The lobby of the Hospital was nearly empty, not many wanting to brave the inhospitable cold of the wind blowing outside.
As Mera sat at the front desk, consulting with Elliott about how long the bad weather would last, Quentari hopped down the stairs. He said “Hi, lady” as Mera smiled at him, and looked up at the ceiling at E7’s greeting. “Hi, Camera Man.”
“Camera Man?” Mera asked, as Quent seated himself on the reception desk.
“Meralynn, Quentari has insisted on calling me Camera Man for a long time. I have resigned myself to stop trying to correct his misnomer,” the computer replied.
“I’ll try to remember that...” she said as a man named Carll, a chemist, asked her about pharmaceutical facilities and a job as a pharmacist. “I could help repay my debt to the hospital in that capacity.”
“We could use one; ask Asche about it. She pretty much runs this place.” Mera’s gaze drifted toward the front doors as a woman in a flowing cloak and tight leather corset strolled in, a delicate spider web painted on the left side of her face. She turned back to Carll, and introduced him to Elliott.
Carll was a bit startled as a voice drifted down from the ceiling. “Good Evening, Carll.”
Mera explained, “Elliott is our resident super-computer.”
“Interesting...” the man mused.
“His name’s really Camera Man,” Quent informed him.
Carll blinked. “Camera Man?”
“I am, as it were, the nerve center of the building.” The ever-cheery computerized voice rained down from the overhead speakers. Carll nodded to himself as he spotted one of the optical sensors.
The cloaked woman was also looking at the ceiling. She spoke to the air at a level about where a man’s eye might be. “Dar... ever heard such a thing?” she whispered.
Unnoticed by those looking up, the girl few knew by name --for she was mute-- but at least one man called Thistle, crawled from her air-intake hiding place, carefully replacing the vent cover. She then crawled from large object to large object until she reached one of the wide windows still paned in glass. She kneeled there, face plastered against the window, mesmerized by the swirling dust and debris.
Meanwhile, Carll had been asking E7 about the extent of his databases, among other questions. “Elliott, are you capable of performing complex analysis functions?”
“With a proper set of control groups, yes.”
“Interesting. You could make my task significantly easier.”
“That is the purpose of a computer, Carll.”
Quent had no idea what they were talking about, but he didn’t let that stop him from participating. “Camera Man, can you perform complex gymnasticology?”
“Gymnastics?” the computer replied. “Quentari, I am incapable of such. I cannot move.”
“OK. I knew that.”
Carll asked, “Quent, can you do complex gymnastics?”
“Yes, Carll, I can.” He jumped and did a somersault in midair.
As Quent did a few more flips, the webbed woman, noticing Thistle, walked over to her and touched her lightly on the shoulder. The girl nearly jumped out of her cast-off UofM jumpsuit and turned toward the woman, a trail of saliva and a couple of handprints left on the glass behind her. Softly, the woman said, “You’re a strange one...” her voice pouring out like liquid shadow. Thistle crouched, more like an animal in headlights that a girl. “Don’t hide, little one,” the woman purred. “If I were to hurt you, it wouldn’t be by my hand.” The woman smiled as Thistle’s features scrunched up, staring, as if trying to figure out if her words were meant to be reassuring.
Mera, returning from the cafeteria with a coffee refill, couldn't help but notice the complex gymnastics. She decided to make room so no one would get injured. As she moved a chair, Quent flipped again, landing lightly on the one next to her. The voice from above sounded again. “Meralynn, I do believe Quentari has been hiding his medication again.”
“I have NOT!” Quent yelled, looking at the camera. “I always take my medicine now, so I won’t try to kill the man who took Mommy anymore.” Looking at Carll, he explained. “I could always do advanced gymnasticology, honest.”
“Your athletic ability is unquestioned, Quent.”
“Thank you. But it never was, really; it was my mindal abilities that got me locked up here.”
In a quiet corner by the window, the web-decorated woman crouched down so that she was eye-level with Thistle. The woman, who hadn't told Thistle her name, cocked her head. "What's wrong, child?" Silently, Thistle shrugged. Nearly whispering, the woman leaned closer. "There's something special about you, little one. The spirits told me so."
The girl kept her eyes on the floor but gave a firm shake of her head as if in denial -- but of what? Did she disbelieve that the spirits spoke to this woman, or that she was in some way special?
The woman reached out and caught the puckish chin between thumb and forefinger, forcing it up until the girl looked at her. Thistle's silvered eyes darted back and forth, looking anywhere but in this odd woman's eyes.
"Do I scare you?" Thistle's mouth worked words she could not speak. "Are you afraid?" the woman asked, all trace of smile gone.
Thistle escaped her thumb and finger when Quentari yelled distractingly at Elliot about a promise someone wasn't keeping to him. Thistle took deep breaths through her mouth and focused her gaze on the woman's arm. Then down to the floor she went, practically grovelling there at the woman's feet.
The woman looked back and in a rustle of fabric went lower to the wraith-like girl's level. She could see the girl's forehead against the floor, her shoulder shaking. She drew back a little. "Are you crying?" There was confusion creeping into her voice.
Thistle indicated the negative by a shake of her head, but kept her submissive pose. Quentari overheard Mera Harperr and a man discussing something, caught onto the word "stuff" and began to randomly say it.
"Stuff." He whispered. Then, "Stuff," he said in a normal tone. Then again, "Stuff." And yelling, "STUFF!" This caught the attention of another many who hadn't quite caught on. "... stuff..." Quent whispered.
The man who said he'd make some balls for Quent got a look and the word, "Stuff." Directed at him.
The other man said, "Bad Stuff or good stuff, Quent?"
Quent nodded sagely and just said, "Stuff."
The woman talking to Thistle, thought for a while, as if Quent's 'stuff' gave her an idea. Then she asked Thistle very softly, "Can I show you a trick?" She began to unlace a leather bracer from her arm. As she slipped it off, a lovely tattoo of a black moth or perhaps a butterfly was revealed.
Very carefully, casting watchful, sidelong looks at the woman, the girl pushed up to her knees again. The conversation between Mera and the man who'd promised to make Quent some balls was becoming heated over drugs that the man wanted. He asked Meralynn if she'd ever been to a rave and Elliot tried to explain what the drug was used for. The escape of the masses in the city from the doom of everyday life. But Thistle's eyes were rivited on the woman's arm.
"Dar gave this to me ... Watch carefully, ok?" Thistle nodded. The woman's lips curled up into a sneer. She licked her lips and muttered, "Tar Reck Weam!" The pattern of the butterfly seemed to shift, and just for a moment the wings seemed to flap ... once, twice, and then they stopped. Her mouth relaxed into a simple smile. Thistle's mouth gaped open at the sight, and stayed that way for several long minutes.
Blood dripped from the woman's nose, although she seemed unaware of it.
The man interested in both finding drugs and joining the Legion got a wish from Meralynn to 'be careful' whatever he did and made his way out. Quentari ascended the stairs to his room with a shouted 'good night.' Activity and conversation wound down, and the hospital lobby resumed it's quiet; much as the air calms before a violent storm.