aphrodite is walking the halls

“Oh GOOD, you’re awake.” He grins, the expression far more PREDATORY than comforting for a man no doubt confused and afraid. “I’ve never quite shared the kind of paranoia that Ryan seems to have about the surface, but it seems I am the ONLY medical professional he trusts to evaluate your condition.” Ironic, considering the deal he made with the devil, the vanity project that will likely be Ryan’s own downfall. “Now, how are you feeling, Mr. Topside?”

He has BLOOD on his shirt and while that wouldn’t be out of place for a surgeon in practice, he is presently in the main hallway, taking Ms. McClintlock by the shoulder in an attempt to calm her. Not that it will do much GOOD; his reputation is already beginning to sour and stain with rumours of madness. He hides the ADAM-use scars on his forearm but can’t cover the new crop on his cheek. “What seems to be the PROBLEM, dear? You look at though you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Yes, well, you know COHEN- less noticing you feeling unwell and more complaining about you not being at your BEST,” he clarifies with a slight chuckle. Such strange friends he keeps these days, but then again, who here is not strange? But of course, PROFESSIONALISM is the order of the hour, and he focuses on the symptoms at hand. “Have you been splicing more recently than usual? Some have reported an increase in headaches when they use more often.”