2018-07-08 - Cheez-its and Soft Serve

The rig pulls in with a lot of light flashing, sirens turned town about a half a block away, so as not to give the entire neighborhood an awakening, and to help lessen the auditory trauma of the multiple bodies down on scene. There should be another rig behind them, one for each person in need of assistance. Judging by the screech of tires and the entire rig sliding another foot on the wet pavement, whomever was driving is a speed demon. Yes, in a vehicle that heavy, yes in one that contains flammables.

A blonde hops out of the driver's seat once the thing is in park, and her partner hops out of the passenger side. Partner heads back to grab supplies from the back, including a gurney, and Sutton, the blonde in question, wastes no time in joining the cops. "What have we got?" She visually assesses the male first, as he's the one dramatically attached to the cop, who appears to be bleeding from a very obvious neck wound. Before she kneels beside him, her gaze flicks to the woman down, sweeping her body, making note of her injuries very quietly. Always know what you're getting into before you commit.

Sutton makes note of the cuts on the woman, the glass in her hand, the man's neck wound. A narrative begins to form. Her state of undress. "Hold pressure, officer," Sutton says to the cop kneeling beside the male. Her concern is she isn't sure the woman is still breathing. "Matthews," she calls back to her partner. "You take the guy and relieve this dedicated officer. Let me know if he's spurting or oozing." Just how fast is that guy losing blood?

She pulls on a pair of nitrile gloves with a snap. "Can you hear me, love?"

Zoiya stirs when Sutton kneels near her, her hand reaching up vaguely to touch the blonde woman. "Is the party over?" Her words are slurred, her pupils are dilated, she looks confused. "Where is everyone?" She tries to sit up, her fists clenching which makes the glass cut deeper into her palm.

It's then that she notices the ambulances and the police officers, and she looks frightened. "I didn't do it, are they here for me?" She stares up at Sutton, trying to scoot away, looking as if she'll try to crawl away, the glass in her hand, the deep cut, forgotten. The officer who was keeping her hands on the man in the suit strolls over once he's loaded into the ambulance. "What's the story here? We're going to need to talk to her."

Whatever the Officer says, and whatever Zoiya hears are two different things, because a steady stream of "Nononono." Is coming out of her mouth. She tries to move away, her coat falling open to expose the state of undress, the wealth of ink on her skin. Water from the puddle gets into the cut in her hand, making her cry out, cradling it to her body.

"Relax, love." Sutton's words are soft, soothing, though she does reach down to take hold of one wrist to control the glass. "No, we're—" the blonde's expression changes as she's interrupted mid sentence by a cop. "Back off. Nobody talks to anybody until everybody's treated." Sutton bodily puts herself between the officer and the frightened woman, who's clearly been traumatized and is off her tits on something chemical. "Go loom over someone else, would you?" She's a little snotty with the cop, but she can afford to be. If anybody complains, her patient's emotional response is enough of a justification. "Shoo." She doesn't look back to see if the officer's moving when she says that, but it's a brook no arguments kind of tone.

"Shh, shh. Let me look at your hand, love. I'm here to see to your injuries. Can you walk? We can go sit in the rig with the heated blankets, and I can get a better look at your hand. You don't have to go anywhere you don't want." She makes no move to push the woman in any particular direction, but she does try to extricate the glass, carefully. "You're ok. You're ok. Did you take something tonight? Sweetheart, are you on any drugs? You're not in trouble. I need to know so I can treat you."

Behind her, her partner, a stocky, short man bends over the downed man, tending to his injury to try to slow the bleeding or stop it with a bandage and some pressure.

Wide hazel eyes watch the interaction between the police officer and Sutton, and when the officer moves off, she relaxes fractionally. There are a lot of questions, and she tries to focus on them, but words are hard right now. "I was .. hired. Party.. I don't remember much of it." She clearly is trying to reach back in her memories, her brow furrowed with effort. Unable to fixate on any proper point of reference, she cries helplessly. She doesn't fight when Sutton pulls the glass from her hand, she made a mess of it by gripping it too tight.

"Where are my things?" She looks around, frowning as she seems to realize that she's in an alley rather than a fancy uptown apartment. There are still tears rolling down her cheeks as she tries to get to her feet, wobbling and unsteady. "I feel so weak..tired.." She blinks owlishly and glances around again. "Where is my purse?"

The man on the ground seems to be stabilized, and very much doesn't seem to want to talk to the cops. Not that words are any easier for him right now.

