George Washington Memorial Hospital -- TriBeCa

As you step into the waiting room, you look around at the people here. 
There are many people here, some waiting to be let into the emergency
room, some waiting for someone else who was injured, everyone with their
own reasons. The walls of the room are pure white and the room itself
seems very sterile even though it's just a waiting room. There is a table
in the middle of the room, upon which there lay a bunch of magazines to
give those waiting here something to do. At the far end of the room is a
counter with a glass door which is currently open. Behind the counter sits
a receptionist, filing papers and occasionally telling people in the room
to head on in to see the doctors. The atmosphere here is a busy one, but
with a taint of sorrow or fear for those who are sick or injured that just
can not be lost in the bustle. 

Obvious exits:
Out <O>

Strange

        This elderly man appears to be in his early fifties, though by the
his erect posture and physical build he must take good care of himself. He
stands just below six feet tall, and has a medium build. His hair is jet
black, except for a few strands of white that appear near his side burns,
signs of stress and age. He has a simple black mustache which hugs his
upper lip, and hangs down slightly on both sides of his mouth. His eyes
are a deep sapphire blue, shining with a suppressed intelligence, of
someone who knows more then they were ever meant to know. He is dressed in
a simple black suit, and cloak, which covers most of his body. Combined
with his stern face, he resembles a British nobleman. 

Grant(#929PXfnce)

        This is a man in his late twenties in a rumpled, ill-fitting,
obviously off-the-rack grey suit. It would be easy to peg him as a
government employee, or an insurance agent, except that his shirt is a
sort of very dark navy blue, and his tie is a bow tie, unknotted and
perfectly black, hanging down loosely out of his collar. His hair is black
and combed straight back from his forehead, shaved on the sides, and his
blue eyes are only visible if he takes off those little octagonal mirrored
sunglasses.
        His skin is vaguely tan, like he spends a lot of time outdoors but
manages not to get much sun in the process (smoggy skies, I guess), and he
has the sort of wiry, athletic build that comes from exertion, not
exercise. His voice has a Brooklyn accent - his body language is vigorous,
brash and confident. 

Stephen Strange lies in the hospital bed of his private room, covered in a
white blanket an apparently in a doze. A doctor and nurse stand nearby,
discussing something in hushed voices as their patient lies in a near
sleep state. 

Grant wanders into the room like he doesn't have the faintest idea where
he's going, a sort of sauntering, slovenly drifting. 

The doctor looks up from the chart he was studying, and nods a greeting to
Grant. "Its about time for lunch.. We were just going to wake him." He
motions to the nurse, who goes to attend Strange. The doctor continues in
a whisper. "He is still in a weakened state.. you can spend only about a
half hour here, tops. Don't cause him any stress." 

Grant blinks and nods to the doctor. He consults a battered notebook with
crumpled papers in it: "This is Strange, right?" 

The doctor nods, "Stephen Strange. He was brought her several days ago,
after suffering an attack by some unknown assailant. The wounds suggest
some sort of animal, though they are larger then anything I've seen
before." He glances hesitantly over to the nurse, who is just know waking
Stephen.

Grant nods, as if remembering that he's been told this before.

Grant saunters over to the side of the bed and looks Strange over with a
sort of blank look, like he knows he should be looking for something but
whatever it is, he isn't seeing it. 

Stephen's eyes slowly open, as they focus and adjust to the bright
florescent lighting. He manages a weak smile to the nurse. She returns the
smile, then leaves to fetch lunch. Stephen's gaze wonders over ot Grant.
"Who are you?" He asks. 

Grant fishes in a pocket and shows Stephen a badge. "Hiya." he says.
"Detective Grant Sutton, NYPD. How ya feelin'?" 

Stephen glances at the badge. "Better.." He replies, a bit crypticly. "Are
you here to question me about the attack?" 

Grant nods. "Did you see who it was?" he says, notebook out, but no pen.
He pats his pockets for a moment while Strange replies. 

Stephen pushes himself into more of a sitting position, managing with only
a few grunts of pain and displeasure. "Yes." He answers. 

Grant nods.
Grant produces a half-chewed dull pencil. "What exactly happened?"

Roger walks in the front door, his clothes look drenched, his hair is
drenched, as though he'd taken a shower and just plumb forgot to dry his
hair. He walks up to the reception desk, removing his shades to reveal
eyes with a haunted look about them. He gives the person behind the desk a
smile. "Hello, I'm a friend of Dr. Strange, I'd like to see him if I
could?" o O (If they don't let me, I'll just find another way in...) 

Stephen considers the question for a moment, then answers. "I had just
left my house, when I was set upon by a rather unpleasant creature. It
ambushed me and a friend. If it wasn't for this friend's help, I would
most likely have died. I blacked out after this.. My friend must have
contacted 911." 

