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Everyday Goings On

A City Aglow

The Thames, as a river, is absolutely horrible. Completely filthy. But, standing at the rail of the bridge and taking in the sights, it makes London look beautiful.

He can remember the last time it froze over completely. The way he'd laughed at seeing the elephant led across it to prove how solid it was.

Just under his feet, there are grey slate slabs. He has them memorised.

"There you may print your name, tho cannot write
Cause num'd with cold: tis done with great delight
And lay it by that ages yet to come
May see what things upon the ice were done."

He remembers the gas lamps that gave way to electric lamps that became the lights lining the streets.

The city is far more ancient than he, and that is a welcome feeling. Many things are fleeting, but--

"London endures."

Time to Kill

"Fine," Henry says in his office at the Redbright Institute, seemingly unconcerned that his office door is open. "You have your uses. Are you happy now?"

His conversation partner?

His computer.

He has the Metro open in a window on his browser. Not that a computer can ever replace a newspaper, not really, but it is helpful in that he can keep up to date with New York and certain police investigations.

For a moment, his hand hovers over his office phone before he withdraws it.

It's not worth it.

A Familiar Face -- open to Guardians and/or ghosts
cw: talk of suicide

'I know you.'

Her voice is as soft as he expected. She's young, just a slip of a girl. Not even sixteen. Her dark hair complements her former complexion as she sits on his examination table beside her own body.

By now, Henry Morgan is no stranger to ghosts.

"Hello, my dear." After death, there was little reason to stand on ceremony, and she looked so fragile. "I knew I'd be seeing you soon."

It hadn't even been on purpose, that day on the Tube. He'd been waiting for his train when he'd noticed something off. Before he could even think about it, he'd taken the girl's arm and tugged her back before she could overbalance and fall off the platform.

When she'd looked at him with pain and despair, he'd realised she'd meant to fall.

They always found another way, if they were determined.

'You weren't supposed to.'

"Because everything ends after death?"

'Because I didn't want to die anymore.'

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Clara is a little unsure of how she can be of help here since ghosts, as a rule, can't see or interact with one another unless there were exceptions to the fact.

In the morgue, with little magic or supernatural activity occurring here and with the witch having not arrived yet to cast a spell to allow the spirits to be seen, none of the exceptions were being made. So she finds herself. Here. Looking at the body of a girl who still looks troubled even as she rests on the table.

"I know I said in the past I'll do my best to help," she tells him, "but I'm rather at a lost of how to handle this. Do I... Do I explain to you what to expect next from her? Or... what she may do next?"

"I've a friend here," he explains to the young woman. "Another ghost. There will be a young man in soon. He'll make it so you can talk to each other."

A pity Lucas wasn't here. And versed in magic. It could be quite nice to have him chattering on to these two.

He looks at Clara. "I may need your help to investigate, actually."

'Investigate what?'

"Why," he smiles, turning his attention back to the young woman, "who killed you, my dear."

And then-- Thankfully, there's an interruption. A knock and the entry of a Daybreak witch who worked alongside the others in the Night Council who were here. And he can begin setting the circle and casting the enchantments.

"Murder?!" Clara looks almost indignant -- angry, even -- at the thought of this young girl being snuffed out at such a tender age.

How could anyone do that to the poor dear? She never would willingly wish ill will to anyone but she can't help but think that whoever did this will be caught very soon.

She has to rein herself in and calm down, taking deep breaths to settle her nerves just as the young man manages to cast the enchantment in the room and allowed the ghosts to see each other at long last. Oh... She looks even younger now she's a spectre, looking both lost and troubled by what she had been told.

"Hello." Clara does her best to sound soothing and supportive, not wanting to agitate the other spirit. "I'm Clara. We're here to help you. I promise you-- We'll do the best we can to get to the bottom of this. Isn't that right, doctor?"

"This is what I do," Henry said softly, nodding at Clara's words. "I help people like you. Especially the ones who want to find peace."

The girl looked between him and the other ghost and gave a small nod.

'All right.'

"Can you tell us what you remember?"

'I was on the roof of the building where I live. I was...'

"Considering jumping."

'...Yes.'

"It's fine," he murmured, reaching out to touch her. His hand passed through hers, of course, and goosebumps appeared on his arm, but he didn't seem too startled. "I understand."