Sutton wraps the glass in her glove, snapping that one off before she tucks it into the pocket of her rain jacket. She pulls a new glove on, fishing it out of a cargo pocket on the thigh of her pants, snapping that on to replace the other. She gets to her feet with the woman. "Can I help you?" She waits for permission before she begins leading the way to the ambulance, touching only if given permission to do so. "We'll see about your things after we have a look at your hand and get you warmed up, ok?"

"Don't worry too much, love. Let's get you out of the rain." She remains calm, to all appearances, but Sutton has a sinking feeling she knows what's happened here, and so it's best her partner deals with the man. "Matthews. Hand him off when the other rig shows up. Put an officer in with him, do not let him out of your sight." She nods to one of the patrol officers, "You lock him down." She's bossy as shit for a paramedic who is not in the chain of command. "If you don't want to do it, pull PO Elias Sutton off his bullshit visibility patrol and put him on it."

"Please." Help me. She knows that things are wrong. Her state of undress, how she feels like she got ran over by a freight train. Her feet are bare so each step is gingerly taken, but once they reach the rig she seems to be doing slightly better putting one foot in front of the other. It takes a few tries to get in the back of the ambulance, but once she's settled on a stretcher, blanket around her shoulders, she stops shivering. She stares at the wall, eyes flitting from the various machines to the paramedic who has been helping her.

"I think.." She looks confused still, but she's trying to push out words that she just doesn't want to say. ".. I need to go to the hospital." Her eyes are on her thighs, her toes curling and uncurling. "..please."

Her hands grip the stretcher railing, hands twisting around every so often, her eyes narrowing as she glances out at the lights still flashing in the dark.

Sutton pulls several heated blankets from a warmer stashed in the wall of the rig. She offers one across the woman's shoulders, one across her legs. She pulls a rolling stool free from the wall and slides it over. "We'll go. We'll take you. Let me have a look at this. Can you tell me if you have any allergies?" She pulls a few antiseptic wipes and a roll of gauze. "I need to take your vitals before we go, so the hospital has them to compare when we arrive, to be sure you're stable." Shock is her main concern at the moment, along with figuring out what she's been dosed with.

"May I clean your hand, love?" Though she sounds mostly American, there are hints of an English accent, most prominent when she says things like love. "I just need my partner to finish up outside and drive us. Apparently I drive a little too fast, and he's going to ask for a transfer if I don't let him do more of the driving, particularly on rainy nights." She falls silent, though she does seem to be a bit of a talker. "It'll just be a moment. Don't worry about the sirens. That's just another ambulance. No more cops."

The paramedic is talking, the words float past and she tries to pay attention to them, but only certain things register. She looks away from the flashing lights, shivering still under the blankets. "Allergies? No." She stares as wipes are pulled out, watching Sutton prepare to clean her hand up. The pain is there when she focuses on it, but otherwise the hand is largely forgotten, splayed open on her thigh so it can be looked at.

It's a few minutes until she seems to come back from whatever was going through her head, looking around again, nodding slowly. The glass has dug deep into her skin between the meat of the palm and the padding beneath the fingers. She listens to the explanation about driving fast, her eyes flitting around quickly from Sutton as she speaks, to the various tools and other things in the back of the rig.

"I don't have a great relationship with cops." She mutters, attempting a wan smile, but missing the mark.

Sutton glances up from tending her hand, gently as she can, but the antiseptic no doubt stings a little. "Little sting, it'll be cold at first. Okay, just going to bandage this, and someone with much more delicate hands will take care of it for you. You may need a few stitches, but they'll numb you and you won't feel a thing." She's deft and gentle wrapping the hand, with a little extra pad of gauze to cushion it. She secures it with some tiny clips. "Not all cops are blowhards, but I think plenty of them are."

"I have some favors I can call in. Listen. The nurses where we're going are amazing. If you need anything, they'll get it for you. Blood test." She pauses. "Anything you need. You don't have to talk to the cops until your doctor clears you. Until you're discharged, you aren't obligated, and they can't say shit. I know a couple cops who won't dick you around, and if they're busy, they can send someone good."

There's a pause before she asks, "Are there any injuries I can't see that the hospital should be aware of? Are you hurting anywhere else?"

Zoiya focuses on the gauze wrapping around her hand, the words get a vague look, she doesn't flinch. "I just feel cold." She clears her throat and lets her head tilt slightly, eyebrows raised. "How much is this going to cost?" Her voice is dull, she sounds resigned, heaving a sigh as she leans forward slightly, letting her hair curtain her face. "I'll take whatever help you can offer, I'm ..thank you."

