[h1][img]http://i1383.photobucket.com/albums/ah281/Q-C0ntinuum/Ryver%20et%20Rhine%20Dear%20Karma_zpsbdu2hcau.jpg?t=1445077114[/img] Ryver et Rhine (Dear Karma)[/h1]
[h2]Callie Wright[/h2]
"How rude! It’s almost like you... Argh, never mind! I doubt you’d understand.” Callie puffed up her cheeks then let off a huge sigh, as she fell into the empty space on the bench beside Max. She twiddled her thumbs, eyeing the man suspiciously. Somehow she had the oddest feeling that he deliberately switched to that strange “gibber-jabber” Russian passengers used. Often, if they spoke any English at all, it would be so heavily accented that she’d be struggling to understand them. A huge turn-off, really. “You know, it’ll be hilarious, if you were actually talking to an automated voice recording system at the moment.” She shrugged. “Buuut foreign languages sound so fast anyway, so I can’t judge.”

Cal ran her fingers through her thick, tangled hair that desperately needed some Daddy-O conditioner. Think Cal, think, she coaxed herself mentally. There had to be better alternatives then looking up and calling out to Daniel, who was hovering nearby. Doing that might aggravate the situation, since the guy appeared rather jittery as it was. Frustrated, she kicked dumbly, dragging her shoes against the warm, paved ground. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw her assigned target dropping something. Cal held her breath waiting for him to notice, but he continued talking absentmindedly. She waited a few more seconds then leaned forward and picked it up.

“Dr. Larry Bher – Migraine Specialist,” Callie read loudly and dramatically, stretching every second syllable in an exaggerated manner, as some tended to do when faced with a non-English speaker. Again the man beside her seemed remarkably good at pretending not to hear or notice her. By now, it was obvious that he was avoiding her at all costs, which sucked. She rolled her eyes and leaned back. The woman stared at a passing cloud, when something about that card came to mind. She ran a finger down the edge, as her eyes focused on the name then the supposed specialization. “Migraine? Isn’t that like some sort of headache?” She mused. “I know people say it is god awful, but I think Dr. Wilson is very capable. He has to be with so many people relying on him.”

It never once occurred to the bubbly blonde that perhaps Dr. Wilson might not even be a medical doctor. A doctor, in her opinion, was always a man or woman in a white coat, who loved diagnosing you with some unpronounceable disease that inflates the medical bill. Most of which (ironically) were curable with aspirin or antibiotics. Dr. Wilson seemed to be much more decent than that. At least, based on the little she heard while gossiping with the kitchen crew in the morning. Hence, it was only through utter blind faith (and the absence of contradicting evidence), that Cal was able to say this next bit with a very straight face. “I’d definitely recommend him for anyone in need to get their head fixed.”