'I decided not to do it! I was going to step down! But then... I was falling.'

"Think hard. Do you remember anything else?"

'I... I don't know. I think I... felt something? Against my back.'

Her stomach twists at that comment. Oh no. Does that mean… "That's when you fell."

That gave the girl pause, looking back and forth at the three people in the room with her, before she slowly nods, looking rather distraught as the lights overheard flickered from the sudden onslaught of energy coming from her.

The Daybreak witch moves forward, reaching for something in his coat, but he pauses when he sees Clara give him a stern look that clearly dares him to try anything when she's around. When she's sure the man backs away, she returns her attentions, gentle and warm, to her.

"Dear! Dear..." She does her best to sound motherly, to sound present so she remembers that she's here. Safe and sound from that incident now. "Please focus on us. You're here now. You're here.

"Can you tell us your name?"

The girl looks rather shy at this point. Or tired. It's hard to tell when ghosts are new and overwhelmed by their circumstances. 'Um...'

"I can take care of the rest," Henry says over his shoulder without really looking. "You may go, Mister Reynard."

The circle has been cast and will last long enough without him here to take care of this part.

Then, Henry smiles gently at the girl. "First, I suppose we owe you an introduction. This is Clara Seville, of the Redbright Institute. I'm Doctor Henry Morgan, medical examiner of the Night Council." Then... "Do you know what that is?"

The girl nods. 'My brother used to work for Millicent.'

"He was a vampire?"

'He got bitten two years ago. I mean... he didn't work for her directly, but--'

"Down the chain of command."

She nods again. Still, her eyes dart to the sides, down to her own lap, and to Clara. But she is, at least, settling down a little. Which is when she looks at Clara and seems to rouse her courage a bit.

'Lucy Parish.'

Millicent. That's… That's the vampire in London, right? She must be if her memory serves her correctly.

She'll probably try to ask Cooper in the future if he knows anything going on with her or with the nests but, for now, she focuses all her attention and devotion to Lucy.

"Lucy! That's such a beautiful name," Clara said with a smile, trying her best to look encouraging and not at all melancholic at the face of such a girl and a life not lived snuffed out so soon. "May we know your brother's name, Lucy? So we can--"

Inform him of this. Investigate him. Interrogate him for any issues or problems he may have had. The vampires aren't in the best… condition at the moment, so very scattered or divided even with a leader like Millicent. "--can keep track of everyone and make sure we're thorough for you. Is it just the two of you?"

'Jonathan,' the girl replies. She can't help but smile, forgetting, for a moment, the state she's found herself in. 'Kind of ironic, right?'

Henry thought about it for a moment and then chuckled a bit, shaking his head. With this job came a certain sense of humour.

'My mom's alive, but Jon has his own place, and I usually stay with him. Mom... Well. She likes to drink, so we keep away when we can help it. Holidays are always so unfun.' She stops, reality seeping back through her, and her expression falls. 'I... guess that won't be a problem anymore...'

Clara does her best to smile at that but it's hard, feeling horror and concern for the girl the more she finds out about her past through her comments, their observations. She's not made for this sort of work which. She'll admit that much. There is no way she can look at these sort of cases with a clear head needed which is why she admits Dr. Morgan for being able to do it.

If he can do his part of the job, she could too. So she does her best to do her side of the work here by comforting Lucy and keep her grounded with them. Enough to give her space but enough to give them a clue of where to start. "We'll let Jonathan know about this. We'll help you two and you can still speak with each other. He can still see you since he's a vampire."

There's that to look forward to if it was a silver lining for the girl. Here she pauses for a second as she debates her options, wondering if her next set of words will be a wise thing to say to a newly made ghost.

Most spirits had little control over their emotions, their powers but Lucy is holding herself remarkably well. It could be their break for getting an important lead or clue but Clara needs to make sure she'll be fine. "Lucy-- We'll need to ask some more probing questions now. To get a better of where or who to see next after. If you don't feel comfortable in answering a question, shake your head or say 'no' to us. Okay?"

'How do I stop? Being a ghost?'

Henry sighed. That, after all, was a very difficult question. He knew, at least, what he'd seen in the morgue. "You'll have the opportunity to leave this world when you truly feel your business is settled. I find... that often happens when a murderer is brought to justice."