Her eyes tick back up to Sutton, frowning. She could speak up, but she just nods, glancing away.

Sutton catches the look, the frown, nod, the look away. She takes a breath. "There's some help for those affected by crime." She doesn't say victims. "Medical expenses are eligible, of course." She falls silent for a moment, then says, "I'm just going to take your vitals, love. Blood pressure and pulse rate. You seem more or less stable, though I'd really like you to have a blood test for substances. I think you've been roofied. Ok?" Not ok. Not close to okay.

"I don't want you to worry about the cost." There's a good chance the guy in the alley's going to pay it, one way or the other. She rolls her shoulders briefly, and says, "What's your name, love? Friends call me Harry."

"Harry." Zoiya repeats, holding an arm out so a cuff can be secured around it. "You can call me Mae." She doesn't touch on costs, help or anything else. She doesn't want to think about the hospital right now, even though it is an inevitability. She hates hospitals. She shifts a bit on the stretcher, crossing her legs at the ankle, her teeth working on her bottom lip.

"If you could give .. one of those cop friends a call? I would appreciate it." She says after some silence, glancing at Harry for a moment before looking away to the window again.

"Mae." Sutton smiles a little, and secures the cuff. She pumps it up, stethoscope making an appearance too. "You've got it. My twin's a cop. He'll get us someone exceptional." She says us like they're in it together, without even the slightest of hesitations. "Mae, I'll get you a SART nurse. I know three of the ladies who work the ER on a rotating basis. There's an excellent snack machine on that floor that has really good yogurt covered pretzels."

Outside, the other rig pulls up, doors slam, and they get out to go tend to the wounded. Right behind them is another patrol car, and a dark-haired officer hops out, his eyes hazel, shadow of stubble already showing at his jaw. He's otherwise clean cut, about 26, with kind eyes, prominent eyebrows, and laugh lines already around his eyes. He makes his way to the back of the rig, but doesn't enter. "Ma'am," he says to Zoiya, but doesn't approach. His eyes may look familiar. The resemblance between him and Sutton is strong, despite her blonde hair. The cop makes eye contact with the paramedic. Something unspoken passes between them, he frowns a little, then nods, and disappears. Low voices are heard outside.

A moment later, the male half of this ambulance's attendants pops around the back, says, "All good?" With a nod from Sutton and a hand gesture from her, he shuts the doors firmly then circles to the cab to get them on the road. The phone in Sutton's pocket chimes. She doesn't take it out. "That's the sound of my big brother arranging to make your day a little bit easier, Mae. We've got you now, ok? I know this is ... not the way you planned to spend your night. If you need anything, ask. Until then, relax. Enjoy those heated blankets." She smiles and says, "Sorry about the bumpy ride in advance. Matthews drives safely, but hits just about every pothole."

She mirrors the smile on Sutton's face, a brief twitch of lips before she lets the woman work. "Thank you." For giving a shit. "What is an SART nurse?" The cuff gets pulled off and people are arriving still. She's considering the yogurt covered pretzels when the cop approaches. She nods at him when he calls her Ma'am, looking between his face and Sutton's once or twice. Everything is going so fast, and they haven't even gotten to the hospital yet.

She clutches the heated blanket around her shoulders, placing a steadying hand on the stretcher as the rig bounces around a little. "This was supposed to be an easy job." She says quietly, glancing out the back window, watching the few cars move through the streets in the darkness before dawn approaches. "It's okay." About the potholes. "I don't know if I'm in any hurry to get to the hospital." The blanket on her legs slips a bit, revealing butterflies, a skull and bruises. She drags it back up and sighs.

"Think they'll have cheese-its in the snack machine? I haven't had them in a while, since school I think."

"SART is a specialized nurse." Sutton doesn't elaborate right away. "If you ... don't need her, you can send her away. She can do a kit for you if you need one. If you would like to have a rape kit done. You can do one and elect not to have it processed until later. Since you were drugged, we usually recommend doing one, just in case."

"They absolutely have cheez-its. If you want the white cheddar ones, I know a nurse who keeps some stashed in his locker. Family size box, never dry. That dude is a cheez-it, basically. He also rescues pit bulls. He'll show you pictures if you ask." She grins a bit at that. "So damn cute." The pitties too.

"What do you do? You have some really great ink." There are only a few things a woman is hired to a party for, but she doesn't presume. Doesn't matter what she does, really, but the paramedic is curious.

There's absolutely no job that could warrant a drugging and assault in an alley. The other Sutton is on that right now, though.

