Haha, we should start keeping a running tally of how often we say "poor Peeta"
Sounds good then. I didn't know if you wanted to choose a character since they're going to be more important in a little while. And I always end up writing so much for this RP D: It started to get too long and I was like, well shit >__> so I ended it after the parade. Oh no, onions. I know your pain ;n; Sometimes it helps when I wear my glasses while I'm chopping them.
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Contrary to popular belief, the emergency room wasn't anything like it was made out to be on TV. Ryan blamed shows like Grey's Anatomy for making people think that doctors and nurses had that kind of time between patients to use the on-call room for anything but sleeping. It had been quite a long time since Ryan had even been on a date, and work kept him so busy that he didn't even have time to try. Unfortunately, that was the price he had to pay for his profession, and Ryan was mostly happy with the job and the people and he knew that he had done a lot of good in his time since medical school. It just got lonely sometimes, mostly when he had a rare day off and realized there was literally nothing for him to do.
It was the beginning of a new shift, and Ryan had just finished signing in before he began to make his rounds. There were a few high-priority patients already in the ER and he was taking over for the attending who had just gotten off. With one asthma attack, and one suspected heart attack, Ryan already sort of had his hands full. After writing scripts, giving breathing treatments and getting the paperwork together for admittance, there was finally a small break in the day. Ryan went to get himself the first of many cups coffee, wanting to stay ahead of his fatigue before it started to catch up with him around sunset.
“Doctor,” a frazzled-looking nurse said, “there's an EMT coming in for a concussion check. Something about a frying pan.”
Ryan raised his eyebrow. “A frying pan?” That wasn't something he heard every day. He assumed that the EMT would need to be signed off on, and he didn't mind seeing to the problem himself. “I'll go down to the ambulance bay. You go check the status of that asthma attack, see if she's doing any better.”
Tossing his empty cup in the trash, Ryan made his way toward the ambulance bay. He wasn't expecting to see the same EMT from the night before, but he wasn't complaining when he laid eyes on Travis once again. “Frying pan, huh?” he asked, smiling softly when he saw the man's partner helping him with the gauze. Obviously, this wasn't just a bump on the head and not something Ryan could have signed off on quickly in order to get these two back to work. Travis could have needed stitches, or had a concussion, but there was no way to tell until he actually took a look.
“You're going to have to come inside,” he said, knowing that didn't sound promising. “You can tell me what happened on the way.”
It was the beginning of a new shift, and Ryan had just finished signing in before he began to make his rounds. There were a few high-priority patients already in the ER and he was taking over for the attending who had just gotten off. With one asthma attack, and one suspected heart attack, Ryan already sort of had his hands full. After writing scripts, giving breathing treatments and getting the paperwork together for admittance, there was finally a small break in the day. Ryan went to get himself the first of many cups coffee, wanting to stay ahead of his fatigue before it started to catch up with him around sunset.
“Doctor,” a frazzled-looking nurse said, “there's an EMT coming in for a concussion check. Something about a frying pan.”
Ryan raised his eyebrow. “A frying pan?” That wasn't something he heard every day. He assumed that the EMT would need to be signed off on, and he didn't mind seeing to the problem himself. “I'll go down to the ambulance bay. You go check the status of that asthma attack, see if she's doing any better.”
Tossing his empty cup in the trash, Ryan made his way toward the ambulance bay. He wasn't expecting to see the same EMT from the night before, but he wasn't complaining when he laid eyes on Travis once again. “Frying pan, huh?” he asked, smiling softly when he saw the man's partner helping him with the gauze. Obviously, this wasn't just a bump on the head and not something Ryan could have signed off on quickly in order to get these two back to work. Travis could have needed stitches, or had a concussion, but there was no way to tell until he actually took a look.
“You're going to have to come inside,” he said, knowing that didn't sound promising. “You can tell me what happened on the way.”
I'm very interested in this! I love AHS.
Let me know how it is if you go c:
And did we talk about who would play Johanna and Finnick or are we going to treat them like Peeta? I'm sorry if we did, but I can't remember, so I didn't want to write much for Finnick. I hope I left off in an okay spot, I figured we could do the elevator thing if you wanted, haha.
And did we talk about who would play Johanna and Finnick or are we going to treat them like Peeta? I'm sorry if we did, but I can't remember, so I didn't want to write much for Finnick. I hope I left off in an okay spot, I figured we could do the elevator thing if you wanted, haha.
