[hr][hr][center][h1][color=ff6600]Chloe "Tuesday" Ridgeway[/color][/h1][img]http://37.media.tumblr.com/c52d6b9ae02d88293c8dbd47911bdd67/tumblr_n2swtgQuHI1tq4of6o1_500.gif[/img][hr]Location: Club AfterDark[/center][hr][hr]Tuesday chuckled slightly, taking his comments in stride. The shaved head look probably wasn't for her--and it would be a pain in the ass to keep up. She grimaced slightly though, her mind moving back towards her earlier decision. If she was going to go back into medical school, she'd need a damn good reason for them to overlook her criminal history...She shuddered a bit just thinking about it. [i]Rehab.[/i]

[color=ff6600]"Definitely the nohawk,"[/color] Tuesday commented, her voice a bit distant, as she focused on the road beginning to shape in front of her. The drug trade wasn't one to be in forever. But did she [i]really[/i] want to go into surgery? An idea was beginning to take shape. She'd be able to get into school if she went clean, she figured. No university was going to turn away money at the end of the day. But, at the same time, no hospital would hire a former addict--that was bad for business. It'd only bring on lawsuits. 

Maybe a private practice. Something under the table. Lots of idiots got themselves fucked up, and hospitals came with a certain [i]legal presence.[/i] Perhaps she'd offer her services to the criminals of [s]Gotham[/s] Justice. They'd pay better than hospital wages in the end, she figured, and there wouldn't be any messing around with insurance policies. 

[color=ff6600]"I'm thinking about switching careers,"[/color] Tuesday admitted, glancing at Ronnie. [color=ff6600]"Underground medical practice, maybe. Only thing is, that means school..."[/color] She let her words drift off. Ronnie, she figured, was smart enough to take her meaning. It would be hell, yes--a hell she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to go through just yet. 

But damn it, she was getting [i]bored[/i] smuggling drugs around the city. 
[hr][hr][center][h1][color=#00ccff]Cecily Ashworth[/color][/h1][img]https://media.giphy.com/media/12hlWzXxgkY2sg/giphy.gif[/img][hr]Location: Queensguard Private Airfield[/center][hr][hr]Caesar mentioning Alicia's name didn't help--but at the same time, it didn't seem to hurt. Cecily dashed with him inside of the small office, glancing around to try to get her bearings. She had met Alicia once--once, while Alicia was live. Chatting with the woman's corpse didn't tend to count as a social encounter. Her hands were shaking, but she then spotted something peculiar. 

[color=00ccff]"Iris?"[/color] Cecily asked, her voice hardly a whisper. One hand putting pressure on her wound, the other grabbed the card delicately from the photographs. Dr. Kingston wasn't exactly a common title--especially since Cecily recognized the address. She had helped her third cousin move in there. What the bloody hell was the girl doing mixed up in all of this? Frowning a bit, Cecily quickly put the card in her bag, grabbing a few of the photographs as well, figuring that Caesar would want them, and it'd be difficult to carry them all at once. 

Her knees feeling weak, Cecily let herself sit down in Alicia's chair for a moment, silent tears pooling down her cheek as she heard the gunfire pummeling the office. It looked like a dead-end. All they could hope for was for them to run out of ammunition, and to top it all, there was a draft....

[color=00ccff]"No fucking way,"[/color] Cecily murmured, her intellectual curiosity rising enough to override her focus on the pain of the bullet wound. She looked down, watching as her droplets of blood, rather than pooling, were dripping through in a line. It reminded her of the scene in [i]Elementary,[/i] where Sherlock discovered a safe room by rolling a marble. There [i]was[/i] another way out. Scanning the immediate area, she ran her hand on the surfaces, looking for anything...

And then she found a latch. 

[color=00ccff]"Caesar!"[/color] Cecily whispered intensely. She didn't dare voice exactly that there was a trap door to escape from, just in case the firing squad outside heard. They would come in eventually, but undoing the latch, Cecily unearthed a hidden staircase. It'd be difficult with her shoulder the way it was, but it was their best chance. Holding on tightly to the bandana, as to keep pressure on it, Cecily glanced at Caesar for the okay, and once she got it, she'd begin her descent.
[hr][hr][center][h1][color=#99ccff]Iris Kingston[/color][/h1][img]http://67.media.tumblr.com/369c373ccd5492086fe09c131190330d/tumblr_o1l0wsNgEX1s5zf6fo1_500.gif[/img][hr]Location: [s]Arkham Asylum[/s] Justice Asylum For The Criminally Insane: the Ludwig Building[/center][hr][hr]Having been hired at the Asylum less than a year ago, the corruption and abuse had not yet broken Iris. She continued to walk with a skip in her step, to the extent that one orderly once asked her if he could borrow some of her pot. But drugs were not Iris' secret. Her talent stemmed from a desire to help the less fortunate, as well as a fascination with the inner workings of the mind. Of course, it helped that she had strawberry sorbet set aside for lunch. 

[color=99ccff]"[i]Merci beaucoup[/i], I've got it,"[/color] Iris replied, her British accent light and airy. She made a policy of never looking down at her patients, always ensuring that she stared at them directly in the eye. It had been the way she was raised. You looked directly at people if you wanted them to respect you--to get respect, you showed respect. She tucked her hair behind her ear, just as Cynthia straightened her own. 

[color=99ccff]"Well, rather than relying on some silly old file, do you like sorbet? I have some scrumptious strawberry sorbet, if you'd like some?"[/color] Iris asked. The file could be read later, but she shied away from getting biased first impressions of her patients. There was enough corruption in the Asylum that half of what they wrote in those files could just be out of spite. 

Leading Cynthia out of the common area, Iris directed her towards her personal work area, a cozy office concealed behind a door whose plaque read "DR. IRIS KINGSTON." She opened the door for her newest patient, allowing Cynthia to enter before herself. Like most psychiatrists, Iris' workplace was complete with rugs and couches, but she also had a variety of board games and toys in a corner. Each woman who went through the Ludwig house was different. Some of them just needed a space to talk, while others found peace through crafting, or just playing games. On the desk, there was also a photograph of her brother and her, alongside a notepad, some pens, and some colored pencils. 

[color=99ccff]"Oh, and please call me Iris,"[/color] Iris added. [color=99ccff]"Some people here like to call me Ize instead, if you like that better. And what would you like me to call you?"[/color]