As soon as rape kit is mentioned, Zoiya's face goes blank. She nods at the other woman, turning her head away. "I'll do one. The kit." She works her teeth over her bottom lip, staring at the doors to the rig. She lets Sutton change the subject, turning to watch her as she describes the cheez-it nurse and pit bulls, she forces herself to chuckle, and nod. Having a friendly person inside the hospital would be nice.

"I'm a stripper. The man who manages the floor got me a job tonight, bachelor party. Supposed to be safe, easy money." Zoiya frowns and gazes down at her feet again, watching her toes. "I remember getting there, being pressured into a quick drink before we got started.." She trails off, swallowing convulsively.

What she remembers of the alley is fragmented, her brow furrows and she shrugs awkwardly. "Easy money. No such thing, right?"

"I mean it should have been. You were hired to dance. Doesn't include extras unless you say it does, and it definitely doesn't include drugging against your will." Sutton has very specific ideas about men who do these kinds of things. "I've been to a few parties with private entertainment, and never once have any of my friends drugged a dancer. Got a little lit on tequila, yes. There's a line, very clearly drawn, and it's not your fault for going to do your job."

"For the record, I took one of those exotic dancing fitness classes once. I almost broke my ankle. There's nothing easy about it. I'm a marathon runner, so it's not like I haven't worked through some difficulty before. You work for your money and you should be safe doing that." She puts away the cuff and the stethoscope. "Your vitals are strong. You're probably on something that metabolizes quickly, so the effects should fade." She mms. "One of my best friends is a stripper. She specializes in pole work, and can do that one leg spinning move upside down. Blows my mind every time. If I tried that, I'd definitely hurt myself."

"I have no idea what happened after that drink. I don't know who's coat this is. I have no idea where my things are." Zoiya's frame trembles, and she clasps her hands in her lap hard, trying to get a hold of herself. "I feel sore.." She can't say it, so she latches on to the other subject almost greedily, and though she can't manage a smile, there is some amusement in her eyes.

"I've been doing this since I was eig.." The rig hits a big pothole, sending them bouncing for a moment. She manages not to knock herself ass over teakettle off the stretcher, both hands flat at her sides. She turns wide eyes to the front, and then gives Harry a 'what the fuck' look. "Anyway.. I've been doing this since I was eighteen, and I'm pretty good on a pole, it just takes practice and a dedication to the gym."

The drugs. She has questions, it might bring the previous conversation back but she wants to know. "It will still be detectable, right? They'll know for sure that those fuckers put something in my drink?" She looks from Sutton down to the floor.

"One thing at a time, Mae. You're out of the alley. You're off the alley floor. You're in a warm ambulance with someone who will do her utmost to get you the friendliest, most competent medical professionals to see you though this day. Including cheez-it acquisition." Sutton rests her hands on the gurney rail next to Mae's hand, but doesn't touch her unbidden. She veers right back into that subject change easily, of course.

"I told you. He's a shit driver." Sutton laughs a bit then turns her head to say, "Matthews, fuck sake. Put your glasses on!"

"Yes, it should be detectible. First thing, blood test. It takes a few hours to metabolize out of your system. If and when you choose to prosecute, you'll have the evidence you need."

Zoiya takes a deep breath, Sutton's words diving through the anxiety. She glances around the ambulance, her gaze settling on the paramedic sitting across from her. There is a lot going through her head right now. Cheez-its. That's a lot to hang some happiness on, but she's made do with a less. She nods, and keeps nodding until another bump jostles them, snorting softly when Sutton gives her partner shit.

"Okay. I can do this." The hospital, the drug tests, the rape kit. We'll see if she can do all of them, but she seems game to try.

"You can do this," Sutton affirms. She sounds sure. No doubts at all. Given the way she talks to the cops, she probably doesn't have many. "It's a well-kept secret, but there's also a soft serve machine in the cafeteria, and they have one of those orange vanilla swirl blends that tastes exactly like those cheap creamsicles that are so damn good. I can sneak you one if you're into those flavors."

Sutton has all the hookups for the local hospital, probably a couple of them. Comes of spending hours and hours inside of them, ferrying patients all over the city depending on assignment and station. She finally pulls out her phone to check the message, fires back a reply, and tucks her phone away. "My brother's taking care of it." The officer acquisition, no doubt finding someone who can deal with a sensitive case without coming off like an utter knob. Elias Sutton had better not make her a liar.