Even though there weren't any good parts to the Hunger Games, the most useless part of it, in Haymitch's opinion, was the parade. There was no sense in adding insult to injury and dressing up the tributes for even more entrainment when they were already being sent to die was just another way for the Capitol to show its strength against the citizens of Panem. It was always such a large affair, the real kick off of a new season of brutality, and Haymitch had absolutely loathed it the first time around. He clearly remembered trying to bite one of the stylists when they came near his hair with shears, and he had heavily protested the miner outfits, and the coal dust that had been rubbed on his face. This time around it was sure to be different, especially with Cinna in charge of their district look, but that didn't make the former Victor anymore eager to participate in such a spectacle.
Portia lead he and Gale back to the prep area, and that was where Haymitch lost sight of his fellow tribute. He knew the routine from years ago and he grudgingly stripped down and slid on the gown that was provided for him. Then of course there was the bath, and the magical serum that took away any blemishes or scars from the skin, something that made each person look their very best. Haymitch thought it was degrading and continued to pull away from a woman with a bright yellow wig and matching fingernails as she tried to rub away a scar above his eyebrow that he had gotten during one of his many drunken episodes. “That stays,” he snapped at her, but she didn't listen.
When he had been a mentor, Haymitch had often stressed that the tributes minded their manners and didn't give anyone a reason not to like them until they were actually in the arena. Although, now that he was back in the spot he had once left, he wasn't going to take his own advice. There was nothing that the Capitol or President Snow could do to him anymore, and he knew that his place would be to die in the arena and that gave him the go ahead to be as angry as possible with anyone who wasn't in his alliance.
“Portia wants your hair cut,” said another member of the prep team. He was a man with purple-tinted skin, and jewels embedded around his eyes, and his hair was an unnaturally beautiful shade of blue.
Haymitch shook his head, “no way.”
The two went back and forth for a few minutes before the would-be stylist relented. Haymitch wasn't going to change who he was, or how he looked just because he had been forced back into the arena. He knew that his refusal wasn't going to make Peeta happy, but Haymitch couldn't find it in himself to care. If Peeta was going to continue to be a mentor after this years games came to an end, he would have to learn that not every tribute was going to take his advice. Besides, Haymitch wasn't entirely ready to leave his former position just yet.
Somewhere in a different part of the prep area, Prim was suffering through having her legs waxed. For the first time in her entire life she found herself being envious of the opposite sex, because at least they didn't have to endure hot wax being poured onto their bodies and having their hair yanked out. “We're going to need to do your eyebrows too,” one of Cinna's assistants informed her, and Prim made a face. She couldn't think of anything more unpleasant than having her eyebrows waxed when her legs had hurt enough. “Sorry, they're just...bad. Too big, too much. They simply don't fit your face!”
Until now, Prim had never been made to feel bad about herself and she really didn't think her eyebrows were terrible. She stayed silent, though, having seen the look that Peeta had given Katniss earlier and she didn't want to upset him. Apparently, there was a certain way to act and Prim didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention to herself, or have a reputation for being difficult.
After all of the plucking, trimming, polishing and prepping, Prim was finally deemed ready to go. Her hair was down around her shoulders, slightly curled and she wore one small braid which was supposed to accent her sister's. She hadn't seen Katniss yet, but she had been told that they were dress similarly. She wore a long, silvery dress that didn't look like her at all and tall high heels that she had trouble walking in, although the prep team assured her that if she twisted her ankle, it could be fixed in half a second. Somehow, that wasn't very reassuring.
“I feel weird,” Prim said, taking very small steps as she walked along with Katniss toward their designated chariots. She reached up to rub at her eye but quickly pulled her hand back when she remembered how much work the team had done on her make up. The parade hadn't even started yet, and already Prim couldn't wait to get it over with and get back to who she really was. “But you look nice,” she noted and then joked, “I forgot you had legs.”
Prim had been so busy trying to stay on her feet that she hadn't even noticed that Gale and Haymitch were already out and waiting for them by their chariots. She didn't look up until Katniss said something, and she finally saw Gale. He looked amazing, so much different than he did back home, but it wasn't a bad thing. “Thank you,” Prim said, looking toward her feet to hide her blush. “So do you.”
