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 Posted: Wed Apr 07, 2010 2:01 pm
When Dylan went looking for Jada Chamberlyn, he knew which ward to find her in because if there was one thing he was used to, it was visiting people in the hospital. He knew it because his dad worked there -- he knew it because his mom had spent weeks in there for surgery a few years ago, and he knew it because he had a near-eidetic memory for building layouts anyway. At least when it came to buildings he had any future intention of sneaking into. He took a mirror into a single-occupant bathroom on the third floor and bypassed a nurse pushing an empty gurney and two student doctors with folders under their arms. The hospital always seemed busier these days: the youma activity in Destiny City, he supposed, the endless coma patients. He'd never seen a hospital with so many coma patients. I've never seen a hospital with so many coma patients, had said Dr. Allan Rasmussen. There's something seriously wrong with this place.
His father wasn't stupid. His mother wasn't stupid, either, and the people of Destiny City weren't any stupider -- so while the downtown residentials emptied like some kind of cross-cultural white flight, the coma wards were filling up.
He found Jada's room without (much) trouble and without (many) strange glances from doctors, one of whom he flagged down to get directions -- he was pointed to a smallish one at the end of the hall.
Two books tucked under his arm, he knocked twice on the doorframe to signal his entrance. Then he stepped in sideways, pulling his black hat (which provided an odd accompaniment to his Hillworth uniform) over his face a little self-consciously.
It hadn't escaped him that he hadn't gotten a call. It hadn't escaped him that she was the reason she was in here in the first place. It hadn't escaped him, either, that he'd skipped the check-in desk because he didn't want to be told, there's no Jada Chamberlyn here, and that a little part of him didn't expect to find her in the burn ward at all.
"Swordfish," he said. "12345. Password. Ramesses II. I'm running out of passwords, have I hacked in yet?"
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Posted: Wed Apr 07, 2010 3:05 pm
Wednesday. Day 7 of her entrapment. It had been a fairly decent day so far. She'd had no need to use the morphine so far today, as she adjusted to the pain in her body. And as she hadn't been on the morphine, she hadn't been resisting the urge to vomit, meaning? She was chowing down on crackers this morning. Oh yeah. She was in such a good mood that she even tolerated the fact Perky!Nurse was in charge of putting the ointment on her back this morning, allowing her to undo the ties on the back of her gown enough to access the red burns. "They look like they're healing well!" the blonde said cheerfully. Jada tried not to close her eyes and hiss at the feeling of the cold ointment on welted skin. She knew that it was only her back being revealed, but she also didn't appreciate the fact that her door was left open. So what if no one but the nurse could see anything? She still felt that everyone could look in the door and just know that she was ruined. Imperfect.
At the knock on the door frame, Jada looked up. She hastily adjusted her hospital gown higher up on her shoulders, making the nurse who was finishing up with the ointment utter a grouchy noise. A black hat was covering the newcomer's face, but she knew who it was visiting her. The heiress smiled, relaxing slightly. The nurse started cleaning up wrappers and slipped out of the room. "Consider yourself hacked in. What are you looking for?" Purple eyes drifted to his arms, to the two books he was holding in them. "You know, the nurses told me you left me a note." she said, referring to the phone number he'd left on her shoulder. it was fine for her to say it; she was quiet, and Fallon wasn't in the room at the moment, out wandering and being a silly goose. Hopefully she wouldn't tear open her stitches again. "And for future reference, the password is 'Salamanders Suck.'"
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Posted: Wed Apr 07, 2010 8:12 pm
"Did they now? I can't imagine what would've given them that impression," said Dylan and stepped all the way into the room, closing the door after him. He wasn't sure this part of the hospital had any policies about doors being closed -- oh, well, he'd find out. "This hypothetical note, did the nurses tell you what it said by any chance?"
He tilted his hat in greeting and walked over to the visitor's chair, upon which he placed both his hands and spun it around. Then he straddled the chair, sat down and balanced the two books on his lap, resting his elbows on the back of the chair.
Jada sounded okay. More okay than she might've sounded, anyway. A little drugged, but if she wasn't the hospital wasn't doing its job, honestly. It could've been worse. It could've been a lot worse.
"So," he broached the topic, "how are you feeling?"
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Posted: Wed Apr 07, 2010 8:58 pm
Jada adjusted herself in the hospital bed as he shut the door. It was better to talk that way, after all. Especially given what this particular conversation might be about. "I vaguely remember something about a number." she said finally. "Though who would write a number on someone they were taking to the hospital, I've yet to figure out." purple eyes watched Dylan move across the room, never leaving his face.
