Ariadne (building_dreams) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-07-14 00:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | ariadne, ravenna |
WHO Bianca and Oliver
WHAT Indulging Bee's morbid curiosity
WHEN Not long after her field trip
WHERE The Morgue
WARNINGS None
Bee was never going to be a detective, police officer, medical examiner, or any other profession where she would need a thorough understanding of what Oliver did for a living. That being said, she was still interested. Her parents used to tease that they’d be paying for college her entire life because she’d never be able to decide what she wanted to do. That was before her sister and mother died, before she decided that her degree from Harvard should be put to good use at UNLV’s Law School. As a social worker, she’d probably never step foot in the city morgue again unless she needed to identify a body. Even that seemed to be a bit of a stretch but still. She was fascinated and Oliver made it seem even more interesting. His presentation during their ‘field trip’ had been informative without bogging them down with medical jargon that most of them wouldn’t understand. The fact that her classmates hadn’t been able to handle themselves professionally was insulting to Oliver and although it wasn’t strictly rational, Bianca took it upon herself to apologize to him. As a whole, they represented UNLV and their professor. How one of them behaved reflected on all of them. She didn’t think for a second that if she could make up for that, but she could at least show him that not all law students were hopeless cases. Dressed crisply in black pants, a dark purple tee, and sensible black shoes, Bee thought she was more than ready to handle whatever it was that Oliver would see for the day. She hadn’t pulled her hair back but there was a hair tie on her wrist just in case he asked for that. Being prepared was kind of her motto and she liked making good impressions. When Bianca arrived in the building, the gentleman at the front desk kindly referred her to the stairway door. The elevator did go down to the basement, he said, but the building was old and the thing was ancient - the stairs would probably be quicker, by comparison. Down in B2, in an office that, from the outside, appeared unassuming, Oliver Colden had a liver splayed on his desk. It was an impromptu job shoved off on him by one of the other residents who'd been fleeing the scene to go meet his girlfriend, so now Oliver got to take samples and organize them for toxicology tests. The victim was a suicide, male in his mid fifties, and he'd apparently been an alcoholic, because the liver was just sad. It didn't smell particularly pleasant, and had an all-around air of a thing mistreated. Oliver could sympathize. Some days, he felt like an alcoholic's liver too. He was expecting Bianca sometime soon, and he'd told security to give her directions to his office. In the meantime he’d cleared all his papers off his desk and moved the liver to its temporary home while he finished work on it. There was no one else in the lab today, and the vic was out on the slab in the morgue. He'd get back to his new friend, the mid-fifties male alcoholic, once he'd finished becoming acquainted with his liver, he was sure. From the office, the sound of Vampire Weekend came floating out. The door was slightly ajar, and Oliver could be seen through the crack, his back turned to the doorway, neatly extracting a sample of liver. The stairs were descended quickly, partly because she was excited and partly because she had about five minutes before she’d be late and that certainly wouldn’t help her make a good impression. There was a slight flush in her cheeks but she took a few seconds to steady her breathing before peeking through the door to the office. The music was unfamiliar and not quite her taste, but she wouldn’t comment on it. It was hardly her place, particularly when he was kind enough to open his doors to her. She figured he was working on something but what that was, she couldn’t tell. His back was to the door, meaning she couldn’t even do her best to silently alert him to her presence. Bee wiped her hands on pants and took a deep breath before pushing the door open quietly and stepping inside. It didn’t squeak or anything, thankfully, but she did knock twice before moving further into the room, giving him a wide berth out of respect. If he looked up, he’d see a smile on her face, warm and friendly, but she’d wait until he was finished or until he spoke to say anything herself. She watched him as he worked, identifying the body part he was currently slicing into was as a liver, though she wasn’t sure why he was working on it. Although the question was right on the tip of her tongue, Bee didn’t voice it, unwilling to interrupt much more than she had already. Oliver slipped the sliver of tissue into a dish, settled the lid on, and turned to Bianca. He was a skinny thing, not particularly tall, decked out in a lab coat that didn't hide the delicate tattoos that spindled from beneath his left sleeve to meet his knuckles. He set the scalpel down on the tray and looked her over. His features were delicate, his sharp eyes were not. "That's a liver," he informed her, matter of factly, and lifted the sample. "And this is going to be used for a tox screen, so we can verify the gentleman this liver once belonged to did, in