Gale had been such a distraction that Prim hadn't even noticed a shirtless Finnick Odair coming their way. He looked like a merman, or rather, what she imagined they would look like if they were real. He was getting more stares than anyone else, but his presence was slightly uncomfortable and a little bit unwelcome. Haymitch had said to make friends, though, because 12 could possibly need him for something when it came time to get into the arena. The same went for Johanna Mason, but Prim couldn't see her anywhere. She would hold her tongue and be friendly if Finnick would be the difference between life and death.
“Aren't these for the horses?” she asked and reached out to take a sugar cube from him, but Haymitch quickly grabbed her wrist.
“Don't eat that,” Haymitch said, sounding annoyed before he let go of Prim. “You'll rot your teeth,” he warned the shirtless career, but the blond didn't seem to mind and simply popped the sugar cube into his mouth instead.
The parade was starting soon, and there were plenty of Capitol officials running around and trying to get things in order. There wasn't much time to talk now, and Finnick seemed to know that as well. When it came time to train, or perhaps before then, Haymitch would talk to Finnick about the alliance and see about getting him on their side. They had always gotten along fairly well, even if Haymitch did think the other man reveled a bit too much in his fame and good looks. Regardless, he was still good with the trident and that made him useful to the cause.
An official came over to corral them to their chariots, and Finnick had left in order to take his place. It was then that Haymitch finally got to look at Katniss, and he saw that her hair was down. It had been that way earlier on the train, loose and wavy and it made her look less severe, a little more approachable. “You look nice,” he said, feeling uncomfortable by comparison in his shiny, ridiculous suit. At the very least, none of them were coal miners and Cinna had done a fine job for the second year in a row.
Stepping onto the chariot platform, Haymitch and Gale were the last in line with Katniss and Prim in front of them. He looked toward the other man beside him, “don't expect me to hold your hand.” It was his attempt at a joke, to lighten the tension between them and because for some reason, the Capitol loved to see tributes getting along before slaughtering each other. He kept the remote that Portia had give him in his hand, figuring that he would use it when Katniss did. The fire thing was a little bit predictable, but at least Cinna thought to continue with a theme and this would definitely get them noticed in a good way which would make Peeta's job easier.
Soon enough the parade was underway and Caesar Flickerman was announcing each name and commenting on each outfit in living rooms and village squares all across Panem. There were good designed, bad, and down right ugly, but each tribute was talked about as if they were special and the real stars of the show were the favorites from the past. Career victors, Cashmere and Gloss, boy wonder Finnick Odair, Johanna Mason, and of course, Katniss Everdeen: The Girl On Fire. And she quite literally was once again, with the press of a button district 12 lit up like a Christmas tree, harmless but impressive flames engulfing their bodies as the horses ran them toward their destination. At the end, President Snow made his annual speech and toasted the sacrifices that were about to be made. Although he seemed to be speaking directly to Katniss, a warning in face of her insolence that said this year, she wouldn't be so lucky.
As the parties began, the tributes were taken back to the area they had left a short time before. The parade was over, the flames on district 12's outfits had been extinguished, and both Effie and Peeta were making their way toward them.
“You looked marvelous!” Effie praised, excited as ever about the most superficial things. “And you get the top floor suite again. We'll have dinner, we'll relax, you've all had such a long day! The real work is just about to begin!”
Portia lead he and Gale back to the prep area, and that was where Haymitch lost sight of his fellow tribute. He knew the routine from years ago and he grudgingly stripped down and slid on the gown that was provided for him. Then of course there was the bath, and the magical serum that took away any blemishes or scars from the skin, something that made each person look their very best. Haymitch thought it was degrading and continued to pull away from a woman with a bright yellow wig and matching fingernails as she tried to rub away a scar above his eyebrow that he had gotten during one of his many drunken episodes. “That stays,” he snapped at her, but she didn't listen.
When he had been a mentor, Haymitch had often stressed that the tributes minded their manners and didn't give anyone a reason not to like them until they were actually in the arena. Although, now that he was back in the spot he had once left, he wasn't going to take his own advice. There was nothing that the Capitol or President Snow could do to him anymore, and he knew that his place would be to die in the arena and that gave him the go ahead to be as angry as possible with anyone who wasn't in his alliance.
“Portia wants your hair cut,” said another member of the prep team. He was a man with purple-tinted skin, and jewels embedded around his eyes, and his hair was an unnaturally beautiful shade of blue.
