(1935-08-05) In the Drink
Details for In the Drink
Summary: On a trip to The States, Keenan has a run in a with curvy lady of mystery.
Date: 5 August, 1935
Location: New York Harbor
Related: none

There's one end of the New York Harbor that most Muggles just don't go near. They don't even think about why they don't go there, from the outside it looks the same as the rest, cargo and passenger ships going in and out, with some fishing vessels squished in at the side. There's the same bustling of loading and unloading, and shadowy stalls selling goods fresh from the ships, or ready to go onto the ships.
There are, however, subtle differences when one looks closer. Most of the pallets being loaded don't have ropes lifting them into place, and there can be some rather animals in the cages that are handled very carefully. Pausing at one of the stalls along the way for some fish and chips just caught and dumped straight to the fryer, a tall, red headed man adjusts the hat on his head to keep off the hot summer heat from his fair skin. His arms are already showing pink where's he rolled up his sleeves. He glances towards one of the passenger ships, and tips his head back, looking to the upper decks.

The fight happens faster than people can realize. At one moment, everything is calm, at the next moment a tall, dark figure is dashing through the street, a package under his arm and an offensive spell on his lips. A cart blows up behind him, right next to a far shorter figure that is running just as fast, slinging another spell back in his direction. The voice is feminine, but the figure is totally covered. Hair hidden, face half obsucured by a high collar. "Thief!" She hisses as she runs, partially hoping that the crowd will help her catch the criminal.

Turning with his fish and chips, the lanky man steps in front of the dark figure. Not wanting to get in the way of any offensive spells happening, he tries to duck backwards, but trips on another dock hand scrambling to get out of the way, and ends up with his long legs up in the air in front of the 'thief's knees. "Bollocks," he mutters, dropping his food and trying to get his arms underneath himself for leverage, and to hopefully scramble backwards.

The man swears, hitting those legs and going down hard… into a roll, and back up onto his feet. It's slowed him down somewhat, though. Enough that the shorter figure is close enough to throw something. It's silent. Not a spell. Not even a dagger. Smaller than that. But there's something sticking out of the back of the man's ribs and he gives a small, surprised grunt before shooting another spell backwards that hits home. The shorter figure is stunned, hitting the ground in pain, but she doesn't seem interested in running any more. No, she seems quite interested in passing out… And a last spell from him throws her off the docks. Into the drink.

"Oi!" Keenan calls out, getting some attention from the nearby workers. "Make sure he doesnae pass out from whatever she hit him with.. don't suppose ye lads know how tae swim?" there's a dumbfounded look. "Thought not. Put pressure around whatever it is she threw at him, an' make sure he nae bleeds out. I'll," he wrinkles his nose at the putrid water below. "Aye, right." Casting a bubble head charm, he pulls of his shirt and kicks off his shoes and jumps close to the bubbles that indicate where the woman fell."

The man is gone. A fast, harsh apparate-crack echoes through the area and he's not going to be traced by police, woman or dock worker. Who knows what she hit him with, but it's too late now. The drink around the New York City docks is nasty, to say the least, but air still in her lungs for the moment, the dark figure is bobbing up towards the top of the hudson, not quite yet drawn under by the tow. But the water is freezing, muddy, nasty and miserable. And now Keenan is in it too.

Keenan surfaces and finds the woman. Swimming forward he gives a shiver and tries to get his arm underneath her shoulder and across her chest to pull her back to him so he can swim for the pilings nearby. He looks up and waves an arm for the workers to throw a rope to haul them up.

Whatever was done to her, she's out good and dead weight in his arms. Fortunately, she's tiny. Still, it's a lot of muscle too, so she's not exactly light. But she'll be managable. The workers don't look thrilled to be involved in this, but neither are they going to let the pair drown, so a few ropes are thrown down and they're at least hauled up before the men look away and go back to work. No one else, not in this area, is going to really help.