The girl looked between the two again and gave a slow nod. Her eyes focused on Clara.

'Ask me anything you like, I guess. I... don't really have anything else I can think to do.'

It's a good thing Lucy asked Dr. Morgan and not her because, at this point in life, Clara isn't sure what it takes to go and move on.

Maybe it will help Lucy, finding closure of who did this and why they did this. It's worth a shot and it's the reason why she asks, "Were you having any trouble with anyone in particular? With your friends, with your workplace-- Does anyone come to mind when you think of 'poor relations' or 'difficulty' or anything like that?"

The thought of medication and history of her troubles came to mind but maybe it'll be better to let Dr. Morgan use his connections to find the files, look through them due to his knowledge of these sort of things. It's a safer bet and so she sticks to what she thinks she knows-- Personal relationships, connections, and things like that.

Someone wanted Lucy dead and they pushed her to do it. That's a personal action to do so it must have a personal reasoning behind it. There has to be.

Alice found herself with plenty of questions and worries in the institute. It was a hard transition back into the social life and before she started looking at courses, she found herself jumping at practically any loud noise outside. It made her want to crawl back into her bed and never leave it. At least now, Alice wasn't carrying around her stuffed animal, much to her own dismay.

Others would ask her what's wrong and Alice didn't want to answer that and really couldn't. The medication was barely helping; she was sure one doctor expressed great concern for the now of age Alice stepping into the real world without preparation and her "delusions" of being a witch were severe. She would try again, because that is how Alice Liddell was -- she was very stubborn and it worked in her favor. Metahuman she remembered.

She had the mind to ask about vampires and such, feeling much more comfortable with a familiar face as well as someone who was immersed in the world her family was apart of. About halfway opening the door, Alice hears his voice and nearly shrinks away, flinching at what sounded like an aggressive voice.

She stammers, peaking through the door, and decides she's far too shy to enter the room. If he looks up, Alice seems to shuffle off like a small child, gathering up her notebook close to her chest. She doesn't want to make him upset.

Henry hears the noise and looks up. At the sight of the girl, he can't help but smile, perhaps a little embarrassed. He knows what to do. She's a skittish thing, so making light of his own irritation is the best way to go about it. At least, it had always worked when Abraham had seemed wary of something or another, usually when Henry was tense about having to move his family again because someone had caught on about something off about him.

"Technology and I have a very combative relationship. I'm not its biggest fan."

After all, he owned neither a mobile phone or a microwave. Both destroyed the very art they were meant to complement, and both were useless. Though sometimes it proved decent to have a phone, but he almost always had someone near whose phone he could borrow for a quick call.

Alice seems to linger in the door for a minute longer. Sudden outbursts and noises were annoying as much as they startled her. But, if he's making light of it, that helps unwind her. She doesn't even own a phone yet, so she genuinely doesn't understand the frustration.

With a small inhale, she steals herself up, putting herself halfway through the door, "I wasn't bothering you, was I?"

"Not at all," he replies, smiling as he leans back in his chair and motions her in.

"Please. Come in. Have a seat."

Then, with a smile. "Do you like tea? I've only got a hot plate for the office, but it does the job with the kettle."

Alice's eyes dart up at him and then to the chair; if he's not yelling at his computer anymore, Alice will take this as a sign that her presence is welcomed. Clutching her bag, she scurries in with her head low, almost ashamed before she slowly takes a seat. Her eyes dart back to the door, and then back to him,

"Tea is fine," Alice brushes some of her hair behind hear ears. She doesn't speak much and she's aware that is starting to become a little awkward when others speak to her, "I haven't had it in a while." She tries, for the sake of trying to converse with another, only to find herself worried she sounds ridiculous.

"Wonderful. I'll put some water on." A good black tea would do. He had cream and sugar for her to flavour it to her liking. While the kettle sits on the hot plate, he opens a tin of tea and scoops a bit into each of two steepers, which he hangs into two cups. Nothing to do with them until the water heats up.

"How have you been doing? Have they given you a schedule yet? Might be a good time to go through the school and figure out where your classes are before term starts."