Haymitch shook his head, “no way.”
The two went back and forth for a few minutes before the would-be stylist relented. Haymitch wasn't going to change who he was, or how he looked just because he had been forced back into the arena. He knew that his refusal wasn't going to make Peeta happy, but Haymitch couldn't find it in himself to care. If Peeta was going to continue to be a mentor after this years games came to an end, he would have to learn that not every tribute was going to take his advice. Besides, Haymitch wasn't entirely ready to leave his former position just yet.
Somewhere in a different part of the prep area, Prim was suffering through having her legs waxed. For the first time in her entire life she found herself being envious of the opposite sex, because at least they didn't have to endure hot wax being poured onto their bodies and having their hair yanked out. “We're going to need to do your eyebrows too,” one of Cinna's assistants informed her, and Prim made a face. She couldn't think of anything more unpleasant than having her eyebrows waxed when her legs had hurt enough. “Sorry, they're just...bad. Too big, too much. They simply don't fit your face!”
Until now, Prim had never been made to feel bad about herself and she really didn't think her eyebrows were terrible. She stayed silent, though, having seen the look that Peeta had given Katniss earlier and she didn't want to upset him. Apparently, there was a certain way to act and Prim didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention to herself, or have a reputation for being difficult.
After all of the plucking, trimming, polishing and prepping, Prim was finally deemed ready to go. Her hair was down around her shoulders, slightly curled and she wore one small braid which was supposed to accent her sister's. She hadn't seen Katniss yet, but she had been told that they were dress similarly. She wore a long, silvery dress that didn't look like her at all and tall high heels that she had trouble walking in, although the prep team assured her that if she twisted her ankle, it could be fixed in half a second. Somehow, that wasn't very reassuring.
“I feel weird,” Prim said, taking very small steps as she walked along with Katniss toward their designated chariots. She reached up to rub at her eye but quickly pulled her hand back when she remembered how much work the team had done on her make up. The parade hadn't even started yet, and already Prim couldn't wait to get it over with and get back to who she really was. “But you look nice,” she noted and then joked, “I forgot you had legs.”
Prim had been so busy trying to stay on her feet that she hadn't even noticed that Gale and Haymitch were already out and waiting for them by their chariots. She didn't look up until Katniss said something, and she finally saw Gale. He looked amazing, so much different than he did back home, but it wasn't a bad thing. “Thank you,” Prim said, looking toward her feet to hide her blush. “So do you.”
Gale had been such a distraction that Prim hadn't even noticed a shirtless Finnick Odair coming their way. He looked like a merman, or rather, what she imagined they would look like if they were real. He was getting more stares than anyone else, but his presence was slightly uncomfortable and a little bit unwelcome. Haymitch had said to make friends, though, because 12 could possibly need him for something when it came time to get into the arena. The same went for Johanna Mason, but Prim couldn't see her anywhere. She would hold her tongue and be friendly if Finnick would be the difference between life and death.
“Aren't these for the horses?” she asked and reached out to take a sugar cube from him, but Haymitch quickly grabbed her wrist.
“Don't eat that,” Haymitch said, sounding annoyed before he let go of Prim. “You'll rot your teeth,” he warned the shirtless career, but the blond didn't seem to mind and simply popped the sugar cube into his mouth instead.
The parade was starting soon, and there were plenty of Capitol officials running around and trying to get things in order. There wasn't much time to talk now, and Finnick seemed to know that as well. When it came time to train, or perhaps before then, Haymitch would talk to Finnick about the alliance and see about getting him on their side. They had always gotten along fairly well, even if Haymitch did think the other man reveled a bit too much in his fame and good looks. Regardless, he was still good with the trident and that made him useful to the cause.
An official came over to corral them to their chariots, and Finnick had left in order to take his place. It was then that Haymitch finally got to look at Katniss, and he saw that her hair was down. It had been that way earlier on the train, loose and wavy and it made her look less severe, a little more approachable. “You look nice,” he said, feeling uncomfortable by comparison in his shiny, ridiculous suit. At the very least, none of them were coal miners and Cinna had done a fine job for the second year in a row.
