Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining. The temperature is 54 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the south at 14 mph, with gusts up to 21 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.77 and steady, and the relative humidity is 93 percent. The dewpoint is 52 degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius.)
Medical Center, Near the Waterfront
From Riverfront Drive to Beaugregory Boulevard, the Hilliard Memorial Hospital rises, a massive building surrounded by well-tended lawns and tall trees. The Hospital spreads northwards to Hospital Drive itself; across Silver and Beaugregory from the hospital proper are research buildings and office buildings: billing offices, small medical libraries, and the rooms with classrooms and laboratories for medical students to learn and experiment. Along Riverfront, on its eastern side, food vendors have set up small stands which receive a brisk business in the noon hours, shaded under the trees lining the street. North of Hospital Drive, the administrative buildings continue, spreading another block or so north to I-90, which slashes across the city streets in an abrupt divider.
Rina sits on a concrete bench near the hospital entrance, under one of the lights; she looks to be sketching something, watching people come and go.
J.C. shuffles along, hands shoved into her coat pockets, shoulders hunched, head down. She pauses at a trash can that's not far from where Rina sits sketching and peers into it for a moment. Then her gaze flicks up; she sniffs, wipes her nose, and stares thoughtfully at the hospital.
That prickle at the back of her neck says someone is watching.
Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (41% full).
Dark-brown eyes, touched with hazel and amber, look out from a pixie-sharp face. Rina's skin is fair, but not quite pale--a light Mediterranean olive from generations of pure Italian ancestry. Black-dyed hair frames her features in a butch cut straight from anime: long enough to send spikes down into her eyes, tapering to jagged shortness at sides and back. Her chin is delicately-boned, her mouth small, the line of her jaw well-defined: an Italian beauty, a Michelangelo's muse turned modern. She can't be more than twenty, but a certain hard cynicism shows in her expressions. She carries herself with streetwise confidence and lean athletic grace.
Loose fatigues in a dusty cadet blue hang from her hips, tucked into heavy black combat boots. She wears a long-sleeved t-shirt of grey cotton rib knit--the skimming, slim cut a slightly feminine contrast to the rest of her militant gear. The well-worn leather straps of two shoulder rigs cross around both shoulders; a snubnose .357 worn on her left, a hefty-looking automatic on her right.
A traditional biker jacket in black leather, at least two sizes too big, drapes over her. On the right shoulder, at both front and back, electrical tape patches what must be a hole in the leather. There are more additions to the traditional biker body armor: scraps of circuit board, metal spikes and rivets, and a pair of mismatched vambraces that make her look like some sort of Mad Max knight errant.
"Don't go in there," the woman's hoarse voice warns. "It's /so/ not worth it."
From afar, Rina's neck is marked up quite a bit, and her throat is bruised--like someone grabbed her by the neck and tried to choke her.
J.C. sniffs again, then coughs, a wet, mucus-y sound. She half-turns, cocking her head as she peers at Rina. "Ripoffs, huh?"
Rina's smile is tight, a little off-center. "Worse. Never know what they're gonna do." She tips her head, and that cynical expression softens a bit. "Y'don't sound so good, though. There's a place downtown you can get medicine, I think..."
J.C. grins, showing crooked teeth, the front ones prominant. "Nah, I'm cool." She wipes at her reddened nose with the back of her hand. "Just the rain and cold and shit. Couldn't afford nothin' anyway. No, what'cha call it, 'Med-i-care.'"
Rina nods, her eyes narrowing a touch as she looks toward the hospital. "Yeah. Me either. Place downtown, it's a women's shelter. They have a clinic there, where you can get stuff for free." She glances down and adds something to her sketch.
J.C. cranes her neck, natural curiosity prompting her to try to get a peek at Rina's sketchbook. "Women's shelter?" She says it almost like it's a new concept, like it's the first time she'd ever heard of such a thing. "Huh." Another sniff. "Mebbe I'll checkit out. What street's it on?"
Rina purses her lips. "I think it's, like, Twelfth and Bridge?" Apparently she's drawing a picture of one of the doctors, on break--the man is standing by the doors, talking to someone smoking a cigarette.
"Twelfth and Bridge, got it." J.C. wipes at her nose again, flicking a quick look from sketch to subject and back again. "Nice drawin'."
Rina's smile quirks up at one corner. "Thanks." She glances up, studies the girl a moment. "You got a name?"
J.C. shifts her weight, pushing her hands into her pockets. The crooked-toothed grin returns, broad and friendly. "Jenny. Jenny C. You?"
Rina's smile widens, open and warm like her eyes. "Angel," she answers.
"Nice t'meet you, Angel." Jenny C. takes a step or two closer and leans against Rina's bench. "So," she says, lowering her voice a bit. "What's the shit on that place?" A jerk of her head indicates the hospital. "I mean, I've heard shit but, y'know, nothing to sink teeth into. Y'know?"
Rina lifts a shoulder. "All I know is it's bad," she answers softly. Her hand flips to a new page and begins another sketch; the dark eyes go to her work as she talks. "I got a friend, ended up in the mental ward in there-- and they did things to her you don't even /wanna/ know."
J.C.'s eyes narrow thoughtfully, her expression somber. Her teeth catch at a bit of skin flaking from her chapped lips. "Experiments? Needles 'n mazes? Or just torture?"
Rina shakes her head minutely, and her lips tighten. "Torture, I think. She doesn't like to talk about it." The face taking shape is not that of anyone present.
J.C. nods, making an understanding face. She gnaws at that bit of flaked skin, eventually chewing it off her lip. "Guess not," she says, and then adds, "Damn."
Rina's expression darkens, as she sketches, roughing out a man's face. Blunt features, pale eyes. Her brow furrows and she stops, abruptly, and turns the page over. Distracted, she glances to the girl, still frowning without realizing it. "What?"
J.C. straightens up, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and giving the artist another grin. Still friendly, though not as broad and open as before. "Ah, nothin'. Listen, thanks for the warning."
Rina's expression softens, abruptly, and she gives another one of those crooked smiles. "Yeah, no big. You take care, Jenny."
"You too, Angel," the homeless girl returns, starting to head off. "See ya."
Rina watches her go, dark eyes turning thoughtful. When she looks down to her work, though, her expression is suddenly grim. She begins packing up her pencils and charcoals, quickly.