2014-07-04 - What's With The Dracula Act

The West Side, it connects Gotham Island to the mainland, specifically to Bludhaven. This area was once traditionally the gathering place for Gotham's ethnic groups, especially the Italians, Asians, and the Eastern Europeans. It was originally was created because of the Irish and other poor immigrants claimed Burlen Island as their own, working hard to keep their own culture dominate.

As a result, this area is a melting pot, a mixture of poor to lower middle class homes, and neighborhoods split by unseen cultural lines. During the day, it is common to see tourists visiting the cultural shops and groceries. Gotham's International Airport, known as Dixion Port is located here as well, making this the first place visitors that fly in see.

Crime is certainly a problem in this area however, especially smuggling. The different cultural gangs hold sway here, but it is still one of the safer places for the poor in Gotham City. Some of the neighborhoods here include Odessa, Little Italy, and China Town.

Another sunny day in Gotham. Perhaps Sif has put in a good word with her Thunder God pal. maybe she'll show up again for some more lessons in fine motor control. Ted has a couple of books on Occupational Therapy to bone up on. He also makes a note to get some info on Asgard. At the moment though he's engaged in washing down the sidewalk in front of the gym. Yep the former world heavyweight champ is doing scut work. that's because if he wants something done right he does it himself!

Except computer geek stuff. He lets Stretch and Tony do that. Apart from the Google. He likes to do the Google for stuff.

Ted finishes up his clean up effort then remembers he had a dog with him when he came out. "Socker? Where'd ya get to?" Ted sees Socker and what he got to doing. "Goddamit Socker! I just washed over there!" He sprays some more water at the spot and also flicks the hose at Socker in retaliation.

There is at least one person out today in Gotham who doesn't like the sun. Coming up the sidewalk at moderate pace -- too fast to be leisurely, too slow to be brisk -- is Doctor Pieter Cross. The man is well and truly rugged up to avoid the weather: hat, coat... and he has his cane in his hand, swishing it in front of his feet as he walks. The closer he gets to the gym, the slower his pace. Hearing the dog nearby (not to mention the hose, and Grant's muttering), Cross comes to a halt, his face angled downward to better use his hat for shade, and he lets out a low chuckle.

"Sooner or later, Grant, that dog is going to pay you back -- perhaps mistaking your bed for a tree? Then you'll be obliged to come see your doctor with an acute case of 'what goes around comes around'." He lifts his head a bit, showing the circular sunglasses worn over his eyes. "Bad time for a house call?"

Wildcat looks up and glares at the newcomer. "He's already been there and done that. No he's got it coming." He peers a little closer and suddenly grins, "Pieter! What bring you here, doc?" He shuts the hose and retracts it for storage. "What's with the Dracula act?"

Cross smiles.

"You know vampires and sunlight..." He shakes his head and crosses the rest of the distance between them with a few steps. "It is part of the curse of photosensitive skin -- some days are worse than others." He pauses. "Can we talk inside?"

Wildcat grabs the hose and shoos the dog inside with a free foot. Socker responds by shaking water all over Grant's legs and sneakers then evades the playful (?) boot to the rear. "Sure, doc. Come on in. I forgot about your problem. I'll get the coffee on and we'll order in some breakfast." He opens the door for Cross.

Grant's Gym is owned and ran by none other than World Heavy Weight Champion Ted Grant; this is common knowledge for anyone local or interested in boxing. It is renowned for its training, and has put out a number of professional boxers over the years. Though it has an impressive reputation, it does not appear real impressive. Honestly, it just looks like a normal, but good gym.

Dominating the center of the room is a normal sized boxing ring with red ropes. Stools are in two opposing corners that can be lifted and set inside the ring when required, and there are ranks nearby where towels and water can be placed. A single row of benches adorn either side of the ring, one row of benches facing the door, while the other faces the back wall. The benches are simple wooden beam ones.

