oh shit, there's a horse in the hospital

[bloodplay]

WHO: Staff, patients, and visitors at the Import Clinic!
WHERE: Import Clinic, Manhattan
WHEN: The entire month of September! We’re going all out, baby.
WARNINGS: Injuries? Probably not much.
SUMMARY: A general and entirely open mingling log for goings-on and CR-building at the clinic! That's really all there is to this. Maybe you want to RP a character getting or giving medical help after a particularly rough night of vigilante action! Maybe you want to establish some hanging-out with coworkers! Maybe your character just lost half an arm! The clinic open log is here for you.
FORMAT: whateva whateva you do what you want

The Import Clinic is a three-story medical facility in Manhattan founded, staffed, and administered principally but not exclusively by Imports. It provides a wide range of medical services to Imports and native humans alike. Thanks to the special technologies and powers possessed by Imports, in many cases the Clinic can offer a higher level of treatment than conventional human medicine.

The Clinic operates with generous funding from private donors, principally a large trust fund previously set up by the Rossum Corporation. This allows it to provide its services for free. Staff members at the Clinic are generally volunteers, but thanks to the facility’s funding they do receive some benefits. All of the Clinic’s machines and equipment are the top-of-the-line, and it’s fully equipped for scientific research as well as treatment. It’s open 24/7 and always has at least someone available to take patients.

Comments

Open

[heal_or_execute]

Mordin is up to two main things at the Clinic these days. The first, naturally, is being a doctor: no matter how many research projects or scientific investigations the Professor has going, his patients always have top priority. He never fails to make time to anyone, ImPort or native, who requires his technology and expertise in healing.

The second thing is less heartwarming. Mordin is on the hunt for ImPort volunteers for an experiment. An experiment involving superpowers, Vulcanus, and a completely untested technology. He seems awfully eager to get his volunteers, too. The United States DEFCON level has been raised for less.

so after I replied to that comment, I found out this log was up :P

[gandere]

"Heya!"

Rin's enthusiasm is at record levels the past couple days, so what better way to sap it than to ask her to do work or volunteer in any way?

Then again, if she didn't enjoy doing either of those things, why was she at the clinic?

"What was that you just asked me? I wasn't paying attention." Normally that's not a thing to boast about, but again this is Rin.

[heal_or_execute]

Mordin's lips twitch downward for a moment. He hates repeating himself- it's inefficient.

"Requested your participation in science experiment. Testing new technology, intended to affect superpowers. Risk should be minimal."

Emphasis on the 'should be.'

[gandere]

"Superpowers?"

Everyone who arrived here came with a set of their own. Having met with a number of her allies from Fuyuki City here, she's come to discover their own abilities have been altered in some way. Shirou had gained the ability to hear vegetables and Archer lost his spirit form.

"I don't think it'll work for me. I haven't noticed many changes in my own, so does that mean I'm without superpowers? That maybe I'm just normal as I were at home?"

[heal_or_execute]

Mordin sniffs. "Obviously not normal compared to native populace. Experience with supernatural abilities confirms it." The Professor hasn't forgotten Rin's extensive briefing on the workings of magic in her world.

"More likely that Porter preserved your original abilities. Should be sufficient for purpose of experiment."

open.

[ecphrasis]

For the first time in a while, Molly has been assigned a relatively normal time for her shift, as opposed to the midnights she is so used to working. While it calls for less coffee, it also seems to come with less excitement--not that she's opposed to people not coming in with an injury or sickness. That's actually fantastic, if it means nobody is injured or sick (or perhaps they simply couldn't make it, but she doesn't consider that one much).

Currently, Molly is checking the waiting room to make sure nobody is sitting with a broken arm that needs to be set or anything else that could use immediate attention. And she does so with an unnecessary coffee in her hand that never seems to empty, no matter how much of it she drinks.

