Everyday Goings On

[livelongenough]

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.'

Comments

[livelongenough]

"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?"

[damnyank]

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.

[livelongenough]

"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.

[damnyank]

"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."

[livelongenough]

"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."

[damnyank]

"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."

[livelongenough]

"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."

[damnyank]

"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."

[livelongenough]

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?"