(log, open) brave new world

[medicative]

Who: Emily Dyer and open.
When: 9/18 to the beginning of the event.
Where: ADI headquarters, the docks, the beach.
Summary: Getting acclimated to the new world, and trying to get up to speed.
Warnings: To be added if needed.

adi - working.

[really, there was so much to take in that it made Emily's head spin. but a few things had stuck out with the utmost clarity - first, that if she did nothing, it may contribute to the end of the world. and second, that these were the first breaths of free air that she'd had in such a long time. with that, the choice was easy, and here she was now, vaguely wondering why she had been so ready to offer information about what she could do for them. adapting, once more, to the unfamiliar.

so it is that she's in the headquarters, walking about with the telltale unease of someone unfamiliar, in general perusing but also finding areas to call home. most likely though, she'll be in the medical facilities, growing accustomed to the new types of technology but also getting situated in terms of scheduling and patients. with her name up on the rota, it means she is once again gainfully employed and cleared to actually see people. alternately, Emily might be in the canteen for a break, nursing a cup of coffee by the window and writing in a notebook - but she's still a little jumpy, attuned to glancing up when people walk by as if she expects something of them.]

docks - moving.

[one can't stay cooped up forever - who would want to, when allowed enough freedom to move about? true, Emily considers herself honorbound to stay in the town's limits, but even that is something exceptional. being out on the street, with people, with sunlight that felt real and true, is a gift. so it is that she goes exploring and ends up in this side of town, wandering with true and honest awe. sometimes she lingers a bit too long looking into shop windows before moving on, not wanting to simply go in and browse as a waste of time, but clearly affected by something. other times, she's struck by the lights and sounds of an arcade, admiring the condition or narrowly avoiding a collision with an overzealous child, having to redirect them back to their parents.

much of walking, then, eventually ends with leaning against a railing to watch the water and the boats go, content to breathe in the air and try to calm her nerves. nothing had happened yet, but she can't shake the feeling of talk of all those Entities from her mind, and the worry is plainly writ on her face. even ending up with a sandwich to think that food might help her isn't entirely aiding, and her doubts are sensed by an enterprising seagull. with all the hubris a bird can contain, it swoops down and snatches it from her, leaving her holding the paper.]

Hey!

[this? this is laughable, miserable luck. but for the seagull, it's a win.]

beach - thoughts.

[walking along the shore is another pleasant experience, with the daylight and the sound of the waves. one might find it irresistible to shed their shoes and go walking along the water line, as free as if she was a schoolgirl again. that there's no one else out there makes it all the better, and Emily feels like she can finally relax. closing her eyes, feeling the breeze rush over and the water come up to her ankles, it's as though she can actually remember what it's like to not be stressed.

her guard lowers, and she's half humming, half singing to herself an old familiar tune, like the ones she used to hum while doing rounds. there's exhaustion on the edge of her consciousness, but when has there ever not been? how long has it been since she let herself be still for a moment? walking a little further into the surf, it feels comforting.

yes, coming to this place may have been unsettling, and still is, but she's beginning to feel a little bit hopeful.]

wildcard.

[ooc: have another idea of something you want that's not specified? throw it at me, and I'm more than happy to oblige! you can contact me at moonjelly or via pm.

please note that the windows prompt in the docks may lead into the mirror, mirror prompt from the tdm, and the beach prompt may lead into haunting tunes.

will match format of either brackets or prose!]

Comments

[sorser]

Doctor Stephen Strange.

[The reply comes easily, and though it might be a little misleading given that he often acts more as sorcerer than doctor these days, it doesn’t change his qualifications one whit, and that’s all that matters to him.]

Good to meet another person who can help in medical. I don’t know what you’ve already been told, but the dangers in this world are growing more prevalent by the day — and the injuries will spike accordingly.

[That’s the truth regardless of the universe. For now, Stephen leads her to the patient room, opening the door to usher her in.]

I’ll observe, but stay out of your hair.

[And he’ll keep his word, if she’s still inclined to help the man waiting inside. It’s as Stephen said: he’s got a pretty deep cut on his right arm, still swollen and weeping a little. Though he’s managed to clean the wound properly, the rest requires an array of fine motor skills he can no longer access without using his magic.