Fortunately, Keenan's got some natural strength, and he doesn't really expect much help once they're up on dry land, or dock. He drops the bubble head charm. "An' I thought tha bay o'Dublin had gotten nasty over tha years," he grumbles. He pulls out a wand and takes a moment to use a cleaning charm on both of them so that he can at least concentrate without the stench in his nostrils. "Now, lass, let's see what he did tae, ye, aye?" Not that he expects much of an answer from her. He glances around, and notes an unused kiosk. With a levitation spell, he takes her over, and lays her on the counter of it.

Now that her jacket is pulled down, just a bit, a fairly young woman with almost cute features can be seen. Lovely, pale, certainly not the sort that should be chasing a brigand down the docks! She's also not breathing, at the moment, though that could be as much from the shock of the water than any spell that was cast upon her. She's soaked and still. Maybe it was too late?

Pulling her jacket completely open, and some of her clothing underneath, Keenan leans his head down to check the heart beat, before he stands up. Turning her onto her side, the first thing he does is give a tap to her back with his wand, sending a concentrated concussive force to her airway to push any water out of her mouth.

And that would be it, though she'll be tasting nastiness for days probably, she coughs and chokes on her side, spitting out a miserable slew of dark water on to the side of the cart. The stunned unconsciousness is jerked out of also, though he might notice a long slice down her coat. Whatever the spell was that originally put her down, it cut deep and fast, right across her torso. She lays there on her side, some damp red hair shaking free of her cap.

Keenan nods as he solves the first problem. "All right, lass. Take a deep breath, an' let's see what else we've got." He lets her roll back flat again so that he can take a look. "Now that ye can breath, we gotta stop tha bleedin', an' damn…" he looks around, and notices, luckily, his knapsack was kicked aside when he fell, and has gone unnoticed. A quick 'accio' and it flies to his hands. He sets it down on the ground next to him. "Can ye tell me yer name, lass?" he asks as he follows the line of the cut. "I'm going tae have to lift yer blouse a little tae get tha whole wound." So saying, he suits actions to words and lifts her blouse until he can see the entire cut, the piercing green of his eyes concentrating solely on the wound, and not exactly noticing any assets, as of yet.

A few more choking coughs, which rip at damaged torso even more, and the redhead gives a little groan and a hiss as she rolls back over onto her back again, cap almost completely off. She's not just cute, she's *pretty*. Even as a drowned rat. And she's got assets to match, in truth. But the deep, miserable slash across her mid torso is bleeding rather thoroughly, especially now that he's pulled the fabric from the wound. "…Jacqueline… damned… thief… Museum… never get that artifact back…" She rasps out, quite good at playing the little victim.

"naah, ye just rest Jacqueline. Whatever ye did tae him will leave a trace, he'll be caught later, I'm sure," Keenan tells her comfortingly. "Now, this is goin' tae sting…" and reaching into his bag he pulls out a vial which he pours over her cut. Sting might be an understatement, and from his wince he knows it. "I'm sorry, lass, but ye nae want any of what ye were just swimmin' in getting settled in yer blood stream when I close ye up."

While she was good about just being rasping and a bit whimpering, the pouring of the cleaning fluid across the wound draws, well… Less than lady like growling from her. "BLOODY FECKINGHELLDEVIL FIRE BULLSHIT!" And a few other choice expetives are uttered, but then it's over and she collapses back against the board, panting heavily. Raggedly. "Feck." Her middle class British accent adds.

Keenan can't help grinning. "I'd say ye're goin' tae be just fine lass. Ye're lungs are still in good workin' order." After the sanitizing, the spell that pulls the edges of the wound together almost seems like child's play to handle. "Just lay still fer another minute or two, an' ye'll be back in one piece. Would nae suggest any runnin' around for a bit, since ye got bit pretty deep intae tha muscle. Luckily no organs, though."

