undergrounds | All the time in the world

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All the time in the world

Hard at Work

Doctor Julian Monroe vanished unexpectedly. No one knew his body was in the Night Council's specific morgue, drained of blood and almost torn to shreds. That was what happened when you kidnapped vampires, drained them of their blood, and used it as a 'miracle cure' for humans.

The body is safely tucked away in the morgue for the Night Council. The man's money has been shifted around, so it looks like he fled town. Better to let him disappear and be thought a conman than to explain what really happened. It kept the secrets of the supernatural community. And it was proper justice.

Still, he makes it a point to check up on the clinic every so often. The doctor who inherited it had mentioned himself being in need of a partner. So, Henry had a variable schedule there. Which was nice, really. To be practicing medicine again. Of course, he still has to establish regular patients for when he has the time. But the only way to do it is to work the clinic.

Project Outreach

Henry has quite a few calls to make, especially in Barnet. While the Institute has their influence firmly established, there are still a lot of metahumans who might still need to learn about the Institute and all it could provide.

The list he has as he stops for coffee is innocent enough. Names, ages, and phone numbers. Along with the Redbright emblem on the top. And under it, enrollment applications, just visible. Obviously, to anyone who looked at him, a school recruiter.

He has a lot of places to visit, a lot of people to stay, and, possibly, a few detours to take if they seem appropriate.

Quasi Socializing

Henry Morgan is bad at being social. Back in New York, it was Lucas and Jo who were responsible for getting him out to join the group at a bar. It had been a slow process, but, now, he'd been missing that connection.

He didn't have the associates to start hanging out in cop bars. Though he missed that feeling. Maybe with his new work for the Night Council, he'd get it back soon.

Still, little hole-in-the-wall places were good. Quiet and intimate without being crowded. It made a good place to get a drink. And he knows the exact order he needs to make to decide if he's coming back to this place.

"Your oldest Scotch, please. Neat."

Wildcard

(Got another scenario you want? Hit me up.)

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Elsa is glad that Dr. Morgan agreed to speak with her about his life - or lives, as it were. How interesting to live so long, and yet she wonders if she would really like it. Hiding ice powers can be hard enough. Hiding the fact that you never really age has to be even harder. But he's like a walking history book and Elsa finds that fascinating. She's going to try not to make him feel too uncomfortable because she knows what that's like.

She arrives at the hole-in-the-wall bar, finding it very quaint and a good place for a conversation. After locating him at the bar, she sits down next to him with a smile.

"Hello, Dr. Morgan." When the bartender approaches her, she orders. "Ah.. a Guinness, please."

Henry smiles as she orders, unable to help but chuckle.

"Good evening. Shall we grab a table?"

Sitting at a bar and talking, though, might be a little awkward if they started getting into the difficulties of living for a couple hundred years... So, sitting in a quiet corner might be more conducive to the conversation they intended to have.

Although Snake could take care of himself perfectly fine, he was not stupid enough to skip out on doctor care. If something were to happen to his arm, he could only tinker around one-handed so much.

Besides, after all the time he'd spent in hospitals, he had a great appreciation for the medical profession. So that's why he sat in the waiting room of the clinic, going over some notes for class and waiting for his actual name -- Light Averly -- to be called.

"Light Averly. Good afternoon."

After the receptionist had passed the man into his office, Henry smiled at him, his tone even but jovial. New patients were always interesting. And the first meeting was a time for both of them feeling each other out.

"Were you a patient of Dr Monroe's?"

Snake shook his head. "No, I can't say that I was. I've recently moved from overseas and I need a new doctor. I heard about the clinic from where I teach and I decided to try you out."

Even though Snake couldn't obviously see the doctor's expression, he could tell by the tone of voice what the doctor conveyed. He sounded professional enough so far. "I have what one might consider an extensive medical history so finding a good doctor is quite important to me."

"Finding a good doctor is always important, I think. Then again," he says it as he smiles, his voice warm, "I'm biased in that regard."

The chart is barebones, but he can't expect much right now. After all, the man doesn't sound English, so there's international passage of medical data.

"Have you provided the nurse with your previous doctor information? Or is this just a consultation?" After all, if he wasn't sure yet, there was no point in starting the process. "Either way, it's fine. I just want to make sure we get done what you need us to get done."

The response did make Snake smile a little bit. "One notes your bias."