The supplies for her to get started, at least, are there, set up on a tray nearby.]

[medicative]

Thank you, doctor.

[any thoughts about tests or asking what kind of dangers he's already faced here are shelved when it comes to seeing the patient before her. there's a subtle shift in her demeanor, a gentle note in her voice as she introduces herself to the man and asks his name. he's agitated, she can tell, as anyone might be when pain announces itself, his harsh breathing a dead giveaway. a light stream of conversation about how this happened, that slowly shifts when the man mentions he has a daughter and begins to talk of her - and while he speaks, Emily attends to the sutures with reflexes that seem almost thoughtless, only prompting him when it seems his nerves will come back.

tight, controlled stitches, knotted and clipped just so, the needle passing through the skin without hesitation, wiping away any excess blood. steady hands, that have done this many, many times, falling into a rhythm. clearly her confidence came from a reasonable place. and without asking or so much as glancing back at Stephen, she continues when the wound's been sealed. cleaning up any excess, ointment to help the area heal more smoothly, and a snug wrap that will keep the stitches covered up for now. that, and calm advice on how to care for it going forward, how soon he can expect the stitches out, and if anything feels wrong or painful beyond where he is currently, to return without hesitation.

it's the sort of care she likes being able to give, as opposed to rushed instructions or quick patches in the midst of danger. the kind where you can look into someone's eyes, gauge what will make them feel more at ease, and hand that to them. helping someone.

when they've bid farewell to the man, she starts tidying up and sanitizing the supplies, another old habit to do it herself. otherwise, how would she know where anything was kept?]

He's fortunate - at that angle, he missed the arteries that would have left him lightheaded. Inconvenient in the extreme for his life, but nothing I think a few weeks of stitches and caution won't be able to make headway on repairing.

[sorser]

[Stephen’s just a fly on the wall as she tends to the man, and though he would step in without complaint if asked for help, there’s no need. Her confidence wasn’t misleading; every motion is born of experience, not only the way she guides the needle to form a clean suture. He recognizes competence when he sees it, having worked for years in a busy hospital setting himself — though he’s long departed from patching up wounds with stitches, his specialization revolving around the brain. But he, too, once had hands that worked as smoothly and assuredly as hers.

Though he’s accepted the state of them by now, knowing that they represent a different kind of growth for his character, watching her work makes him feel almost wistful. He gives her a faint grin when she’s done.]

You’re right.

[She doesn’t require his approval, nor is she really seeking it, but Stephen gives it freely anyway.]

I’ve made sure he has a follow-up appointment on schedule, but you were thorough with your instructions, so I wouldn’t worry. One thing’s for certain, though — you know what you’re doing.

[He steps forward to aid with the clean-up.]

If you ever need assistance, I can help where I’m needed. But there’s a reason I needed your aid with suturing; my hands can’t perform delicate work any longer. I hope you don’t mind me delegating these tasks to you, instead.

[medicative]

Of course, I'm only happy to be of help where I'm needed.

[glancing over at him, she can't help but to feel a bit of pride in the statement. it wasn't meant to flatter, and therefore it's all the more reassuring that her skills are still up to par.]

Do you mind if I ask what happened to you? I won't pry if you say no.

[and regardless of the outcome, it wasn't her business to be spreading about. mentally marked, and tucked aside - no doubt they'll be scheduled for more shifts together, since she's agreed to this arrangement.]

[sorser]

[He doesn’t mind sharing if asked. The state of his hands was once a sore spot, a point of contention, but even then it was no grand secret what had happened to him. He let everyone know of his indignity.]

I was in a car accident. All those warnings about distracted driving? I’m why you should listen to them.

[He holds up his hands, palms facing his direction so she can see better his fingers. All past injuries are healed—broken and fractured bones, torn ligaments—but the signs of major trauma still exist. Faded scar lines from desperate procedures to fix them, the faint shake of nerve damage.]

The damage was extensive. Bone, ligaments, tendons. But what causes me problems now is the impairment of my nerves.

