2014.02.26 - Poor Sweet Mary

It's been a few days since Typhoid Mary met the illustrious Erik Lehnsherr at the celebration for the new mutant center in NYC. She'd met a few people, got to play with a kid named Jamaal who was pretty cool, and some other boring stuff happened. But, one of the things she does remember is that she was extended an invitation, of sorts, by the man. And, he's a scientist, which she remembers because of all that boring stuff with the girl that was or wasn't or something. So, when she wakes up a wreck, and it's the third morning in a row... She can't keep draining her healing retainer. And, Creed just can't help himself. She can't blame him for that, 'cause she knows how to push his buttons in all the right ways, and just can't stop herself from pushing them. Whispering in his sleep-groggy ear, "Gonna go see a man about a horse, kitty." She kisses his cheek and crawls out of bed. So, sore and cut up, she makes her way to meet the man. The man she hopes can help her with this problem. She catches a cab and directs the driver to go to the Embassy and she'll tell him where to stop. She sits in the back, breathing hard, her jacket actually zipped up, 'cause people would kinda freak out if they saw... When she reaches the building that's near the Embassy, she stops the cabbie, gives him a crumpled $50. "You never fuckin' saw me," she says, climbing slowly out of the cab. She walks gingerly up to the gate and leans heavily against the guard box... "Please, ring the Boss and tell him Typhoid Mary would really like t'see him."

The man at the gate frowns, then produces a small hand scanner and flashes Mary in the face with a bright light, once. It whirrs then beeps, and the security guard speaks in a short, unusual language into his lapel. In a minute, two more guards hauling a stretcher come running, and a subtle but quick affair has Mary on her back being tended to, while an IV is being run into her system as she's escorted to a side door.

It takes maybe ten minutes for word to reach Magneto, by which time they've topped off her tank, given her some painkillers, and even something to help control her violently combustible body teperature for added relief.

"Miss Mary? What happened, child?" Magneto asks, donning a white hospital jacket and gloves. He approaches Mary and pulls her sheets aside, placed there for modesty after they'd carefully peeled her out of her jacket. "My goodness, it looks like you had a run in with the cutlery drawer. Are the painkillers working?" he asks her, with a deep tone of sincere concern, examining her face.

Typhoid Mary's in no real state to fight off people--her wounds still too fresh to twist and stretch her skin in the ways she's accustomed to doing when she's fighting--so, onto the stretcher she goes. She barely notices the IV being put in place. She just takes some time to close her eyes and try to relax. The less tense she is, the less she hurts. Then, with the pain meds kicking in, she's feeling...no pain.

Her eyes are slightly out of focus when Magneto finally makes his appearance, and she lifts a hand in an uncoordinated, loopy fashion. "Just your average night with a very excited, very intense six-foot-seven hunk of man with sharp teeth and claws," she smiles easily, her voice sounding muted, slightly slurred. "I know what I do to him... I know what happens... But, I can't stop. Can't stop. Too good," she laughs.

"You know, hurts so good. Yeah. But... Can't...can't keep sappin' my friend for healin'. I pay well, but been lookin' kinda gray in the face, 'cause I keep comin' so often," she says, her mouth turning to a slightly comical frown. "Need help. Need...to heal faster. Gotta...keep up with him, a bit better," she says, her eyes seeming intense, even through the narcotic fog.

Magneto nods as if in understanding, gently probing Mary with a doctor's careful fingers, then inspecting her wounds and looking at her vital stats on a computer.

"Well, you have a minor infection at the wound site," he says. "His claws are none to clean. Victor," he sighs, as if reprimanding the man in person. "He has always been a man of intense passions. Dangerously ruled by his impetuous nature." Magneto considers some options- it seems to take a minute, but as evidenced by his careful speech and precise words, he is a man who thinks far, far faster than most people can.

"If this is going to be a recurring issue, I have an... experimental treatment I can offer," he suggests to Mary. "It has shown some limited success. I have invented a form of microrobots that inhabit the bloodstream. They treat injuries ten times faster than platelets do, can restore calcium to broken bones..." He shakes his head. "You will need ongoing treatment for some time," he warns, "and the nanotechnology is not a proven science. There is a risk of cancer or death. But it may be enough to help you survive some of his... amorous advances."