"Sorry… that… that was bloody painful." Jacque admits, back to that faint, rasping tone that makes her sound probably rather weaker than she actually is. She allows her eyes to slip shut a few moments, trying not to shiver under his touch, but as adrenaline fully wears off she's now feeling the bitterness of the cold around her.

Keenan grins. "Well, yes, it is. I've yet tae find a patient that enjoys it," he tells her. "There, now…" he frowns as she shivers. "I don't suppose ye've a room nearby?" His long fingers shuffle through some of the bottles in his back pack, and he hands her a bottle of blood replenishing potion to drink.

"Not… not really. Was just passing through. Museum… shouldn't know about this. They booked the hotel… " It seems her ego is hurting a bit more than her body right now. Slowly, still a bit gingerly sore, the woman sits up straigher and hugs her jacket, thoguh ripped, back around her body, hiding those somewhat generous assets and trying to look tougher than she's feeling now.

Keenan settles back on the empty shelves behind him, loosely crossing his arms across his chest, his sharp eyes watching her closely despite his relaxed posture. "Ye need tae report back tae tha Museum?" he asks. "Muggle or Wizard?"

Trying her best to look elegant and strong, she crosses her legs and sits up just a bit straigher. The little woman is still hugging her jacket about her, but her jaw is set and eyes forward, mostly clear. She reaches into her pocket for her cigarettes then quietly curses as she realizes they will be soaked. Jacque sighs, "Wizard. It's fine. I'll tell them in the morning."

Keenan nods once. "Then I suggest ye get some food, an' relax in yer hotel room fer tha night. Ye don'need them tae see ye lookin' this beat up." He hands her another bottle. "More blood-replenishing potion. Take it before ye go tae sleep."

The woman shakes her head at the offer of the blood replenishing potion. "It wasn't that bad… You… you got to me fast. I'm not going to… to burden you further. I'm fine. Thank you… Mister…?" The woman asks with a curious tilt of her head.

"Ye're the chasin' bad guys woman, I'm tha Healer," Keenan tells her firmly, but with a little humor. "If I say ye need another potion, then ye need it," and so he'll continue to hold it out until she takes it. "O'Shea," he adds, his green eyes meeting hers as he offers the name.

Blue eyes stare at that held out potion rather skeptically, a smirk dancing across her lips. "Truly. I'm fine, O'Shea. And that's what everyone calls you, hmm? O'Shea the healer. Interesting name." She then slips off of the board, mostly steady, a bit tougher beneath the surface than her size might make her seem. She keeps her little, curving form tightly wrapped up under her jacket. "Thanks again. I'll send ya a Christmas gift."

Keenan steps towards her as she slips off the board, a smirk playing on his lips. "Other way around. Healer O'Shea, of St. Mungo's, in case ye're worried I'm tryin' tae sneak somethin' tae ye." He reaches out to slip the potion in the pocket of the jacket she holds so tightly. "An' so ye know where tae send ma Christmas gift. Good Irish Whiskey is always appreciated. /Not/ the Scotch kind."

Her eyes drop skeptically towards that pocket, but she doesn't shove it back at him. Who knows, she might need it later. Jacque tilts her head toward him and smiles just a bit more, "I will keep that in mind, Healer O'Shea. Thank you again. I… I quite appreciate it. Museums are dangerous work. Who knew." SHe tosses him a gentle wink then turns upon the ball of her foot, making to leave the area.

Keenan watches with amusement as she makes her jaunty turn, ready to catch her if she should find the sudden motion makes her light headed. "Ah, it's always tha quiet people that're tha ones ye never suspect, maybe it's tha same of jobs. Ye should apply fer a nice exciting job with tha Auror's office, and then ye'll get a rest." He winks if she looks back.

"Nah. I'd go crazy stuck in an office. At least, this way I get to see the world. Be safe, O'Shea. You never know what's out there in the darkness." With that, Jacque gives him one last salute and disappears into the shadows of the night.

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