Fall of the Titans - St. Catherine Memorial Hospital [IC]
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Extreme =&gt; Extreme Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: GloomCookie on 21-09-2010, 15:42:28</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Fall of the Titans - St. Catherine Memorial Hospital [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>GloomCookie</strong> on <strong>21-09-2010, 15:42:28</strong>
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				<span style="font-size: 14pt;" class="bbc_size"><strong>St. Catherine Memorial Hospital<br>00:54 21 July 2079</strong></span><br><span style="font-size: 12pt;" class="bbc_size">The morning of July 21 was overcast, a storm front moving in overnight from the Pacific.&nbsp; The doctors at SCMH were primarily there tending to emergency cases that came in overnight, diverting non-critical patients to waiting areas and triage.&nbsp; The building was old but still functional, having been remodeled almost 10 years ago and in severe need of another one.&nbsp; People sat around waiting to be seen, in various stages of pain and suffering.&nbsp; Charity hospitals were always full, even when they closed, trying to give people a symbolic gesture of care and compassion.<br><br>Dr. George Ramsey walked from emergency room number 3, having just stitched up a woman who'd slit her wrist on a knife in her kitchen.&nbsp; He had his clipboard and white coat, thankful they'd done away with those damned scrubs.&nbsp; They'd gone back to the more traditional role of letting doctors wear what they damn well pleased, which was mostly white shirts and black pants with a tie.&nbsp; He handed the file to a nurse to be logged, then picked up his next case, adjusting his rimless glasses to read it better.&nbsp; He was a tall man, standing about 6'4", with short black hair and deep grey eyes.<br><br>He read the brief description and then glanced at the nurse, before heading to find the person in question, Patricia Gables.&nbsp; He called her name and she stood, following after him to the exam room.&nbsp; He walked in, allowed her to enter, and locked the door.&nbsp; "Miss Gables.&nbsp; Says here you think you might be a super."<br><br>Patricia nervously nodded.&nbsp; She was a short woman who looked to be about 18, with long black hair.&nbsp; Dr. Ramsey said, "You know that by revealing this to me, I have to detain you after your treatment.&nbsp; Are you sure you want to do this?"&nbsp; Doctor/patient confidentiality didn't exist with the government, and if he tried to hide the fact she was a super, he'd be sent away for a long time.&nbsp; Better to get this out of the way now.<br><br>"I know, Doctor, but... well look," she said, lifting her shirt.&nbsp; She wore no bra, and her breasts bounced into view.&nbsp; Dr. Ramsey took a look at the woman, then stood up and went to the phone, dialing a number and saying, "Get me Dr. Vernon.&nbsp; Yes I know what time it is, but do it."<br><br>Patricia sat there in scared silence as Dr. Ramsey spoke to his colleague, before hanging up and saying, "Miss Gables, I'm afraid you have a type of cancer that affects only supers.&nbsp; It's a... genetic disposition from obtaining powers.&nbsp; We can't treat you here, and I have to turn you over to SPECTRE."<br><br>Patricia stared at him in shock, then began to cry.&nbsp; When she cried, her tears fell and formed ice once they left her cheeks, clinking onto the floor.&nbsp; It was moments like these that made Dr. Ramsey hate being a doctor.</span>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Fall of the Titans - St. Catherine Memorial Hospital [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Archivist</strong> on <strong>23-09-2010, 01:58:38</strong>
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				Dressed in black slacks, a grey colored shirt carelessly unbuttoned along the top three buttons to show off a white undershirt over a handsome chest and boots sticking out from under the cuffs, Tori looked every inch the consumate playboy. It was a look he had worked had to perfect because people tended to stare at playboys without seeing them. It also helped him wear sunglasses even indoors, serving to hide his eyes and make later description to the police difficult. "Tall, hot and wearing sunglasses" had an amazing effect on the blood pressure of whatever sketch artist had been called in for that particular instance. He almost thought he should have been getting paid by the pharmacies for all the prescriptions doctors had written. A black cuff around his left wrist, devoid of a watch face, had only an infinity symbol on the underside of it. Blond hair was spiked and pulled back with what had to be enough gel to drown any three small lizards.<br><br>He walked down the hallway idly, running his hand along the wall in no particular pattern, his fingers brushing over doorknobs and pictures. "When the moon hits your eye, like a big pizza pie, that's <em>amore</em>.." The old Dean Martin song lyrics were barely said, a quiet patter running through his head to help drown out the numbers that insisted on crowding in. Odds of avoiding a police patrol making the rounds through the hospital: 1 in 350. Odds of the janitor spilling his water down the hall opposite oneself: 1 in 50. Odds of the next door being open: 1 in 2. Math and probability streamed through his head unbidden and unorganized, each one begging to be altered, shifted, manipulated. They screamed at him, but Tori shut them out and focused on finding what he wanted. It was a little routine of his that once a month, he made his way somewhere and hunted out a person who needed his help. Penance, like his Catholic mother had taught him, for the sins he committed in his pursuit of justice.<br><br>"When you dance down the street, with a cloud on your feet, that's <em>amore</em>..." He rounded another corner, fingers still trailing over the doorknobs. Without warning, one gave under his hand and he stumbled left, barely catching his balance on the table just inside the door. Tori looked up, his eyes searching out the others in the room; a crying woman and a doctor, looking none-to-happy himself. "I'm sorry," he deadpanned, straightening himself and rubbings his palms on his pants, "but did I come at a bad time?"
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