In Arduis Fidelis (Open)
Jun 2, 2012 15:27:02 GMT -5
Post by John Brave on Jun 2, 2012 15:27:02 GMT -5
"Cheers for the lift, mate. How much do I owe you?" John's gravelly voice inquired, even as he threw his suitcase haphazardly out of the car; tatty old thing could stand a battering. Bit like him in that way. Nonetheless, his taxi driver, greasy old bugger with a flatcap and jowls like a bulldog, turned and replied in a typical yank accent "Twenty four dollars." Considering he'd been silent and stand offish throughout the entire trip, John wasn't well disposed towards him. The fact he was overcharging him for a ride up from Pilot Ridge just took the cake. Sticking one leg out, the Doctor took a ten from his pocket, scrunched it into a ball, and threw it at him, causing the driver to recoil.
"You'll take ten and like it...Fucking wanker..." This last bit the Brit muttered as he stood up from the car, threw his jacket over his shoulder, picked up his suitcase, and headed into the building.
It was bright and early in the morning, about 7:00am by his watch, and it was John's first day. He'd arrived at his apartment the night before, and spent most of the evening unpacking and getting things half comfortable. He'd been part way through before he flattened some cardboard boxes and slept on them. Heh, he'd slept on far worse in his time; including his own body fluids. Not a nice night. Still, he'd awoken and gotten ready, without the aid of liquor, so here he was, bright and early. The taxi driver took off, throwing a crude gesture out the window, and John didn't even notice. To busy getting directions to his new home, the infirmary. Apparently the last guy, some bugger called Theo Atwell, had left a month or so back - well, John was here now.
He found the small space in quite a state; lots of dust, paperwork half-done, the examination table turned round the wrong way. Still, there was a desk and a chair, which was more than he'd expected. Setting down his suitcase, John rolled his shoulders. Manual labour was something he could do; and he loved burning things. Well, not loved, but he'd always enjoyed it during his A-Levels, so it brought back great memories. Naturally, he opened the window at the end of the room, put the waste paper bin beside it, and just about resisted the urge to throw a lit cigarette in there. Either way, he did pull his lighter and spark up a cigarette...after checking for a smoke alarm. As long as he stayed near the window, he'd be fine...so he dragged his desk over to it, and started work. Only to get a knock on the door.
"Come in!" He bellowed, cigarette between his lips, papers in his hands.
"You'll take ten and like it...Fucking wanker..." This last bit the Brit muttered as he stood up from the car, threw his jacket over his shoulder, picked up his suitcase, and headed into the building.
It was bright and early in the morning, about 7:00am by his watch, and it was John's first day. He'd arrived at his apartment the night before, and spent most of the evening unpacking and getting things half comfortable. He'd been part way through before he flattened some cardboard boxes and slept on them. Heh, he'd slept on far worse in his time; including his own body fluids. Not a nice night. Still, he'd awoken and gotten ready, without the aid of liquor, so here he was, bright and early. The taxi driver took off, throwing a crude gesture out the window, and John didn't even notice. To busy getting directions to his new home, the infirmary. Apparently the last guy, some bugger called Theo Atwell, had left a month or so back - well, John was here now.
He found the small space in quite a state; lots of dust, paperwork half-done, the examination table turned round the wrong way. Still, there was a desk and a chair, which was more than he'd expected. Setting down his suitcase, John rolled his shoulders. Manual labour was something he could do; and he loved burning things. Well, not loved, but he'd always enjoyed it during his A-Levels, so it brought back great memories. Naturally, he opened the window at the end of the room, put the waste paper bin beside it, and just about resisted the urge to throw a lit cigarette in there. Either way, he did pull his lighter and spark up a cigarette...after checking for a smoke alarm. As long as he stayed near the window, he'd be fine...so he dragged his desk over to it, and started work. Only to get a knock on the door.
"Come in!" He bellowed, cigarette between his lips, papers in his hands.