[sufferably]

Bones usually works day shifts, if not only because leaving the crew alone at night is like abandoning a small puppy. So maybe this is the first time he's spotted Molly at the clinic, or the first time he's gotten a chance to talk to her at least. But before that he gets a few glimpses of her in the halls or the waiting room, always with that cup of coffee.

He's putting away a file or something--god, this place is archaic--when he comments, dryly, "It hasn't gone cold, yet?"

[ecphrasis]

She jumps a bit at being addressed (things are usually so quiet at night, people talking in hushed tones automatically), turning with raised brows to someone she knows is a doctor, even if she doesn't know his name. Her eyes flick between his ID badge and his face as she puts on a smile.

"Fortunately, no. I mean, it sort of can't." An excellent explanation. Look, she's still trying to catch a glimpse of his name.

[sufferably]

He finishes putting away the file, hooks his thumbs into the front pockets of his lab coat. Bones has never been--never will be--friendly, or even very comfortable, in social settings. But hospitals are very much his domain, and so he figures his gruffness can be excused.

"Handy, that," he comments, dryly. Even if he doesn't fully understand the hows or whys. He catches her looking at his badge, and his lips quirk upwards for a fraction of a second. "It's McCoy. Don't think we were ever introduced."

[ecphrasis]

Molly, on the other hand, is almost overbearingly friendly in most situations. She is most definitely a people person, and it shows in the way she smiles when he tells her his name. Immediately, she offers her free hand for a shake.

"It's nice to meet you, Doctor McCoy. My name is Molly Hooper. We probably haven't met because I'm never really here during the day."

open;

[withamask]

It's been over two weeks, but Renee feels as restless as ever. She's tired of grieving, of waiting for Kate to return. Each day of silence is worse than the last.

She's mourned enough. It's time for action. While the Department refuses to shorten her leave ("A month, Renee. Give it at least a month."), she won't let that discourage her from finding the rest of Two-Face's henchmen. She won't stop until every last one is behind bars.

During her patrol, she encounters a man injured from an attempted robbery. After escorting him to the Clinic, she stands in the waiting room for news about his status. Her back against the wall, she glances around the area. This is her first visit. Considering her powers, she's never had much of a need for medical attention.

[heal_or_execute]

Mordin emerges into the waiting room from the rear of the Clinic, sees Renee, and heads on over with a greeting smile on his face. There's no sign of the wounds he sustained in the Labyrinth, and he's wearing a futuristic lab suit instead of the mage robes she met him in. "Renee. Good to see you again. Contemporary fashion suits you better than armour. How can I help you?"

[withamask]

Before she turns to greet him, she fights off the vulnerability that threatens to show on her face. Still, she can only manage a weak smile in return.

"Professor Solus," she begins. "I dropped off a patient. Charlie Davis. Stab wound on his left arm. I wanted to make sure he's all right."

[heal_or_execute]

"Mister Davis." Mordin nods with recognition. Someone with his memory rarely needs to consult the Clinic's patient records. "Yes. Treatment progressing well. Should make full recovery. Don't know how he was wounded though. Might be important."

[withamask]

"Thanks for letting me know," she states. "It was an attempted robbery. Stopped the culprit just in time."

Pausing, she glances at where his former injuries were and adds, "You look good as new."

[acclimatized]

John isn't actually working today. He came to check the shift rota for next week and pick up some more painkillers. His path shouldn't have taken him to the waiting room, but there was no other way to avoid the pretty receptionist who wasn't happy with him after a particularly atrocious date.

When he sees Renee standing around, his face twitches with recognition and his stomach drops. He thinks about slinking away unnoticed just as she looks in his direction and spots him.

"... Hello again!"

Could he sound more awkward? Probably not.

[withamask]

"Dr. Watson."

Well, that was strange. She didn't need to be a detective to realize that something was amiss. However, she greets him with a nod.

[acclimatized]

For the most part, John is unaware how transparent he can come across as. Not today though – he cringes at how that greeting came out and clears his throat.

"How are you doing?"

