2012-10-11 A Cat, A Doc and A Patient

It was bound to happen. Selina's luck was bound to run out on her sooner or later. She was just hoping it'd be later. But it seems like someone - some cosmic entity or divine being - has decided to make an example of her last night at the same time making her the butt of their joke.

It started as what should have been a cake-walk job. Something Selina has done more times than she can ever hope to count. An in-and-out with an ancient Egyptian talisman on display in one of the city's bigger museums being the target. Silly her for not asking her employer for more details. Silly her for not doing research. If she had she just might have discovered that it had been cursed by Bast. No, it wouldn't have kept her from doing the job but maybe what happens as soon as she took it in hand wouldn't have been such a surprise if she had.

But she didn't.

Imagine her shock when she came to, much smaller than she was when she arrived, her catsuit piled about her as if it was used as a blanket, keeping her warm as well as concealed. A shake of her head makes it obvious fairly quickly that something is amiss, prompting the unlucky thief to give herself an inspection. Paws... black fur... a tail? Selina mews in surprise, the sound not unfamiliar except for how it comes from her, it so alien as it leaves her mouth that she dashes off in fear, leaving the necklace and her clothing on the floor.

Navigating the city took too long, the newly-transformed feline having to learn as she goes, the dodging of traffic and people as they go about their business over the course of the next day, the lithesome cat having to learn how to wind her way around feet and obstacles like trashcans and light posts at the same time she had to discover how to keep from getting stepped on or ran over. It became evening before she managed to happen upon Brooklyn, that being where she is now.

Fully feline, she has none of her human intelligence to fall back upon but she does know that up is good, instinctively driven to hop on a few crates and then up onto a fire escape that gets her out of the line of stray dogs and sewer rats, two less things for her to worry over. The first set of metal steps are climbed but soon exhaustion gets the better of her, causing her to collapse in a little ink-colored heap. Not knowing what to do, she begins to mew and meow pitifully, her way of crying out for help. Here's for hoping someone discovers her.

At a glance, it's difficult to figure out exactly what One is doing. He's seated at his desk with a heavy attache case opened in front of him. A sturdy, high-powered laptop computer is mounted inside the case. He's not using it or even looking at it, though. His eyes are closed. A thin wire plugged into one of the USB ports trails up toward the side of his head and disappears somewhere out of sight.

Though a portion of him can hear the meowing, it takes several minutes for him to properly process the sensory input. His eyes flutter open slowly. He knuckles at them, as if waking from a deep sleep, then unplugs both ends of the wire and fiddles with something on the side of his head that isn't visible. When he stands up, he immediately grabs a well-worn trench gun from a set of hooks mounted to the wall. After checking to ensure there's a shell in the chamber, he heads to his window and disconnects the string that connects the sill to a claymore mine.

Finally, he opens the window and peeks outside with the muzzle of his shotgun leading the way. "...kitty?" he queries, blinking owlishly. His weapon is quickly stowed, propped in a corner where it's still close at hand. Slowly, very slowly, he climbs out onto the fire escape and extends his fingers. "You okay, kitty?"

Triangular ears perk and her head lifts slightly but it takes a bit for her to realize that the voice is being directed at her. The words she understood before the transformation sound different. They don't make sense. Not like before. So strange. Her golden eyes dart towards the source of the sound, her body tensing as if she might bolt. Weary muscles don't want to do anything but rest, however, leaving the cat where she laid down.

Offered fingers are leaned into, her whiskers curling forward as she does as if trying to touch them with the thin hairs that grace either side of her muzzle before she allows her nose to be brushed by the tips of the digits. Another mew is made with before she rises, her legs and hindquarters shaking slightly, the trembling cause by fear as much as it by hunger and fatigue. As for her being okay, she seems to be as there are no wounds or trauma. Selina is just in need of some good old-fashioned TLC and something in her belly.

Monster he may be, but even One has a heart. After a few more moments of sniffing, nuzzling, and generally getting acquainted, he leans low and gathers the cat into his arms. His voice, normally so clear and cold, is held to a low, reassuring rumble. "It's okay, kitty. I gotcha. Let's go inside. It's warm in there."

Considering how often he talks down to other people, it's odd that he speaks plainly and directly to a cat. Once they're through the window, he sets the animal on his desk, but upright, so it can decide to stand, sit, or lay on its own. As an afterthought, he grabs a sweater from the back of his chair and spreads it out as an improvised bed. "You're in luck. I normally don't keep food here, but I ordered in a couple of hours ago and couldn't finish it. S'in the fridge. Be right back."

