2007-10-16: In Her Pocket


Brian_icon.gif Mariska_icon.gif

Summary: In the aftermath of Farewell, My Ragtime Gal, two survivors contend with the crowd and each other in the emergency room at Mount Sinai.

Date It Happened: October 16th, 2007

In Her Pocket

Uptown, NYC - Mount Sinai Hospital

Oh, God… the chaos! The emergency room at Mount Sinai hospital is positively packed with refugees from Central Park's villainous shenanigans — some endure the agony of acidic burns, some suffer from severe lacerations, while others sport the bruises and broken bones that come from being trampled underfoot. Some of these people aren't going to make it. Some have already expired. The Russian woman currently bleeding profusely in Brian's arms, however, will likely live… so long as she finds her way into an operating room in time. She's muttering something in a Slavic language, presumably Russian. «Get my… phone… call my… get… phone…»

Brian stumbles into the emergency room, looking around desperately for someone to help him and the woman in his arms. He is bare-chested; his shirt was ripped off in a vain effort to stop Nadia's bleeding. Brian is covered in tiny cuts and scratches, so red liquid is not hard to find on his person. He's fatigued, and still pushing himself as he still has one copy out there. The other shirtless Brian, who originally caught Mariska, took the gun he had stolen from the dead police officer and took off. He would keep that gun, and one day he hopes he will have the chance to use it on the man who did all this. "Help…” comes the words weakly from his lips as he stands in the middle of the room.”Please help!" He calls out louder. The words from the woman bring his grey eyes down. He doesn't speak Russian, but having traveled abroad a lot and being a reasonably bright man he does know a few words in Ukrainian. «Easy,» he says, though his pronunciation is terrible, and it’s doubtful she can even understand him, yet he tries anyway.

She doesn't. But, somehow, the gesture is appreciated all the same. The ache in Mariska's arms has now ramped up into a glaring pain as the adrenaline in her system has begun to subside. It's almost impossible for her to be toted around comfortably with both shoulders sporting some sort of sliced open wound. He's damned to hurt her no matter how she's carried. The doctors and nurses overseeing the ER are up to their asses in injured alligators but Brian's cry for help is noted and acknowledged by a middle-aged blonde woman with big brown eyes. "Another one from the park?" asks the nurse. Meanwhile, Mariska insists on murmuring, adding her stricken voice to the din of crying and wailing surrounding them.

He's strong, but carrying a woman to the hospital after a fight, added with all the emotional and mental stresses from his ability. Brian is wearing thin. He takes a step forward to resupport himself, feeling as if his knees are about to buckle. "Yes, please… please help. Quickly." He asks pathetically of the woman, giving her his biggest puppy dog eyes.

For as much as the nurse might want to sympathize, all she does is direct Brian over to a section that appears to be occupied by those wearing sliced skin while asking hurriedly, "What's her name?" Mariska does her level best to keep her head in the game, as it were, and fight the comfortably numb sensation currently trying to lure her into hindering unconsciousness. Her pale eyes are constantly lolling beneath her heavy lids but she's still managing to keep them pried open. She keeps mumbling something in Russian, «… phone… get… call… husband…»

"I don't know. I don't know if she speaks English." Brian says weakly to the nurse. "I pulled her out from the park. I got hurt too." Like that isn't obvious, with the blood dripping down his chest. "Isn't there a stretcher or something we can put her on? Please?" He walks to where he's directed, glancing down at her he gives a pathetic look. He knows words in Latvian as well… but those were all from an ex girlfriend who only taught him Latvian compliments he could tell her. He doesn't even try those.

"I'm sorry," says the nurse. She makes a gesture to the dramatically overcrowded area and then begins the frantic visual search for a stretcher or an open emergency bay… something… anything that might serve as a reprieve for the wounded pair. Blondie shouts something over to one of her colleagues, a mix of medical jargon and hospital slang, and then gestures to Brian and Mariska. Hopefully that had something to do with helping them out. "Just stay right here, okay?" she says. Well, where else are they going to go, lady?! Mariska leans her head against Brian's shoulder, resting her forehead against his neck and then, miraculously, she actually manages to mutter something in English: "…in my pocket… phone…"

Moving one arm up slightly, and as carefully he can he adjusts his hand to support her head against his shoulder. "Your phone… okay, which pocket?" Even though they are both injured, and things seem very serious he hopes to God the phone is not in one of her back pockets. That would be extremely awkward, blood and death aside. His eyes go up to Blondie in gratitude before she disappears.

She can stand just fine so long as she's able to lean against something else, be it Brian on a convenient patch of free space along the wall, and maybe that might be the prudent choice at this juncture with the threat of weak knees setting in. Mariska stumbles clumsily between Russian and English, her brain too preoccupied with the pain to keep her restricted to one linguistic lane: "In… «right»… pocket. «Right»… left, unh, no… right. Right pocket…" There looks to be a slight ebb in the influx and a few more of the severe cases have found their way into operating rooms. Hopefully that means that Brian and his salvaged stranger might be nearing the top of the 'next' list, eh?

"Okay. I want you to put your arms around my neck ok? I'm going to put you on your feet, but you just hang on and I'll support you, alright?" He says soothingly, in the best motherly voice he can muster. Once she does as he instructs he slowly goes to set her on her feet with his right arm still behind her back. His left hand goes to gingerly and carefully fish the phone out of her pocket.

They're both likely to regret this move later, as Mariska's shoulders are both cut open, but she nonetheless seems capable of following his instructions and when she does, it's all the woman can do to keep from keeling over in pain right there. The moment her feet find the floor, she's anxious to drop her arms back down to her sides and then leans against her shirtless supporter more chest to chest than anything. Thankfully, however, there does appear to be a celphone hidden away in the depths of her right coat pocket and, even more mercifully, the display is in English. Small miracles.

Wincing at the apparent pain he causes her, Brian tries to position himself the best he can against her, slipping his arm around her back he keeps her in a half embrace. Flipping open the phone, Brian quickly checks 'recent calls' section, seeing who calls and is called the most.

Mariska's call log looks a little something like this:
WORK (outbound)
FELIX (outbound)
WORK (inbound)
FELIX (inbound)
FELIX (outbound)
WORK (outbound)
CHURCH (outbound)
WORK (inbound)

Meanwhile, there's a balding man in a doctor's coat headed their way, making eye-contact with Brian and giving him the 'just one second' finger. He sees them. He'll be right over. Mariska can only huddle and bleed and mumble in Russian, poor thing.

Giving a nod to the doctor, Brian looks to the woman. "Who is Felix? Your husband? Boyfriend? Son? Brother?" Brian fishes, trying to give her all the options he can think of, for some reason thinking that will help her answer. "I'm going to call him." He follows up with, just in case her English goes on the fritz again. Tapping to highlight 'Felix' he presses the send button then puts the phone to his ear.

Well, she's not wearing a ring on her left hand, so that probably rules out the obvious choice of 'husband', however, she lifts her head just a bit when he mentions his name and manages to spit out, "Tell him… the park…" Yeah, thanks, sweetie. That's helpful. The doctor's just a breath away and it seems that, whoever this 'Felix' guy is, he's not picking up. Time to leave a voicemail. This should be all sorts of an adventure!

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