#altruii

"Doctor, good to see you."

Surprisingly, Clover means it this time. A ballroom buzzing with high Atlesian class and culture isn't an improvement compared to a doctor's private examination office. Still, it's certainly comforting to find he isn't the only one furthest from the crowd.

"May I join you?" He asks before sitting across from her at her empty table. She has no friends with her? No coworkers? No date? The same could be said about Clover.   

"I take it you're not much of a dancer either?" He takes the military beret off his head before sitting down and it's such a relief that finally, he can smile and it's not strained. For all the duty and honor that has been distilled into him since he was a boy, there is no pride or comfort in wearing the formal military attire. It’s the sleeves. 

Although, Angela looks just as tense and strained despite being dressed in such a beautiful evening gown. Clover would take pity on the doctor, but then he remembers she's poked him with needles before and has a relentless way of getting her tests done. No pity tonight. 

Clover can make friendly conversation instead, one without the charm and flirty lines, since neither one of them seem to be in the mood to annoy the other. 

"I'm not a fan of these things either. It feels a bit unfair to be having these kinds of functions when there's an embargo."

send a prompt for some character facts.

// A blank notebook and a pen. 

He’s been alone all his life with just his thoughts. What more does he need? He’s learned that there is little value in belongings, little value in magic and most importantly, little value in his self. 

     ↪ original.

Whatever ability Angela may have had to be wise or insightful was lost. Words halted on her tongue, vague sentiments refusing to weave themselves into anything she could use. This was not about her. This was not about her own shortcomings, her own failures, broken bodies she couldn’t knit back together or lives she could not wrest from their inevitable end. In this moment it was Jesse who required her undivided attention. Such a question was born in a moment of vulnerability, or uncertainty, and these, too, required tending.

“On occasion.”

Fleeting glance sought to read his expression. An unruly breeze ruffled her hair, bid restrained platinum to whip in unbecoming directions, fringe swept aside by an impatient hand. Freedom from generic military halls could perhaps offer some comfort, but it was not made to last. The night was far too cold. Still, she drew her arms tight around herself and did her best to ignore the insidious chill.

In this, too, her best was not quite enough.

“What’s on your mind?”

          She had right to pry.

     Jesse McCree, of all people, sitting atop headquarter’s rooftop balcony — in thirty degree weather. Smoke break or not, it would be considered a very odd site.

     Though he came up here to be alone, he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t like Angela’s company. If anyone would be able to understand his predicament, it’d surely be her, a doctor. She was no therapist, and Jesse hated treating her like one, but she was a friend — one of his only friends. And one of even fewer that truly understood the situation he was in because, in a way, she was living it herself.

          “I ain’t tell ya everything earlier, when I got wheeled in after th’mission — I don’t know if you could tell but, most of that blood I had all over me, it uh...”

     Clear as day, horrific images from the scene flood his memory like a fucking nightmare, seemingly bringing back with it the panic attack that ensued earlier. Anger kept the words from escaping him; as if keeping such information locked away would make the truth null and void. Elbows leaned to his knees, head falling into an open palm as the pull on his cigar became less of a drag and more of a ventilator as he tried to calm his shaken nerves with a few deep breaths, stabilizing just enough to clarify through what felt like a collapsing chest, fighting for each word.

Thor Ragnarok Memes // No Longer Accepting

“Don’t get too excited,” Trevor grumbled, sloughing his backpack from his shoulder with a wince. Sweat stuck to his skin, his right sleeve was singed, an mud flaked off his boots. What he wouldn’t give for a warm bath and a cold beer... But first, there was business. “I can’t exactly get a whole demon carcass on a city bus, you know.”

Dumping his wares onto her desk, out tumbled a handful of wolf fangs each about 5 inches long, a vial of a clear and viscous liquid, and a cracked raptor skull about as long as Angela’s torso. With the contents of his bag spread across the wood, he discarded the backpack onto the floor.