[withamask]

She's tempted brush off his question. How often has she dismissed the concerns of others? But John, who's already witnessed her devastation, would know better.

"I'm managing." A pause. "And you?"

open

[failedprotagonist]

It can't hurt, he supposes, although he's almost positive it won't help. What can help him? There's no cure for what's wrong with him. Nonetheless, some small part of him that continues to hope, to struggle, drives him to make the attempt.

He's been extremely sick lately, often having difficulty performing such a simple act as rising from his bed, but he manages to make his way to the clinic. He stubbornly doesn't ask for help. He goes alone. He takes a cab, not sure if he has the endurance for the bus. This is foolish, he tells himself, as he gives his name to the receptionist. You're a fool. He doesn't know what to say is wrong with him. I'm cursed sounds ridiculous, and the words don't quite make it to his lips, so he lies. "I don't know."

He sits down in the waiting room, heavily, too weary to pick up a magazine. He knows he won't be able to concentrate on the articles. He keeps his eyes open, not willing to drift off. When he sleeps, he has nightmares.

[swordedpast]

Even now, Archer comes to the clinic to perform maintenance a few hours a week. Like a machine, he is nothing if not reliable, and that won't change any time soon.

Also like a machine, he really doesn't know what to do when something truly unexpected happens. That's why when he hears, from a couple rooms away, the receptionist repeat that name given, he just pauses for a moment before going back to his work, at least at first.

It's a few minutes before he emerges from the hall, a small frown on his face. He's dressed in his civilian clothes--black pants and a plain red hoodie. All the same, he looks out of place here, staring intently at the weary man in the waiting room.

[failedprotagonist]

Kiritsugu is still sitting in one of the waiting room chairs, doing--nothing, more or less. He is aware of his surroundings, and he catches sight of Archer immediately. He meets his gaze and nods. He's dressed simply and plainly himself, in a collared shirt and pants (both black). "Hello, Archer." He supposes he should use that name, even if he doesn't particularly care for it. If that's what Shirou prefers.

[swordedpast]

It might be hard to tell for Kiritsugu in his current state, but as Archer approaches it's clearer and clearer that despite that frown, he's a little more light of heart than he was the last time they spoke. Is that hope in his eyes?

(That might be asking a bit much, but at least it's not despair as usual.)

Archer stands awkwardly next to the chair where Kiritsugu sits, staring down at him. "Don't tell me you've hurt yourself." He sounds a little resigned, though. He knows it's nothing so simple.

[failedprotagonist]

Kiritsugu notices that Archer seems to be in something of a better mood than he was last time they spoke, but for now, he files that information away without mentioning it.

The subject Archer brings up is one he finds awkward, because he doesn't enjoy talking about his condition. He's never told anyone about it. He's been trying to think of how to discuss it with a doctor--really, he has no hope for traditional medicine, but perhaps someone has a special power that could help--long shot that it is.

"No, I thought it was time for a checkup." He's aware that this isn't the most believable statement and doesn't expect to be believed, which is why he can't stop the trace of wryness from creeping into his tone.

for (b)rudy; INJURY TW (not graphic)

[incywincyhero]

There were two things about Spidey that all his opponents figured out sooner rather than later. The second was that he was annoying, the kind of annoying that made getting a hangnail while fielding a call from a telemarketer while having dinner with the in-laws seem like a pleasant evening's diversion. Not only would the guy not shut up, but -- and this was the first thing they learned -- he had no trouble throwing both punches and atrociously bad quips with equal fervor, while being almost impossible to hit back.

Ironically, the first person to land a serious injury on Spider-Man since he arrived in City wasn't a souped up supervillain or a Vulcanus agent, but a nervous first-time gangbanger who was aiming at a rival fully ten feet from where he'd perched. It was the kind of incompetence almost admirable in its sweeping totality, but Spidey thought he'd rather mull over the dramatic irony once he'd had someone look at the hole in his arm. Web-bandages only lasted an hour, after all.

"Hello? Anyone in here?"