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[sweetabatina]

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[sweetabatina]

im on my way

ty!

[solecon]

wow no clarification on the gutter i see how it is

[sweetabatina]

Despite his earlier protests, Ceder arrives at the precinct fairly quickly. His expression is annoyed and he's still dressed in his scrubs, but he gives the cops shit for taking too long to discharge his- friend? Acquaintance? Semi-roommate?

"I thought you were done getting caught." He says after pressing the button to open the passenger door to his car.

[solecon]

It's not the first time he's been bailed out of jail. Not even recently. He still stumbles a little down the front steps as he struggles to get his stuff back into his pockets, eyebrows raising at the question.

"They aren't usually as smart as they were tonight." The cops, he means, pulling open the car door to climb in. "Or as fast. Most cops don't run that good."

for @frozenassets

[sweetabatina]

Being a medic can be lonely work, the kind of lonely work that involves being around lots of people every day and learning everything about them. Their hopes, their fears, what their insides look like. Ceder rubs his knuckles over his brow, then fidgets with his fingers while he ponders his next note. His notebook's yellow pages are dimly illuminated by a small electric lamp, and his words are written with a frustratingly blunt nub of a pencil. Uncomfortable, but he won't waste good writing materials even if they make his hand cramp.

He raises his eyes to the figure approaching, and a faint but genuine smile appears on his face.

"Evening, Sargent."

[frozenassets]

The exchange with Ceder's been sitting at the back of his mind as Bucky goes from mission to mission, and somehow, by some luck of the devil, somehow hasn't been offed yet. At this point, it feels like he's living on borrowed time, with only a few moments here and there of peace before it's back to more killing, more death that feels like it's seeping into his skin and hair.

By the time Bucky's decided to take Ceder up on his offer, he's managed to wrangle up some some cigarettes, now stuffed into a pocket, and a decent bottle of booze, now tucked under his arm, as he saunters into the tent.

"Evening, Doc.," Bucky's smile is faint, more strained at the edges these days. But he does offer the bottle: nothing too fancy, but not the stuff that'll strip the paint off a fighter. "Figured I was due for a check-in."

[sweetabatina]

Ceder smiles wide at the sight of the other man entering his tent. He sets aside his notes and sits up, rising to his feet to offer Bucky a hand to shake firmly.

“It’s good to see you.” He says warmly. “I thought I was supplying the alcohol, but look what you’ve brought me.” He’s softer here than he is when he’s working. When he’s tending to the soldiers his brow stays furrowed and the tension settles in the corners of his mouth.

“I have some cups around here-“ He says, taking the bottle and looking around the tent until he finds two well worn tin cups that he pours for both of them. “Come and sit, I was just organizing my notes for the day.” He sits and offers Bucky a cup. “How’s your vision? Are you keeping the stitches in your shoulder clean?”

[frozenassets]

He clasps his hand, grip sure and firm; Bucky's fingers are rough from the cold and covered in a couple places with rifle callouses.

"Figured I could swindle some decent stuff out of Dugan if I bat my eyes just right," Bucky replies. Not that Dum Dum swings that way, but he's got a soft spot for Bucky even if he pretends like he doesn't remember how much Bucky hates getting called 'Jim', 'Jimmy', or 'Jimbo'. The big brother he never knew he had.

Bucky takes the doc up on the invitation, accepting the cup with a muttered thanks, though he does lean in to give the booze a test sniff. Strong, but not enough to make his eyes water too much. "They're feeling a lot better, and the blurriness went away. You got me and the boys up and running, good as new."

@ uselessrayofsunshine

[sweetabatina]

When the Tulpar’s arrival is announced on Telos station, Ceder doesn’t think much of it. All kinds of haulers come through the station, and it’s typical for Ceder’s team to be assigned to do medical checks on the crews, not to ensure their health for their quality of life, but to ensure they’re still available to keep working for the corporation that owns their contracts. There’s a typical profile for cheap workers coming in from months or years out in space, some amount of malnutrition, particularly vitamin D deficiency if the company that owns the ship didn’t spring for high quality nutrition for the crew. The psychological element isn’t exactly Ceder’s area, though obviously he’s seen the impact over the years.

No, the Tulpar doesn’t catch Ceder’s attention, but Daisuke does.

Ceder somehow keeps his cool coming into work the next morning, operating on barely any sleep and half a hangover. He dresses in his clean suit, a thick rubbery pale blue number marked with a large white hazard symbol. He’s there when the cryopod is unloaded, he holds his breath in between the lid being unlocked and when it finally fully opens, revealing the figure within. The medical staff, including Ceder, immediately move in to begin rubbing Daisuke’s bare skin with a warm oil meant to counteract the effects of long term cryostasis, they cut away his clothes and deposit them in bright red hazard bags, taken away to be evaluated by Pony Express’s insurance assessors.