"You're going to ply me with food to keep me docile. You must have met me in a past life." Zoiya jokes, her eyes on Sutton as she quips, there is no smile with it, but she tries to drag herself away from self pity and anger. Neither of them will erase the recent past. She thinks of comfortable clothes, and all the things that might need to be replaced if her purse isn't recovered. She considers the loss of what would have been rent money and just sighs. There is nobody for her to lean on, she's very much alone in the world.

"How long have you been doing this? Doesn't this job push you down?" She wouldn't be able to handle it, for certain.

"I am going to ply you with food. I also have markers and candy. I use what works for me." Sutton grins for both of then. She rests her arms in her lap, then removes the gloves she was wearing and sets them aside. The glass from the scene is still in her jacket pocket, and she'll have to make a call on that after she talks with her brother. To turn it over or lose it is the question.

"A while. Pretty much since I was 19. So you and me, we have that in common. Dedication to something fun. Yeah, it's... there are shitty days. I see a lot of pain. I see people on the worst days of their lives. I think if I can be there to make any of it better, it's worth it. My pain is nothing compared to that." She clears her throat. "I also party a lot. You know, off hours. That helps relieve the strain. As does tequila."

She hesitates for a moment, then says, "I've been here, on the other side." On the other side, sitting on the gurney in the ambulance trying to remember where the rest of her night went. "It's not easy, and you can do it. The soft serve helps. The anger helps too."

"Markers and candy.." Her gaze is on her hands, fingers bending and extending slowly, the gauze stared at. "I couldn't do what you do. Some days I can't do what I do. You have to keep going forward though, or you end up homeless in a cardboard box." She raises her eyes to gaze at Sutton at the mention of pain. The uncharitable part of her wonders what kind of pain this beautiful, confident thing could have.

"I party a lot when I'm not at work too. Tequila is a blessing and a curse, but damn.. might take me a while to trust another drink." Zoiya's heart skips a beat at the admission, and hazel eyes track up to Sutton's face. "You been .. here Harry?" Her opinion of the woman does a quick 180, and suddenly she doesn't feel quite as alone. "Anger I'm good at. Soft serve is pretty good." She hesitates for a moment and then winces as she asks, "Think you could stay at the hospital with me for a little bit?"

Sutton nods. "Yeah, I ... for a while I made the bartender open a new bottle and put it in my eye line, or pre-gamed at home before I went out, which is no fun." She laughs. "One time I got so wasted at home, my brother was like, girl the party's over. Here's the after party, and then that fucker handed me a plate of pizza rolls and locked me in my own bathroom." She shakes her head. "He regretted it."

She smiles again, though it's more tame than her others. She does seem to carry humor and confidence with her. Even talking about this. "Yeah. I've been here," she affirms. The only thing that gives her away is her eyes, which are darker. There's definitely some anger under there, still, and it does help explain her tone with the cops, skipping over the guy at the alley with the apparently more serious wound. The look on her brother's face for that second he paused at the foot of the ambulance. "I can stay, yes, if you'd like. I have some paperwork to do. My partner can flirt with the doctors."

"So tell me, who does your ink? I go to Valentine." She has no visible ink, though her long sleeve tee could be covering some.

"I have had some wild shit happen, but never..can't say I ever had drugs dropped into a drink. You get used to being looked after in the club setting." Zoiya makes a face when she tells the story about the pizza rolls, wincing at the thought of what the bathroom might have looked like after that night.

"This isn't my first rodeo with the hospital. Usually skip the rape kit because sometimes the looks you get aren't worth making someone else pay." She aims a grateful look at Sutton when she says she can stay, trying not to cry again. She takes a deep breath, then another, exhaling slowly and carefully.

"My ink? Well, shit. I've been collecting since I was dancing in New York. She sits up straighter, her fingers at her collarbone. "Most of this was done at Studio 28." She pulls the blanket aside to show off words on her torso. "Kings Avenue." One thigh is tapped. "Tattoo Candy in Chicago.." She holds out an arm, chuckling. "Most of this was done right here in Seattle. There is a little place near where I work. She did most of these butterflies as well." The subject change goes unnoticed, talking about ink is a lot easier than talking about assault. "I think I might be done for a while, touch ups only. Though the guy I've been seeing is trying to get me to do a couples thing, he's out of his fucking mind."

"Yeah, looked at. That's the thing. Men get a little and think they're entitled to more. It's a shame some of them need to be reeducated so pointedly." Mae's assailant will never be able to hide the scar, assuming he survives. He probably will, which is annoying enough in its own right. A little deeper and he probably would have bled out before the cops showed up.

