like a light lit upon a beach // wear your heart on your sleevetreadingdawnJune 7 2009, 04:23:12 UTC
It's Monday morning and the sky stretching across the beach remains a shade of blue that hasn't completely chased off the lavender that clings to the tail end of dawn. It's before 'clinic hours' he believes, that was important to consider, right? He sort of remembers this detail being important to Chase too. Just as pushing off surfing from Saturday to Sunday (due to bloodletting on the streets), then from Sunday to Monday (due to a friend's birthday celebration rescheduled over bloodletting), was important to Caspian. He is on time but he knows not what to look for beyond a man who shares a face with Narnia's High King. That can't be too hard, Peter is away doing other things and Ishiah is...unnaturally tall. To this day he still doesn't know what being a peri actually means
( ... )
like a light lit upon a beach // wear your heart on your sleeveworksmartJune 7 2009, 05:05:46 UTC
Chase is used to being up with the birds, more usually to beat the solid jams of Princeton in the rush hour than to catch the day's first waves. The city doesn't publish anything so useful as a tide schedule, so this morning's conditions are a piecework of guesses and blind luck. As he reaches the crest of the dunes that lead down onto level sand he stops to check the breakers. A gentle offshore wind strokes the waves into curves crashing swift enough to be worth the effort, but not too wild to risk a beginner on the water
( ... )
like a light lit upon a beach // wear your heart on your sleevetreadingdawnJune 7 2009, 05:38:14 UTC
Well he is only so lucky the Pevensie household never has and never will own that thing called a television. It's bad enough to have to learn out of necessity the ways of that network thing, who would ever want to introduce moving pictures? Really, Chase should be thankful. House on the other hand...the potential world shattering is almost worth it. Almost.
Anyway, there is one advantage to being too dark and that's not having to slather on the funny sun lotion stuff, although Caspian still knows nothing of that too.
"Hello," he calls out to Chase as he stands, "doctor." Doctor Chase sounds a bit formal for this setting, but Robert sounds near personal. They do call teachers doctors too, so he defaults to this until told otherwise
( ... )
like a light lit upon a beach // wear your heart on your sleeveworksmartJune 7 2009, 06:19:59 UTC
Darker skin doesn't absolve Caspian of susceptibility to cancer-causing UV rays. Sun lotion use is near enough religious in Australia, and despite his relatively pasty New Jersey complexion, Chase hasn't kicked the habit. It's okay, all part of the lesson. Aware enough by now that his pupil for the day redefines the word rookie, the doctor has come prepared to a boy-scout degree
( ... )
pretty pills in a bottle; relief is in my handsworksmartJune 9 2009, 00:16:15 UTC
Chase still hasn't quite gotten over the idea of House running his own clinic, although for the amount of times he's actually found his boss occupying an exam room for any practical purpose he suspects it might all be an elaborate way for the bastard to give himself time off. Everyone says House has been there longer than any of them; how he coped without minions doing the grunt work for him is and will likely remain a mystery
( ... )
pretty pills in a bottle; relief is in my handsworksmartJune 9 2009, 01:21:30 UTC
Angela isn't getting Chase's most impressed look just now, but neither is he completely unsympathetic. Sleeping off an illness can be tempting, provided you're reasonably assured about waking up. "Lets take a minute to check you over before I go ahead and induce a coma, alright? Stuffy nose, sore throat? When did you start feeling sick?"
As she draws her hair back he can see the sweat sheen on fever flushed skin. The city seems to be having an odd streak of feverish illnesses, with no specific one looking enough like the next to set a pattern, but he can tell from a distance this is more than a nasty cold. With one hand settled gently on her shoulder, he clicks the end of his pen flashlight and shines it briefly across both pupils, checking for response.
"No notable light sensitivity." he remarks, more for his own benefit than hers. Two fingers of each hand are held out, pressed together like a kid playing cowboys at a shoot-em-up. "Can you make fists around my fingers and squeeze for me?"
