i have no solution to the sound of this pollution in me (backdated to early tuesday morning)aregulargirlFebruary 19 2010, 01:00:04 UTC
Max is a little bit early to the appointment she made with Dr. Chase yesterday, partly because she couldn't sleep anyway and partly because she wants to get this bitch over with as soon as is possible. She's waiting in the lobby, pacing instead of sitting.
Her hands are covered with a pair of black leather gloves (it's possible that they're not real leather, but Max doesn't really care whether or not they are as long as they're thick enough to protect people from whatever she's got) and shoved into the back pockets of her jeans. Her eyes dart around nervously as she waits for him to show up.
i have no solution to the sound of this pollution in meworksmartFebruary 20 2010, 03:05:12 UTC
Contrary to his occasional complaints, Chase doesn't have much of a problem keeping appointments with early mornings. He's arranged to meet with Max a full hour before he's due on shift in any official capacity - enough time to get an idea of what needs doing, if not to have it all done - and he arrives no more than a minute either side of the time they'd agreed. It seems like a safe bet that no one else would be haunting the hospital entrance this early.
"Max?"
There's nothing unusual looking about her at first glance, something he could have guessed from her reticence to talk about her genetic origins. If it's a secret, she can pass. However little that means in a city where your neighbour is as likely to have green skin as white, it's obviously important to her.
He stops a few feet shy of her, hands adjusting the strap of his messenger bag to stop himself doing something stupid, like holding one out to shake.
i have no solution to the sound of this pollution in mearegulargirlFebruary 20 2010, 03:33:32 UTC
She hears him coming up to her long before an ordinary human would, but doesn't know that he's the doctor she's made an appointment with until he addresses her by name. When he does, Max stops her pacing and turns around to face him, giving him a brief, tense smile.
"Yeah, that's me. And no. Only about ten minutes, but that's my own fault."
She's been let in on the fact that things like superpowers don't necessarily need to be kept a secret in this place, but she still wants it to remain one. Partially because she doesn't want to be looked at differently and partially because she's so used to keeping it hidden. And up until four months ago when she'd gotten recaptured by Manticore, it had been working out pretty well for her, so she figures why fix what's not (quite) broken?
i have no solution to the sound of this pollution in meworksmartFebruary 20 2010, 03:55:21 UTC
"Good," he nods, offering her a smile with enough reassurance to contrast the tension written across hers, "You're probably going to have enough time to get bored later. Any magazines worth borrowing?"
A nod of his head indicates the offerings laid out for visitors and patients, mostly dog-eared women's glossies, but a quick flick through the nearest pile brings up something with a picture of a motorbike on the front that he raises an eyebrow at and tucks under his arm.
"I've booked you into one of the clean rooms. Seemed like the safest bet." Here the clean rooms also count as isolation rooms, though he doesn't lay that out on the table in such flat terms. Unknown viruses and wards full of sick people don't mix, whether she's been infectious to date or not. He heads towards the main flight of stairs, checking over her shoulder to see she's with him. "Come on, we'll get you settled."
i have no solution to the sound of this pollution in mearegulargirlFebruary 20 2010, 04:05:56 UTC
Her own interest is piqued at the magazine he's just tucked underneath his arm (she hasn't seen her bike in months), but she keeps quiet and gives the table another glance. After a moment or two of perusing her options, she picks up a few entertainment ones and at least one of the girlier ones. (Neither really feature her interests, but like he said, she'll need something to do.)
She nods and follows him wordlessly, at least for the first few steps.
"What kind of tests were you gonna run?" She figures blood work, at the very least.
i have no solution to the sound of this pollution in meworksmartFebruary 20 2010, 04:41:12 UTC
The way he's taking her isn't far, there's a corridor after the first flight of stairs separating the seclusion wing of the hospital from the main part, and he waits until they're almost there before he answers her, holding the door to let her go through ahead.
"Quite a few. Assuming you don't know what type of virus you've been infected with... it's like getting stuck in the haystack when you've never seen a needle before. I'm going to run a few things through the labs, see if anything spikes up as abnormal or, better than that, familiar. I'll be taking blood from you, some skin cultures should tell us if there's a risk of contact transference. None of that helps, we might need to look at a lymph biopsy," he winces, aware that none of this sounds fun, "all small procedures, I promise. What I can't promise is when you'll get a solid answer."
i have no solution to the sound of this pollution in mearegulargirlFebruary 20 2010, 04:52:24 UTC
The room doesn't look any different from the many medical rooms she's been to in her life - maybe a little cleaner, the post-Pulse world leaves a lot to be desired in terms of cleanliness in general. She still gets the familiar knot in the pit of her stomach as she enters and it tightens when he describes the tests he'll be putting her through.