Surrounding the ring is all sorts of equipment from aerobics equipment to weight lifting equipment, from punching bags, boxing dummies to even the martial arts free standing wooden dummies. It is a trainees' dream come true, with the varying equipment and the fact it appears well cared for and up to date.

Tucked within a back right corner is a small shop of boxing and martial arts supplies. Sometimes there are part-timers there to help in the small shop, but often Ted handles things himself. Against the back wall is a door marked 'Lockers' and another marked 'Restroom'. There is no his and hers in this place.

Across the back wall in the left corner is a door that leads out to a covered stairwell. The stairwell leads to the private second floor. Perhaps more importantly against the back wall is a large display area. The wood is light colored and simple, and the glass a bit dusty on the inside. Still, the display case is filled with old trophies, a World Champion belt, and along the back of it are tacked quite a number of photos and articles all about Ted Grant and his boxing.

Finally, there is a door to the left upon entering that has a golden plaque marked: Office. Inside is a mini-fridge, a large desk, some wooden chairs and the supplies of an office. When Ted is not there, it is kept lock for security reasons.

Once inside, Cross reaches up a hand to his glasses and taps a tiny control. As infrared waves and sonic imagery are fed to him, he tucks his cane under his left arm and pulls his hat off. 'Seeing' no one else in the gym, he walks across the floor with the stride of one who knows his way.

"I arrived in Gotham a few days ago," he explains as he tosses his hat onto a hook. "Things are quiet in Portsmouth... less need for a 'midnight doctor' making the rounds. Hmm. Do you still make that terrible tar that passes for coffea arabica? I could use some."

Wildcat sneers. "Yes. With 20% more tar. Actually we got a machine now." As a matter of fact someone set the timer and a pot is sitting there. He pours out two mugs: friends don't drink out of paper cups. So are you hear for business, our business or vacation?"

Cross takes the mug with a nod of gratitude, then glances to the left and right to find a seat or stool -- it doesn't take long. After sitting down, and retracting his cane so that it slides into his coat, he takes a sip of his coffee.

A grimace is suppressed.

"Business," he replies. "Gotham doesn't exactly cry 'vacation' to anyone... then again, my diagnosis may be inaccurate." He 'hmphs' and reaches into his coat with his free hand and produces a small vial of liquid -- which he tosses in Grant's direction. "That is concentrated decahydrabolin -- or A39. It's synthesised from 'venom'. I tracked it here... Gotham, that is. Not your gym."

Wildcat snags the vial. "Venom? What drug is that the tag for? Oh ... Venom! Like that Bane guy uses? Awright doc, let me tell you the score: the Bat runs a lot of operations in Gotham. You can't take a whiz without him knowing. Rather than disrupt his operations and work in the dark ... sorry, I'd advise speaking to him. If you want I'll put this information to him right now." He looks at the liquid with distaste. "I hate performance enhancing drugs. Miraclo always made me nervous and I told Rex, God rest him."

The mention of Rex causes the corner of Cross' mouth to tighten. He nods. "No offense taken, Ted."

Cross, resting his mug on his thigh, lifts his other hand to massage his brow as he frowns. "Then you are going to love this..." he says and fishes out another vial -- this one a different colour and completely unmarked. He doesn't hand it over, however. "This one also contains A39," he explains with just a little extra emphasis on the word 'contains'. "It's partly why I moved my practice to Gotham -- once I discovered the 'ultimate source' of A39, where else would the highest concentration of (and market for) 'Venom' be found, but Gotham?"

He pauses.

"This vial makes it personal -- my being here." and he sips more coffee.

Wildcat looks at the vial and shrugs. "I don't understand. The vial is a different color. Why does this make it personal?"

"It's mine," Cross replies. "It's... part of the reason I can be 'Doctor Mid-Nite'." He rests his coffee down on his lap again, and tucks the vial away. "I kept this much under wraps -- doctor/patient privileges, you understand -- but since tracing it to Venom..." he shakes his head. "I was injected with a dose of A39 large enough to kill three grown men. Instead... I'm alive and well -- somewhat 'modified' -- and I'm looking for a second opinion."