"Frankly, I feel like I got set on fire." she admitted dryly, once he'd taken a seat next to her bed. Now her eyes drifted from his slim face, drifting over his body until they found their way to his hands. And still lower, to his lap. "They're not worried about the slash though." Her neck craned, trying to see the names of the books he was holding. "I've been living with the morphine the last few days, but today I'm on..." she paused, looking thoughtful. "Some white pill." Jada waved her hand.
"How are you doing?" she asked finally. "Things are pretty hazy, to be frank." she gave the blonde a small smile, a delicate shrug of the shoulder. Pale hands spread over the comforter that hid her legs and lower body from view. "I remember we talked, after the..." The catastrophe? The accident? "After the 'incident', but not what we talked about." It was a little hazy. Like a dream. Just as clearly as Jada Chamberlyn could remember Dylan's voice talking about mirror-walking, she could remember the way it had felt when her stalker's hand plunged into her chest, ripping out her heart.
The slim woman swallowed, leaning over to the table, picking up the pile of papers her mother had given her to look over. Glancing at the homework a classmate had brought her, disregarding it in favor of keeping her mother happy with her. Pictures of white dresses and fluffy skirts spilled from the pages of the book as she opened it, along with bits of lace, silk, and Swarovski crystal beads. A small noise of disgust. "I hate being trapped in the hospital. You didn't happen to come with any amazing jailbreak ideas, did you?"
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Posted: Thu Apr 08, 2010 1:46 pm
He rested his chin on his folded arms. Briefly, he wondered exactly how much Jada did remember of the night in the subway, and in the green room. She looked drugged. She didn't look like she held it against him that his plan had gotten her injured -- he wondered if she'd hold it against him that he'd known it was likely to get her injured. But all the people had gotten out okay. That was the utilitarian mantra that tucked them all in at night, wasn't it? It had turned out okay. Whatever choices they'd made, it had turned out okay.
"I don't know," he said in response, smiling at her. "That depends on how you're feeling, and how long it'll be until someone checks on you."
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Posted: Thu Apr 08, 2010 2:17 pm
She shook her head. "More beeping, and more stillness, feet moving through the halls. People crying, gurneys moving. And my wheelchair is darn uncomfortable. Plus?" she looked at Dylan, scowling. "They won't give me pants." or anything except a second hospital gown, when she wanted to go outside. "I feel like I'm about to go insane if I stay in here one more solid day."
Jada paused, thoughtful. If she asked, would Dylan go get her pants? Could he mirror walk someplace he'd never been? No, she wouldn't ask. "As for when someone is going to come back and check on me, that depends." she shrugged. "I've been wheeling out to the smokers yard to read, and visiting a friend of mine in the coma ward, so they wouldn't miss me for a few hours, even if they came in and I was gone. Besides, they have more patients to worry about than me."
They would probably worry if she was gone past the next time they had to put the ointment on her burns, but no place Dylan would be able to sneak her off to in this place would be that hard to find her. So she shrugged at the blonde. "I may be a little grouchy if I don't get my viking pill on time though."
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Posted: Thu Apr 08, 2010 4:14 pm
"So," said Dylan, "you can't walk? Or is it that you can't walk very fast for very long." He gestured with the weatherbeaten, '70s-printed copy of At the Mountains of Madness in his left hand. The cover depicted what looked to be an amoeba plastered over the silhouetted white peaks of a ghostly mountain range. "It makes a difference, you see. Let's say ten minutes. Could you walk for ten minutes? Or stand?"
He tipped his hat back on his head so more of his face was visible, including one of his white-blonde bangs, and fixed her with a placid look of assessment. She was the level of injured that a doctor wouldn't let out of a wheelchair, but practically speaking, that encompassed a lot -- malpractice and liability dictating the outer limits of it. As far as he knew she didn't have any stitches to bust open, at least. And she was small enough he could support her, anyway. You know, just in the realm of the theoretical.
This was a terrible idea. Not that it would, necessarily, reap terrible consequences -- just, the idea was inherently terrible. Why were most of his ideas terrible these days? He was a veritable cup o'erflowing with terrible. "The difference it makes is whether we stay here and I try and tell you why you want to read this," he motioned to the used books, "or whether we go somewhere. And then come back, and then I tell you why you want to read this." He grinned at her. It often worked.
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Posted: Thu Apr 08, 2010 4:26 pm
"I can walk," she said, holding out her hands to Dylan, trying to grab at the book in his hand; she was curious as to what he'd brought. "Just not for very long. I haven't tried walking for ten minutes, but I can. If it makes a difference."
She reached over to the bedside, grabbing at the second hospital gown, pushing down the covers enough to slip it on, backwards, tying it in front. The second gown let her walk around the hospital without showing off her back (or her butt), and it kept the doctors from griping at her as much when she went outside.
