Thank you :3 I can make one for you if you want!
And no problem. I have a few short things to do first, but I'm looking forward to your post c:
mmidnight Member
Mhm.
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Yikes, pneumonia is no joke D; Best wishes to your daughter. I can't speak for everyone else, but I'm fine with still having you.
A twelve hour shift in the ER could be brutal for any doctor, but for Ryan Ashton, it was every day. Often, the work was gratifying, and making a difference in the lives of other made up for all of the ridiculous hours and sometimes uncomfortable situations. It was a mostly thankless job, filled with grumpy patients who were in pain, and their families who always thought they knew better, but Ryan truly loved the work. He was the type of person who thrived in a high pressure environment and the majority of his residency had been handling traumas straight off of ambulances and tending to crashing patients on gurneys. Now, as the attending physician, his life was more about paper work, supervising and seeing people only after they had been dealt with by nurses and subordinates.
Truthfully, it got a little boring.
“Doctor,” said a blonde nurse, dressed in pale blue scrubs, “we've got room seven's x-rays back if you want to take a look.”
The dark-haired man looked up from scrawling his name on a form and slid a chart back into its appropriate spot behind the nurses station before putting his hand out for the x-rays. Ryan held the films up to the light and immediately spotted a clean break in the forearm. “Get him in a cast up to the elbow, I'll write a script for painkillers and be in to talk to him as soon as I can,” he said, before handing the films back off to the nurse.
As she left, his eyes wandered to the clock on the wall. It was just past nine, and Ryan only had a few more hours on his shift before he could go home and sleep. Above him, the fluorescent lighting continued to beat down on the shiny floors, hurting his already tired eyes even more. Briefly, he wondered if he had time for a quick cup of coffee before he had to make his rounds to patients waiting to see a doctor. It had been a fairly slow night so far, just a few broken bones, a sick kid or two, and only one heart attack. Normally, Boston was more lively than this.
We got a bus on the way!
Ryan knew how quickly things changed around a hospital, especially in the ER, but he had apparently thought too soon that the rest of his night would be forms and prescription writing. Coffee would have to wait.
“ETA?” he asked, watching as the trauma team began to mobilize.
“Less than five minutes,” one resident answered.
“Stats?”
“Nineteen year old African American male, multiple gunshot wounds to the torso.”
As they said, a city never slept.
Ryan waited for the arrival of the rig and quickly made his way down to the ambulance bay as the teen on the gurney was rushed past him. He wasn't in good shape, but Ryan had faith in his staff and he knew that they would work as hard as they could and then some to save his life. “Get him stable first! He's my number one as soon as you're done. He's gonna need surgery to dig those slugs out.” And then Boston PD would be by, wanting to know who shot this kid and why, and they would need the evidence from his body. It was better to extract the bullets sooner rather than later. The kid was in for a rough few hours if he made it that long.
Although Ryan wanted to be in the ER where the action was, there were things he was legally obligated to do first. He dealt with the EMT's fairly often, but they were hardly ever the same people as their shifts were as sporadic as his own. He never took the time to get to know any of them, either, not that he really had the time. The city had a limited number of medical vehicles, and they weren't to be out of commission long from one emergency to another.
“One of you have a report for me?” he asked, his smile polite but slightly tired as he reached for a pen from his coat pocket. Ryan looked expectantly to the dark-haired EMT, waiting for someone to hand him something to sign. All that money spent at medical school and those years of being a resident had ultimately led up to him signing his name over and over. He was living the dream. “And where are the cops? They're never far behind you guys,” Ryan chuckled.
Truthfully, it got a little boring.
“Doctor,” said a blonde nurse, dressed in pale blue scrubs, “we've got room seven's x-rays back if you want to take a look.”
The dark-haired man looked up from scrawling his name on a form and slid a chart back into its appropriate spot behind the nurses station before putting his hand out for the x-rays. Ryan held the films up to the light and immediately spotted a clean break in the forearm. “Get him in a cast up to the elbow, I'll write a script for painkillers and be in to talk to him as soon as I can,” he said, before handing the films back off to the nurse.
As she left, his eyes wandered to the clock on the wall. It was just past nine, and Ryan only had a few more hours on his shift before he could go home and sleep. Above him, the fluorescent lighting continued to beat down on the shiny floors, hurting his already tired eyes even more. Briefly, he wondered if he had time for a quick cup of coffee before he had to make his rounds to patients waiting to see a doctor. It had been a fairly slow night so far, just a few broken bones, a sick kid or two, and only one heart attack. Normally, Boston was more lively than this.
We got a bus on the way!
Ryan knew how quickly things changed around a hospital, especially in the ER, but he had apparently thought too soon that the rest of his night would be forms and prescription writing. Coffee would have to wait.
“ETA?” he asked, watching as the trauma team began to mobilize.
“Less than five minutes,” one resident answered.
“Stats?”
“Nineteen year old African American male, multiple gunshot wounds to the torso.”
As they said, a city never slept.
Ryan waited for the arrival of the rig and quickly made his way down to the ambulance bay as the teen on the gurney was rushed past him. He wasn't in good shape, but Ryan had faith in his staff and he knew that they would work as hard as they could and then some to save his life. “Get him stable first! He's my number one as soon as you're done. He's gonna need surgery to dig those slugs out.” And then Boston PD would be by, wanting to know who shot this kid and why, and they would need the evidence from his body. It was better to extract the bullets sooner rather than later. The kid was in for a rough few hours if he made it that long.