The man smiles wryly.

"I was hoping you could put me in touch with Batman; if you have the means... please." His eyes tighten just around the edges. "I intend to stay in Gotham... for a while."

Wildcat puts his hand on Cross' shoulder. "Pete ... everything I know about that crap is bad. Getting that big a dose ... I'm not a doctor but you definitely need to talk to Batman. If anyone knows about it he must. God above. That's what messed your eyes and skin up? If the guys what did are still around point me at them. Hang on." He fiddles in his pocket and drags out a small black cel phone. He uses a thumbprint security lock and waits a moment. "Okay. Boss Man this is Old Cat. You up? This is urgent."

Wildcat says, "Our doctor friend from Portsmouth is in town and says he wants to talk to you. He's found some A39 you might want to look at. Can we arrange a meeting?" He listens some more.

When Cross turns his head to the side to 'look' at Grant, his expression is something like 'you know you're talking to a doctor, right?' But he does not begrudge the advice. "It's more complicated than that," he replies with another nod, and takes another mouthful of his coffee. "But, in answer to your first question, yes. Trust me, Ted, I don't like having /anything/ non-prescription in my veins -- especially if it can be traced to a monster like Bane. I'm not saying it's without its uses... but the tie to Venom is the last straw. I need help with this -- and, frankly, I think Gotham could use another 'doctor'."

He pauses, then adds. "The ones who did this to me... are in prison. Or dead. No, I didn't kill them." And he goes quiet.

Wildcat covers the phone and looks at Cross as if to say, "I wasn't asking. Hang on. He's probably solving the case."

"Over the phone?" Cross retorts somewhat dubiously.

Then he frowns.

"The Bat's not really that good, is he?" he asks as he braves another sip of coffee.

Wildcat smiles and nods slowly. "Yep. Not bad at boxing either." Ted's highest form of praise.

Despite being blind, Cross blinks and puts his empty coffee-mug on the floor by his foot. "The bad coffee, the voice, the dog -- the hose -- all aside... Ted, you don't usually praise anyone's boxing skills." A smirk curves one side of his mouth upward. "Who are you, and what have you done with the real Ted Grant?"

Wildcat is back on the phone and says, "Tonight? Here? I'll let him stay with me for now." He gives Cross the middle finger just to prove he is Wildcat.

Wildcat says, "The gym."

Cross holds up his hands as if to say, 'Fine, I concede. You are the real cat.' "It's gratifying to see some things haven't changed... even if the whole confounded universe has. ...I appreciate the hospitality," he adds in a more serious tone. "That room upstairs still free? Or has Socker claimed it?"

Wildcat says, "He's gotta learn to share sometime. Screw him. I'll get you settled in right after I get the final word. maybe we can turn the lights off tonight and spar. I can fight in the dark too you know: cat's eyes."

Cross lets a slow smile spread across his features.

"You... may want to seek a second opinion about that, Ted," he says behind his smile. "Winner buys drinks?"

Wildcat says, "You see better, I hit harder. It's near enough a fair fight. I'll let you use your tap-tap stick to hit me if you're scared. Winner buys a lapdance if you like. Whatever. I'm not going to be the guy paying off."

Wildcat looks at the phone and signs off. "Gym. Tonight. After the meeting I will show you why they call me Champ. Meanwhile you get your bags and move in. I have a crew here that's cool about capes and cowls. I will introduce you and maybe we can scare up a bike for you."

Cross chuckles. "A blind man paying for a lapdance... now there's an image."

Letting out a breath, he raises one hand to rub at his jaw, then rests both hands on his knees. "Very well. First things first -- we see what Batman has to say. Tonight I'll return to my hotel and pick up Charlie -- he hates flying in daylight. I'd like to know what's been going on in Gotham of late, too."

END TRANSMISSION