Micah Castro Braden // Doctor Watson, I presume (acatalyst) wrote in bellumlogs,
Lobby : 5:00 a.m.
Micah was not in the building at midnight.
He was sitting in a classroom at Jackson Hospital in Miami, Florida. He'd hopped a flight that afternoon, when he'd gotten word that his request to take the rivalida early had been approved - the exam medical doctors from other countries had to take in order to practice medicine in the United States.
The exam was in English and his degree was in Forensic Pathology, which meant he needed to take additional specialization tests that were challenging for a non-native English speaker. It wasn't that he didn't know the material; rather, the questions were multiple choice and comprised entirely of grammatical nuance.
He was six hours in when the clock struck midnight, and he was (admittedly) on the road to failure.
The change wasn't immediately physical for him. Instead, it was wholly mental. He knew the material on the page, understood the language perfectly. Every nuance was grasped, every answer corrected. Within the hour, he handed in his examination. Triumphant!
He was also limping heavily, and his shoulder ached.
The flight home was a blur, and when he disembarked the plane, he rubbed his face, trying to get rid of the lethargy that had settled over him.
His fingers touched facial hair.
His fingers touched-
Well, of course they did. He was very proud of his mustache, you see. It was gentlemanly and very well done. He leaned heavily on the cane that had materialized in his hand, doffed his hat to a confused looking woman at baggage claim and summoned forth a taxi ride.
When he entered Bellum, it was easily 5 a.m., and he was wondering what trouble Holmes had managed to get himself into this time.