Dr Henry Morgan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
livelongenough) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2015-08-19 12:25 am
livelongenough) wrote in undergrounds2015-08-19 12:25 am
Entry tags:
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.'
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.'
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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?"
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
Still.
"How old was the young man?"