| Volunteer |
[09 May 2009|01:43am] |
While sitting at a desk at the nurses' station Kathleen started to write the summary of her last patient's examination for their medical file. She was there because the desk was the only one available at the moment in the small health clinic for those with low-income or lacking insurance. She did not mind. It had been the first time in a long time since leaving St. Joseph Hospital for the bio-defense laboratory that she felt a sense of gratification. It had been a busy last few hours seeing patients with a whole range of medical needs, but unlike an emergency room most were minor ailments or wounds.
( Her time at no cost )
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| Leaving the Comfort Zone |
[09 May 2009|02:23pm] |
The beer in front of her was sweating, condensation running down the sides of the mug to gather on the cardboard coaster she'd been provided with. She'd never been in a bar this close to the Loop before, and the place was crowded. The conversations around her were both soothing and aggravating, the tendency to jump every time someone brushed past her like an itch she couldn't reach. It had been two days since the unknown vampire had attacked her outside of her office, and she couldn't stop looking over her shoulder.
The police had questioned her for half an hour before letting her go home, and she'd paid the sitter extra when she picked up her son. Her wrist turned out not to be sprained, just sore. Michaela picked up her beer and took a drink, finished off the shot of whiskey she'd ordered along with it. She hadn't talked to anyone about what had happened yet, not except to give a description of her assailant. She wondered how much Logan actually knew about this guy, but hadn't called him either. She wasn't sure she wouldn't start screaming at him for putting her in the cross hairs, no matter how inadvertently.
The business about her wallet concerned her. The things in it were replaceable except for a couple of pictures, but it meant this creep had her home address. If he came after her again, what then? The ex-cop took another drink, wiped her mouth on a thin paper napkin. Her leg still ached where she'd banged it against the fender of the car. Maybe she should have aimed for his head after all.
( Handsome Stranger )
NPC Lucas was written by Jessica
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| All Talk, No Action |
[09 May 2009|03:59pm] |
One thing about recovering from a sidelining injury, it gave Grace an excuse to get face-down drunk.
She found Dimensions by accident, hearing about it on the whisper-stream before cruising past it on Rush Street and deciding to stop in. Might as well, she'd hit most of the bars for humans already. Drinking with her own kind offered less aggravation in her condition, anyway.
The vampire occupied a table by herself near the back, lighting a Marlboro after finishing the glass of bourbon in front of her. There was a bottle on the table, still three-quarters full. She was at seventy-five percent tonight, her knee still twinging a lot more than she'd like. Never mind, though, at least the booze was top-shelf and there was no chance of getting jumped in here. Grace blew a smoke ring, poured another drink while watching the dancers writhe under the lights. It looked like Dante's Inferno down there.
The next time a server came by, she was going to ask for some blood to spike her drink with.
( Running Their Mouths )
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| Plotting a Comeback |
[09 May 2009|05:00pm] |
Two boxes of pizza sat on the card table, steaming the air and scenting it with garlic. To the side, Rhiannon stacked dishes and napkins. Then she perched on the arm of her couch and waited, knuckles lightly drumming the upholstery. Usually, supernatural shop talk was done with cigarettes and beer at night in some dark dive, so the afternoon vibe seemed odd to her. But maybe odd-good. Anything to take the edge off how crucial the conversation was, how much it meant to come up with solutions. She debated who to invite. The usual 'think tank' for occult problems was absent. With this being such a personal situation, and a particularly painful one, she thought the three of them ought to come together alone to toss ideas around, at least at first. Mary Sue edged up to her leg and raised her back in a graceful curve. Rhiannon leaned down and scratched the cat's silvery-gray fur.
Jenny had, in a rather cowardly move, taken a cab to Rhiannon's apartment even though she knew she was more than safe enough to be out during the day. When she stepped up toward the building, she slid inside and headed through the building, looking for Rhiannon's apartment number.
She hurried along and finally found the door she was looking for. "Let's see what's behind door number one," she murmured to herself as she lifted a hand and knocked. She was nervous; she had no idea what was going to happen, but she had her notebook inside the bag she was clutching in her other hand, able to feel the spiral binding through the fabric.
Melinda had taken the bus, a longer ride but more comfortable to her than the train, with its cars weaving through the darkened tunnels like a boat on some invisible, underground river. When she needed time to think, she preferred staring out of the large bus windows at the scenery that whizzed by. After her conversation at the student lounge with Connor, she had switched tracks, from looking up how one could lose their powers, to looking up past instances where the circumstances were like hers: taken from a public place, disoriented and possibly drugged, dumped off somewhere else.
( Getting It All Out There )
( Making a Plan )
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