As for the doctor's other questions, Snake canted his head in thought. "A consultation to start. As I said, I have a lengthy history and I need a doctor who has experience with the blind and with prosthetics. If you have experience in these fields, wonderful. If not, I understand as usually those two things don't intersect."

"I don't have extensive experience with the blind." Best to admit that right away, he thought. Still, it also wasn't something he was entirely unfamiliar with either. Especially once he had patient records in front of him. "However, I've done a fair amount of work with veterans."

Some of it as an ME, some of it long ago. However, the one thing Henry could say he really had going for him with the immortality was his memory. Besides, it wasn't as if he hadn't kept up with medical advancements.

"I'd be happy to consider you as a patient on a trial basis, if you'd like to see if I can be of assistance. Or I can call around for you and have a few recommendations for others in the city if you'd prefer."

Veterans? That meant someone who clearly knew about the "fun" dealing with fake limbs. Even if he didn't know a lot about the blind, he knew a lot about dealing with traumatic injury. Especially on treating someone as they deserved to be treated: like a person and not something fragile.

"That's certainly a high recommendation to me. Very well, I'd like to be your trial patient. I'll work on having my medical file transferred over to you if you'd like to continue seeing me. I'm not sure how long that would take so I'll answer any questions you need." Snake hadn't had a good grasp of the room as of yet, but thought that doctor's offices were most likely the same. "Do I need to get into an examination gown or anything like that?"

"Is there anyone in particular you would like to meet on that list? I was thinking about that one over there. Quite close to us."

He can't answer her now but she can wait. The school, for once, is being relatively quiet today and she thinks her abilities would be better suited for this trip and was given permission to tag along with him as company of sorts. Much as she frets, since its her very second nature these days, she likes to think she can leave the students long enough that they won't get into too much trouble.

She likes to think that very much while crossing her fingers.

Henry doesn't reply. It's not, after all, a good thing to be seen just talking to himself. Maybe he should buy one of those 'bluetooth' earpieces just to give himself an excuse to reply to her. Act like he was on the phone with someone. Still, he takes his pen and marks a couple names.

One is the one she mentioned, and the other is close by as well.

She's happy to see that her suggestions is both noted and agreed upon, happy to feel like she's helping out in this activity.

With that settled for now, she's more than happy to wait in silence as they wait to get Dr. Morgan's coffee with occasional commentary here and there about what she's seen or heard the last few days that she thinks will be safe to share with him.

After Henry's finished his coffee, he gets up, putting the cup in the bin for it. Drinking out of a cardboard cup? Never going to happen. Ever. That's why he likes this place. They still use proper mugs.

Then, once he's headed down the street, he says, easily enough, "It's the parents who are the hard ones. Kids? It sounds great. Parents? Not so much."

"The parents? Really?" She tilts her head, surprised to hear that. "You think they'll be happy that someone is stepping into help them out."

Then again, Francisco had been much more easygoing with the process since he acknowledged that he couldn't provide as much at that point. She also admits everyone is different and have different reactions to things... like this.

"They're just scared. Being different like this? Marks their kid as 'other.' Now, the ones who are metahumans themselves? Or witches? They're going to be fine, usually. But someone who's just human? They don't understand."

He understands it too well. It had never mattered too much to him, but he knew the tattoo on Abe's arm marked him as different. Not like magic did, no, but in a way that let everyone know that things happened. That he'd survived something a lot of people hadn't.

"It can be scary, yes, but they're not alone. The school will always be willing to help them and their child." Clara might be a bit too optimistic about this, always doing her best to believe in others thanks to her experiences with people like Dr. Morgan and such, but she really does believe they can do what they can for the young one.

"But," she does add, "what about the potential student? How do they feel about this?"

It's important to know. If the child themselves is feeling reluctant to join then she'll understand. If they're happy to learn more about themselves and others out there... Well, it gives her more reason to try and help the student join them then.

"I don't know," Henry murmurs, shrugging his shoulders as he walks. "I haven't met the parents or potential student yet. I just know that the parents are more likely to have difficulties accepting the offer to Redbright than the students themselves usually do."

"Well-- Let's hope then that this will be an easy one. It's the most we can do at the moment, right?"

Right. They're near the residence and, from a distance, she can see the potential student hanging out in the front, nervous as he awaits for them. "There he is! Poor dear looks worried."