Stepping onto the chariot platform, Haymitch and Gale were the last in line with Katniss and Prim in front of them. He looked toward the other man beside him, “don't expect me to hold your hand.” It was his attempt at a joke, to lighten the tension between them and because for some reason, the Capitol loved to see tributes getting along before slaughtering each other. He kept the remote that Portia had give him in his hand, figuring that he would use it when Katniss did. The fire thing was a little bit predictable, but at least Cinna thought to continue with a theme and this would definitely get them noticed in a good way which would make Peeta's job easier.
Soon enough the parade was underway and Caesar Flickerman was announcing each name and commenting on each outfit in living rooms and village squares all across Panem. There were good designed, bad, and down right ugly, but each tribute was talked about as if they were special and the real stars of the show were the favorites from the past. Career victors, Cashmere and Gloss, boy wonder Finnick Odair, Johanna Mason, and of course, Katniss Everdeen: The Girl On Fire. And she quite literally was once again, with the press of a button district 12 lit up like a Christmas tree, harmless but impressive flames engulfing their bodies as the horses ran them toward their destination. At the end, President Snow made his annual speech and toasted the sacrifices that were about to be made. Although he seemed to be speaking directly to Katniss, a warning in face of her insolence that said this year, she wouldn't be so lucky.
As the parties began, the tributes were taken back to the area they had left a short time before. The parade was over, the flames on district 12's outfits had been extinguished, and both Effie and Peeta were making their way toward them.
“You looked marvelous!” Effie praised, excited as ever about the most superficial things. “And you get the top floor suite again. We'll have dinner, we'll relax, you've all had such a long day! The real work is just about to begin!”
Everything was spinning. Wisps of color blended together into one dizzying picture, and Matt struggled to stand on his own two feet. Beside him, he could hear Ben and Shay but the creaking sound of the plane was louder than anything else, and the black smoke was leeching into the plane faster than ever. Somehow, Matt managed to make it out, his expensive boots sinking into the soft sand and then uneven sensation almost caused him to fall. The spinning wasn't getting any better, and Matt was starting to worry that it would never stop, that he had done some kind of damage to himself by hanging upside down for so long. The fresh air was a relief, though, a welcomed change from the toxic fumes that had been seeping into the plane and slowly killing him and the rest of the survivors.
In front of him, Matt's hands managed to find a tree and he hung on and tried to steady himself when the plane finally exploded. There was a loud banging sound, and the residual heat came at them in one big wave. Debris was spread out all over the beach, drink carts, luggage, seats, body parts, and the inner mechanical workings of the plane itself would soon be washed away by the sea. There was a ringing sound in his ears now, and combined with the dizziness, Matt needed to sit down. He sunk to the bottom of the tree and focused on breathing and praying that he wasn't now deaf.
The tree was a little more than the length of a football field away from the plane, and Marcus knew that he and the others would be safe, but the explosion was still damaging and he too had the ringing sound in his ears. This wasn't the first time that something like this had happened to him, and the former soldier was just glad that all of the survivors had made it out of the plane on time. The same couldn't be said for Laura, and Marcus was heartbroken. In the heat of the moment, he had been able to act, but now that the knowledge of being the only survivors was starting to sink in, he felt hollow and empty, and almost wished that the crash had killed him too.
There were no words to describe how relieved Maya was to see that the others had made it out, and even though the situation was still tense, she could relax a little. The sand beneath her was soft, and the man that she and Marcus had carried out of the plane was finally calming down. It was her hip that required attention now, the pain was intense and came in waves, rolling through her leg and up her side every handful of seconds. In the back of her mind, she knew it could be days before they were rescued, and she didn't want to be useless to everyone else in the mean time. There was no choice, the bone would have to be put back into the socket manually.
“I think it's dislocated,” she answered Ben, and shared Shay's sentiments of being at a loss for what to do. “I'm Maya,” she added, cringing from the pain. “Why wouldn't they know? We crashed here, planes have radar...” she reasoned, although nothing was guaranteed and Maya was also worried that they would be stuck there and forced to fend for themselves.
After getting sick in the bushes, Matt had finally come back to reality. The spinning had finally stopped, and the ringing in his ears had died down slightly, at least enough to hear the names of the people he was currently stranded with. “I'm Matt,” he offered. “I don't think there's anything left, I mean,” he nodded toward the smoldering wreckage, one fire still blazing by the tail, “look at it.” The plane was a lost cause, and Matt couldn't think of anything that could be useful when it was all burned up and blasted into little pieces.