How she was personally doing she kept to herself. Sleepless nights were common and she hadn't consulted her doctor about her medication or her trouble sleeping. They would likely up her dosage and it was already bad enough she was having a hard time getting out of her temporary housing. She watches with a solemn expression on her face.

It was her exhaustion, more than anything. Quietly, she stirs her tea, but doesn't take any sweeteners to it. She doesn't have the heart to tell him she likes it plane.

"Thank you," She adds meekly. Splaying her hands on the surface of her desk, she nods.

"I have a schedule, yes -- though, just a few classes," Alice figured not to push her limits, "I, ah- well. I've been gone a while."

She also didn't want to tell him she had been institutionalized for ten years. A few younger kids in the building had caught wind of it and have already started teasing her.

"Well, know that my door is always open as long as I'm in the Institute." He might make a poor teacher, but he had enough experience just dealing with kids that he felt he could make that offer. After all, if he wasn't trying to conduct lessons, they didn't aggravate him nearly as much. And, even then, it wasn't the quiet ones who needed help that irritated him. It was the ones who were too full of themselves.

"I do have other obligations outside of the Institute, but, if I'm in, I am available to all of the students."

Little things, really, but they were what he could offer. And, sometimes, they helped quite a bit. A man, for instance, taking time out of his day to teach a young boy he barely knew how to play jazz.

For that brief moment, Alice felt like a burden and that she was wasting time of such a busy and important man. A welt of guilt formed in her chest as usual, making it difficult to breathe. The only solution was to drink that cup to see if it soothe that pain.

It did, somewhat. She could use the help, some sense of direction; at least in the hospital, there was someone always breathing down her neck every fifteen minutes to stir her in the right direction. She swallowed, gazing back up at him, "Then, you must know plenty about vampires."

She can't help it, she blurts it out. The whole purpose of her arrival back to London and here was to learn more about them, so that she could find the man who had killed her family.

"I know a little." It's hard to say. The girl obviously has questions. Still, what he can't answer, he might be able to provide her resources to discover. "Though, I admit, I only learned there were other supernatural creatures about two years ago myself. And that there were things other than metahumans--" at least one other like him "--a year ago."

He couldn't promise her results. He wanted to be sure that was clear.

"But what I can't answer, I nay know who to advise you to see."

Alice had entered in the Institute rather timidly; she appeared shy to most, she shrunk away from conversations and others. She rarely lifted her eyes to meet the gaze of others. Others had commented how she appeared to be so frightened around others.

But that was hardly the case with Alice Liddell, who seemed to fit the part of the delicate, former mental patient from London. She nodded quietly and believed what he said. She was surprised that he had so little exposure to vampires and other races. Alice was swinging her feet in the chair and sipping the tea rather calmly, until she spoke up and her demeanor was starting to take a slight shift from the timid girl that she was.

"I don't need to see anyone," She would refuse, she wanted to handle it on her own terms, if at all possible, "Do they exist here or not?"

Lancelot is still learning his way around the Night Council headquarters, in truth, and still learning to balance having it as another job. It's suddenly a lot less free time, and he may not exactly have a plethora of hobbies and social activities but less time is still less time.

He's half shuffling a file as he walks through the door, hesitating at the entrance with his coffee. Is he allowed to bring coffee in? In truth, this is not something that he'd really done PCSO, but... well, he knows the ins and outs of it anyway. Food and drink aren't something you usually want around crime scenes or equipment, he supposes a body is the same.

Decided, he darts back out long enough to dump the coffee cup on top of a filing cabinet to retrieve later -- ducks back in and belatedly realises the gentleman inside is... talking to himself. Or at least, seems to be. Well, perhaps he's simply thinking aloud and not talking to the bodies. Benefit of doubt seems best.

"Hello?" Lancelot hazards a smile, takes a slow step in. "Lancelot Dulac, I'm one of the new Guardians. There's a -- suicide, case, I believe the autopsy just finished?"

Edited (wrong icon...) 2015-08-23 00:46 (UTC)

"Mister Dulac," Henry says in greeting, offering his hand for a shake. "Doctor Morgan, medical examiner."

He looks at the girl. Both the body lying on the table, covered in a sheet with the autopsy done, and the ghostly figure sitting at the end of the table, looking at him with fear in her eyes.

"Lucy Parish. Though I'm afraid it wasn't a suicide."