She's silent for a while when the woman mentions the looks you get, the judgment, the questions from the cops that can feel like a litany of accusation. Were you drinking? Were you alone? Did you take any drugs? Medically, it's asked to prevent interactions. The cops asking makes it feel like judgment all day long.

Tattoos are easier to talk about, the rest is silent support. Yes, she'll stay. Yes, she'll do boring paperwork and make small talk, and start some serious shit if anyone tries to start some shit with her patient, even in the middle of a hospital when her work is technically done. "Really? I've heard of the Chicago shop. Never been. I think I should do sometime, if I think about getting more. Nice work." She laughs. "Couples tattoos. Shit. Everybody wants to leave their mark." She shakes her head. "I share a tattoo with one person. My brother. They're not the same, but we both have foxes. His entire squad mocked him relentlessly. He got this tiny little three inch tattoo and I came home with a whole sleeve."

The ambulance finally turns and slows, pulling into the ER load out, and somehow, somehow that dumbass driving manages to clip a curb. The whole rig rocks. "If he ever complains about my driving again..."

"Anyway, the butterflies are really lovely. I've been thinking about adding a luna moth to my sleeve... there's something about delicate little things that live so briefly."

"Happens all over the place. The club. This apartment I was in. I have heard men ask me so many times, why do you wear the things you wear if you don't want attention? I dress for me. I'm not dressing for them." Zoiya huffs out an annoyed breath, her jaw jumping as she clenches her teeth together.

"I hated Chicago. I lit out of there as quickly as I could manage it, on a stolen bike no less." She glances down at her thighs, smirking slightly. "He didn't seem like the type. I make it pretty clear that I'm not relationship material, why would he think that I'd be matching tattoos material?" She wrinkles her nose and leans in a little, her eyes curious. "Why did they tease him? Is it a cutesy fox?" She sits back, and when the ambulance clips the curb, she just manages to keep her balance, and the blanket around her shoulders. "Really. Maybe he's distracted up there by something. Otherwise, pot meet kettle."

She glances down at the butterflies and reaches out to trace a finger over the one highest on her thigh. "I've been trying to fly fly away since I was five, I get butterflies. They started out as something that isn't classified as pretty, and then things change. They live for a few days, and then they're gone. Like a flame, they catch, they flare, and then they ebb out into smoke." She lets out a soft laugh. "Been waiting to get into my larvae stage so I can get my wings. Keep thinking that this choice or the next will lead me to the next phase in my life, but I think I'm picking the wrong options in my choose your own adventure book."

Sutton chuckles at the mention of a stolen bike. She has a habit of borrowing one herself. She mhms. "Yeah, it was very cute, very tiny. Mostly he said it was painful, and then his twin sister rolls in with ink shoulder to wrist. I didn't bitch about the pain once, mostly because once I heard he did, I couldn't crack. Man it was sore for weeks though." She laughs again.

"My partner's probably making a point, or he's having a stroke. It's fine." She's kidding about the stroke, obviously. Or she has mixed feelings about her partner.

Sutton is quiet through Mae's story about her butterflies, all the beautiful reasons, all the little tragedies that must have led to that. To the repeated leaving cities and people, the flame, the fire, the smoke. "When you find it, and I hope you do before you run out of skin to ink new ones in, do what you have to to keep it. Whatever happiness you get, no matter who tried to step in your way. What judgments they lay at your feet. Nobody gets to decide but you. Keep choosing."

The ambulance comes to a stop, Sutton glances up, then back at the doors, and then to Mae. "Well, girl, lots of lights and people. You ready for this?" The implication being they can sit here longer if they need to. There's no sound of the driver getting out yet. No slam of the door.

She thinks about asking which club Mae works, but doesn't. It feels like an invasion of privacy. And there's no guarantee she wouldn't be tempted to go down there and give the floor manager a piece of her mind if she did know. Sutton doesn't have the best impulse control.

"I'm probably weird, but pain is a way to remind me that I'm alive and have another chance at something." She gazes down at the canvas that is her body, brow furrowed. "People cut. I get inked." She gets to her bare feet when Sutton asks if she's ready. She's not, but if she has the option to sit in the back of the rig, she'll take it. She needs to put one foot in front of the other. The blankets are set on the stretcher, and she pulls the coat tighter around her body. Something occurs to her and she puts her hands in her pockets, coming up empty after her brief exploration. "Hoping something in the pocket would tell me who this belongs to."

