The Housecall
Rplog-icon Who: Gambit, Rain
Where: Gotham City
When: Night
Tone: Gritty, Angsty
What: A battered thief seeks medical attention from a mysterious drifter.

Gambit has been fading in and out of consciousness for what feels like days. Realistically, it's only been a couple of hours since he staggered into a hotel room in a crappy part of Gotham. Bad intel led to a botched sabotage job, and the botched job led to a very painful accident. The Cajun's left arm is covered in lacerations from his wrist to his shoulder, some of which still have broken glass in them. He's also got a large wooden splinter stuck in the right side of his flank. It's far enough from his vitals that he's not in mortal danger, but it looks (and is) incredibly painful. Most of the rest of his torso is bruised and/or scraped up. It's clearly been a long night.

He's made token attempts to staunch his wounds, but there's little he can do with one arm immobilized. He's removed his coat and collapsed on the bed with a wad of rags in his good hand, occasionally pressing it here and there to try and keep himself from leaking too much. Past that, all he can do is wait for help to arrive.

Poor guy. Rain'll definitely be sympathetic when she gets there. Mercifully, traffic in the flying broomstick lane is pretty low though this is offset by the high danger of colliding with a pigeon or something. In Gotham, Rain treads lightly and very, very carefully. She lands in a darkened corner or other convenient spot, dismissing the broom. Fortunately, her duster jacket and such don't really stand out. This evening's been oddly slow, too. Low on deliveries and near death encounters. She brushes herself off, wriggles her fingers and heads into the hotel. Politely, she greets the staff and asks for the appropriate room number. She might get a few odd looks - could she be some sort of preacher? Hick? ... larper? Unspoken theories are exchanged through glances, and warily, she's given the room number. Up, up she goes. And knocks on the door, rap, rap. Old doors and new give 'way their age with their voices. "Um. Hello. Safe to open the door?" And in a world full of people who can render one into red paste in approximately .024 seconds, it is always, always wise to knock.

Once, twice, three times Gambit tries to rise, but he's unsuccessful. "Is unlocked," he calls out weakly. "Come in. Please."

He makes a final attempt to sponge himself off, but he's lost enough blood into the sheets that it doesn't help his appearance. The best he's able to do is prop himself up a bit on his good elbow and put a smile on his face. It's about the only thing on him that looks normal. His belt and bandolier of tools and weapons, his form-fitting body armor, his plated boots... he's a cut above the average level of odd that one sees in Gotham.

"Sure thing, just making sure." After all, there aren't many take backsies to being blasted into oblivion. The doorknob turns. Did someone walk out of a western? She closes the door behind her, quietly. She blinks though, on seeing her patient. Oh dear. Rain's purple eyes widen a bit. "Ah! Sorry, I got here as quickly as I could. Almost hit a pigeon," She looks sheepish and moves over. There's a polite smile as he smiles back, though worry tinges it like paint spilled into a cup of water. She glances over him, trying to assess the damage at a glance. Hmm. Headtilt. Not good. She furrows her brows. Pause. Mercifully, she's taken the hat and bandana off indoors. Manners, and what have you. Also, not getting tackled by security? A bonus. "Okay. I think... what we'll do here is work around that splinter. Once things are patched up a little, we'll have to take out and move a bit quickly. I'm not going to talk much because it's going to take a lot of concentration. Okay?" She looks to him intently, a hand set at waist level. What is she leaning her hand on? A handle of some sort? Once she's given the word, she'll start to look rather intent, in a serene sort of way.

Now that the cavalry has arrived, some of Gambit's control seems to be relaxing. "Okay," he agrees, nodding weakly. His voice is raspy and his breath is coming short and fast, though he's not quite gasping. "Just tell me what you need me to do, doc."

That said, he takes a moment to look the new arrival up and down, then up one more time. "Don't know why, but I t'ought you'd be a guy," he muses, mostly to himself. There's a brief hiss and a narrowing of his red-on-black eyes as he takes a breath that's too deep for comfort. The jibe cost him.