fact, die of alcohol poisoning." He stepped toward her and slid past, into the morgue proper. "Remind me of your name?" he asked. Oh, he remembered it. He just liked to needle, see how people would react to one thing or another. That was what had driven the poor fragile girl in the tour group to wail so, and abandon the field trip shaking at the wrists. Hopefully Bianca would do better. "And why you're interested in the dead? Not looking to change education tracks, I hope.” He glanced back her way as he opened a specimen cabinet, arching a brow. “Switching from law school's a bitch." She stayed silent, nodding to indicate she’d understood as he explained why he was slicing the liver. His question had her arching her eyebrow but she answered all the same. “Bianca Simon. It’s not so much the dead I’m interested in, just what you do,” she replied honestly. He had shown during the field trip that he was more than knowledgeable and she doubted that he would have been hired by the city if he wasn’t qualified. “I’m in a dual program, going for my MSW too. I enjoy helping people and both of my parents are lawyers.” She stumbled slightly over the ‘are,’ still unsure of how to address things with both of her parents when only her dad was alive. “You’re helping people with what you do and you’re obviously very knowledgeable.” Bee was simply stating facts as far as she was concerned, but there was an earnest aspect of her tone that could have been taken as sucking up. “How long have you been doing this for?” Oliver gave her the eye. She did sound like she was sucking up, actually, and he had no clue why. It wasn't like she was going to get anything out of him. "You ought to know that if this is about getting your grades raised, I don't actually have any pull with the university." He stepped toward the examination table. There was a shape on the table under a sheet, obviously a body. He'd taken care to cover the gentleman up before the lady arrived. "This job specifically? I've been in my residency for six months. I've been studying in one capacity or another for...oh, eight years? A bit more? When I complete this residency I can move away from this wretched, overheated city. In the meantime, I am enjoying its more decadent pleasures and cutting open a great many bodies." He gestured to the sheet. "This gentleman came in last night," he said, and peeled the sheet back without warning, down to the man's waist. He'd already been through the full autopsy, judging by the neatly stitched incision on his chest. He was wan, older, and very much dead. “His liver was on my desk, as you saw.” Confusion colored with a touch of surprise showed by the careful knit of her eyebrows when he talked about getting her grades raised. “I didn’t think you did? Besides, there’s not much to raise,” Bianca replied with a shrug. Even that was just another fact, not a brag of any kind. She followed him and stood on the opposite side of the examination table, glancing between him and the sheet covered form. Common sense told her there was a body under there so she wasn’t surprised when he said as much and then revealed him. “That’s quite a bit of schooling. I probably would have gone into medicine of some kind if not for my parents. Both lawyers,” she explained quite freely. She offered him a warm smile before turning her gaze to the man on the table. Without even asking if it was alright, Bee leaned in for a closer look at the stitching on his chest. “How did they have you practice your stitching? Did you start on corpses or did you stitch on fabric?” She looked up at him. “Or are they completely different techniques?” She knew enough not to touch but there was that desire, so she clasped her hands behind her back. “How long does it take to run a tox screen on the liver sample?” Oliver's parents had nothing to do with him going into medicine. Nor did his aunt and uncle. They likely would have been perfectly happy if he'd stayed in the town where he'd grown up and thoroughly in the closet, settle down with some girl, have a few kids, and teach at one of the local schools. "Medical school was my design," he said, with a small, fleeting smile. "Corpses," he said. "Fabric isn't much like human tissue. I practiced on my own with fabric before I ever got to a body, but corpses were the official starter. One has to learn somewhere." He gestured to the tight stitching. "It's almost exactly like the stitching on a baseball, actually," he said. As for the timing, he shrugged. "Anywhere from a week to two months. Depends on the body, depends on the amount of drugs and the various kinds. For this gentleman, no more than a week or two, I'd expect. All we're really looking for is to confirm alcohol was the cause of death." He looked up at her. "Why the curiosity? You were interested in medicine, but you studied law, and you want to know how to stitch a corpse. Do you have a secret life? Or is it just morbid fascination?" She glanced up at him when he said he’d picked med school, noticing the smile. It was always nice to see someone doing what they truly loved to do, even if it was autopsies and the like. A soft, “Huh,” escaped her as she straightened up. “I never would’ve thought about that, but I can see the resemblance.” Bianca took a half step back as he explained about the wait time and nodded. “It seems like a very cut and dry case. I can’t imagine you get too many