#{ || queue }

Pure white halls and bleach-white tiles overhead and underfoot seemed to stretch endlessly as the humming itched against his bones. As if bees were trapped in empty logs being played with like some cosmic marionette. The colourless backdrop and harsh fluorescents projected Alastor's movements to the floor.

It could all be soothed with blood.

"Knees," he cheered himself on under his breath, a reminder to keep moving that had long been conditioned into him from various gym challenges. 'Just keep moving your knees, J,' an imaginary coach echoed in his memory. The humming grew louder as he neared the window.

The teller looked familiar. Bloodshot eyes, greasy hair, and almost as pale as Kindred. The same ghouls were recycled through these places. And before Alastor could think of a way to be polite his hands were already twisting in the faux-nurse's collar. Bringing his greasy face to the plexiglass with a loud smack. The smile the ghoul wore on his face drew blind anger from the Malkavian. Lips spilled thoughts, unfiltered, to a grinning freak.

"Why does this place sing the song of two furnaces? This place is half the size of the bees it mimics! It itches my bones!"

Translation: Please advise why there's currently an electricity spike in such a small hospital. I'm overwhelmed.