“I'm Marcus,” said the large man, getting to his feet once more. “We're going to have to wait until the fire goes out to get back into the plane, but there's plenty to salvage from the beach.” They would have to build a fire, something for the rescue crew to see no matter what time they came, and the lush greenness of the jungle behind them provided excellent foliage for creating lots of smoke. “We can start a fire after we fix your hip,” he said, nodding to Maya. “And we'll need shelter. Do any of you know anything about survival, or medicine? Any doctors or nurses with me?” He chuckled in vain.
Maya paused, “I'm an interior designer...” She didn't know the first thing about being outdoors, or camping, or making a shelter out of whatever the hell they could find on the beach after a plane crash and unless someone had a lighter, she didn't know how to make a fire. She looked to Ben, and then to Jack and Shay, wondering if they knew anything about what Marcus wanted.
“I don't know anything about that,” Matt shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I'm a photographer. What about you?” he asked, looking to Shay. She looked sort of like a nurse to him, or at least someone who knew what she was doing when it came to their various injuries. Maybe that was a stupid assumption. “Is this guy the only one who knows what he's doing?” The question was rhetorical, but it was obvious that Marcus couldn't do everything for them.
Marcus had already assumed his position as their leader and it felt natural to him. “Jack? Ben?” he asked. Even if Jack didn't have any kind of experience, he was a big guy who could still be useful. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with an interior designer and a photographer out in the wild.
In front of him, Matt's hands managed to find a tree and he hung on and tried to steady himself when the plane finally exploded. There was a loud banging sound, and the residual heat came at them in one big wave. Debris was spread out all over the beach, drink carts, luggage, seats, body parts, and the inner mechanical workings of the plane itself would soon be washed away by the sea. There was a ringing sound in his ears now, and combined with the dizziness, Matt needed to sit down. He sunk to the bottom of the tree and focused on breathing and praying that he wasn't now deaf.
The tree was a little more than the length of a football field away from the plane, and Marcus knew that he and the others would be safe, but the explosion was still damaging and he too had the ringing sound in his ears. This wasn't the first time that something like this had happened to him, and the former soldier was just glad that all of the survivors had made it out of the plane on time. The same couldn't be said for Laura, and Marcus was heartbroken. In the heat of the moment, he had been able to act, but now that the knowledge of being the only survivors was starting to sink in, he felt hollow and empty, and almost wished that the crash had killed him too.
There were no words to describe how relieved Maya was to see that the others had made it out, and even though the situation was still tense, she could relax a little. The sand beneath her was soft, and the man that she and Marcus had carried out of the plane was finally calming down. It was her hip that required attention now, the pain was intense and came in waves, rolling through her leg and up her side every handful of seconds. In the back of her mind, she knew it could be days before they were rescued, and she didn't want to be useless to everyone else in the mean time. There was no choice, the bone would have to be put back into the socket manually.
“I think it's dislocated,” she answered Ben, and shared Shay's sentiments of being at a loss for what to do. “I'm Maya,” she added, cringing from the pain. “Why wouldn't they know? We crashed here, planes have radar...” she reasoned, although nothing was guaranteed and Maya was also worried that they would be stuck there and forced to fend for themselves.
After getting sick in the bushes, Matt had finally come back to reality. The spinning had finally stopped, and the ringing in his ears had died down slightly, at least enough to hear the names of the people he was currently stranded with. “I'm Matt,” he offered. “I don't think there's anything left, I mean,” he nodded toward the smoldering wreckage, one fire still blazing by the tail, “look at it.” The plane was a lost cause, and Matt couldn't think of anything that could be useful when it was all burned up and blasted into little pieces.
“I'm Marcus,” said the large man, getting to his feet once more. “We're going to have to wait until the fire goes out to get back into the plane, but there's plenty to salvage from the beach.” They would have to build a fire, something for the rescue crew to see no matter what time they came, and the lush greenness of the jungle behind them provided excellent foliage for creating lots of smoke. “We can start a fire after we fix your hip,” he said, nodding to Maya. “And we'll need shelter. Do any of you know anything about survival, or medicine? Any doctors or nurses with me?” He chuckled in vain.