of those, given that it’s Las Vegas,” she remarked. Her head tilted in curiosity as his close questioning. “I wouldn’t say I was interested, exactly, but medicine would have provided me with a career that allowed me to help people and also pursue a great deal of schooling. I’m honestly just curious about the scope of what it is a Medical Examiner does. Are you working here because the job was simply open or are you from the immediate area?” Twenty questions was much more fun when her classmates weren’t being unprofessional or even annoying. “Your tour was very informative but I’ve always been known to have a great deal of questions and that isn’t always appropriate in a field trip setting. If I ask anything you’d rather not answer, you can just say as much to me.” Things were so much smoother this way, primarily because she finally had her chance to ask the questions she had earlier. “Oh, you would be very, very surprised,” he said, drawing the sheet back up over the man’s face. He stepped away from the slab and toward an open doorway on the other side of the room. “Most deaths are entirely boring. Personally, I study forensic pathology. That means my focus is the deaths in which there is some reasonable suspicion of foul play rather than natural causes. At the moment, however, I am merely a resident, so I take care of the more mundane deaths as well. And there are more of those than I can count, really.” He glanced back at her as they walked and she explained her questions. “Never fear, I’m a mostly open book,” he said. The next room held another silver autopsy table, but was more significantly lined with drawers. “Most of the deaths we see are like this woman here,” he said, checking the number on a drawer before pulling it out. Inside was the body of a woman in her sixties, her features faintly lined with a hint of frost. “Died a few days ago sitting at the penny slots. Lung cancer. Apparently it had been eating away at her for some time. Habitual smoker, particularly while engaging in her hobby of playing the slots every day.” He pulled back the sheet, and turned her palm over. There were faint yellow stains on the insides of her fingers. “Habitual smoker, there. And here,” he said, pointing to a line of calluses on her hand, “Habitual slots player, as well. So habitual that she wore calluses into her hand. Even gambling addiction can touch the skin.” He released the woman’s hand, placing it lightly back down on the slab and covering her up to the neck again before sliding the drawer back into the wall. “The body is a map,” he said, and tapped the skin at his wrist, where one of his tattoos peeked out from under his sleeve. “In more ways than one. Forensic pathology is about learning the road signs and the tracks in the ground. And yes, I came here for the job. It wasn’t my secret dream to live in the world of glitz and glamor, forensic pathologist to the aged and the excessively living, but here I am.” Bee looked up at him curiously, wondering what he meant by that. She figured that with the various crime families that she knew were operating in and around the area, murder would be much more common cause of death and sometimes that could be fairly tricky, right? She didn't voice any of that as he led her through the open doorway, toward the autopsy drawers. It was habit to wonder how many of them were filled and what caused all of their deaths. Her curiosity would get her in trouble one day, but that would be something to worry about when it actually happened. She listened with rapt attention as he explained the woman he'd pulled out and she didn't bat an eye when he pulled back the sheet, exposing the frost tinted skin. "Forensic pathology sounds...absolutely wonderful. It's quite clear that you enjoy the work. That's half the battle these days. Once you finish your residency, do you think you'll move elsewhere?" She couldn't imagine that everywhere would require a forensic pathologist, but surely he would be useful in the larger cities like Las Vegas, Chicago, New York, and San Fransisco. "How much longer do you have?" Bee added, because it dawned on her that she hadn't asked that. “Might be,” Oliver said, with an easy, one-shouldered shrug. He slid his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. “Depends on where the jobs are in a year and a half. I’d like to go back to the coast. Someplace cooler, and less...in a desert. But I don’t know if that will be in the cards or not.” He smiled a touch. “I try not to plan too heavily. Hasn’t served me well in the past. I hope, and then I see how things fall.” He stepped around her, walking back into the room they’d just left. “So,” he asked, casual as could be, “Who died?” He glanced back at her. “I haven’t been to the west coast, but the east coast is lovely. I went to high school in New York City and there’s nothing quite like it,” Bianca offered. “Vegas is certainly a bit of an acquired taste. I spent my childhood not too far off the Strip.” A year and a half wasn’t long at all but it would certainly give him time to settle down and create a life for himself if he hadn’t already. “You never know what might happen, but as long as you’re happy, as cliche as that sounds.” She moved to follow him back to his office but as soon as he asked who died, she froze. “Excuse me?” Bee asked, going for curious rather than offended or defensive as she started to follow him