Too much like a bad dream/another memory lashes outcal_sitterJuly 5 2009, 06:40:00 UTC
A good sixteen hours pass between the time Rafferty compels Niko to sleep and the lightening of that slumber. It's been proper sleep, unmarred by bad dreams or other disturbances. With the effects of the healer's command fading, however, Niko becomes restless. One of any number of nightmares is manifesting. Niko is a quiet sleeper, and so the primary sign that he's dreaming at all is the grasping of empty fingers at the mattress beneath. Muscle memory tells him a knife should be at hand
( ... )
Too much like a bad dream/another memory lashes outworksmartJuly 6 2009, 16:09:14 UTC
Chase uses the breaks between clinic work and his hospital duties to take rounds of some of the wards there. It's become habit, partly to keep up with patients who only briefly passed through his care, and in part an extension of House's innate distrust in nurses being capable of anything more than taking temperatures and handing out pills. He's walked the floor in the ICU and the hospital's underbooked cardiovascular unit, with Niko's ward the last stopping point on his list. Most of the last month's critical cases have been cleared up and kicked out, but there are a few lingering patients taking up beds while they see out the final flushes of fever, or build their strength back up.
File unhooked from the wall outside, he leans in the doorframe and watches the boy in the bed squirm for a few moments before moving to flick off the light directly above his bed.
"What were you looking for?" he questions softly, referring to the motions made while still on the cusp of sleep, a frantic, fruitless search.
Too much like a bad dream/another memory lashes outcal_sitterJuly 6 2009, 19:33:38 UTC
"Hmm?" The response is given in the sleep-thickened voice of the truly groggy. Niko drops his hand from his eyes and squints at the silhouette in the doorway. Not a nurse, not Robin, most definitely not Promise.
Chase, he realizes as he belatedly recognizes the voice. For a moment, he contemplates sitting up, but in the next moment it seems like too much effort, and he remains where he is.
Too much like a bad dream/another memory lashes outworksmartJuly 6 2009, 20:06:40 UTC
"Still worried about my patient load? I'm touched." Heading over to the bed, Chase makes sure the call button is hanging within quick reach, even if Niko only needs to be pulled from a nightmare. The room lacks the accessories given to the truly at risk - no oxygen monitor, no tubes or feeds or other blinking lights to take check readings on. To a doctor it's a reassuring sign. To the patient still stuck in the hospital, it's likely the set up isn't first in their thoughts.
He opens the file and skim reads the chart inside by the remaining half-light. By now he's used to seeing sign offs by unregistered doctors, 'healers' and people with a nifty gift for using white light. He doesn't like, understand or particularly respect it, but he's used to it.
Niko's had visitors, and that's been marked in on his chart, too. "I'd have expected to find you raring to go by now." He tugs a chair closer to the bed, leaning on the back of it rather than sitting down. "Looks like you've had some sleep at least."
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindtreadingdawnSeptember 5 2009, 08:05:58 UTC
A day of endless night isn't new to this place called the City. A day of endless night under a full moon isn't very peculiar for this world either. What is strange is the amount of animals turning on their stewards and as rumor has it people trading bodies with other. It's not the most outrageous sort of thing to happen here but it is stranger than usual. Too bad Caspian X has missed most of this by spending his time away from the network, away from his loyal steed the destrier named Destrier who, by the way, isn't under the influence of silver light. A little time to himself doesn't hurt anyone. Furthermore a little time to himself makes his current whereabouts unpredictable...he can attack from any corner. Only last night did he make an ambiguous promise (or threat) to Peter Pevensie, and Caspian is a man of his word. He intends to make good on that promise, whether the blond sees it coming or not. Preferably the latter because doesn't everyone like surprises
( ... )
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindworksmartSeptember 5 2009, 09:46:15 UTC
As usual on a curse day, the clinic has been busier than normal. Feeding into the ER and a revolving selection of prepped operating rooms, Chase has spent his shift stemming a bloody tide, the results of living with a werewolf or waking up to find a loyal dog turned hellhound. The last case before a well earned break saw him sending the victim of a kitten mauling in for surgical repair.
