2019-11-08 - Gray Harbor Hello

The sound of an engine using too much horsepower for the conditions, if not for any conditions, can be faintly heard over the din of the diner, when not entirely obscured by the sounds of the storm outside. It approaches, and then trails off, headlights shining across the front windows for a moment before disappearing. The sound of a door slamming, a thunder strike, and the door opens as Jacob tucks inside the cafe with a few choice words of profanity. "Jesus." He shakes some of the rain off of his overcoat, decently wet despite only being outside for scant seconds, and makes his way over to the counter to order his coffee.

Sutton is seated near the back left of the cafe, though she's at a four top alone, with a spicy chai latte in hand, and some kind of crumbly streusel muffin on a plate next to her, untouched. She's facing the windows through which she can watch people scurry, and it's with her feet up on a chair across from her that she watches Jacob make his way to and in through the door to the cafe. "Right?" She's probably referring to the profanity. She doesn't look damp, so she must have ducked in earlier, before that started. Sutton's wearing a pair of yoga pants, black, and a an overside off-the-shoulder sweater in some kind of soft white knit. She grins, seeming pretty cheerful about watching her fellow residents suffer at the hands of the storm. Or, you know, maybe she's just a cheery type.

Jacob loudly orders his coffee, voice somewhat gruff. "Americano, three cream, four sugar. Thanks." He looks over towards the sound of the Sutton's voice, finding it oddly familiar for some reason, and then spots the source of it. The doctor pays for his drink, takes it, and then walks over to her. He's wearing a dark overcoat over a button-down shirt and tie, dark trousers. Just come over from the office, probably. "Uh, sorry about that. Wasn't expecting to nearly get struck down on my way in. Such is the price for running out of k-cups, I guess. I've seen you working at Addington Memorial, haven't I?" He takes a sip of his drink.

Sutton regards the ging for a few beats before she replies. Yes, she's watching him and sipping her latte. It's iced, so she sips via a straw. "Yeah, I bet you have. Dropping off in the ER." She's a paramedic with GHFD, of course, and is partnered, most often, with EMT Bennie Oakes. Lately, however, she's been with an FNG tortur--training him. Training him.

"You ... are..." The blonde thinks, tapping a nail against her cup. She's clearly searching for a name. What is it. What iiiis it. "Are you the one who yells or is that the other one?" The other one. The other red headed male doctor at Addington Memorial?

Jacob takes a seat kiddy corner from Sutton, setting his drink down first, and then his body, landing with a bit of a tired thud. His mouth opens for a moment amidst his thick red beard, and then, sure enough, words come out! "...I don't think I yell? I try not to, anyways. I'm Dr. Winters. Jacob. I've got my own practise over on Maple. They asked me to come in to cover a few shifts in the ER a few weeks with the flu going around." He shrugs a bit. "I guess that's what happens when you get practising privileges in a small town hsopital."

Sutton recrosses her legs at the ankle, favoring her left hip somewhat. She's sitting with most of the pressure on her right, which can't be good for her hip in chairs like this. "Oh, right. I haven't seen the other one lately. That explains it. Pleasure to meet you, Doc. Harry Sutton, paramedic. I had that flu. That flu is no fuckin' joke." She considers for a few and asks, "You accepting new patients?"

Jacob gives a little nod. "Few people have come in with it. Not a whole lot that I can do about it other than tell 'em to rest. Antivirals for the worst, but it's mostly the dehydration that seems to be getting people." The doctor shrugs, muscled shoulders under his coat rising and falling. "Doesn't seem to be responsive. Whatever it is, it's weird as hell. Seems to go away after a few weeks though."

The question about accepting new patients puts a bit of a smile on his face. "Yes. Doing a mixture of urgent care, on-call work, after hours stuff, if Memorial gets backed up.." he makes a bit of a gesture in the general direction of the hospital, or at least where he thinks it is from his sitting perspective, which it is not. "Charging on a sliding scale, so if you pick up someone that doesn't have insurance, I'm probably available." He takes another sip from his coffee. "Unless I'm drunk. Then I'm not available."

"I stay out of the hospital when I'm not working." Sutton sips, the ice in her cup rattling together lightly. She winces when a particularly loud strike cracks thunder hard enough to rattle the door. "I took tamiflu once." She gestured with her cup. "Once." She nods at the assertion that it's a weird one. "I was down for about a week and a half before I started feeling better, and it took another week to get back to normal. Not my favorite."

She regards the man with those hazel eyes and after what could be an uncomfortably long time for some, she glances around briefly, casually. "Do you do house calls?"

Jacob nods at the statement. "Yeah, I'm not a huge fan of them after my ER rotation in med school. Well, less so than your average person, maybe." He shakes his head at the mention of tamiflu. "Rough. But yeah, tami doesn't seem to get rid of it. One of those weird bugs, I guess. And over the summer, even?" Another shrug, and then another sip of the coffee, pausing to give it a little swirl with his wrist, mixing the somewhat silly amounts of sugar and cream up a bit before they can settle at the bottom too firmly.

"If the situation calls for it, sure. I mean, ideally EMS will attend, but if.." he pauses for a moment to think. "I don't know, someone with PTSD around hospitals or something, I could help. Got a call from this one veteran a couple weeks back, man's just terrified of the hospital, doesn't drive. Town like this, what are you supposed to do?" The man glances back at Sutton. Gears turning in his head. Something about her makes him think that she might be asking something entirely more serious than her words would suggest to someone who doesn't shimmer. "I opened up here to help people out, so I'm flexible." Another sip from the coffee cup.