Faolan realizes with some dismay that he's going to have to get these stitches out if he wants to ever be able to use his arm the way he should. He might not even have had them in the first place if not for that PCSO who insisted on taking him to get it looked at professionally. And okay, so if he'd gotten an infection or caused himself further damage by being a stubborn ass, then he would regret that as well. But sitting here in the waiting room of this clinic -- clinics are at least better than the emergency room that Lancelot had insisted on in the first place, he reasons with himself -- it's taking all that he can not to just get up and leave. There's something about hospitals and doctor's offices that never has sat well with him. Certainly not since the loss of his family. His sister...

As such, when it finally reaches his turn to be seen, Faolan nearly misses his name being called, and looks up to stare blankly at the man who had called it. As though it weren't near closing and he's probably one of the only people left in here -- and certainly the only one who would be named Faolan O'Neill.

(ooc: let me now if this is alright/whether i need to change anything? :')a )

"Good evening, Mr O'Neill."

Once the nurse had brought the man back, Doctor Morgan gave a smile, motioning to the patient bed in the room.

It felt strange, to really be practising again. He'd left it behind so long ago. But... it also felt good. Right to have patients. And this one... Well.

"What can we do for you?"

Faolan takes a look at the bed, and thinks about being contrary and refusing to sit down on it, but that would help no one, least of all himself. The doctor -- Morgan, it says on his tag -- doesn't deserve to be the butt of Faolan's own ill-feelings about the medical practice on a whole. So he moves to take a seat, and shrug off his leather jacket that he's somehow managed to get the blood stains off of.

"Stitches," he says, but before the doctor gets the wrong idea, he elaborates. "I'd like them out. If you think it looks good enough." He indicates a clean bandage on his arm, the location of the sutures obviously underneath them. "It's been as long as they said to wait, but I didn't think going back to A&E was all that appropriate, considering."

"Let me have a look at it, then." After all, he won't promise anything about removing stitches until he's had a chance to look and make sure everything's healed up right. There are many reasons one might not go back to the doctor who did them, and he needs to make sure 'I want them out early' isn't one of those reasons.

So, he puts on gloves and carefully begins removing the bandage.

Part of the truth of the matter is that he's gone back to the same doctor to get them restitched one too many times as well, and he's pretty sure that the guy might tell him to keep them in for another week or so out of spite. A fresh pair of eyes might do a world of good, especially a fresh pair of eyes that doesn't know how many times he's accidentally tore these out.

Once the stitches are exposed, Faolan's hoping that the wound should look healthy and healing. He knows better than to expect it to be right as rain -- it's been a month, but it's a month of him abusing it, and so long as Doctor Morgan says that he should look well enough to begin recovering on his own without them, that's good enough for him. "What do you think?" he asks, and it's clear from the sound of his voice that he's hoping -- well, more than just hoping really -- for good news.

Ever since they're encounter in his dead room, Jackson's done little to involve himself with the case. He may have passed on the news to Brightred, but with Morgan already connected to the elder witch, it was merely reiterating news that she would eventually hear regardless of his aid.

That's just how Jackson lives his life. Stay uninvolved, unless the situation benefits him or if the Inspector calls for his help. Considering that investigating drained vampires would bring him closer to the very sort of creature he'd best be avoiding?

Well, that's why Jackson's kept to himself.

However, when he sees Morgan at a coffee shop on his way to work, he can't at least stop and inquire about the case and about the doctor. You see, it's rare that Homer Jackson encounters a person like him-- a man grounded firmly in science and medicine, while also moonlighting in the world of the supernatural.

"Morgan." Jackson pats him on the shoulder. "How goes it?"

Simple things are what the Nogitsune likes the best. All of this about dividing up the city into territories is one of the many things he has trouble with. It is for that reason that he stands outside the clinic's front window as Henry comes up into the front room.

He could be mistaken for any other of the city's seventeen years old or so runaways that live in London. Could be if one ignored the sickly white skin and eyes set in bruised looked hollows. An addict maybe. Who knows what roams these streets after dark?

The Nogitsune hadn't come here with the intention of meeting anyone, only following his nose and sense of chaos. One street led into another and another and anywhere he might want. The click of his fingernails against the glass can be heard as the Nogitsune peers through the window at the empty seeming (to him) clinic. A few more of those rhythmless click-click-click sounds, and he brings a hand up to shade his eyes against the streetlamps as he takes a closer look.

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All the time in the world

Third!

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Hard at Work

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[ Project Outreach ]

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HARD AT WORK!

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wildcard.

A (sort of)