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Great job on the posts, everyone! Just in case: if anyone is ever feeling stuck or unsure of what to do, feel free to message us GMs, and we shall be more than happy to help out in any way we can! Looking forward to reading more posts from you all! <3

PS: This roleplay is meant to be focused on character interactions, so I would love to see more of those in the future!

That was actually the main thing I was trying to decide. I knew I wanted to start with an introductory post, but at the same time, I didn't want to trap him in his own little bubble. That's why I thought I'd leave things off in the lounge. I wanted to open up that opportunity if anyone is willing/available. I love the character interaction/development side of things. :)

Tom Mitchell

When the alarm went off in the pre-dawn hours, Tom Mitchell knew that a very long and very tiring day lay ahead. It wasn’t unusual for OB/GYNs to frequently take on 24-hour shifts, and today was Tom’s turn in the cycle. Even his senior status as the department head of Women’s Care at Caduces Memorial did not grant him amnesty in that area. He had to pull his weight just like everyone else, much to the older man’s chagrin. At his age, he felt he deserved a little leniency, but by that point, he might as well admit defeat. Despite being one of the best in his field, the hospital had already taken a gamble by extending such a prestigious position to him at age 57 – only five short years ago. He liked to refer to it as borrowed time. If he started to stir the pot too much, they were liable to hand him a severance package and show him the door. Out with the old, in with the new.

He wasn’t quite ready to accept the inevitable, and so, he soldiered on. It might make him miserable, but he couldn’t say that he didn’t enjoy the work itself. That was the only payoff. At least on this morning, things would start out slow. He was scheduled to begin downstairs in the clinic for routine gynecological cases, such as annual exams and infections, which meant he would actually have time for a quick breakfast – a bagel, fruit, and a cup of coffee.

Looking ahead, he had a C-Section scheduled at noon on a 26-year old in her third pregnancy; she had requested tubal sterilization, which required additional prep, but it was nothing too strenuous. Hopefully that would be the only real ‘challenge’ for the day. But as usual, his job was unpredictable.

By the time 10:00 a.m. rolled around, Tom was on his final appointment of the morning, and his third cup of coffee, long after his body had dispensed of the initial energy from his pitiful breakfast. He was running on pure caffeine when he entered the sterile room and immediately sat down on the stool to check the computer terminal in the corner. According to the records he pulled up, the young woman, who was six weeks pregnant with her second child, had some concerns about spotting and occasional abdominal cramps. It sounded routine enough.

“So, you’re having some discomfort?” he asked coolly as he turned away from the computer screen and swiveled the stool to look at her. The woman only nodded. Tom took note of the worry lines etching her face. Was there something else he missed? Or was she just easily distressed? “Where about?”

As she stretched and pointed to her left side, Tom grabbed a pair of gloves from the box on the counter and snapped them to his wrists.

“It’s not all the time,” she started to explain in soft tones, “but when it comes, it’s pretty sharp.”

“And this is when you notice the spotting?” he asked, now pressing firmly around the area she indicated.

“I would say it’s pretty consistent.” She trailed off and involuntarily flinched as his fingers probed an area directly below and to the left of the belly button. He immediately stopped and pulled back to look at her.

“Did that hurt?”

A quick shake of her head. “ I’m sorry,” she bit her lower lip and turned away to focus on a spot on the far wall, “I’m just worried, that’s all. I’m really jumpy. I’ve been doing some research on my symptoms and…” She closed her eyes briefly, clearly hesitant. “I found some information about ectopic pregnancies? You know, where the egg implants outside the uterus?”

He nodded, waiting her out.

“Well, I think--I think that’s it.”

Tom exhaled softly, not even bothering to suppress his relief. He could see where this was going. “You think you’re having an ectopic pregnancy?”

The woman studied him for a long moment, then nodded meekly. “Yes…”

“Well, I have to say, that’s very rare, if so,” he stated evenly, now leaning back as he pulled off his gloves. “About 1 out of 50 pregnancies. Where did you get your research from?”

She smiled in spite of herself; he could tell she was suddenly unsure of her answers. “I found this website...WebMe--”

And there it was, just as he suspected. A self-diagnosis courtesy of the world wide web. He held up a hand to stop her and merely smiled. He was used to this; this happened more often than he’d like to admit. The internet was a powerful tool, but it served as a real detriment to health professionals everywhere. “You’re fine, Sharon,” he soothed, addressing her by her first name to make this more personal. “Next time call the office instead of going down that rabbit hole. There’s too many self-proclaimed doctors out there who think they know everything.”