He moves to take Henry's hand, smile faltering as he clarifies. Ah, well. That certainly makes things a little more complicated. He releases Henry's hand, crosses to the body curiously before lifting his eyes back to the man.

"What did you find?" he prompts, and all the while his mind runs through options. It's unlikely to be mundane, considering it has been taken in by the Night Council. A faction killing? Supernatural accident? There are plenty of options, and Lancelot is yet to have a good grounding of experience in any of them -- but he supposes this is the only way to get it.

Edited (punctuation) 2015-08-25 19:08 (UTC)

"Her brother is a vampire. Few rungs down the chain from Millicent." It might be nothing, ultimately. It could be just a crime by a human against a human. Still, since it was a loved one of the supernatural, that meant it was worth looking into. Besides, he would be investigating anyway. Night Council or not.

"She was standing on the roof -- suicidal. But she changed her mind. Before she could step down back to safety, someone pushed her."

It's a very specific piece of information, and Lancelot considers this -- eyes dropping back to flip through the file. Her being related to someone close to Millicent makes it suspicious by default.

"You sound terribly sure about this, was there a witness of some sort? I can't see one mentioned here..."

But the file may have not been updated yet, of course, or perhaps Henry's investigative methods are a little different to what he's used to. Can magic tell that much from a body? Lancelot wouldn't know, in truth, but that would make murder investigations a lot easier...

"One who isn't admissible in a human court of law." If this proved to be under the Night Council's jurisdiction, he wasn't sure if the same rules applied. Spells that made a ghost visible might be enough to allowthe victim of a murder to testify.

But the person responsible might be fully human. In which case, her story meant nothing.

"The young lady told me."

The young lady --

Lancelot blinks up at Henry a couple of times quickly, then his eyes widen in understanding. He knows Clara, of course, so this -- the idea of someone dead still communicating something is not alien to him. His expression pulls into an oh of surprise and his eyes drop to the file as he thinks.

"I see," he says finally, "that is certainly compelling as a testimony. I don't suppose she gave a description of some sort, something else to go on? I am not so sure he word alone would be enough to convict a person but... as a lead it certainly has power, if he we begin asking around for other witnesses who might have seen someone that meets her description... look into who might have had a grudge enough against her or Millicent..."

He pats down his jacket pocket a little, tugs out a pen finally and clicks out the tip to begin making notes as he thinks. The testimony of a victim in this case might help and hinder both, of course, if they cannot find much else to back it up.

Jackson's all for propriety. And by propriety, he means opening the door, waltzing right in and plopping himself into one of the chairs in front of Henry's desk. He lounging quite comfortably, leaning back as if they were friends.

Not that they really know each other.

"Dr. Morgan." The other doctor casts an appreciating gaze across his office. "Looks like Brightred's got you set up all nicely."

"If you are here for no other reason than to deliberately disrespect the woman whose school you're in," Henry says, looking away from the monitor he's still not sure he approves of, "then you may leave."

Bad enough to have already been accused of lying when he really was trying to find out what had become of the missing vampires for their -- supernatural, chosen -- family members.

But this -- Well. He can't even blame it on the man being American. He's worked with plenty of Americans. That kind of disrespect is wilful and insulting. Not just to Redbright but to those around her, as well. It certainly, to Henry, speaks of the amount of professionalism he can expect from this man if their paths cross medically again.

"I have yet to cast a single aspersion on our most glorious headmaster," he retorts, feigning a feeling of insult. "I was merely stating a fact."

Many negatives could be said of Jackson's disposition, including his lax attitude toward professionalism, but those who know Jackson for the doctor he is would have trouble calling him anything but brilliant. It's hard to tell though. You wouldn't expect it. However, he was professional enough not to freely hand out information to an inquiring stranger, good intentions or not.

"Speaking of fact, I've come here to get my back scratched." He pauses, meeting eyes. "A tit for tat."

"Then you'll use her proper name. Unless, of course, you have trouble reading the large sign proclaiming the name of this institute."

It's a small detail, really, but it matters. After all, disrespect to one could be just as easily shown toward him. Especially if he was working on her behalf, whether for the Institute or the Night Council. Part of him wanted to point out that, as president of the Night Council, anyone might be out of a job if they crossed Sylvia Redbright.

