Carlisle looks only slightly more formally dressed than he usually does, today - he was presenting a patient who had crashed his motorcycle west of First Beach who had complications that were 'academically intriguing
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The door opened from Fork's High School. A bathroom break in the middle of Spanish to be precise. Not that there's a necessity for utilities, but sometimes he still needed to get away from the noise and constant flow of images directed at him. Them.
He'd meant to head out. Across the field. A break.
He doesn't have to look. He's halfway to the bar (another facade he's falling back into doing without thinking; remembering to be) when the words tumble through him. He doesn't look. He doesn't have to. His fingers settled on the bar. Disjointing whatever his order was going to be. Water or soda or coffee or wine or any number refuses. An action that would give him away.
Finally, his mouth opened --
-- but a bag appeared. Again. He stared at it, verging on an expulsion and several other reactions. He'd chosen against it. He knew where it should be at this second. This bag. This very bag. Down to the hairline tear in one crease
( ... )
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He'd meant to head out. Across the field. A break.
The End of the Universe...worked. He supposed.
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From his post by the Window:
I should check in and see if I'm needed in the infirmary here. They've probably written me off as a lost cause by now...
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Finally, his mouth opened --
-- but a bag appeared. Again. He stared at it, verging on an expulsion and several other reactions. He'd chosen against it. He knew where it should be at this second. This bag. This very bag. Down to the hairline tear in one crease ( ... )
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It's a tone of surprise. He usually notices when his family come through the door.
Would you actually offer to pay me for mine?
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Sure you don't want the link?
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