Nod. "Just think positive and no flailing," Rain offers quietly. Then a pause. "You know, I get that a lot. Maybe I should've gone with something cuter? But then, cute costumes don't keep stuff off you too well," She considers it. "Careful now," She says. For now, there's no wit or sarcasm. There's no irony or humor. She's a dazed sort of solemn and rather concerned. "And don't worry, if you see a gun, I don't do accupuncture," She promises. ... maybe a slight hint of humor. But she'd rather not startle anyone. Regardless, she falls quiet again, intent. Her fingers curl a little. For the sake of people she heals, she seems to add a slight glow to the spell. It's good manners and convinces people after all.

At this point, Gambit doesn't seem to care much about the why or the how. Weak, groggy, and in more pain than he can properly wrap his mind around, he just nods. "Is a good look for you. Very dashing." Another smile, a bit less confident than the first one.

When Rain starts working her magic, he closes his eyes and leans his head back against a ratty pillow. "Dis doesn't happen to me," he mutters. "Dis never happens to me. Why de hell is dis happening to me?"

A polite smile. "Thank you." She accepts the compliment politely, too. Though, Rain's aware the guy is not in good shape at the moment. Will-working takes a bit of effort, so she says nothing for a good deal of time. Happily, magic healing seems a good deal faster than the hospital variety - if less filled with cute nurses. Once it starts, at least the healing is fast - practically humming bird feeding from Charlie Sheen's hummingbird feeder fast (that's fast). He might even feel a bit better and less light headed, given the moments. It's not too flashy, though those more magically inclined might recognize some of the finger wriggling. It's more habit than necessary. "Hey, checking in. How are you doing now? It's about time to um... pull the splinter. And as for the question, I wish I knew. Seems everyone gets a bout of bad luck now and then."

"Okay," Gambit replies, both to the question and to her statement. "I mean... I'm feelin' a lil' better already. An' I guess dat t'ing gotta come out sometime." He takes his first deep breath in hours, holds it for a few seconds, and lets it out very slowly. One more, then he nods to Rain and meets her eyes. "Okay," he repeats. "I'm as ready as I'm gon' get. Let's do it."

Nod. "I'll have to work fast, so I won't say much for awhile..." Rain seems reassured, since he's not turning into a newt, bursting into flames, quoting Total Recall or what have you. That's exactly when you know a patient's gone south as it were. His accent makes her blink a little though, and it takes a moment to process. Regardless, it's time to make like a turtle and deal with splinter. Namely, the rather large one stuck in his side. She's hardly a guru or master mage, so this is a task that'll take some doing. After he states he's ready, she carefully takes hold of it. Careful is the word of the day, though it is accompanied by no fanfare. She seems to know enough not to suggest therapeutic break dancing, but rather, how to handle things stuck in people that really shouldn't be. It's amazing how much folks in this world end up with pointy things in soft places. Either way, after a moment, she begins the unpleasant process - making sure it's not caught on vital tissues or anything of that nature. "Still, you're doing fine."

"Merde," Gambit groans. He's doing his best to hold still, but his teeth are clenched tightly together, his eyes are clamped shut, and beads of sweat have formed at his brow and around his collar. "Brule en enfer. Va te faire enculer chez les Grecs. God, dat hurts." He takes a slow breath and risks opening his eyes to look. Bad idea. They squeeze shut again and he coughs painfully. "I won't t'row up. I won't t'row up."

"Sorry. You're doing well," Rain tries to reassure him. "If I'd've known..." Sigh. Well, to be completely fair to Rain, being homeless and carrying painkillers is a fast way to make oneself a target. Either way, she's sympathetic and doesn't question what he's saying. As far as throwing up goes, she stays quiet. At least the splinter doesn't seem to be stuck in anything, vital or otherwise. There's a strange relief to having something pulled out - that rush of empty air, tissue returning to spaces where the thing -was-. "There you go, the worst of it's done..." At least she's pretty sure. And then, much like a kinder, gentler mosquito zapper, the soft, blue glow returns. "Good job. You didn't even punt me through a wall." Her expectations are so low, there's no bar. Someone painted a line.