It’s long, hard work, reviving someone from near death, but there is a protocol, they know the science.

After all the hours of fighting for Daisuke’s life, Ceder is exhausted down to his bones, but also seized with a manic energy that keeps him awake and determined to be there when the younger man’s eyes open. He stands beside the hospital bed, the monitors and tubes and tanks fighting to rouse Daisuke.

“Please, wake up.” He says under his breath. “Come on.”

[uselessrayofsunshine]

When the ship had been found adrift, it had been a bloodbath. There had been so much insulating sealant foam blocking off portions of the Tulpar that a team had to carve their way through carefully to keep from creating a breach that would make a salvage job impossible. The ship had been towed in by the insurance company's reclamation unit and then left there for later contact to be established after autopsies had been performed, and the last remaining member of the crew had been defrosted and rehabilitated.

Daisuke had been hurt even before he'd been shoved into the cryostasis pod, and there hadn't been time for it to even be bandaged, thanks to Swansea's determination to make sure that he made it out alive. On Telos, he was kept under anesthesia while he was thawed, rehydrated, pumped full of the vitamins he'd been missing for weeks. He'd only started breathing on his own after being placed in an iso unit with constant monitoring, and the oxygen mask over his face fogged with terribly slow exhalations.

The gently beeping ECG picks up in fits and Daisuke's eyes twitch and flutter, then finally half open. He sucks in a deeper breath, only for it to ache and burn in his chest and send him into a coughing fit.

It's so bright in here that it feels like he's been blinded. He can't even begin to parse what's happened to him

"Wh- Fuck- What's....what's happening," he groans as tears roll from the corners of his eyes.

[sweetabatina]

“Hey, hey-“ Ceder rushes forward, putting one hand on Daisuke’s shoulder and the other on his chest. “Don’t try to move too quickly, okay? You’re safe. God, you’re alive-“ he feels the prickle of tears in his eyes but swallows hard, trying to keep himself together.

“You might not be able to see really well, you were in cryo for months, god, I thought you were- fuck, man. You don’t know how glad I am to see you.”

[uselessrayofsunshine]

Daisuke pulls in a ragged breath, tensing to try and keep from coughing himself sick. He can't feel a lot thanks to the drugs that haven't worn off yet. He nearly pulls his hands up to cover his face, until he registers the IV in his arm.

The only thing that's keeping him from panicking, outside of the grogginess, is hearing Ceder's voice trying to break through the terrible haze.

"M-Months? Where...What-? Tulpar...Where is everyone?" He only has bits and pieces, remembering the crash, the screaming matches...

@publicists

[sweetabatina]

It’s not the first time Ceder has arrived at Gray’s home in the evening, it’s not even the worst mood Ceder has been in showing up at the older man’s home. But it is maybe the most anxious he’s been. He’s not running from the press, he’s essentially been invited over to hang out. With his attractive older publicist.

He picked a bag of chocolate-covered frozen raspberries for desert, something organic in trendy packaging and a stupid name like ‘froot’ or ‘früt’ or something.

He lets himself inside like Gray told him, and silently navigates the elegant home, running his fingertips over various surfaces. He stores the raspberries in the freezer and then goes to take a seat in the living room, turning on the Xbox and flipping through the menu idly.

[publicists]

Gray has never minded using his home for any client who needs to get away. The place is private and secure enough because it has to be for his own many layers of protection. But he also is fully committed to giving his clients the safe space the support they need that he never had. He takes an efficient shower, changing into something slightly more casual but still dressy because he has company: a black cashmere sweater over a T-shirt and jeans. Making his way downstairs through the foyer into the living room.

"How difficult was the traffic?" he asks solely to make conversation. "I can't make up for the bad date, but maybe I can help you bitch and moan and forget about it."

There are so many other things he could say and Gray knows that. He identifies with Ceder more than he lets on, which is why they've started to develop a friendship. But getting any closer would require telling the younger man about his personal history and Gray is notoriously tight-lipped about that. Only those in his inner circle know about where he came from, and even then not all of them have the full story. He's built his whole life keeping his distance from people for various reasons.

Like obviously not saying anything about himself or his day. This isn't about him. It's about his client, his friend needing to forget a bad date.

[sweetabatina]

Ceder has existed in these circles for as long as his father has been a political figure and his mother has been the child of American bluebloods, ie. all his life. So he initially bristled at the idea of working with someone like Gray. After all, he’s known this world forever, why does he need some babysitter? However, after his very first interaction with the man, it was immediately clear that he knew what he was dealing with far more than Ceder. So they’ve developed a kind of friendship, for which Ceder is genuinely grateful.

