WHO: Dr. Cox, Peter Petrelli (future); briefly, Claire Bennet (future) WHERE: the Hyperion WHEN: about a half hour after this, so 7:30 p.m. WHAT: Cox arrives to be Jo's requested medical support. RATING: TBD STATUS: thread; in-progress
Knowing Jo, Cox hadn't let 'call you when we get back' be an option for his involvement in her crazy dimension-surfing adventure, so he had every intention of being there despite his hemming and hawing. He was running late, however, too late to see her before space and time sucked her up, but he didn't think would be a problem. It was a hotel that didn't mind having a wormhole – so he continued to imagine the whole thing as – hanging around in it, he doubted there would be a need for him to be there exactly when Jo was. He'd get a reasonable sterile place set up – hopefully the place was clean – then find an alcove and get started on the full two bottles of scotch in his bag while he waited.
Of course, the Hyperion was no ordinary hotel, a fact which he was about to learn. Moving into the lobby, he looked around, then folded his arms over his chest, med bag dangling from one hand, a large backpack on his back. Some hotel, where was all the staff? Lifting his chin, he let out his trademark piercing fingerless whistle and waited for someone to arrive.
Rather than arrive, Claire's head appeared over the top of the front desk, the pen in her hand evidence as to why she hadn't been there a moment ago.
"Geez, keep your shirt on," she muttered to herself, then straighted and addressed him in a normal tone. "May I help you?"
"Now that's more like it," Cox said, inspected the lobby briefly, and then turned back to the girl. "A room, Gidget, cleanest one this fine establishment has to offer." He then started in on his list of things he'd need access to, even as Claire started to object.
"None of these rooms are for rent." She couldn't help but make a face. This wasn't the first confused person to come in here looking to get a room, but honestly, there was no marquee outside, why did anyone do it?
"Re-heally," Cox drug out, then snorted. "Then it's a great thing I'm not renting it, isn't it. Look, I'm here to set up, do my job, and go," he said, waving the med bag at her. "These crazy kids these days, can't go gallivanting off to alternate realities of evil and "Ohmigawd, it's worse than where we came from!" terror without medical attention waiting back home to sew them together when the nasty, evil residents of Less Wonderlangeles get a little bit pissy at invaders breaking up their sparkle princess Armageddon." He set the bag down at his feet and clapped his hands sharply. "Chop, chop, Gidget. Time is a'wasting here."
Claire stared at him. In amongst that, she'd been able to suss out he knew about the group going to save Sam, but why did he think they needed medical attention? Peter was here. And speaking of...
Peter, there's a really bitchy doctor in the lobby.