She glances at the doors and then back to Sutton. "Sooner we go out there, sooner the invasive tests and swabbing are done. Sooner I get cheez-its and soft serve." She looks like she's ready to take on the world, her shoulders pulled back, a blank look on her face. Inside she's quavering, afraid and wanting to crawl under a blanket to hide.

"If I ever get my wings, I'll kill any asshole who tries to take my happiness away from me." Zoiya sounds pretty serious about that.

Sutton rises too. She reaches over and smacks the side of the ambulance twice, and only then does the driver pop out, slam his door, and come around to pop open the back. She moves to the doors as they opens, grabs a hard-cased laptop from the footwell, and says something quietly to her partner before she moves to hop down. She offers a hand up if Mae needs it, to navigate the two steps down without wavering. "Your survival is inked all over your body." She mms and says, "Maybe you should consider a valkyrie next. Still with the wings. Also the sword."

As soon as the two are out, the EMT of the pair will hop in and collect all those blankets, carefully folded, into an evidence bag to be held in his custody to preserve chain of evidence.

"I think that's a promise to yourself, and it's a good one." She has no qualms about a little retribution raining down where it's due. Sutton lets Mae set the pace, staying beside her on the way in. They of course offer a wheelchair at the doors, having been informed already they they were incoming. There's no wait, and a nurse is immediately on hand to take them to a private room off the end of the chute, the curtained bays normally reserved for ER walk-ins. Around here, certain cases take priority and shuttle off to private rooms. This is one.

Zoiya takes Sutton's hand, carefully stepping down, eyes on the ground to keep her from stepping on something sharp. She turns hazel eyes to the woman walking with her, a ghost of a smile haunting her lips for a brief moment. "A valkyrie, I like that." She doesn't look behind her, which is good, because if she saw him collecting the blankets for evidence, she might have faltered a bit. The only thing getting her through the moment is that she's in control right now. Even if that control is tenuous.

She settles into the wheelchair with a wince, pulling her feet up on the foot rests. "It's a violent promise, but life hasn't offered much that isn't violent. Might as well match it." She doesn't make eye contact with the nurse if she can help it, staying polite as a hospital gown and blanket are offered. The coat is left on a chair and she stares at it for a few brief moments. "I don't think that coat belonged to the person in the alley." For one, it's a woman's coat. Once she's covered she scoots herself up on the exam table, waiting for the second humiliating portion of her night to begin.

Keep thinking of cheez-its and soft serve. Zoiya thinks to herself, eyes moving from one person to another as the questions begin.

"From what I've heard, I think it suits you, love." This is what she says as they move through the sweeping automatic doors, and that first scent of hospital lobby hits them. It's a bit antiseptic, it looks clean, it's a little too bright, but Sutton keeps right on talking as they wander in, as Mae takes a seat in the wheelchair, as they ferry through. She chats like they're girlfriends talking over martinis at a bar rather than paramedic and patient wheeling into a room for photos and swaps and clippings and combing and a blood test. Small invasions to see to justice for a much more violent one. "There's something to be said for a big and beautiful fuck you to the world."

"They'll do their best to find her." The other woman. If there is one, and there probably is, somewhere in the city. She drops into a chair nearby, next to Mae, and a redheaded nurse comes into the room, introduces herself as Caro. She's a woman in her late 50s with laugh lines, sad eyes, and a few scars of her own. She introduces herself first, makes some small talk, reminds Mae at every step what will happen, that she can say no at any time, that they'll stop. The collection takes some time, the photo strobes are bright and sudden, and there are two women there whose first and only duty is to see the dark-haired dancer through this, as they themselves were once helped through.

"Do you know any good knock knock jokes? If I can make my partner roll his eyes, he has to drive across town and fetch my favorite dim sum. Do you like dim sum?" Jesus, Sutton and food again. "There's a great noodle place right next door if you don't."

Zoiya sees a kindred spirit of sorts in Caro. She might not trust the woman, but she trusts that she'll do her job, and won't hurt her. She submits to everything, responding to the small talk with some of her own. She flinches when the pictures are taken. She's got a few abrasions and bruises, someone put hands on her tonight, of that there is no doubt.

She doesn't watch as these things are done, her eyes are on Sutton talking about dim sum. "I like dim sum." She looks like she's thinking, flinching as a swab is taken.

"Knock Knock."

"Who's there."

"Keith."

"Keith who."

"Keith me , my thweet preenth."

Zoiya manages a brief smile when she's asked to sit up, shrugging at Sutton. "I bet you have the chops to play up to the performance. Should earn you an eye roll at the very least."

