It's just another day; there's murder in the air. It drags me when I walk. I smell it everywhere.
{{OOC: Backdated to the morning after the Carnival's midnight show.}}
Dmitri is in The Coffee Shop, nursing something tall, strong and unsweetened as she watches the journals, specifically one post. Of course. People always die in Chicago. She's just... usually it's not her friends, in the night, so that everything's happened and done by the time she wakes up to read about it in the morning posts.
It's not even the first time she's heard April's death from the (metaphorical or not) other room, either - that's the worst part. Maybe. Maybe it's the part where Dmitri doubts she's coming back this time.
Jason is prowling the city streets in rottweiler form.
The idea was that he'd get out of this place and wait for most of those who had a case against him to live out their natural lives. Nice, bloodless, and if he eventually did come back... well.
He hadn't expected to be here when they started dying. Or to be here long enough to meet people like Rachel, charming and open and breaking up in his orbit. Of course. Live long enough and you'll live to see everything ruined. Sometimes he just wishes the universe wasn't so proactive about it.
He has to fight not to run to anyone and everyone some part of him still thinks he should be protecting. He can never save anyone and he's given up on trying, so why care?-but April was young and healthy and a weapon, his style of weapon, and wouldn't just die in an accident or anything less than overwhelming force, and she-
She was the one to forgive him.
The Vesmier is in the Kashtta Tower, in a new set of clothing clean of Sark's blood, being... available. He's keeping part of his mind brushed against Sark's, and the moment he regains consciousness there'll be a certain Time Lord senatorial adjunct by his bedside, but in the mean time... he's not the only one here who knew or cared for April. He's here for all of them.
And also in the Kashtta, Owen is in the morgue. He and Juliet worked on Sark for some time, stitches upon stitches, plasma and fluid, but it wasn't intensive surgery and between that and the coffee which is a Torchwood staple for nights like that one, he's been up for the last part of the night... preparing April's body.
Not that there's a lot that goes into storing a body in the morgue. You clean up all the blood and evacuate and foreign objects, make sure there aren't any alien pathogens, take photos and notes and do a non-invasive autopsy, dress them in a morgue smock and put them in the wall. Check all the seals and the shelf temperature, assign and log a passcode, and done is done.
This might be the youngest body he's ever had to perform those particular duties on. It doesn't help that the surface of everything in the morgue is still bloodstained and corroded from that monster that came through, and no amount of cleaning or polishing seems to get rid of it - functional, yes, but it does a number on even Owen's mood.
Which might be, perversely, some reason as to why he's staying even when the drawer clicks closed and locked and he washes his hands. It's a bad time in a bad world, but that's where they've been stuck for months. It isn't as though not brooding about it will make it any better.
Dmitri is in The Coffee Shop, nursing something tall, strong and unsweetened as she watches the journals, specifically one post. Of course. People always die in Chicago. She's just... usually it's not her friends, in the night, so that everything's happened and done by the time she wakes up to read about it in the morning posts.
It's not even the first time she's heard April's death from the (metaphorical or not) other room, either - that's the worst part. Maybe. Maybe it's the part where Dmitri doubts she's coming back this time.
Jason is prowling the city streets in rottweiler form.
The idea was that he'd get out of this place and wait for most of those who had a case against him to live out their natural lives. Nice, bloodless, and if he eventually did come back... well.
He hadn't expected to be here when they started dying. Or to be here long enough to meet people like Rachel, charming and open and breaking up in his orbit. Of course. Live long enough and you'll live to see everything ruined. Sometimes he just wishes the universe wasn't so proactive about it.
He has to fight not to run to anyone and everyone some part of him still thinks he should be protecting. He can never save anyone and he's given up on trying, so why care?-but April was young and healthy and a weapon, his style of weapon, and wouldn't just die in an accident or anything less than overwhelming force, and she-
She was the one to forgive him.
The Vesmier is in the Kashtta Tower, in a new set of clothing clean of Sark's blood, being... available. He's keeping part of his mind brushed against Sark's, and the moment he regains consciousness there'll be a certain Time Lord senatorial adjunct by his bedside, but in the mean time... he's not the only one here who knew or cared for April. He's here for all of them.
And also in the Kashtta, Owen is in the morgue. He and Juliet worked on Sark for some time, stitches upon stitches, plasma and fluid, but it wasn't intensive surgery and between that and the coffee which is a Torchwood staple for nights like that one, he's been up for the last part of the night... preparing April's body.
Not that there's a lot that goes into storing a body in the morgue. You clean up all the blood and evacuate and foreign objects, make sure there aren't any alien pathogens, take photos and notes and do a non-invasive autopsy, dress them in a morgue smock and put them in the wall. Check all the seals and the shelf temperature, assign and log a passcode, and done is done.
This might be the youngest body he's ever had to perform those particular duties on. It doesn't help that the surface of everything in the morgue is still bloodstained and corroded from that monster that came through, and no amount of cleaning or polishing seems to get rid of it - functional, yes, but it does a number on even Owen's mood.
Which might be, perversely, some reason as to why he's staying even when the drawer clicks closed and locked and he washes his hands. It's a bad time in a bad world, but that's where they've been stuck for months. It isn't as though not brooding about it will make it any better.