He wheeled back to the computer, but paused as he rested his hand on the mouse. “Of course, there are some doctors here who think they know everything as well, but at least we have the credentials. We’re not hiding behind a screen.” His smile widened in jest, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “That should count for something, right?”

She leaned forward and chuckled softly, her worry lines starting to fade.

“As for your symptoms, I wouldn’t worry,” he turned serious once more, his fingers now tapping against the keyboard. “It’s fairly common for someone in their first trimester to experience some bleeding and cramping, but just to be sure, I’ll go ahead and schedule an ultrasound for early next week. We’ll take a peek and rule out any problems then. Sound like a plan?”

“Yes, thank you, Doctor Mitchell,” she nodded with enthusiasm. “That’ll put me at ease.”

“Good. Then I’ll see you next week…” He stood, extending his hand to her in parting. As he gripped her palm, he noted that she was noticeably more relaxed than she was when he had first entered the room. Another crisis averted.

And with that, his morning in the clinic had come to a close.

Passing off some last minute memos to his receptionist, Tom grabbed his last cup of coffee of the morning – number four – and headed up two floors to the lounge and the adjoining locker room. From there, he would change into scrubs in preparation for his afternoon in the OR and his rounds in the maternity ward.
Just a note that I will have a post coming within the next day or two. I'm just trying to narrow down where I want to jump in.
And here we go:

@Bee @Dirty Pretty Lies
@Dirty Pretty Lies I'm on it – thank you!
Still got room for one more?

I saw it mentioned earlier in the thread, and I was thinking about trying my hand at the older, more distinguished male type...
I'm still around!

It's been pretty hectic for me lately, but I intend to post shortly. I apologize for the delay.
Han Solo
Mos Eisley Cantina, Tatooine

With an ardent tap against the tabletop, the amber liquid sloshed against the sides of the glass, threatening to spill over the rim as Han Solo carelessly fidgeted with his drink. After sitting for hours in the dark and humid environment of the Mos Eisley Cantina, it had become a bit of a habit. It was the least he could do to pass the time; despite its reputation for lawlessness and fast money, Han found that Tatooine just wasn’t all that interesting. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t be here at all, but unfortunately, necessity had forced him to show his hand. If he wanted to stay alive to see the twin suns rise tomorrow, he had to find a job; preferably an easy job, such as a charter...and quick. Jabba the Hutt was not the forgiving type...

“Hell, it wasn’t my fault,” he mumbled under his breath, glancing angrily across the table at his Wookiee co-pilot, Chewbacca. That was probably the twentieth time he had repeated that mantra to his partner since arriving on this dust bowl, and by now, it had lost all meaning. The Wookiee simply angled his head to the side and took it in stride.

His friend’s silence only seemed to fuel Han’s resentment. Taking another swig of his drink, he launched into the story once again in an effort to justify it to himself. Maybe he had missed something?

“That Imperial cruiser came out of nowhere,” he pointed out, drilling his index finger into the table. “I couldn’t run at that close range. I had no choice but to let them board. Do you blame me for trying to protect our investment?” He sighed and ran a hand through his tousled hair. “How was I supposed to know the cargo wouldn’t be there when we went back for it?”

This time, Chewie offered a single, mournful growl.

Narrowing his eyes, Han only sneered. “Don’t give me that. I did tag them…” He shook his head incredulously. “You saw the scans...they were gone. Those damn bucketheads probably picked up the canisters for themselves. Glitterstim’s not just popular on the black market anymore…”

Silence followed that statement, giving Han a moment to reflect on the implications. They both knew what they were up against now that their mission had failed, but neither one of them wanted to face the inevitable. Finally, it was the Wookiee who took the initiative and voiced the impossible question through a series of grunts and howls.

“I dunno, pal,” Solo sighed with resignation. “But we need to do something soon. If I don’t reimburse Jabba for the money he lost on those canisters…” Raising his hand, he made a cutting gesture along his throat. “I’m a dead man.”
@Burning Kitty

I can make that work. I was planning to start Solo out in Mos Eisley (as in the film), but I'm willing to go where I'm needed.
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