ArchivedLogs:In the Real Way

In the Real Way
Dramatis Personae Spence, Steve	2015-12-05 "{You would be a pretty good Steven. With some work.}" (Part of the Flu Season TP).
Location <NYC> Mount Sinai Hospital - Harlem
On the cutting edge of many medical technologies, Mount Sinai Hospital is often ranked as one of the nation's best hospitals. The medical school attached is one of the best in the world, meaning that even your med students know what they are doing. Chin up, then -- when you come in here badly mutilated after the latest terrible catastrophe in Times Square, you're in good hands. It's a hospital room: boring and sterile, two beds each with a bevy of attending medical monitors and chairs for visitors. Curtains on long rails can be drawn around each bed for privacy, but they are open at the moment and the flat screen TV shared between the two sides of the room dark. "-- can show you how to be strong in the real way." The computer is singing, where it's set on a table swung in over Spencer's bed. The boy is not singing along, though his hand bobs in time with the music. His eyes have scrunched closed right now; he's balled up tight under his sheets, hugging a pillow to his chest with one arm. But humming along with the song. Steve sits slumped in one of the chairs intended for visitors, a sheet pulled from his own bed and wrapped around his body. His short blond hair is an utter mess and he looks rather pale, his broad, muscular shoulders hunched in close. He does not sing along, but he watches the computer screen, pale blue eyes wide with wonder. They only grow wider as the episode wears on. He sits up straighter in the chair and watches the final showdown with genuine anxiety. "{Sera says you pull your shield out of your belly button.}" Spence only cracks his eyes open once the episode is over, face half-buried against the pillow. He speaks in French, a little muffled, distinctly Quebecois-tinged. "{But that seems silly that's a really specific mutation. Also you always have it even when you're sleeping I watched.}" He's wriggling a little more upright, though this doesn't last, slumping exhaustedly back against the pillows as Connie and Steven watch Dogcopter on the screen. "{Belly button? No.}" Steve blinks, tearing his eyes from the screen. "{My shield doesn't come from me. Someone else made it.}" His French is casual, rough, provincial, but easy. "{I'm not a mutant, /or/ a Crytal Gem. But...}" He hefts his shield up from where it rests beside the chair. "{...I do keep it with me.}" He tilts his head slightly to the side, staring at Dogcopter with rather obvious perplexity. "Uh huh. But you still save the day. That's close /enough/, what if we just," Spence, now, is turning his head, forcing his headache-pained grimace into a Very Serious expression, "/put/ a stone. In your belly button." He looks back at the show for a moment, then closes his eyes again. "You need to repaint your shield though or you won't look right." "{Save the day, yeah.}" Steve rubs at his five o'clock shadow, considering Spence's suggestion (also Very Seriously) for a moment before giving it a slow, meditative nod. "{Repainting the shield is easy, I'm sure Tag would do it for me. I'm not sure I can get a stone to /stay/ in my belly button, but it's worth a try. You can be my costume advisor.}" "{That's what spirit gum is for,}" Spence explains patiently to Steve. "{It's okay, I know all about this stuff. I've had /so many/ costumes for Halloween and Purim and cons. Dusk helps me make my cosplay. I can help you with yours. You,}" he allows graciously, "{would be a pretty good Steven. With some work. We can do this.}" "{I have always tried to be a good Steven.}" Steve's smile is a little subdued, but broad and genuine. He pulls the sheet tighter around himself. "{But I've got a long way to go before I'll be a good Steven /Universe/. It's good to have an expert on my side.}" Though now he is engrossed in the show again, wide-eyed, with his shield still tucked beside him on the chair.