Maya paused, “I'm an interior designer...” She didn't know the first thing about being outdoors, or camping, or making a shelter out of whatever the hell they could find on the beach after a plane crash and unless someone had a lighter, she didn't know how to make a fire. She looked to Ben, and then to Jack and Shay, wondering if they knew anything about what Marcus wanted.
“I don't know anything about that,” Matt shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I'm a photographer. What about you?” he asked, looking to Shay. She looked sort of like a nurse to him, or at least someone who knew what she was doing when it came to their various injuries. Maybe that was a stupid assumption. “Is this guy the only one who knows what he's doing?” The question was rhetorical, but it was obvious that Marcus couldn't do everything for them.
Marcus had already assumed his position as their leader and it felt natural to him. “Jack? Ben?” he asked. Even if Jack didn't have any kind of experience, he was a big guy who could still be useful. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with an interior designer and a photographer out in the wild.
Actually, guys. I think I'm going to have to drop out of this. I love the show, but I just can't get into writing it. I'm going to blank my CS. I'm really, really sorry.
Sounds good. I'll do what I can, but if I don't get it done then enjoy your game!
It probably won't. It's kind of been a long time coming, and all of this is basically over a guy. Like I said, it's messy.
We're good c: No worries. I think I'm going to reply tonight because this is all I have inspiration for right now, tbh. It's all those Mockingjay commercials, haha. Are Prim and Katniss dressed the same? Same question for Haymitch and Gale.
We're good c: No worries. I think I'm going to reply tonight because this is all I have inspiration for right now, tbh. It's all those Mockingjay commercials, haha. Are Prim and Katniss dressed the same? Same question for Haymitch and Gale.
Being in the profession of helping people, Ryan knew that he shouldn't have loathed the police the way he did, but they were constantly getting in his way whenever they made a visit to the ER with a patient. All they were ever concerned about was evidence—collecting it, preserving it, getting it in the plastic bag and into their hands as soon as possible. They didn't seem to understand that the health of a person was always more important than whether or not they needed to be handcuffed and hauled down to the station. “Those extra minutes probably saved his life,” the dark-haired doctor found himself nodding, impressed by the rapid response time of the ambulance. That was what he liked to see, and he cared very little for the guilt of the boy who had just been wheeled through the doors. “Hopefully they'll go over to Harbor and give us a little more time to work on him,” he laughed wishfully.
Ryan accepted the report from the EMT, and looked over the notes as the man relayed the situation to him. Again, he was nodding, happy with the way things had been handled. The writing on the chart was clear and precise and Ryan appreciated that. His own signature was worse than the scribblings of a toddler, but the hospital was a busy place, and he didn't always have time to write out his whole name when singing off on something. If it weren't for the legal ramifications, the doctor would have slashed an X onto every form and left it at that.
“Good,” he said, scribing his name on each space where it was needed. “You did half of our work for us, so I appreciate that.” At the mention of the drugs, Ryan sighed. “The police are gonna love that.” It was just another reason for them to be up the ass of staff, getting in the way even more than normal. After he finished signing off, Ryan gave back the appropriate forms and kept the remaining for himself.
The EMT in front of him looked tired, and that was something they and everyone else at Boston General had in common. “Thanks for your time...” Ryan said, and caught a glimpse of the other man's ID badge, “Travis.” He smiled in return and prepared to head back inside, confident that the nurses and residents had the situation under control. “Have a good night.”
Ryan accepted the report from the EMT, and looked over the notes as the man relayed the situation to him. Again, he was nodding, happy with the way things had been handled. The writing on the chart was clear and precise and Ryan appreciated that. His own signature was worse than the scribblings of a toddler, but the hospital was a busy place, and he didn't always have time to write out his whole name when singing off on something. If it weren't for the legal ramifications, the doctor would have slashed an X onto every form and left it at that.
“Good,” he said, scribing his name on each space where it was needed. “You did half of our work for us, so I appreciate that.” At the mention of the drugs, Ryan sighed. “The police are gonna love that.” It was just another reason for them to be up the ass of staff, getting in the way even more than normal. After he finished signing off, Ryan gave back the appropriate forms and kept the remaining for himself.
The EMT in front of him looked tired, and that was something they and everyone else at Boston General had in common. “Thanks for your time...” Ryan said, and caught a glimpse of the other man's ID badge, “Travis.” He smiled in return and prepared to head back inside, confident that the nurses and residents had the situation under control. “Have a good night.”
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