This is why he won't let his roommate have a pet.
Still, that's all usual within the routine of the place. For Chase, the part proving strangest, or at least most annoying, is the way the half-light seems to be screwing with everyone's coordination. He can't count the number of times he's been knocked into just crossing the square, at one point being slammed several paces to the side without warning. With talk of feral beasts on the prowl the City's occupants have decided to live by the old adage of safety in numbers, clustering together in its central thoroughfare. It could be that the theory works, or merely that the wild things would always choose
( ... )
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindtreadingdawnSeptember 5 2009, 17:58:40 UTC
That's good, because Caspian doesn't really find much enjoyment in a hunt that involves prey with a gimpy leg. Where's the challenge in that? Of course disadvantages hardly occur to his mind. Peter Pevensie was in typically very good health the last time he saw him, so why should now be any different. It's preferred that he be in better than average condition tonight too as excuses like I'm tired or I have a headache are completely unacceptable...but understandable when genuine. Fff. Well again, an unsuspecting Caspian X is unsuspecting, and probably just as unsuspecting as one Robert Chase now gained several inches due to a mysterious change. Several inches in height, in height, thank you. However that doesn't make him any more alert and Caspian has long since learned the ways of ambushing a High King. It was how they met in the woods, swords clashing. Sometimes it is fun to let history repeat itself
( ... )
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindworksmartSeptember 5 2009, 20:15:01 UTC
Chase has quite a few words to say, if he can only find them within the sudden swirling abyss of panic sucking in all sentient thought. That cry as he was dragged into the alley reverberated off the narrow walls with a timbre he's unused to, largely because he tries not to make a habit of yelping like a girl. Had he pulled a full sentence from some far reaches of coherency he might now know that his words were pitched a little deeper, the accent of his upbringing fighting with a larynx unused to tilting the end of every sentence upwards. There aren't any words, though. To begin with there aren't even thoughts, other than the sudden clear knowledge that he's about to be mauled by a ravening beast
( ... )
→ ACTION [somewhere in the system there's an open-ended list]ifyoucanholdonSeptember 7 2009, 02:06:58 UTC
Peter does not hug many people and he does not do it terribly often either. Neither of these truths do anything to help his current position of embracing Robert Chase, because the situation has been made three times--at least--as awkward as it might have been, by the fact that the good (debatable, we know) doctor wears Peter Pevensie's form--and not the mostly identical one either. The only consolation for the embrace having to happen at all is the idea of having his own body back, and the feeling--he has to believe--is quite mutual. Arms around his own torso, it is, suffice to say, extremely bizarre and he tries very hard not to think about it too much, lest he risk turning his head inside out literally during this transformation. A better word might be 'exchange' but really Peter has no honest idea.
somewhere in the system there's an open-ended listoshutupSeptember 7 2009, 02:08:48 UTC
Moments pass and he wonders if he's supposed to just know when the change completes itself, similarly to the way one just knows he's made a mistake but is too proud to own up, or the way one just knows that things can't possibly get any worse. Eyes having remained open, they've done nothing for his observation and he probably blinked enough to warrant his eyes closed for brief times, it takes him a little longer than it should to notice he has gained inches on the other man
( ... )
somewhere in the system there's an open-ended listworksmartSeptember 7 2009, 02:46:55 UTC
As a general rule Chase doesn't hug anybody unless they're a dying preteen or it's post-coital (and no, those two situations never coincide). Hugging other blokes happens after particularly successful football games, with the bolstering of a few pints inside him, and then it's more of a comradely shoulder-clap than this full on embrace he's found himself engaging in with his own body. He'd rather not see, but his eyes stay wide because it might come across as romantic otherwise. God knows he's had enough Narnian attempts at that this weekend.
He doesn't notice the change so much by the loss of those inches in height he'd sooner not admit to, but by the feel of what he's wearing suddenly heavier on him and less loose fitting, and of course the nagging tug in the back of his leg. He could have done without that returning to it's rightful owner, perhaps, but he'll take it with the rest of the package.
somewhere in the system there's an open-ended listworksmartSeptember 7 2009, 02:47:53 UTC
Stepping away with not much more than a tilt of his head to acknowledge gratitude, he smooths out his clothes, as if the adjusting of them might also make him more comfortable in his own skin.