Being held is wonderful. It's warm, first off, and it makes her feel safe, something the little black kitty hasn't felt since she started her trek throughout New York City. A tiny purr starts to thrum through her, but while it can be felt there is nothing to be heard. It's like someone pressed the mute button on her now that she has stopped meowing.

When inside she sits where she's placed, those gold eyes scanning what she can see of the apartment from her vantage point, her perch only moved from when One sets her up with a comfortable place to curl up. When One goes into the kitchen he's watched intently, her eyes tracking him as he moves. There's an intensity to that gaze, something almost human like but it passes swiftly and is replaced by a sleepy expression complete with half-lidded eyes.

It only takes a few seconds for One to visit the refrigerator. A tinfoil swan that's obviously been opened and re-closed is extracted. Other than that, the only thing in there is cream for coffee, which he checks the date on and then tucks under his arm. Rummaging through cupboards shows them to be alarmingly empty, but he manages to find a teacup and some disposable plates.

When he returns, he sets down the teacup first and pours a bit of cream into it. Then he goes to work on the tinfoil package, carefully unwrapping it and digging out half of an extremely rare steak. "Forgot a knife," he mumbles, snapping his fingers.

A desk drawer yields the solution to his problem. A cheal scalpel with a plastic handle wrapped in a sterile paper envelope. He rips it open and starts snipping tiny pieces off of the steak. "This ought to hit the spot. I know it was pretty tasty when I had it delivered."

Cream and steak? She must've died and gone to heaven! Such a feast and one she tucks into with enthusiasm. By the time he gets the steak ready for her to enjoy the cream is gone with not even so much as a drop left as evidence as to what had been poured into the cup. The cat would have been sated with that alone and she almost starts to drowse while upright but the smell of meat rouses her from her sleepiness, her attention now on the pieces of steak he has readied. They too are consumed with gusto, the eating continuing until she is about ready to burst.

One gets a me-ow, her way of saying 'thank you' to the human just before she gets herself ready for a nap. The sweater is kneaded, the cat working her claws in and out of the knitted garment for at least two minutes, perhaps three, this time purring out loud when she preps the impromptu bed. By the time she's finished with that she's ready to curl up.

One winces a bit as a favorite sweater is thoroughly perforated by tiny kitty claws, but in the end he can't help smiling. He reaches out, again giving the cat a chance to sniff at him before he scritches behind her ears and under her chin. "Go on, get some sleep," he urges. "No offense, but you look like you could use it."

Without further ado, he lifts aside his prosthetic ear, revealing the circuitry and hardware he has in place of an organic brain. The wire he was hooked up to is reconnected to the laptop and the other end plugged into a now-exposed port. "Don't mind me," he says. "Just breaking down some raw data. I'll probably be awake before you are."

The window is left open, not all the way, but enough for a cat to crawl through if need be. Having been confined for the majority of his life, One is very aware that no matter how nice a place is, it's still a prison if you're not able to leave it.

The catnap lasts for quite awhile, Sel too tired to do anything but allow herself the luxury of sleep. Every time One moves or makes a sound her ears twitch, swiveling like miniature radar dishes. She also tenses, a tightening of muscles under skin and fur. Once in awhile her tail or paws twitch along with her ears or whiskers, signs of dreaming.

Once she's fully refreshed she gets onto her paws and stretches, back arched first and then her front end dipped close to the table, a graceful, fluid series of motions that get kinks out of muscles. This is concluded with a pounce, One's house guest trying to occupy his lap.

The open window is ignored for now although it's probably very safe to assume she'll use it as an exit point once she decides it's time for her to leave.

One hasn't quite finished defragmenting and recharging by the time his houseguest wakes up, so he's caught completely unaware. "Oof!"

When his eyes flutter open, the sudden tenseness sloughs from his muscles and he smiles. "Yeah, I guess it is about time to wake up," he agrees. An arm curls around the cat and pulls her in against his chest, but gently, as if it pains him. His free hand unplugs the wire that's jutting out from the side of his head, stuffs it into the laptop case, and closes up the whole assembly. There's a mechanical whirr and an electronic buzzing as multiple locks and security measures automatically engage themselves.

His hugging her to him is rewarded by her nuzzling up under his chin. Her whiskers might very well tickle if they brush against his neck the right way and her nose, damp and cool, might bring goosebumps to One's flesh. His new friend is so content, very comfortable and by no means wanting to go but something tugs at her. Outside. The place One saved her from is now where she wants to be, causing a slight bit of conflict before the instince takes hold yet again.