Grant nods. "About how big was this creature? Dog-sized? Larger?" he says. 

The young receptionist looks up from a form she was filing out and studies
Roger.  "Dr. Strange.. is in serious condition. Only close family members
are allowed to see him now." 

Stephen answers, "Larger.. human sized." He is obviously avoiding direct
answers. 

Grant seems to write this down laboriously - a close observer would notice
that he continues to watch Strange even as he writes. "And it just
appeared up out of the dark and attacked you...with claws and teeth,
right? From your wounds." Grant hasn't seen the wounds - or has he?

Stephen manages a nod. "Yes.. it lept from across the street, and
attacked. Th wounds were caused by its claws." 

Roger shurgs, and sighs. "Oh, I'm sorry to havve bothered you...it's
just...I witnessed his attack, and its imperitive I speak with him as soon
as possible." 

Grant nods. "Across the street...now which street was this that it leaped
across...Was it..." He names the cross streets where it occurred. How much
of this does he know? 

The receptionist glances back to the head nurse, who seems to be currently
busy. "Well.. it does sound important. Hold on a minute, and let me check
on something." The reception stands from her chair, and walks out from
behind the desk. She heads down one of the halls, towards the private
rooms reserved for those who can afford them. 

Stephen studies Grant's face. "Yes, it was."

Grant nods. "So it jumped across 45th street, attacked, you fell, and it
ran away. Had you ever seen this creature before?" 

Roger sighs, and leans nonchalantly on the desk, waiting.

A young receptionist knocks lightly on the door frame into Strange's room,
before entering. "Umm.. excuse me sir. But there is someone here to see
Mister err Dr. Strange. He claims to have witnessed the attack." 

Grant seems to concentrate on his notepad closely, scrawling out the
letters with his little broken pencil. "Oh? Have him wait in a conference
room." he says. "I'll talk to him after I'm through here..." 

Stephen looks as if he is about to enter, though the receptionist cuts him
short. 

Grant looks back to Stephen for his reply.

The receptionist frowns, twisting her little face in disappointment. "But,
he says its important." 

Grant doesn't look back. "Tell him to wait in the conference room while
you check with the doctor and that someone will be in to talk to him
soon." 

Strange looked me over.

Roger gets impatient, and leaves the desk, stalking off down the way the
nurse went, following Strange's scent, his gaze almost daring anyone to
stop him. 

Grant has apparently forgotten he's supposed to be bumbling and
subservient, at least for this one question. "Had you ever seen this
creature before, Doc?" 

The receptionist's frown darkens, though she finally gives up and nods. 
"Wahetver." She mutters to herself, turning to leave the room and head
back to her desk. She mumbles something about police officers, that is far
from complimentary. In her little temper she fails to spot Roger. She
walks right past him, and back to her post. 

"Yes, I have. It was the same creature wanted for murder a few months
ago." Stephen answers. 

Grant's eyes narrow slightly. "The McMurray case. Were you investigating
that at all?" 

Roger stalks right into the room, with one bang on the doorframe before
just storming in. His eyes narrow at Grant..."Hrm...must be a cop...it
isn't wise to keep me waiting." He says in a menacing tone. 

Grant looks back at Roger. "Wait your turn, buddy." he says sarcastically.
Then he tilts his head a little, looking at something that appears to be
just behind Roger's left shoulder. Then he turns back to Strange. Then he
looks back at Roger, taking a step back so that he can see both at once.

Stephen shake shis head. "No.. I wasn't assiting on the case. Though it is
the same 'monster' responsible for my current condition." He says the word
monster, with both a bit of disgust and sympathy. Stephen's eyes narrow as
he spots Roger enter the room.

Grant's sarcasm is gone - he looks thoughtful, almost detached, like he's
watching something happening a long, long way from him. He slips the
notebook and pencil into his pocket, fumbling it briefly. (And, secretly,
pressing a button on his cell phone.) He seems to return to the room,
turning to Roger. "Just cool off, buddy. The doctors say that it's one
visitor at a time for the Doctor here, and I was here first, on important
business...you can see him after I'm done, okay? It shouldn't take long." 

Roger narrows his eyes equally at Strange. "Hello Doctor." He chuckles
darkly at Grant's statements. "I think not. I'm sure he can stand two just
now. And if he cant, they won't be able to get me out." He smiles. "I
assume that you and the good Dr. are speaking of his attack."

Grant nods. "That's right. Do you know something about it that you want to
let us know, Mr..." He leaves it hanging. 

Grant does not under any circumstances let Strange answer -anything-. He
interrupts him if he does. 

Grant's eyes have settled more or less on the corner of the room that lies
in between Roger and Strange, from his point of view. It's unnerving,
though still relatively clear who he's addressing. 