Why he was going to take her somewhere then bring her back, then explain why he'd brought her the book didn't make much sense. In theory, wasn't it simpler to take her someplace, explain the logic, then drag her back here? Well, whatever; he was offering to get her out of her hospital room. She wasn't going to argue, nor turn up her nose at such an offer. "If it is going to be too long, we could always ask for a wheelchair." she was visibly reluctant about that option, but it was an option.
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Posted: Fri Apr 09, 2010 11:16 am
Jada Chamberlyn was clearly not thinking with portals. "Easy now," he warned and pulled the books back out of her reach; instead of batting her hands away, he took both of them: gingerly, his fingers curled around hers. Well, her hands didn't look injured, anyway. He stood up and nudged the chair out of the way and assessed her. She was in the hospital. There was probably some crime involved in smuggling hospital patients away from their doctors without leave. Dylan had discovered in his short time on this mortal coil that there was a crime involved in a lot of things, and if there wasn't already, a motivated judge could contrive one without much trouble. But --
"All right, try and answer me," he said, looking her in the eyes. "Have you got any stitches? Scabs that could open? What about breaks or fractures you've been warned not to put any stress on, or muscle tears? Are you likely to faint?"
That was about it. Having passed the litany of responsible things to ask a hospital patient (which he really ought to know more about, as a doctor's kid, but ought, would've, could've, enh), he took a deep breath. "If not," he said, and sounded placid, "stand up and lean your weight on my hands."
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Posted: Fri Apr 09, 2010 12:19 pm
She almost pouted when he pulled the books away from her almost-greedy hands; still, his hands closing around her own was possibly better than the missing books. It meant they were leaving this dull room behind. Even if Dylan dragged her back out to the smoker's courtyard, she would be in the sun, and she would have company. After this many days, Fallon did not qualify as company, though Jada still enjoyed seeing her face.
Unmade lips curled at Dylan's surprising list of questions, and she listened carefully, finally shaking her head. "No stitches, no breaks or fractures, no tears that I am aware of. No fainting so long as I don't try anything stupid." Purple eyes met purple, drifted away as she glanced down her body towards the cords entangling her. Jada moved her IV around and wiggled until she was on the side of her bed, pushing to her feet. She'd been walking for days, little bits, as she moved around the coma ward when she visited Vivian. As she stood to get into her wheelchair. She was proud of herself that she didn't wobble at all. She stood as straight as she could, giving a small twitch as the wound on her back twitched. She only used enough drugs to dull the pain, never stop it.
Pain made the young woman wonder what had brought Dylan to her today. Guilt? Frankly, he didn't seem the guilt type, though she could be wrong. And there was nothing to feel guilty over. Concern? Over a woman he'd known for all of half an hour? (Though that would make Jada think more of him.) Typically, however, concerned people didn't wait almost a week before visiting. Then again, he may have come by. Who knew. Dylan could walk through mirrors on a whim.
Obediently (one never defied company,) Jada leaned her weight against Dylan's hands. "Are you trying to figure out how much I weigh? I'd tell you if you asked." Why she felt the sudden need to tell Dylan how much she was allowed to lift, she was waiting to discover. "And I can't lift more than five pounds." That was very important.
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Posted: Fri Apr 09, 2010 9:53 pm
She wasn't heavy. That was good, as they were basically screwed if she was. "All right, lean your weight on me for help," he said, casting another glance to the door, "and we'll go walkabout, shall we? Would it help appearances if I dragged your wheelchair out with us too?"
In a near corner of the room lay a full-length mirror, for patients to look at themselves in when they were getting dressed, presumably. Dylan had never been in the hospital. (Well, technically he had been in the hospital. Technically he was in the hospital right -- really not the point, though.) It might as well have been a hole cut out in the wall open to the sky -- and a bridge up into the clouds. Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning. Such was mirrorwalking. He had a destination or two in mind.
"Oh, hang on," and he transferred her hands to the chair to support her for a moment while he darted over to the door. "Don't want anyone walking in on us popping out again." He locked it and pressed his hand to the doorknob briefly, then walked back over to Jada and took one of her hands in his own.
They took a few steps over to the mirror and he turned to look at her when they were about two steps away. "All right," he said, with a surer smile. "How do you feel about a mirrorwalk you're conscious for?"
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Posted: Fri Apr 09, 2010 10:19 pm
"It would probably look better," Jada agreed, "If we're going very far." Not to mention the fact it would be easier for a wheelchair to be pushed than for him to try and carry her around again. She was light, but he didn't look much stronger than she was, frankly. Slim and almost delicate, not at all up to the carrying he'd done when he'd gotten her out of the subway. "I think it would be a good idea anyway."