But, hopefully, this man knows that without him saying it.

"Still. What is you'd like to discuss?"

Anyone doesn't include him, Jackson would say. To be free of whim and rule of covens and supernatural bureaucracy is one of manifold reasons that Jackson makes his living amongst the mundane. Mind his own business, keep his nose clean (or at least maintain the appearance of so), and keep his involvement limited to favors and basic cooperation-- arms length, all of it.

And it's the mundane that brings him here.

"We could've kept all of this--" He gestures at the office. "-- out of it, had you been at your other office. But here I am, 'askin for patient records that don't even belong to you."

There's a gentleman back at the station, dead as a doorknob, who's a former patient of Dr. Morgan's vampire-blood-enterprising predecessor.

Edited 2015-08-23 06:03 (UTC)

"Patient records? For who?"

He'll find out that much, at least, before he decides what, precisely, to do about the request. After all, there's a lot to be said and done about all of this, particularly after their last proper encounter.

"For a patient you never treated," Jackson parries. "From a clinic you cuckoo-birded."

Jackson's done his research, heard enough bits of news and connected enough dots, to learn of the blood-drained vampires connection to a missing doctor, and to the new doctor who's taken over her practice.

Dr. Henry Morgan-- a name that's more than a coincidence.

"The way I see it, you've got as much right to them as me. 'cept the difference between you and me, is that you owe me a favor."

"Except I have the right of law on my side," Henry replies. He had asked questions, yes. And barely gotten the supposed favour he supposedly owed for what information he'd wrangled. Hardly enough to satisfy the people he'd been asked to gain it for. Which was why he'd handed over other information. Like where to find the doctor.

Justice was done.

"However, I will happily give you all of the records you need. If you provide me a warrant from either Scotland Yard or the Night Council."

"Get a subpoena, obtain medical records." Jackson gives a huff, shaking his head. "If it were that easy, why would I, the goddamn medical examiner, be troubling myself by talkin' you?"

The American straightens up and leans forward, hands in his lap, and a explanation on his tongue. Any hint of humor's left his voice, replaced by a sheen of frustration.

"The problem with the law is it isn't real. In its purest form, the law's just a pretty idea-- especially when it comes to dirty coppers with secrets to keep and skeletons to hide. Now that's damn real." He pauses. "What I'm sayin' is that we think there's a cover-up, and requesting any sort of subpoena or warrant for closed case will raise red flags."

Edited 2015-08-24 09:06 (UTC)

"A medical examiner," Henry replied coldly. "You forget, sir, that your position is not exclusive. London has more than one medical examiner, as does the Night Council. Of which I am one."

No one said it was smart. It was also why he wasn't often at the clinic now. He oversaw it, formally, but the running of it and seeing patients was for others. But with his eyes on it, nothing like the brutal killings of vampires and putting their blood into patients would happen again.

"Besides, you've yet to give me even a name. Or told me anything about the case to give me cause to help you."

"Did I ever say I was the only one?" He damn near shouts back, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He gets why Henry's acting cold and defensive, much like he'd been when the other doctor had come to field his inquiry about the dried-up vampires. An eye for an eye, in a sense.

Being on the receiving end is bitter medicine.

"I don't got any obligation or personal sentiment attached to the case. One of our inspector's pet projects, as with all of his cases-- which means I could walk right out this door. No skin off my back."

Jackson slides his chair backwards, making a grating scrape on the carpet. He moves to get up and walk away, but hesitates before stepping away from the chair. "Thing is, the Insepctor believes that one of the division chief's coverin' for a murder. Case was closed too quickly, and the boy killed was once datin' his daughter-- a boy he vehemently disapproved of." The doctor pauses to set his hat upon his head. "Now, it might be nothin' but as a betting man, I do say it seems suspicious."

Edited 2015-08-31 21:37 (UTC)

A cover up certainly wasn't impossible. He'd seen enough in his day for reasons both petty and vital. A slight personal grudge couldn't get in the way of justice. But the law mattered a great deal. Especially since he didn't approve of vigilantes. Being part of a bungled investigation that would only get all the evidence found thrown out? Not something he wanted to be part and parcel to.

Still.

"How old was the young man?"

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Everyday Goings On

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Time to Kill

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Familiar Face;

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