Stephen's gaze doesn't leave that of Roger. He remains silent, either
lacking the words or the energy to speak. 

Roger isn't stupid, he's not about to give a cop his real name, just in
case someone decides to try turning on him. "Rogers. Rick Rogers." He
grins over at Strange, then inexplicably turns to the side, cringing at
something neither of you can see. "And yes, I was there at the
attack...and I may knwo some things that could be useful." 

Grant says "Okay, Mister Rogers. I'm listening, go ahead and tell me what
happened." It's like Strange isn't even in the room, as if Grant has
wholly forgotten him. 

Grant emphasizes the name, too, either like he knows it's fake, or like he
is trying to fix it in his memory, depending on how paranoid or
egotistical you are. 

Roger regards Grant suspiciously. oO (He can't know...) He shakes his
head. "These wounds were caused by claws...from a creature the size just
barely larger than most humans. They cut pretty deep, though if it was
trying to kill him, I don't think we'd be having this conversation. I
assume you've heard of lycanthropy? And it is the opinion of the tabloid
community that this creature has a connection to the terrorist Magneto.
After wounding Strange...the creature curled up in a ball, and crawled
away." 

Grant nods slightly. "Where did you see this from, Mister Rogers? Were you
standing on Forty-fifth street? Just for reference, you know." 

Roger shrugs, and smiles amiably, leaning against wall inside the door.
"When I saw the creature jump out, I'd heard of it, and didn't really feel
like getting in the way, y'know...so I took refuge in an alley about half
a block, and across the street from the scene of the crime.

Grant nods. "The one by the bakery or the one by the all-night grocery?"

Grant explains amiably towards the corner. "I know that sounds strange,
but it will help...you know, corroborate what the night clerk at the
grocery heard and saw, that sort of thing." 

Roger shows no sign of intimidation whatsoever, not a sign that he's
phased in any way by the inference. "Grocery." 

Grant is just sorta homely and humble, just doing his job, not really
inferring anything. It's almost like he's bored. "So you saw the
creature...ran up to the alley by the grocery, past the door, turned in,
then looked back out to see what happened and saw it curl up and run
away...but you didn't actually see the attack itself." 

You say "Which way did it run? past you?"

Roger shakes his head. "No...it went into the alley across the
street...crawling...not running." 

Grant nods. "All right, well, is there some place where we can reach you
to take a formal statement, Mr. Rogers? Do you have some kind of ID..." 

Grant takes out his notebook like he's going to write in it again.

Roger shrugs. "I don't have a place of residence at this time. This is the
only time I'll be talking to the police about this event."'

Grant shrugs. "Is there anything you wanted to say to Dr. Strange about
this event?" That's funny. He never asked or mentioned lycanthropy.
Wouldn't he be either openly skeptical or incisively questioning about it?
Does he know something already? 

Stephen's dark gaze turns from Roger to fall upon Grant. "I --"

Grant raises a hand to Strange. "The man came a long way. Let him speak
his piece." he says cryptically. 

"Times up, detective." A loud voice says, cutting into Stephen's comment
before he can finish. The doctor walks in, followed by a nurse baring a
tray of food. "You guys clear out of here.. Your time is up." 

Roger shrugs, and turns to Strange, putting his shades back on his face,
hiding his eyes from view, and says in a truly penitent voice. "I'm sorry
Doctor, I should have done something to stop it." 

Downstairs, a plainclothes detective shows his badge to the receptionist
and, not waiting for her assent, flips expertly through the charts. "Room
215." he says to the other four officers. They suddenly disappear into a
room marked 'security' - a surveillance video and a screen capture later,
they know what Roger looks like. 

Grant smiles to Roger. "Is that all?" Assuming it is, he turns to Strange.
"Is there anything you have to say to Mister Rogers?" 

"Out" the nurses says, echoing the doctor's command. She stares at Roger,
and points towards the door. "Stephen needs his rest." The doctor nods,
and cuts Strange off before he can say anything. "Yes, you need your rest.
Eat up. Your visitors can returns tomorrow."

Grant nods to the doctor, then looks to Roger. "You heard them." he says.
"Let's get moving." He nods to Strange. "I'll be back another time, with
more news." he says. 

Stephen's reaction is hidden behind th nurse, who is already setting up
Stephen's tray. The doctor stares at Grant and Roger with a cold gaze,
waiting for them to leave. 

The plainclothes officers - more now, fan out to their vehicles and loiter
on the sidewalk, depending on whether Roger walked or rode. From there,
they will follow him as far as they can safely, and evaporate if detected,
after gleaning all the information they can.

<OOC> You say "I'm sorry, Rog, I can't wait. You can @mail me your last
pose and I'll append it."