One's allowed to do whatever he needs to without further interruption when she jumps down, her landing almost silent completely. But instead of going towards the window she explores the apartment, taking in the scents. The food smells mingle with shaper ones, harsher scents that causes her to sneeze not once but twice. The kitty's face contorts, nose wrinkled and ears played. A silly expression.

It had been a long and somewhat disturbing rest for Domino, having both injuries and heavy medications to recover from. Hours had passed before the call of hunger finally roused her back into an awake but zombie-like trance, which proved to be more than enough to get herself put together and step outside for a time. Food, caffeine, alcohol, the usual assortment of staples were required. That had been a few hours ago.

Fortunately, such an outing didn't lead to her blacking out along the way. There was driving, there was shopping, there was plenty of movement to break the muscles free and keep everything moving. Still, the Doc wanted her to come back to check up on things so that's what she does (with a bit of reluctance.) Seems like she's making herself right at home, as she doesn't announce her return beyond opening the door and pushing her way inside with a brown paper bag tucked in the crook of one arm. "Lucy, I'm home." She still sounds tired, and looks even worse.

"Shit!" One stands up abruptly, grabs his case off the desk, and tucks it into the hollow where his legs had been a moment ago. "Shit!" he says again, reaching up to pull his hinged prosthetic ear back into place. He turns his head to the side in an attempt to conceal his actions, but the best case scenario is that it's obvious he's hiding something. "What, people don't knock where you're from?"

He collects himself pretty quickly, considering the circumstances. Once his ear is back in place, he turns toward the door and coughs delicately into his fist. "Uh. Hi."

The sudden arrival of the woman and One's abrupt reaction has the cat suddenly bolting, the fur at the nape of her neck raised and her tail poofed. One is where she intends to go and the poor surprised man soon has her launched at his thighs, all twenty claws extended. Someone's about to get a painful lesson as to why keeping a cat's claws trimmed is a good idea.

Dom's not expecting this sort of greeting any more than One is expecting hers, it seems. There she stands at the entrance with the door yet propped open by the toe of her boot, staring in confusion. "You said that you wanted me to come back, figured it was a given that I would return at some point." She's witnessed similar reactions from other people before, though this time it seems a bit different from interrupting another as they looked through their porn collection.

"Yeah. Hi. What was that all about? Is--that a cat?" Funny, she didn't see anything to suggest that One had pets before. Not even in the few hours that she had rested on his couch waiting for him to return. "You're just taking in all sorts of strays lately, aren't you? Didn't think you were also a practicing vet."

"Shit!" One shouts again, this time in response to the animal clinging and crawling up his leg. "I... Yeah. Just. Hold on a sec."

He leans down, making direct eye contact with the cat from only a few centimeters away. Purposefully, he narrows his eyes and puffs out a hiss of air from between his teeth. "It showed up on the fire escape right after you left. Down, boy. Girl. Whatever. And I know what I said. Look, I was busy. Watching porn on my laptop. Jerkin' my gherkin. Just knock next time, okay?"

It's not a particularly convincing argument, especially with One's attention focused on kitty removal.

Those little pointed claws-o-doom wind up dangerously close to One's more tender bits before he gets her off of his legs, the poor cat all flustered thanks to the recent events. One gets hissed at as she squirms but she just can not get free from his grasp. The fight leaves her after a few seconds of this and she calms but the fur that has poofed doesn't lay flat again for quite some time, leaving the black cat look like a dark cotton ball.

Finally letting the door close, Domino walks in and finds a spot on the floor to set her bag of consumable contents. The weird look on her face barely falters, continuing to watch One as he scrambles to get his act together. She's not buying his excuse but there isn't much of a need to dig for the truth. Certain people, such as surgeons and anyone preparing your next meal, you should not get in the habit of harassing.

"I told you your home security needed help," she teases. Held out as long as she could, honest! The trench is next to find its way off of her person, though this one gets tossed onto an open piece of furniture. She's not going to be picky about what it is. The Doc's already seen her combat gear and hey, what's a cat going to do with this knowledge? Guns and grenades might be nothing more than toys in disguise. "Defeated by one friendly black feline. Good job, half-pint. I take back the part about being a vet, though. They'd at least know what gender they're working with."

Domino steps closer to One, ignoring any sort of personal space as she smirks at the guy. "What's up with the ear?" Here she figures it's an earbud, maybe the guy had been tied into some underground network.