Although Ryan wanted to be in the ER where the action was, there were things he was legally obligated to do first. He dealt with the EMT's fairly often, but they were hardly ever the same people as their shifts were as sporadic as his own. He never took the time to get to know any of them, either, not that he really had the time. The city had a limited number of medical vehicles, and they weren't to be out of commission long from one emergency to another.
“One of you have a report for me?” he asked, his smile polite but slightly tired as he reached for a pen from his coat pocket. Ryan looked expectantly to the dark-haired EMT, waiting for someone to hand him something to sign. All that money spent at medical school and those years of being a resident had ultimately led up to him signing his name over and over. He was living the dream. “And where are the cops? They're never far behind you guys,” Ryan chuckled.
+1 gold star for Bruce thinking Clark's cape is dumb despite having one himself.
Gotham City hadn't always been the dilapidated, crime-ridden, hell hole that it was today. Years ago, before the murders, when Thomas Wayne had been running things, there was hope and prosperity; people had been happy. All of the light had died with Thomas and Martha, ushering in a new wave of desperation, crime and poverty that now had a stranglehold on the people of the city by the sea. It was a dirty place, from the most isolated alley, to the freshly polished floors of the mayor's office, corruption had settled in and it was ready to stay for the long haul. Along the way, there had been people who sought to change that, to clean up the city but they were always quickly silenced by dirty cops, hardened criminals or the long reach of the mafia families. Bruce Wayne, son of Thomas and Martha, eccentric billionaire who had recently returned home, wasn't afraid to go up against these people in order to restore the city to its former glory.
The night was cold, and the wind blew hard against the flexible armor covering Bruce's skin as he sat atop one of Gotham's many skyscrapers. With Alfred in his ear back home at the Manor, Bruce could easily keep an eye on what was happening on the streets below. There was chatter from the police comms, word of a planned heist by some low-level thugs and a drup shipment that was coming in from the docks. It was going to be a long night, but crime had been down ever since Bruce had put on the Batsuit and had taken justice into his own hands. He was cleaning up the city, and making a difference and it didn't matter that not everyone was thankful for his vigilance, he was making their lives better both through Wayne Industries during the day and as Batman at night.
The black-clad man blended in with the shadows and he kept his eyes open as he sat silently. In the distance, the tech in his cowl picked up on a figure and Bruce squinted his eyes to make out the shape. “I think I've got company,” he relayed to Alfred, eyes now able to make out the shape of a man. That stupid cape would have been recognizable anywhere, and the red stuck out like a sore thumb even against the muddy darkness of the polluted Gotham skyline.
Superman.
The alien had been all over the papers and on every news channel since revealing his powers, but Bruce had always assumed he would stay in Metropolis where he belonged. Truthfully, Bruce didn't trust the man, thinking that an alien species needed to be studied more, and what was to say that he wouldn't one day turn on the people he swore to protect? Obviously, the people of Earth, or at least Metropolis, were too gullible for their own good.
Still concealed by the shadows, Bruce moved from his position, now seeking to cut Superman off before he could come any further into Gotham. This was Bruce's home, his territory and he had a right to it by birth. Perhaps it was arrogant thinking, but a flashy alien in a bright red cape and a blue suit wasn't the type of hero that the people of this city deserved. Using the tools from his utility belt and the training he'd learned from distant lands, Bruce swung from building to building before finally landing on top of a bank. He was out in the open now, facing Superman without fear.
The night was cold, and the wind blew hard against the flexible armor covering Bruce's skin as he sat atop one of Gotham's many skyscrapers. With Alfred in his ear back home at the Manor, Bruce could easily keep an eye on what was happening on the streets below. There was chatter from the police comms, word of a planned heist by some low-level thugs and a drup shipment that was coming in from the docks. It was going to be a long night, but crime had been down ever since Bruce had put on the Batsuit and had taken justice into his own hands. He was cleaning up the city, and making a difference and it didn't matter that not everyone was thankful for his vigilance, he was making their lives better both through Wayne Industries during the day and as Batman at night.
The black-clad man blended in with the shadows and he kept his eyes open as he sat silently. In the distance, the tech in his cowl picked up on a figure and Bruce squinted his eyes to make out the shape. “I think I've got company,” he relayed to Alfred, eyes now able to make out the shape of a man. That stupid cape would have been recognizable anywhere, and the red stuck out like a sore thumb even against the muddy darkness of the polluted Gotham skyline.
Superman.
The alien had been all over the papers and on every news channel since revealing his powers, but Bruce had always assumed he would stay in Metropolis where he belonged. Truthfully, Bruce didn't trust the man, thinking that an alien species needed to be studied more, and what was to say that he wouldn't one day turn on the people he swore to protect? Obviously, the people of Earth, or at least Metropolis, were too gullible for their own good.
Still concealed by the shadows, Bruce moved from his position, now seeking to cut Superman off before he could come any further into Gotham. This was Bruce's home, his territory and he had a right to it by birth. Perhaps it was arrogant thinking, but a flashy alien in a bright red cape and a blue suit wasn't the type of hero that the people of this city deserved. Using the tools from his utility belt and the training he'd learned from distant lands, Bruce swung from building to building before finally landing on top of a bank. He was out in the open now, facing Superman without fear.
Name: Ryan Ashton
Age: 31
Extras:
Ryan is originally from Michigan, and went to medical school in Chicago. He came to Boston for his residency and decided to stay because he liked the city so much. He's not open about his sexuality, but he doesn't keep it a secret either and is very casual about his love life due to the lack of free time he has.
Alright.
They haven't had any activity since they last posted here. Maybe RL just got in the way.
>__> Is this dead, or?
Sounds great c: Take your time.
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