"Y'know, Doc," Typhoid Mary starts... Then, she pauses, looking at the handsome scientist with narrowed eyes. "Is it okay if I call you Doc? 'Cause Magneto's so...formal. I'm so bad with formal, but I been tryin'," she admits. "Didn't wanna embarrass Vic in fronta someone he respects." Wow. Drugs sure do lead to some lowered inhibitions. Things she'd never admit, if she weren't stoned on pain killers, are just falling out of her mouth. "It's okay. It's not like my hands are always clean. Usually got blood on 'em. But, I don't mind a bit'a dirt, an' I wouldn't kick him outta bed," she grins. "But, it does kinda...get sore after a while. An', I really gotta...invest in some plastic sheets.. or somethin'," she exhales, referring to how all her bed clothes are ruined with blood and claws ripping through them. "I unnerstand 'im, Doc. He an' me, we're kinda similar. We're monsters, but I told him... even monsters deserve happiness, whatever that means for 'em," she nods sagely. What she'd /actually/ said...was that even monsters deserve love. But, she's too shy to say so in front of Magneto. "I'm all in, Doc. I mean... I live dangerously, anyhow. I'm a 'sin. I could die any ol' time. But, if your stuff works.. S'worth it," she smiles and grabs his hand, squeezing a bit. Under all the layers of pain from years of inhuman abuse and torture of god knows what measures, there is still a fragile mutant in there, with a heart that wants to beat for someone other than herself... Who wants to hope. "'Sides... Even if things go southways..." she says, her hand going slack, showing she doesn't like that idea... "It'd still be beneficial in my line of work. So. All in, Doc. I'll walk the walk," she says.

Facemask and all, Magneto's eyes crinkle, and he holds and pats Mary's hand reassuringly. Far from the oftimes cruel and imperious king, he is all the comforting surgeon, reassuring a patient before a major operation. He's kindly, and respects the intimacy of Mary's situation and her painkillers by not repeating her words.

"I understand. We all want to be loved, or feel wanted," he assures her in a quiet, paternal murmur. He brushes some hair back from her face and then pats her hand before setting it under the blanket. "Lie still. I'm going to give you a sedative," he says, hooking up a bag that looks filled with grey wastewater. He injects a cool, blissfully numbing agent into her arm that starts climbing numbly to her shoulder and out into her body. "Count backwards from ten for me. Nurse, prep the EMP and the dialysis device." He starts barking orders as Mary counts back from ten to one, watching her eyes lid slightly, then close as the drugs take effect.

Typhoid Mary smiles at the level of understanding Magneto seems to have. She has no real idea of how forthcoming she's been. "Sure, Doc, sure. I don't have so much a problem of bein' wanted," she agrees. "Lotsa people want me for one reason 'r another," she grins, waggling her eyebrows before laughing. "But, sure, Doc, sure. Ten, nine," she starts counting, her eyes following Magneto's movements as he begins hanging bags and giving sedatives. "Eight, seven.." She looks up at the bright, pretty lights. "Six, five..." she mumbles, her eyelids beginning to droop. "Ffffff..." she exhales and her head lolls to one side. And, she's out.

"Mary. Mary, wake up." There's a very gentle sussurance of noise and the slow warmth of a mild stimulant, pleasantly waking her from her nap. Magneto stands over her, unmasked, and smiles.

"You took the injections very well," he explains in a soft baritone. "The nanites are working even more efficiently than I would have guessed. Look at your arm," he suggest, gesturing at what had been a heavily bleeding wound. It now resembles a cut that has been properly stitched and healed for at least a day. "You'll have a small scar, but it will fade. The nanites seem to be reacting to your core body temperature, which is... well, would be fatal to anyone else. One hundred and twenty degrees of warmth is unusual. How do you feel?"

 Typhoid Mary says, "Hm. To do or not to do.. Something tells me that Sweet Mary would be waking up. >.>;"

 Typhoid Mary says, "But, I'm not sure if I should.."

 Magneto very deliberately brought her up with a mix of mood elevators and gentle seratonin injections.

 Typhoid Mary says, "Then, Sweet Mary it is."

Mary exhales a soft sigh. Her eyelids flutter very girlishly and she rocks her head back and forth. "Oh, goodness," she says, her voice somehow softer, sweeter. Fretful. "I'm... I'm afraid I don't know where I am," she says, her brows knitting upward. "You're a doctor... And, you know my name. Have I... Have I been in an accident?" she whispers dramatically. "Was it a car accident? I can't... The last thing I remember," she scrunches her face cutely and looks as though she's thinking very hard.

"I think I'd just done a wrap on my scene with Brandte, and I was going to the producer's office to.." she blushes and covers her mouth, stopping herself short. When the doctor mentions her arm, she looks at it and her eyes widen, "OH, MY GOD!" She shrieks this, her mouth falling open in horror. "Oh, no! What happened to me?! What... A small scar... Will fade... But, my career!" she wails. "Is... Is my face okay?!" she asks in a terrified whisper. "Makeup covers a lot, but if my face is ruined," she rambles, tears already spilling out of her eyes as she begins patting at her face.

Magneto adjusts the flow of a drug a bit, liquid bliss flowing back into Mary's veins. "Just a liiiiittle bit of a scar, darling," Magneto murmurs assuringly. He adjusts the flow until her eyes lid again. "You should sleep. Rest a time. We can talk about healing your cuts up once you are awake again." He pats Mary's cheek soothingly, and turns the medicine flow back up again.

 Magneto says, "This seems like a good place to stop for now :)"

 Magneto says, "We can come back to Typhoid Mary once she wakes up naturally."

 Typhoid Mary says, "Sounds good!"