"No, it didn't the time I took it for the flu a few years ago. The hallucinations were pretty epic, though." Sutton raises her brows and sips again, draining her iced chai. "Right, that was the worst. I lost out on some prime riding days. There are only so many of those you get in the PNW where the streets are dry and the weather stays clear." She watches him swirl the coffee, but makes no remarks about his cream & sugar.

"I am EMS and sometimes I don't wanna hear about it at work if it's me. Flexibility is a quality skill to maintain, doc." She nods, grabs her muffin, and moves a seat closer. She's a little ginger about the move and the retaking of a seat. "And there are other circumstances in this town. Frankly, I have friends who... barely let me treat them. I know enough to know when they need a doctor." Not that she's suggesting she treats people off books and off duty, even though she absolutely does. "You said you work with PTSD patients, do you do that a lot?"

Jacob nods again at the further elaboration about tamiflu. Yeah. It's not a fun thing to have to take. "Weather like this makes me think that I should probably get a second car and put Cheryl away for the winter." He looks back out the front window of the cafe, pondering about his Maserati, then gives another shrug, though to himself for the most part. "Baltimore got pretty miserable, but not crap like this."

The doctor peers at Sutton as she moves closer, his hackles unsettling themselves with the approach. "Yeah. Like I said, I'm here to help. In the grand scheme of things, if someone needs help, I'm willing to lend a hand." He pauses at the lattermost question. "..I'm not a psychiatrist, but I've run into some people who.. well, won't, or can't, go to a hospital. PTSD, anxiety, sure. Gang bangers, sure. I can't really help with emotional issues more than I picked up in med school though." He takes a longer sip from his coffee cup. "I've done house calls for a few veterans who just won't set foot even in a clinic."

"I have a motorcycle, a vintage one which I dropped in the rain the other night." Sutton glances out the window again. That bike thing would go a long way to explaining her stiffness. She resumes her seat, left leg crossed over right. "I asked because I wanted to know how good you are with bristly patients." She puts the muffin plate down but still hasn't touched the baked good. "Do you have a card, or do you just skip that and give me your number so I can put it in my phone?" It doesn't sound like a come-on, but maybe she's just bad at flirting. Probably she's being professional as you can be after you've very nearly asked someone if they work off book.

"I work the same way. As I told someone else recently, I do what I consider to the benefit of the patient, and that's the oath I took when I put on the uniform." The bit about the law is optional.

A cringe creeps onto Jacob's face. "Not that Triumph down in the parking lot at the Bayside, is it? Haven't seen it there for a few days. It's a beautiful specimen."

"Bristly patients can be dealt with one way or another. Depends on how badly they need help." Jacob doesn't read that as flirting, and even if Sutton was flirting, the part of his brain responsible for those sorts of reactions may as well be ossified at this point. He pulls out his wallet and offers a card, before quickly taking it back. "Err, that's the old one." Tries again, holds out another, slightly more crisp business card with the address of his office, cell number, etc. He lowers his voice to something not much louder than a whisper, so that ideally just Sutton will hear him. "I trust that you'll be discrete with that number? That's my direct line rather than the answering service. Handy when things need to be kept off the record. You understand?"

Sutton's face answers before she does. It's a little tensing of her lower lip. Yes, that Triumph. "Yes, thank you. My brother rebuilt it and left it to me. I never ride it in the rain, but every once in a while, you do the dumb thing." She leans over to take the card as it's offered, she second one, once he completes the extension of his arm. She pauses, arm still extended, fingers on the card. She remains in that position but a beat before she takes it and resumes her casual tip back in her seat. "Sure, Doc. I got you. As far as we're both concerned, I never asked for this." She gives the card a flick with a fingernail. "If I call you at this number, it'll be the kind of call that ends in you going home with a case of your favorite spirit."

Jacob cringes again at the confirmation. "Ugh. I'm sorry. My grandfather had a restored World War Two model. Beautiful bikes, even ones like those built on the cheap."

"Sounds good. Unnecessary, but I'm not going to say no to the offer if it comes down to it. But given the weird shit I've seen around this town over the past couple of months, I somehow think that it will sooner rather than later." He reaches forwards to grab his coffee cup, finishing off the dregs, setting it back down on the table. "I better get home before this storm gets too much worse." Jacob slowly stands, hauling his six foot whatever inches out of the seat. He peers outside again, watching the rain continue to slam against the front windows in waves. "Have a good evening, yeah?"

Sutton shakes her head, "I know it's a shame, but it'll be fine. A friend offered to take her to someone he knows. Back into the garage in no time. Probably before I'm up for another ride."

"You're right about the town and the frequency of weird shit." The blonde seems both sure of this and a little sad someone else has been inducted into the fucked up via the Gray Harbor Hello. It's really only a matter of time once you move here, isn't it?

The paramedic retains her seat when the tall doctor rises. "I will. I'm going to order another chai and watch it storm. You be safe out there, love. Thanks for the card." She salutes with the little rectangle of paper, then tucks it away for safekeeping. If Jacob experiences a faint tingle of regret after his interaction with Sutton, well, that's just his instincts trying to warn him.

Jacob gives a little smile. "Hopefully it comes out good as new, then." And then a little wave, and he steps out the door of the cafe after depositing the coffee's vessel in an appropriate place.

The weather's no better than it was when he arrived. The engine of the doctor's Maserati revs to life as he turns the engine over, and then roars as he takes off in the rain. A few blocks away, he ponders something. "I sure hope that doesn't bite me in the ass later."