#rowan 01

Christian made his way through the winding, sterile hallways of the precinct, winding his way down to where the coroner’s office was located. He passed other detective stopping through and patrol officers, smiling and nodding on his way down. He balanced a baby pink box, done up in ribbons, in one hand and a drink carrier with two coffees in the other.

To say he was proud of himself for his coordination might have been a bit of an understatement.

“Ms. Jaxson,” Christian called out gently, tapping his foot on the door to where he’d been told she was working. “I’ve got a gift for ya, only...can we please not open it in the room with. Uh. The corpses?”

Ronan sat on one of the steps surrounding Washington Square Park’s impressive monuments, a journal held in his grasp and a fountain pen dangling between two of his fingers. He glanced about the busy park; it had been fluctuating in activity since he’d arrived thirty minutes ago, but Ronan wasn’t here simply for leisure--nyet, he was on the prowl for potential clients and threats alike. He’d brought Emmaline here on one of their various dates before they’d been forced to flee the country; in an effort to try and identify the anonymous threat to their lives, Ronan had been staking out old locations he and Emmaline had frequented in the early stages of their dating.

If he was lucky, the perpetrator would be unable to resist the allure of checking out his old stomping grounds.

Humming to himself thoughtfully, Ronan dipped his head and wrote in altered shorthand a quick summary of the persons of interest he’d come across thus far; the secret to keeping a journal was learning to adapt by creating a code and language only he knew the key behind deciphering. He’d taken the idea from his childhood; when he and his sister, Natalia, had developed a secret language for communicating with each other. Much good it did either of them now, but he silently thanked his long-dead sister for the inspiration.

The excitement in the air at the Harmonium was palpable–the agenda for the day was one much awaited by the students every year. Auden had not attended the Harmonium themselves, they’d found their education through apprenticeships across Avalon and in a handful of of other places, but they could relate to the young artisans who got to partake in the day. The elvhen would be leading their own workshop before the day was through, their first at the prestigious campus. It wasn’t that Auden hadn’t been invited before–they had; and had turned down the invitations in the past. It appeared that someone responsible for planning the day’s lineup had caught wind that Auden had set up a forge in the city, knowledge that stripped Auden of any good excuse to refuse the invitation to share their knowledge with the young creatives working on their studies. 

There were a handful of hours before Auden would begin their lesson, and they spent that time examining the famous, hallowed halls of the institution sketching some of the more notable features and details. When that became wearisome, they settled for people-watching. The younger students were made obvious by their lack of sash and anxious expressions. Those who were considered novices didn’t look like they felt much relief for surviving the first round of their many trials on their path to excellence. But it was one of the alumnus that garnered lasting attention from Auden. “I’m shocked to see they’d allow you to show your face here again, Rowan,” Auden greeted upon catching up with him on one of the main throughways between the many halls of the campus. He had told Auden a handful of stories of his transgressions as a student during his time at the Harmonium while he tattooed a great, skeletal viper on their arm some time back, its bony spine twisting loops around the limb. “And now you’re here as someone for these naive, young students to aspire to become? Or perhaps you’re crashing the event.” The words were in jest, which Rowan would likely interpret. 

@rowanxmoore

A few crew members had to evacuate the surface of their latest landing site early due to an unexpected storm. One that came in more rapidly than anticipated and far worse than initially predicted. Not before getting caught by the start of it though. Dexter was one of those individuals. Visibility diminished as the storm rushed in and he hadn’t even seen the debris coming right at him. Luckily, his helmet held, though his display was cracked and malfunctioning, leaving just enough of a micro-breech to allow radiation to begin leaking in. Meanwhile the pressure in his suit dropped and it became steadily more difficult to breathe, and focus, and walk....and remain conscious.

With the aid of the fellow crew members along with him, he made it back to the lander and they took off in time to escape the worsening storm. Dexter, however, did lose consciousness...and suffered the effect of some severe radiation poisoning. They were forced to abandon that little side mission and move on to the next, preserving all they could of the experiments on the surface their with what little time they’d had. Thankfully, all the data recorded was stored on a shared network with the ship’s systems as well so they could further analyze their findings for anything of possible significance. 

It had been some time since the incident itself, but the effects were lasting and some symptoms didn’t even present for a week or so. Which meant frequent check-ups with the crew’s resident doctor, Rowan Moore. He didn’t mind her company and while he wasn’t particularly a fan of being poked and prodded, he was more than used to it with all of his service. As for Rowan, Dex had gotten to know her somewhat over the duration of the mission so far, and she’d gotten to know him some as well. They all learned about one another during the candidacy program in various aspects, but being confined to the same closed-quarters as the same handful of individuals every day for years meant getting to know them on a more personal level. Whether they shared many private details or not. You got to know their habits, their preferences, their comforts, and moods.

Some you get to know better than others. Some you get along with better than others. Some you connect with more than others.

“Dr. Moore,” he greeted casually as he wandered into the med bay for his scheduled exam and went through the habitual practice of awkwardly removing his shirt with a wince for her and taking a seat on the table. Since the radiation, the burn scars he’d previously obtained in the military had been tender. “How are you this evening?”