“It wasn’t too bad.” He says, looking at Gray over his shoulder with a faint smile. Then his expression quickly falls. “The traffic, I mean. The date was a fucking disaster.” He sets aside the controller for the moment and crosses his arms, then crosses one leg over the other. It’s less an attempt to shut Gray out as it is Ceder self-soothing.

“I can’t help but feel like it’s me, though. Am I really that much a disaster? That this is the kind of guy who’s interested in me?”

@i_own_you

[sweetabatina]

Ceder hasn’t been in Hell long, and maybe that explains how he fell into Valentino’s orbit so easily. The sins of his past life certainly earned him his spot in Lust, and he fell easily into the lifestyle, coasting from party to hookup to crackhouse and back again. Someone smarter wouldn’t have taken Valentino’s number in the first place, wouldn’t have agreed to come, wouldn’t have gotten into the car that showed up for him. When he was alive he considered himself smart.

And yet, here he is. He exits the car and is quickly whisked away to a dressing room. He tries to protest that his face is going to be covered, but he goes into makeup anyway. He tries to ask about Valentino, but no one seems particularly interested in enlightening him.

[busybean]

[- and he probably shouldn't, but he will send one last text when he finally gets home. it is so late at night it's kind of early, left for ceder to read when he wakes up.]

i still really like you, too
i promise that's not what i was doing

[sweetabatina]

[ and Ceder is still awake, after a long night on shift. He considers throwing his phone down on the bed, but instead holds it over himself and types. ]

come over

[busybean]

right now?

[he's fighting exhaustion, but- ]

if you want me to yeah

for @chem_break

[sweetabatina]

[ Combat Zone doesn't make for pleasant neighbors, but it does make paying ones. It makes sense to have a clinic here, a place for the drunks to sleep off their hangovers or for chem-addicts to get their fix. So it's a clinic-cum-drug-den, so he's not really a doctor, whatever that means. He knows enough to get by out here, and that's what really matters.

He's actually fairly pleased with himself for having the balls to outright flirt with someone like Hancock. For years he's kept his head down and tried to occupy himself solely with business. But why shouldn't he have fun? Why shouldn't he put up the 'closed' sign up a little early and spend some time making sure his hair sits perfectly imperfect on his head? Do ghouls like hair? That would probably be offensive to ask.

When he hears someone at the door, he calls from the back room, ]

It's open!

Thank ya kindly for the set up!

[chem_break]

[ Hancock is pleased to see his haphazard timing brings him to the clinic's door with that closed sign in place. Just because you can buy (and use) drugs here doesn't make it not a clinic. Most wasteland medical facilities just swing that way, it's good for business. Dr. Bishop's a Doctor on account of he says so, and people don't generally die after he fixes them up. No one is out here checking for degrees.

So the ghoul rolls up and into the typically respectable clinic and slides through the door with all the consuming presence of an oil spill. He shuts the door behind him and admires the flipped 'closed' sign through the smudged glass. Heh, damn right it is. And with good reason. ]

Got a delivery here for Doc Bishop!

[ Hancock had caught his own delivery dude on the way here, picked up the package (which had not been swapped out for rocks this time, good boy!) and sent the guy back to Goodneighbor. There's a sizable satchel on his hip as he strolls through whatever this place counts as a lobby, hops the counter, and saunters into the back room. ]

There you are

<3

[sweetabatina]

[ Ceder listens for the approaching footsteps, hears the slide across the counter, and is looking towards the doorway with a grin when Hancock appears. ]

Hand delivery from Hancock himself? I most be the luckiest girl in the wasteland. [ He stands and steps forward, reaching out a hand to lightly ghost his fingers over the satchel's strap. ]

It's a pleasure. I appreciate you solving our problem quickly, and personally. [ He bites his lower lip ] What can I do for you? Drink? Jet?

for @tstank

[sweetabatina]

It's a strange day when what should just be a booty call ends up with Ceder taking his car down to the NYPD drunk tank. There's already a crowd of press outside the station, and Ceder gets escorted around the station to a covered entrance well away from prying or photographing eyes. He rolls his window down and flips his sunglasses up and into his hair as the man of the hour is escorted out between two very grumpy-faced NYPD officers.

"Hi, Tony." Ceder says, keeping his voice light. "Never a dull day with you, huh?"

[tstank]

"I like to keep things interesting."

And he's unapologetic about that. he shrugs and maneuvers his way to the car after patting both cops on the shoulder. He grins and slides into the passenger seat.

"Did you have other plans for tonight?"

[sweetabatina]

Ceder flips his sunglasses back down and pulls out from the drive behind the police station, deftly avoiding the crowd of reporters. Ceder watches the crowd disappear in his rearview mirror.

"Does it matter?" He shrugs, "You're my plans now. As if I'd give up this chance."