Sutton is typing on the laptop in her lap, filling out the reports from the night, looking up only as the knock-knock joke begins. She glances back down to the laptop, and it actually takes about a half second past the punchline for her to snort out a laugh, like she actually thinks that's funny. Oh, shit, she does actually think that's funny. She almost drops her laptop. One might get the impression she's a bit of a knock knock joke collector. "I've never heard that one before. Holy shit, he's gonna go blinder when I drop that one on him."

She's still chuckling when she pulls out her phone and facetimes her partner, who, by the look of him, is standing beside the vending machine. His eyebrows go up. "Knock, knock." He frowns, but dutifully asks who's there. Sutton is a trooper and goes through the entire joke, throwing in a sweet, sweet lisp at the end. Someone off camera laughs, and the EMT just scowls at the camera, then the screen goes blank for a moment as he hangs up.

"Sweet. If he gets so mad he has to hang up on me, it means he'll be paying for Uber Eats so he can resume flirting with the doctor, the doctor who clearly found your joke hilarious."

Caro finishes up with the final swab and says, "That was the last one." She offers up a freshly warmed blanket and shakes her head at the whole knock, knock exchange.

"Don't let her fool you. She gave me one once too," Sutton says, in regards to Caro and her look. "Can we get two orange twists?" Just as the nurse is leaving to put together the kit, to label everything carefully, there's a chirp from the paramedic's phone. "They're sending someone over. Ten minutes or so, if you're ready."

Zoiya is questioning her whole life right now. Dim sum, orange twists, swabs and bloodwork. This is all a process. Her eyes shift toward Sutton when she facetimes her partner, and lets out a soft chuckle when he hangs up on her.

The blanket is gathered around her and she curls up, laying on her side so she can watch Sutton tap out the paperwork and reports. "How did I cut my hand, Harry?" She asks, holding out the gauze covered palm, some ink showing outside of the wrapping. That's going to need touched up, if not redone completely.

"I don't know how much I can tell them, how much I can remember. I don't know how I even got to the alley. I just.." She frowns, a hand reaching up to yank at a length of her hair. "It's like one of those flashbacks on television, too fast to make sense of." She blinks slowly, fingers picking and pulling at the blanket. "This cop..they'll be nice, right?"

"There was broken glass in the alley, love. You crawled across the alley floor." Sutton sits there for a while typing, finishing off a narrative portion of the file. She closes the laptop. She smiles slightly, though it doesn't quite touch her eyes. "The cop who shows up will be well-trained and will ask you only the questions that need asking. If he or she isn't nice, they'll have a hell of a lot to answer for." One might get the impression she can make herself a nuisance when she puts her mind to it. "My brother's been on the force since he was eligible. He knows a lot of good cops. He'll make sure he sends one of the best, one who's worked this kind of case before."

"You weren't the only one in the alley. There was a man there too. I think you may have been defending yourself."

Zoiya flinches as a memory invades her senses. Someone dragging her coat open, her saying no but not being able to move or fight back. Grabbing for anything to help herself. The pain as her hand gets sliced open, the horror when she digs the sharp glass into the man's neck. He shoved her away, she hit her head. She turns a look toward Sutton, eyes a little wide. "I think so."

After the sass that Sutton dropped on the cop earlier, she fully believes that anyone who comes in here with an attitude will feel it aimed right back at them. "I trust you, and your brother." Mostly just her, but she has no reason not to be nice to this kind eyed paramedic who's been so nice to her.

"I got your back, and so does Caro. She takes no shit in her ER. She looks like a mild mannered soccer grandma, but she will dress anyone down in front of the mama for upsetting a patient." Sutton seems sure. That's one thing about her, she seem sure about a lot of things. Whether it's based in fact remains to be seen. Soon enough, an officer will arrive to take Mae's statement, sign for any evidence given, and open a report for investigators.

Sutton has her radio turned down, but every now and then it hisses to lift softly, a burble of dispatcher chatter going across. She seems to be paying it little mind. That is until there's a chirp then some chatter. She reaches for her hip to turn the volume up a little bit, listening to a call for service, multi-unit response, for a fire in an apartment building.

"Shit." Succinct. She takes a breath and sits up from her lazy hanging out slouch in the chair. "Mae. I have to take this run." She slides a card out of a pocket in her cargoes. "Call if the officer isn't what we discussed, or if you want to talk." The sound of boots hustling down the hall toward the room is heard a couple of beats before her partner appears in the hall, knocking on the door with two knuckles.

That's her intention, to be available. Though in November, radio silence. And after? Disconnected number.