But she doesn't let it show, save for her back going rigid for a split second. However unpleasant it's going to be, she asked for this. And she figures that some discomfort is worth knowing for sure that she's not going to accidentally kill anyone here.
i have no solution to the sound of this pollution in meworksmartFebruary 21 2010, 06:23:10 UTC
"Getting changed," Chase says, stopping by one of the units and rifling through the drawers to check on what the room supplies and what he'll need to pick up. "Me, not you, although you could stand to lose the jacket and the gloves. I'll be wearing my own from here out. If you've got short sleeves under that, we'll be fine."
He pulls a couple of papers from his bag and hands them across to her with the bike magazine underneath. "If you could fill that in for me? It's a standard medical history. Just give me what details you can. And maybe when I get back, you can tell me what you like to ride."
It had just been a flicker of interest, but one he noticed. With an assurance that he won't be long, he leaves her alone in the room.
i have no solution to the sound of this pollution in mearegulargirlFebruary 21 2010, 06:45:16 UTC
She's not - wearing short sleeves, that is - but she is wearing a tank top underneath the long-sleeved shirt she's wearing. There's a little smile on her face when he asks her about her bike - careful, Chase, if you really want to get her started, she'll never shut up about it.
Max pulls the gloves off, as instructed, and sets to work on filling out the papers. There are a few pauses, because some of the questions don't really cover her entire medical history, but she fills in what she can and adds a few notes at the end, making sure to mention her past neurological condition, her feline DNA, and having recently received a heart transplant (though in a few more weeks, you'd never be able to tell).
After she's done, she takes off her jacket and removes her overshirt, waiting for him to return.
Her hands are covered with a pair of black leather gloves (it's possible that they're not real leather, but Max doesn't really care whether or not they are as long as they're thick enough to protect people from whatever she's got) and shoved into the back pockets of her jeans. Her eyes dart around nervously as she waits for him to show up.
Reply
"Max?"
There's nothing unusual looking about her at first glance, something he could have guessed from her reticence to talk about her genetic origins. If it's a secret, she can pass. However little that means in a city where your neighbour is as likely to have green skin as white, it's obviously important to her.
He stops a few feet shy of her, hands adjusting the strap of his messenger bag to stop himself doing something stupid, like holding one out to shake.
"I'm Doctor Chase. Been waiting long?"
Reply
"Yeah, that's me. And no. Only about ten minutes, but that's my own fault."
She's been let in on the fact that things like superpowers don't necessarily need to be kept a secret in this place, but she still wants it to remain one. Partially because she doesn't want to be looked at differently and partially because she's so used to keeping it hidden. And up until four months ago when she'd gotten recaptured by Manticore, it had been working out pretty well for her, so she figures why fix what's not (quite) broken?
Reply
A nod of his head indicates the offerings laid out for visitors and patients, mostly dog-eared women's glossies, but a quick flick through the nearest pile brings up something with a picture of a motorbike on the front that he raises an eyebrow at and tucks under his arm.
"I've booked you into one of the clean rooms. Seemed like the safest bet." Here the clean rooms also count as isolation rooms, though he doesn't lay that out on the table in such flat terms. Unknown viruses and wards full of sick people don't mix, whether she's been infectious to date or not. He heads towards the main flight of stairs, checking over her shoulder to see she's with him. "Come on, we'll get you settled."
Reply
She nods and follows him wordlessly, at least for the first few steps.
"What kind of tests were you gonna run?" She figures blood work, at the very least.
Reply
"Quite a few. Assuming you don't know what type of virus you've been infected with... it's like getting stuck in the haystack when you've never seen a needle before. I'm going to run a few things through the labs, see if anything spikes up as abnormal or, better than that, familiar. I'll be taking blood from you, some skin cultures should tell us if there's a risk of contact transference. None of that helps, we might need to look at a lymph biopsy," he winces, aware that none of this sounds fun, "all small procedures, I promise. What I can't promise is when you'll get a solid answer."
Reply
But she doesn't let it show, save for her back going rigid for a split second. However unpleasant it's going to be, she asked for this. And she figures that some discomfort is worth knowing for sure that she's not going to accidentally kill anyone here.
"What comes first?"
Reply
He pulls a couple of papers from his bag and hands them across to her with the bike magazine underneath. "If you could fill that in for me? It's a standard medical history. Just give me what details you can. And maybe when I get back, you can tell me what you like to ride."
It had just been a flicker of interest, but one he noticed. With an assurance that he won't be long, he leaves her alone in the room.
Reply
Max pulls the gloves off, as instructed, and sets to work on filling out the papers. There are a few pauses, because some of the questions don't really cover her entire medical history, but she fills in what she can and adds a few notes at the end, making sure to mention her past neurological condition, her feline DNA, and having recently received a heart transplant (though in a few more weeks, you'd never be able to tell).
After she's done, she takes off her jacket and removes her overshirt, waiting for him to return.
Reply
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