A teenager with dark hair parted with a streak of white looks towards the camera with a reserved but familiar smile.

"You wanna tell her that?"