[Shaky hands a bad brain surgeon makes — or any kind of operational task.]

[medicative]

[it's hard to not feel a stab of pity, looking at the scars, but she buries it in her chest. he's saying it to explain, because she asked - he doesn't need her to feel bad over it and lament what are long healed, long lived with scars. but still.

hands, the thing they rely on most, over even sight to guide them on their way. if they couldn't trust their hands to lead them the right way. fine coordination built over years and years of practice, of training that couldn't be replicated other than to simply sit down and do it, training muscles and bone to behave exactly as they should. what they depend on. it's not that he's utterly lost it, but she can imagine the blow to one's confidence, if they couldn't trust themselves.

at least now, he had a pair to work by proxy.]

How truly terrible that you had to suffer that, Dr. Strange, but thank goodness you still came out with your life.

[because one of those things couldn't be changed. not in this world.]

[sorser]

Yes. I can appreciate that better now.

[The implication is clear enough: it was barely appreciated in the past, though Stephen sees no reason to get into it. That feels like a lifetime ago, and for all intents and purposes it is. The priority is to focus on the here and now.]

Hard to help the world when one isn’t in it. But anyway, I’m glad to have you here with us now, Miss Dyer. [Doctor Dyer?] Can you tell me a little about where you worked before this place?

[To better familiarize himself with her skillet, beyond forming excellent stitches.]

[medicative]

[now that she's no longer being affected by strange exhaustion, someone asks, and she can have a decent answer at the ready. plucking out the important facts, and letting the rest fall away.]

I used to run my own clinic, actually. My whole goal was community practice - attending to the ills of as many as I could, but also promoting health and prevention, and to be that resource for those I served.

[it's not untrue, her community had just dwindled down to a very, very small number now. it also clues him into the fact that her proper title is Doctor, but she'd made no effort to correct him from otherwise.]

[sorser]

[Running a clinic is no small feat, and it hints at her real qualifications. Stephen would confidently guess that her title of a medical profession is, in fact, a doctor.

That single string of commonality is bolstering, like they’ve added one more nail into the framework of the house that ADI built. One more set of skills, or array of experiences, to keep the medical portion viable. Making sure no one here bleeds out from their injuries if at all possible.]

The heart and soul of healthcare. [He huffs a little.] Not always seen in earnestness these days.

[He knows that from personal experience, unfortunately.]

It’ll be good to have you, Doctor. Are you familiar with the technology here?

[medicative]

[how strange it is, to be called doctor again. so accustomed to her name alone, when everyone had left off titles in close quarters. she'll have to get reaccustomed to it.]

Less so that I would like. I've made plans to set aside some of my free hours to learn it and get up to speed - at least, the parts that apply to us here.

[it's hard feeling at once terribly dated and then also familiar with systems that don't seem to exist at all, but she assumes that ADI knows what to do, given that some people seem to come from worlds where even the existence of a telephone is far fetched.]

The sooner all that's established, the more of help I can be.

[sorser]

[It sounds like an issue of timelines, as it always is — her hailing from a universe where the technology hasn’t quite caught up to ADI medical facilities, but it’s hardly her fault. Stephen is at least very familiar, all of it harkening back to his own experience working at the Metro.]

I’m happy to show you around a little more. Explain how some of the technology works.

[A time discrepancy heralds more than just an unfamiliarity with technology, too; history states that a few medical techniques might be outdated, too, unless her world is particularly adept.]

Some practices have probably changed from what you’re used to, too. I mean, not to assume, but… [He’s assuming.] Better to cover all our bases.

[medicative]

I'd greatly appreciate that, Dr. Strange. Doubtless I'll have a good many questions, so consider yourself warned.

[but she'd remember all the answers. it's a chance to newly study, to apply herself in a way that she hasn't been able to in a while, and it's doing something, which is its own kind of relief.]

[sorser]

[He makes an amused noise.]

Believe me, I’ve dealt with worse than someone asking me a long list of questions, Doctor Dyer.

[Once they’re done cleaning here, he’ll show her around — he’s already plotting out an itinerary in his head.]

Let’s finish up here first. Then we’ll make a day of it — all the questions you like.