once more. “Who. Died?” Oliver repeated, slower this time, turning around and backing up a few steps so he could look at her. “In my experience, people in this field join for one of three reasons: one, they want to help solve crimes and they don’t like dealing with the nitty gritty of suspects and they’d rather go the science route, two, they’re obsessed with death and dying and what it does to the body for their own reasons, and three, someone died. Someone they knew, someone they loved, someone they didn’t give a shit about.” He turned around again, stepping up to the door to his small office and opening it wide. He stepped inside and around his desk, still talking. “They found a corpse, or they passed an accident when they were seven and saw a decapitated head in the road, or grandma died and they weren’t allowed to look at the body, and death developed the horrifying, mystifying allure of the unknown and the forbidden, as well as the draw of the fascinatingly grotesque. Or they just wanted an explanation - how did it happen? How does life end, and someone leave us behind? Why did they die?” Oliver sat down on the edge of his desk, scooting back, coming precariously close to tipping the liver off his desk, sliding it an inch. “I find much the same psychology in those interested in the profession as a hobby or a curiosity, but without the option that they just want to help people, since they’re not engaged in that bit. Scientific interest or somebody died. You don’t strike me as the former. So. Who’s dead?” Bee couldn’t help but roll her eyes when he just repeated his question, only slower. She wasn’t deaf for crying out loud and she nearly said as much, but he continued on with his reasoning. He wasn’t trying to be rude and although his delivery left much to be desired, he did have a fair point. Bianca didn’t admit to anything until he was finished and she was standing in front of him with her hands clasped behind her back. “I’d like to think that I’d be curious regardless because everyone deserves closure, but that should be telling as well,” she replied, just a hint of teasing in her voice. Becky’s death wasn’t a fresh wound, not even after seeing Cory for the first time since the funeral, so she wasn’t upset, simply startled at his perceptiveness. Still, she didn’t like talking about it and that caused her to hesitate for a few moments. “My sister and mother both died in car accidents, two years apart. What reason did you have to pursue this field?” Oliver considered this information. He didn't offer pity or comfort - it had already happened, after all, and death was a part of life. But he was interested to be right. Pretty girls didn't simply wander into morgues for no reason, after all, not even the bright law students. He nodded in response to the statement, acknowledging it without apologizing to it. "Death," he said, with a glimmer, and a small smile. "A fascination. None in the family, just a personal interest." He threw up air quotes. " 'General creepiness' as I've heard some people say. Most people aren't very comfortable with the idea of death, or being interested in it. It's always easier to dismiss than to understand or to probe." Bee was pleasantly surprised that he didn’t immediately offer his condolences. Most people usually did after she shared that tidbit of personal information, but not Oliver. He didn’t even apologize for prying, but that didn’t surprise her too much. It took her a moment to find her smile again, but compartmentalizing was a specialty of hers. “Some people are a little too opinionated on what others do with their lives,” she replied, smirking just slightly. “Glad to see that didn’t stop you from pursuing what you were interested in. Death is a natural part of life, no matter how ‘creepy’ it is.” She used air quotes as well, far too amused that someone still used them these days. “Some of the best people I know seek to understand, rather than dismiss. While I doubt it would mean much, I quite like you, Oliver. Blunt questions included. I really appreciate your taking the time to show me around. Would I be lucky enough to see an autopsy through from beginning to end?” "No," Oliver said, "I've never been one to let what others think stop me from living my life the way it ought to be lived." He kicked a foot, pensively, and smiled a bit as she complimented him. "Well, you seem like a bright girl, Miss Bianca, and willingness to respond to blunt questions is always a plus.” He pulled open a drawer next to his leg, removing a planner and flipping it open, prying a pen from the rings and pulling the cap off with his teeth before collecting it between his fingers. “As for an autopsy, not today, but if you come back in a week or so I might be able to arrange something to feed the fire of your ravenous curiosity. Would that suit?" “It would suit me perfectly, Mr Oliver,” she replied, teasing him only slightly for calling her ‘Miss’. “I appreciate the time you’re taking to appease my curiosity. Just let me know the specific date once it’s closer, over the journals or-” and here she fished out her own notebook and a pen, writing down her name, cell phone number, and email address, “you can reach me both of those ways as well.” The slip was handed over with another smile and she held out her hand as well. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I’ll see you soon, I’m sure of it.” |