Characters in this post
View character profile for: London Calling
View character profile for: Sirah Mitchell
The Drop: A Dose of the Blue Pill
OOC: Joint Post between Turk and Blitzen
London couldn’t stop thinking about Chuck, but more so than the injured boy, the voice, the familiar voice that she heard clear as a bell, the one that told her to go to the Sports Lockers that night. Part of her was understandably apprehensive, Chuck definitely was left in rough shape, but not enough to stop her wanting to know what was at the root of things, to know what she could do to help, like the echo said. Sirah. She knew all sorts of things - maybe she’d have some of the answers London was looking for.
She braced herself as she reached the room, one hand on the door knob, waiting to be hit with the rush of cold air as she let herself inside. “Have you heard anything about the attack on campus?” She began.
The cold room at the very least was becoming less of a shock to her. The room had become somewhat more illuminated with the addition of a second desk lamp to Sirah's setup, this one focused on a larger textbook that London couldn't make out at this distance due to the glare off the white pages. She may not have been expecting an answer but Serah responded with her usual matter-of-fact tone, "You're going to have to be far more specific, what sort of attack? Where on campus? Additionally you have neglected to even say hello or how was your day which already does not incline me to respond to your question with a fair and honest answer since the rules of conversation have not been observed." In keeping with her icy demeanor she didn't move in her chair to address her roomie, but continued working at her desk, leaving pencil scratches in the gaps of the conversation.
London let out a slow breath and refrained from rolling her eyes. “I’m sorry, I was just worked up over the attack. The storage shed - where the sports equipment is housed was trashed, and this kid, Chuck, was hurt very bad. Also hello, and I hope that you did have a great day of studying and such.”
Sirah finally stopped her writing and pulled her chair back slightly from her desk, enough that she was able to half turn her body to her roommate. She adjusted her glasses up further on her nose and gave a look over the London, “Now according to a traditional Hippocratic oath I cannot share any patient details, however seeing as you clearly have access to the student health center per your role in the physical therapy departments it’s clear this has taken on a joint operation.”
She slid out from her chair and moved over to her bed as London realized this was the first time she had fully seen the lower half of Sirah’s body. There wasn’t anything strange about them aside from the fact that she had remained inside her room in what would almost certainly be considered work pants and a nice shirt. She crouched beside her bed and pulled out a plastic crate that she lugged with some resistance to the top of her bed, finally adding creases to what might have easily been confused for a cardboard imitation moments before. Popping it open she flicked through its contents until a small manila folder was removed in her hand. “Chuck Barry,” she started, “Junior from Missouri, brought into the local area hospital after being found by campus security in what was described by the Nurse running triage as ‘a bloody mess’. Contusions,bruising, and swelling across the entire body, multiple broken bones in the legs and lower body, and a single gash wound placed near centillimeters from his femoral artery.”
She offered the file over to London, “In short and to place it in lingua franca, he’s lucky to be alive but he’s likely going to be in a chair for the rest of his life which is likely already shortened.” Her face was stoic and icy, as if she had been reciting facts for a test rather than a grisly medical report of what London knew to be some kind of attack.
“Fuck. Do we know what happened? He kept saying the Bats, the bats -- did anyone tell security about the baseball douchebags? Do you think… this could have been them?”
Sirah scoffed slightly as she turned back to her work, “That is not a question for a medical professional that is a question for the police, of which I will remind you that I am not a member of law enforcement.” As she slid back in and turned the page of her textbook in a single motion she offered plainly, “Though if you were looking to level accusations I would not recommend doing so without actual physical proof, libel and misleading an ongoing investigation do not sit well with most employers and on top of that interfering with police work to try and play hero would just result in your own incarceration.”
“You’re probably right. You’re… right. Which means I have to find actual physical proof. But before I do -- You haven’t… there’s nothing in here you make that would cause any sort of -- hallucination, would it?”
Sirah's reaction was short but terse, "Are you accusing me of drugging you? Because I have done no such thing and gone through every effort to make this room a sanitary environment."
“No, I wouldn’t, I just remember high school woodshop, someone left the cap ajar on the paint thinner, I just wanted to know if there were any spores or anything which may cause someone to hear things that might not be there. I didn’t mean offense.” London flopped onto her bed, picking up the softball on the nightstand to toss in the air while they spoke.
"Well then, as I've explained that's impossible and any hallucinations are likely due to some other event or incident," she glanced toward London, "perhaps even a ball hitting your head?"
“Sports clubs mostly haven’t started yet, but thanks.” London replied. “Something weird is going on. First the sports lockers, I know I heard someone there, then in the room with Chuck, and later, I’ll figure out what it is.”
“Sure you will….” Sirah added snidely, clearly intent on the evening remaining a quiet night of studying and work.