[gathering] official opening of the operating room
It's taken months to pull this all together, but a part of me can't help but think it shouldn't have taken years to so much as start. I've spent most of my spare time working on the operating room this past while, ducking in to tinker with bits of machinery and conduct tests in between classes and my work with the Council, hoping all the while that we'd never have cause to use any of it, though knowing that wouldn't be the case. Standing in the doorway, now, as I prepare to step outside, and officially declare this place -- heh -- operational, I wonder how long it'll be before I find myself strapped to the table inside these doors. After all, knowing my life -- even here, of all places -- it's likely a matter of when, not if. It's a sobering thought, and with the fresh news of Tony's deteriorating health weighing on my conscious, one that's hard to just ignore.
Still, shaking my head to clear my mind, I try my best to suppress the tell-tale nausea that goes hand in hand with my speaking in public. As I head out into the small gathering, I start looking for faces more familiar than others in an effort to keep calm, focused. Absently, I fidget with my tie. It's been months since I was elected, but this part, the bread and butter of politicians everywhere -- and how weird is it still that I am, inexplicably, a politician -- will never be easy. Even with the mask of Spider-Man to hide behind, these aren't the sort of speeches I'm known for.
"Good afternoon," I start, forcing my hands down to my sides when I can almost hear Aunt May's voice chiding me for looking so gosh darned uncomfortable. "Cutting a ribbon seemed sorta arbitrary to me, but given all the blood, sweat, and tears we've all put into this place, I figured that sort of effort at least called for some finger sandwiches and fruit juice." I continue after a beat, one corner of my mouth hitching upwards in a halfhearted smile. "Which, let's face it, is probably the only reason most of you are here, but I won't hold that against you. They're good sandwiches. My fiancée helped me make them this morning, and I'm... getting off topic, sorry.
"As some of you may be aware, I first envisioned this project shortly after I spent two months living in the clinic, following an incident that nearly saw the end of my life, and took the life of a woman named Major Kendra Shaw. Some of you may have known her, and though I wish to this day that I could say the same, what little I've learned about her has, unfortunately, been gleaned posthumously. What I do know, though, is that though she deserved better than the hand she was given, she died fighting, a hero, and there is no one whose memory I want to honor more than hers in opening the operating room doors. May our efforts be enough to prevent the needless death of others."
For a moment I don't know what to do with myself -- even had the O.R. existed at the time, it wouldn't have changed anything, not for her, because the only thing that could've made a difference would've been another choice on my part -- and I quickly search for Mary Jane, her presence alone the one thing able to get me through the last of the formalities.
"Thank you all for your time and your intellect. This would, quite honestly, not have been possible without your considerable expertise and patience. Before I leave you to hobnob, though, I would just like to take the opportunity to make one more announcement. Part of my campaign platform was to promote the development of new ideas and interest in scientific research, and in late September, details forthcoming, I plan to host a science exhibition to showcase the work of this Island's finest minds. I challenge you all to bring out your best work, and raise awareness that folks may be better off on this Island than they even realize, and maybe recruit a few more helping hands in the process." A pause, then, "And I'll, uh, stop talking now. Thanks. Again."
I duck away after another few seconds, eager to step out of the spotlight, and hoping that my appetite survived the ordeal. I'm not counting on it.
This is a gathering post open to the whole island, though people who worked on the project are especially welcome to tag in. There are, as mentioned, sandwiches and juice enough for everyone in attendance. The post is timed to late afternoon.
Still, shaking my head to clear my mind, I try my best to suppress the tell-tale nausea that goes hand in hand with my speaking in public. As I head out into the small gathering, I start looking for faces more familiar than others in an effort to keep calm, focused. Absently, I fidget with my tie. It's been months since I was elected, but this part, the bread and butter of politicians everywhere -- and how weird is it still that I am, inexplicably, a politician -- will never be easy. Even with the mask of Spider-Man to hide behind, these aren't the sort of speeches I'm known for.
"Good afternoon," I start, forcing my hands down to my sides when I can almost hear Aunt May's voice chiding me for looking so gosh darned uncomfortable. "Cutting a ribbon seemed sorta arbitrary to me, but given all the blood, sweat, and tears we've all put into this place, I figured that sort of effort at least called for some finger sandwiches and fruit juice." I continue after a beat, one corner of my mouth hitching upwards in a halfhearted smile. "Which, let's face it, is probably the only reason most of you are here, but I won't hold that against you. They're good sandwiches. My fiancée helped me make them this morning, and I'm... getting off topic, sorry.
"As some of you may be aware, I first envisioned this project shortly after I spent two months living in the clinic, following an incident that nearly saw the end of my life, and took the life of a woman named Major Kendra Shaw. Some of you may have known her, and though I wish to this day that I could say the same, what little I've learned about her has, unfortunately, been gleaned posthumously. What I do know, though, is that though she deserved better than the hand she was given, she died fighting, a hero, and there is no one whose memory I want to honor more than hers in opening the operating room doors. May our efforts be enough to prevent the needless death of others."
For a moment I don't know what to do with myself -- even had the O.R. existed at the time, it wouldn't have changed anything, not for her, because the only thing that could've made a difference would've been another choice on my part -- and I quickly search for Mary Jane, her presence alone the one thing able to get me through the last of the formalities.
"Thank you all for your time and your intellect. This would, quite honestly, not have been possible without your considerable expertise and patience. Before I leave you to hobnob, though, I would just like to take the opportunity to make one more announcement. Part of my campaign platform was to promote the development of new ideas and interest in scientific research, and in late September, details forthcoming, I plan to host a science exhibition to showcase the work of this Island's finest minds. I challenge you all to bring out your best work, and raise awareness that folks may be better off on this Island than they even realize, and maybe recruit a few more helping hands in the process." A pause, then, "And I'll, uh, stop talking now. Thanks. Again."
I duck away after another few seconds, eager to step out of the spotlight, and hoping that my appetite survived the ordeal. I'm not counting on it.
This is a gathering post open to the whole island, though people who worked on the project are especially welcome to tag in. There are, as mentioned, sandwiches and juice enough for everyone in attendance. The post is timed to late afternoon.