One's face grows increasingly more contorted; he doesn't relax until the feline extraction procedure is finally complete. Then, of course, Dom's words immediately put him back on the defensive.

Long pause. Very long, very quiet pause. One's lips part and he wets them with the tip of his tongue as he considers his answer. Standing eye to eye and only inches away from Dom, his weak lies turn to ashes in his mouth. "Fuck it," he says. "Who'd believe you, anyway? When I said the CIA put a chip in my head, that was only a slight exaggeration. I don't have a brain. I have a hard drive. I was sorting files and formatting partitions when you walked in."

The cat hisses angrily at Domino and finally gets herself out of One's grip, her muscles as tightly wound as a three day clock. The window is ran to and lept through as she makes her escape, the last thing to be heard being her crash landing when she misjudges a leap and falls onto the crates under the fire escape. Whether or not One and Domino will see the furball again is anyone's guess.

Dom can only stand there and watch as that darned cat flips out and goes blitzing for the window, flinching slightly at the crash that follows. "I don't think it likes me." Wonder what her first guess was?

Then she looks back to One. "... Huh." She's not sure whether to believe his confession or not, but it -is- original! "Should I start calling you 'Raid..?' Maybe 'Solid State?' 'Binary' might be a bit too obvious." Pause. "A hard drive? Really? Wouldn't that get all sorts of annoying? Hope they gave you enough shock protection..."

"I think I'll stick with 'Doc.' At least for now." One smiles thinly and crosses his arms over his chest. "Impact really isn't a problem. I'm actually quite a bit tougher than most people. Hard drive's not the only thing I've got hiding under the proverbial hood."

There's a wince when he hears the sound of the cat's graceless fall, then he shrugs, closes the window, and rearms the claymore that was previously hooked to the sill. "Anyway, it's not exactly common knowledge, so I'd appreciate you keeping that to yourself."

She doesn't move when you go to close and arm the window, more concerned at the time in figuring out which way hurts the least to stand. "I don't get in the habit of spreading personal info around, something which I appreciate in return." Why is Domino still standing, again..? The cat's gone, may as well have herself a seat. "Now I'm sure there's a lot more backstory involving you and the CIA, but I only care about one point in particular. Do you still have contact with them or are they in any way watching over you? I don't need them getting on my case by proxy."

"Oh. The CIA part was a joke," One chuckles as he crosses the room and crouches next to Domino. "Just a crazy doctor. Don't worry, I already killed him. C'mon, let's have a look at you."

He's not only given up on secrecy, he's also adopted her lack of modesty. Mostly because it hurt to try and put on a sweater over a bunch of broken ribs. Bruises still peep out from around his tape and bandages, but a second look would reveal that they've faded visibly. Not much, but still a noticeable amount for just a few hours of downtime. He still has his slacks on, but he's relieved himself of shoes and socks sometime during Dom's absence.

It makes sense and all, if one can't be comfortable within their own dwelling then something has to change. Dom just has to admire the collection of injuries that you had sustained, her look one of appraisal. "Nice to know that you're no stranger to pain," she admits while shedding some of her gear. "Must have been one helluva fight."

So, yeah, this must be topless hour at your joint. The bandages seem to be holding up well, for being on the move the last few hours it doesn't appear that she's strained herself any. "You don't seem to be bothered by it any. I'd be kinda pissed if someone swapped out my brain for an e-machine."

"I didn't become self-aware until after the exchange had been made," One explains. His face is very still and his voice is almost completely flat. "No sense in being angry over losing something you never knew you had. This all looks good. I'm going to wait a bit to change your dressings."

He stands back up and brushes his hands down the front of his torso. Gently, though. A whisper-soft touch. "I prefer to avoid fights when I can, but I know how to defend myself and my clients if the need should arise. Part of the job description, especially if I have to go in and evac someone."

It's as close to a clean bill of health as Domino's going to get in her current state. She'll gladly take that. On the other hand, she suddenly chimes in with "Skynet! Becoming self-aware and all that, heh." Okay, maybe it's only amusing to her.

"Oh right, I had read something about that in your profile. What's it take to call in an evac?" she asks while getting herself dressed again. "It might be time for me to put your number on speed dial, given how things have been working out for me lately."

"For one thing, we'll be taking Terminator jokes off the menu." One's smiling, though. He's trying to hide it, but that one was funny. "And you need one of these. Hold on, I know I have one somewhere... There!"