Gambit starts to breathe easier the moment the foreign object is removed from his body. It's not just the lessening of physical pain, the sense of invasion is gone. "I... What? No. I wouldn't." Still in shock, he seems a bit befuddled by Rain's comment. He opens his eyes again and peers up at her. "You help me. Maybe save my life. Thank you." Another breath, and a sigh of relief when he lets it out. "Thank you," he says again.

"Nah, people sometimes swat at things when they're hurt... no fault really," She offers. Otherwise, she's quiet, finishing the job. 50 times faster than normal is ... really, really fast! Granted, she seems rather distracted, intent on something. Rain doesn't respond. She's rather blessed in that despite the limitations, she really doesn't need to gesture or chant for things to go. She smiles faintly though, at the thank you. It's a good awhile before she can respond. Monks, eat your heart out. Someone must meditate. She seems a bit dazed, really. "You're welcome. And don't worry. I don't tell anyone about things like this." Patient confidentiality is a must with these sorts of things, right?

He's not as good as new when Rain is finished, but Gambit is definitely feeling better. He shifts in place, then sits up. His movements are slow at first, as he tests his newly healed flesh. When there are no serious twangs or twinges, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands up. Still a bit woozy from blood loss, he catches himself with one hand against the wall. "Nng," he grunts. "Man. You good, chere. I give you dat. How... How do I pay you? I don't really..."

It's an odd juxtaposition. Gambit's usually the one who's well informed, who sets the terms for arrangements. This time he walked in blind and desperate. While she's hardly a contender for Healer of the Year, it's likely a lot better than traditional medicine that most people have access too, especially in the putting limbs back on and gaping wounds department. "Ah, um. Be careful," She notices him catch his hand out. "Er-" Pause. "I wouldn't stand for a moment or two. Let yourself have a second," Nod. "Um. Thank you." Fidget. Ah, the social graces of an engineering student. Well, your average one anyway. "I usually work for food, laundry privileges. If someone can't pay... that's alright. Sometimes just knowing someone's pretty handy, yeah?" Smile. "Don't worry about it for now. I'd feel bad if you faceplanted fretting over it. Like, seriously bad." Another brief fidget. She rubs the back of her head. "But you're not seeing double or fuzzy stuff are you?"

Gambit spins around and leans his back against the wall. Smiling bemusedly, he waves a hand back and forth in front of his face. "No more than usual," he wisecracks. "If is food you want, I cook you dinner anytime. I t'ought you'd be after money, so I stop at a ATM."

Taking Rain's advice, he sits back down on the bed while his head clears. "Anyway, you know me now, an' I definitely owe you one. Dat could come in handy."

Headtilt. "That's good." Brain damage may or may not be something Rain can repair. Likely not too well. Brains are pretty complex, for all the dumb things they like to do to their owners. She smiles faintly. She shakes her head. "I try not to carry too much cash, honestly. So - don't sweat it. Are you thirsty? Food or whatever is fine." She's wise enough to bank favors. "There's honestly no rush. Short of hitting a knife wielding pigeon or slamming into a window, I should be okay and around for a long time. Hopefully." Or if she runs into Voldemort or something. "And um, what should I call you then?"

"Gambit good for now, chere. S'what I call myself when I'm in uniform." Grinning, he brushes a hand down the front of his somewhat bedraggled armor. "Maybe I tell you more if we get to know each other better. Here. Take dis." With a flick of his wrist, he produces a business card that has a phone number on one side and a sized-down image of the king of hearts on the other. "When you want to cash in dat favor, call dis number."

"Gambit. Pleased to meet you. I go by Rain, most of the time," She replies. Rain nods, carefully accepting the business card. "Neat." She seems a little amused by the business card, but it's likely given her clientele, she doesn't run into them too often. She smiles faintly. "That sounds fair. I'm ... here and there, if you need help again. I won't stay too long though. I suspect a nap or quiet time sounds awesome about now."

"Yeah," Gambit agrees readily. "It does. Thanks again for makin' a housecall." As ragged and worn as he is, he still manages to dig up a genuine smile.

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