She frowned when the blonde locked the door, Fallon would be angry if she couldn't get back in the room, then said "I do have a roommate." She reached out, picking up one of the books that had so teased her, lifting it back up. Books were under five pounds. Far under. A glance around the room, and her eyes lit on the mirror. Ah!
Her fingers closed around his when he walked back across the room and took her hand. She still followed him over towards the mirror, peering into it with no small curiosity. It would only be polite to ask, "Should we use another mirror? I want to go, don't get me wrong." she peered at the silvered surface, fascinated. "But as I said..." she had a roommate. "We would have better luck getting away with it if we used another way out."
A thoughtful pause, and Jada glanced up at Dylan from under her lashes. "Incidentally, do you have the ability to go through mirrors you've never technically... visited? Or walked through to?" She'd love some pants. Or a dress. Or something other than her hospital gown. "If you can, I want to go by my home and get something else to wear."
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Posted: Sat Apr 10, 2010 3:03 pm
"Afraid not, Jada. Otherwise I would've taken the Bellagio for all it was worth by now." Dylan nodded in acknowledgement. "Well, if Danny Ocean left anything in the vault. Maybe the Venetian. The Wynn, I hear the Wynn's a real property."
He piloted them back towards her wheelchair. "But no -- it would come in handy for my future career as an international superspy if I could, but I'm afraid it's not to be. It's still pretty useful for international superespionage," he opined. "Or art theft. Lots of use for art theft. Any form of crossing the planes of the universe without having to go through the things in the middle, in space or time," he gestured for her to sit down in the wheelchair, "is ideal for crime. So naturally, only the criminals can do it properly. By 'properly' I mean teleportation -- the kind you don't have a mirror for." Dylan grimaced. "I hear there's been a spike in high-profile DC thefts and robberies. Guards didn't see a thing at the DC Metropolitan. Gosh, I wonder why?"
He put his hands on the back of the wheelchair. "But anyway. New plan. I wheel you over to the bathroom, we lock the door and go through the mirror there. It worked the other way," he felt the need to note. "S' how I got here."
Well, she had to be wondering about his lack of visitor pass.
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Posted: Sat Apr 10, 2010 3:52 pm
"Well then." she said dryly, and sat down in her wheelchair. "you don't happen to have the mirror address to a Sak's, do you? See, I normally wear clothes when I let guys take me out." He'd probably never been in a Saks in his life. What a silly question. Though, she was judging based off the way she'd seen him dressed so far in their short acquaintance. "Are you saying the Negaverse is a den of international spies and art thieves?" She asked, attention slipping away from Saks and clothing.
She couldn't help but giggle at what people would say when the two of them disappeared into the bathroom. If they saw them. "I'd suggest one of the bathrooms in the coma ward." she said, unnecessarily, she thought. "Not many people go there. Unless you know a better bathroom." She paused, again. "How do you know if the bathroom is empty when you start to go through?"
That would be awkward.
"So where are we going?" she asked, as they got closer to the door of the room. His lack of visitor pass was noticed as he confessed he had come in through the mirror. "I don't want to end up like Alice. I'm not ready for that."
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Posted: Wed Apr 14, 2010 10:44 pm
"Macy's changing room wouldn't do, would it?" Macy's? Why would he have the mirror address of a Macy's changing room? "No? You don't really seem like a Macy's kind of girl."
He wheeled her out into the hallway. Once they were out he straightened a little and walked at the firm, brisk pace of someone who belonged here, knew where he was going, and had full authorization to go there: at least two of which, they both knew, were lies. He carried off the lie fairly well. He wasn't an effortless con man, was Dylan Rasmussen -- for one, he had a bit of an inherent unsettlingness to him that damaged this -- but he seemed to think through the things he did before he did them and he had the confidence to carry them off, however ridiculous. And if he failed to carry them off, he didn't look particularly abashed. Perhaps being the Prince of Earth counted for something.
"When men on the chessboard get up and tell you where to go," he was saying as he wheeled her into a busy hallway between wards, "and you've just had some kind of mushroom, and your mind is moving low -- go ask Alice, I think she'll know. No, I'm not taking you anywhere particularly outlandish. If I knew the address of an absurdist fantasyland I'm afraid the people of Destiny City would be on their own."
Dylan switched tacks when instead of taking the main doors into another ward, he wheeled her into a stairwell, walked around to stand in front of her and took on the painstaking task of lifting her chair from step to step down a small flight to a concrete stair landing, onto which opened a small blue-grey door.
He took a deep breath when they reached the bottom stair. "Right you are about the coma ward, but it's a b***h to get in without ID. This takes us to a different floor which has a service elevator up to that ward." To answer the unspoken question that came after, he shook his head and appended, "My dad's a doctor here."
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