It's small. About the size of a half-dollar, but substantially thicker. "Tracking device," he explains. "Electronically inert until it's activated, so no need to worry that I'll use it to follow you around. Click it on, I drop everything and come running. I have a BTR-4 with ambulance facilities for combat extractions."

"Ruin all of my fun," Domino kids back. Oh hey now, what's this little gizmo? She accepts it and looks it over, making note of how easy it might be to accidentally set it off while she's out doing her shoot and tumble thing. "In case of emergencies only, no doubt. The real question," she presses while holding the device up between her fingers, "is how much is it going to cost me every time I activate it?" Great, now she'll have to budget in doctor fees alongside everything else. Still..it beats the alternative.

Doc watches Domino handle the tracker with care, smiling all the while. "Don't worry. There's no biometrics, but there's a pretty fancy heat sensor in there. It's hard to set one off on accident. As for the fee, it varies. If you can crawl somewhere safe and you just need a pickup?"

As he speaks, he crosses the room to grab a pen and a legal pad off of his desk. Quickly, he jots down a number and holds it up so Dom can see. "That's what we're looking at. I price combat extractions by the level of danger to myself and my equipment. You pay for every grenade, every bullet, every gallon of gas. I have several different rates, depending on how dangerous I think the situation is."

Another pause as One writes out several more numbers. "So if you're in trouble, here's how it works. I'll show up and quote you a fair price based on this scale. Both the scale and the pricing remain constant. I have bills to pay, but I have to keep my customers happy. You can agree or disagree once I'm on-site and I've assessed the situation. You agree, I do whatever it takes to get you out safely and keep you alive. You disagree, I take my APC and go home. No time to haggle during a firefight."

Well then, off to a free pocket that tracker goes. It's another option, one which Dom's happy to have at her disposal.

The first number written down is considered for a half second before she gives a slight nod, it seems fair. Hearing about the rest of it, though? Those numbers are going to gather some serious momentum in no time, here. Sure enough, when she sees the whole list 'worked out' there is, perhaps, a slight widening of her eyes. Knowing her luck, if she really needs an extraction then she's looking at the bottom few rows. Realistically..that's going to hurt. "As if I needed more incentive to not get shot," she half-mutters. The costs aren't unfair, they're just ..too apprioriate for what this is. She doesn't work cheap, having a doctor that does is kind of frightening in its own regard. "Think I'll try to stick with home visits for now, if you don't mind."

"I don't. The payoff isn't as high, but I'm allergic to bullets. I prefer to work out of my offices whenever I can. And bear in mind--" One points to the bottom figure, which is quite substantial. "--this is for when you're bunkered up getting shot at by RPGs and heavy machine guns. When you have the entire NYPD on your tail. Stuff like that. I've never actually had to use that number, and I'm comfortable with that. If I don't have to spin up the minigun on the BTR, your pocketbook should be just fine."

He rips the top sheet from the pad, wads it up, and stuffs it in his pocket. "And I'm flexible when it comes to payment methods. I can always use weapons. Ammunition. Explosives. Medical equipment, /especially/ anything you might've lifted from a bioengineering facility. I don't always accept, but you can always offer."

Hmm... The barter system is also alive and well, that's another detail which is good to know. "Ordnance is one thing I tend to have in good supply," Dom says with a slight grin. "Lab tech, huh? I'll be sure to keep that in mind." While there isn't a whole lot of call for jobs involving breaking into such facilities, one never knows. Not with her good fortune.

"Well, Doc," she starts in while lifting herself up out of that chair, "if I'm looking alright then I should probably get out of your way. I'm sure you'll be hearing from me again soon enough. Not sure about your new cat friend, but as a fair warning I don't do pet sitting."

"Neither do I," One says wryly. He passes Dom a parcel, something he's obviously prepared in advance. "Bandages. Antibiotics. Ointments. Instructions. The works. If I don't see you sooner, I'll call you when it's time to have your stitches pulled. Make sure you take care of yourself until then, kid. I still need to make some more money off of you."

On goes the coat, the bag landing in the crook of her arm, and--hello, care package! Nothing like some extra prescription painkillers to add to the stash, too. That parcel gets tucked into the bag with the rest of her daily extras. "Yeah, great," she half-grumbles. Having stitches pulled, such a pleasant thought to be stuck at the front of her mind. Domino heads for the door, having it open and one foot back out into the hall before she turns back and gives you a sly looking grin. "Don't worry, Doc. Ah'll be back."