That glance his way is caught, and Chase does his best not to read too much into it, still in the dark as to what Peter has been told and how exactly the news went over. Sometimes the truth of the fault holds little bearing on the resulting apportioning of blame, and he can't protest any innocence in the matter without talking about something he's silently resolved to never. ever. bring up again. It's just not one of those cosy nostalgic moments he's any care to revisit.
He does, however, appear to be walking the same way as Pevensie the elder. Purely coincidental, and probably temporary until their paths fork. He casts his own glance across (perhaps up) at the boy who sometimes wears his face, the concern likely far more readable in willfully expressive features.
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Anyway, there is one advantage to being too dark and that's not having to slather on the funny sun lotion stuff, although Caspian still knows nothing of that too.
"Hello," he calls out to Chase as he stands, "doctor." Doctor Chase sounds a bit formal for this setting, but Robert sounds near personal. They do call teachers doctors too, so he defaults to this until told otherwise ( ... )
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As she draws her hair back he can see the sweat sheen on fever flushed skin. The city seems to be having an odd streak of feverish illnesses, with no specific one looking enough like the next to set a pattern, but he can tell from a distance this is more than a nasty cold. With one hand settled gently on her shoulder, he clicks the end of his pen flashlight and shines it briefly across both pupils, checking for response.
"No notable light sensitivity." he remarks, more for his own benefit than hers. Two fingers of each hand are held out, pressed together like a kid playing cowboys at a shoot-em-up. "Can you make fists around my fingers and squeeze for me?"
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File unhooked from the wall outside, he leans in the doorframe and watches the boy in the bed squirm for a few moments before moving to flick off the light directly above his bed.
"What were you looking for?" he questions softly, referring to the motions made while still on the cusp of sleep, a frantic, fruitless search.
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Chase, he realizes as he belatedly recognizes the voice. For a moment, he contemplates sitting up, but in the next moment it seems like too much effort, and he remains where he is.
"Finished in the waiting room already?"
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He opens the file and skim reads the chart inside by the remaining half-light. By now he's used to seeing sign offs by unregistered doctors, 'healers' and people with a nifty gift for using white light. He doesn't like, understand or particularly respect it, but he's used to it.
Niko's had visitors, and that's been marked in on his chart, too. "I'd have expected to find you raring to go by now." He tugs a chair closer to the bed, leaning on the back of it rather than sitting down. "Looks like you've had some sleep at least."
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This is why he won't let his roommate have a pet.
Still, that's all usual within the routine of the place. For Chase, the part proving strangest, or at least most annoying, is the way the half-light seems to be screwing with everyone's coordination. He can't count the number of times he's been knocked into just crossing the square, at one point being slammed several paces to the side without warning. With talk of feral beasts on the prowl the City's occupants have decided to live by the old adage of safety in numbers, clustering together in its central thoroughfare. It could be that the theory works, or merely that the wild things would always choose ( ... )
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He doesn't notice the change so much by the loss of those inches in height he'd sooner not admit to, but by the feel of what he's wearing suddenly heavier on him and less loose fitting, and of course the nagging tug in the back of his leg. He could have done without that returning to it's rightful owner, perhaps, but he'll take it with the rest of the package.
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That glance his way is caught, and Chase does his best not to read too much into it, still in the dark as to what Peter has been told and how exactly the news went over. Sometimes the truth of the fault holds little bearing on the resulting apportioning of blame, and he can't protest any innocence in the matter without talking about something he's silently resolved to never. ever. bring up again. It's just not one of those cosy nostalgic moments he's any care to revisit.
He does, however, appear to be walking the same way as Pevensie the elder. Purely coincidental, and probably temporary until their paths fork. He casts his own glance across (perhaps up) at the boy who sometimes wears his face, the concern likely far more readable in willfully expressive features.
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