Dr. Griffin Rhys Jones
Jun 16, 2011 12:58:56 GMT -5
Post by Dr. Griffin Jones on Jun 16, 2011 12:58:56 GMT -5
The easy S T U F F . . .Name: Griffin Rhys Jones
Nickname: Griff, Dr. Jones
Age: 48
Member Group: Local - General Practitioner
Power(s): Reanimation -
Griffin is able to bring people and animals back to life. When it comes to actually reanimating a whole body, it, in a sense, drains a large portion of his own life force to give life to the reciprocant. In the case of healing wounds and injuries, it only extends to making a wound that had killed someone into a wound that would critically endanger someone.
Griff can also only resurrect the freshly dead – once a body has started to decompose, his powers do not work. When a person is revived, they still have the injuries that killed them, though Griff often uses his ability to lessen a lethal wound to stop them from dying straight after he's just revived them, after all, that would be a horrible waste of power.
As for side effects? Griffin finds his energy is often very low after using his powers, and in general he has a higher sleep requirement than most. He also has an increased appetite, and has a slightly decreased life span from giving his own years to those who have passed. Nothing too dramatic, but he doubts he'll see past his 85th birthday if he continues to use his Reanimating to resurrect the dead, no matter if he eats healthily, doesn't smoke and keeps active. He tries not to think about it, but he's always trying to keep himself at the peak of health, to try and gain some years back.
Play By: Robert Downey Jr.Let it F L O W . . .Chickenpox
Everywhere itched. His eyes, the backs of his ears and the very tips of his fingers. The more he was told he couldn't scratch, the more violently the itch came, till he found himself thrashing in the bedsheets. He wiggled and squirmed to try and get the itch to subside, then pushed against the wall next to his little bed and rubbed and rubbed till his mother came storming up the stairs and scolded him.
“Griffin Rhys Jones!” She shouted, pulling the itching boy from the wall and tucking him back up into the bed. “When I say no scratching, I mean no scratching! Do you want scars?” Her voice was lilting but firm, a typical trait of Welsh women. She tutted gently, moving her hand over her son's clammy forehead and pushing her long brown hair out of her face. Her name was Cerys, and she, like her husband, and her father, and her grandfather, had always lived in Pontypridd, and she fully intended for her sons to keep the family name going for as long as they could.
“But ma, it itches!” Griff protested, scooting around in the sheets and pouting. The woman tutted gently, and offered a small smile to her son.
“I'll go make an oatmeal bath for you later.” She said brightly. “Now, wait and don't itch, and I'll bring your supper up.”
Not only was the itching driving the small welsh boy crazy, but he was bored upstairs in his room with nothing but three puzzles and an assortment of hand-me-down books for company. He'd finished the puzzles in record time, and even finished a book before the itching had gotten too much. He wished his brothers were allowed upstairs to entertain him, or even that his dad would come upstairs after work and read him the paper, or tell him a story about what happened at work.
Daffyd Jones worked at the local factory, as a supervisor. Whilst he wasn't as rich as some, the family, and their three boys, seemed to get on quite well. Sure, a lot of their stuff was second hand, or hand me down, but they had three square meals, a nice house and clothes without holes. He worked hard for his family, and Daffyd adored his wife and children. It was, however, a pain keeping Gethin and Owen from bothering their younger brother while he was contagious.
As it was, Griffin was just about to creep along the hallway to go and pester Owen, Cerys reappeared from downstairs and scolded her youngest boy, lifting him up over her shoulders and plonking him down on the bed with a huff. “I'll give you a hiding if you keep that up!” She warned, before retrieving the soup.Broken Neck
Griffin liked the summer holidays. He and his two brothers would head off to the abandoned quarry and pick up rocks to shape into characters, lions, little monkeys, monsters... anything they could create from the little stones they found. As it was, the day they went to the quarry would be the day that Griff's whole world would turn upside down.
The quarry was a dusty affair, littered with sharp rocks and the sproutings of grass here and there, a few weeds sticking up haphazardly over crags in the quarry wall. Griff was wandering aimlessly here and there desperately hunting for a nice big black stone when Owen yelped and then flailed his arms, hollering for his brothers to come and look at what he'd found. Dropping a handful of stones and racing Gethin, who had likewise just dropped what he'd found, to where Owen was, the pair peered down between a large stinging nettle and a half formed prickly hedge.
Owen was gingerly prodding the corpse of a grey tabby cat with a stick. It's head was on an odd angle, and it seemed to be freshly dead. Ants had only just begun to gather around the nose and eyes of the animal. Griff frowned and set down beside his older brother, staring at the body with sadness. “That's just sad.” He said, looking at Gethin. “He is dead, right?” Gethin leant over and put his dirty hand on the still cat's fur, then pulled back and wiped it on the back of his trousers, nodding grimly. The three brothers sat in silence for a long moment, and between them, they looked at each other, then the cat. It was Griff who finally chewed his lower lip and offered a suggestion.
“We should bury it. Her. It's not nice with the ants trying to get in her eyes and that.” He said softly, looking for something to help dig a hole with. Soon, the three boys were slaving away at making a grave for the feline, singing songs to help pass the time.
When the time came to lift the cat into the grave, Gethin suggested Griff do it. Shooing the ants from the cat's face, the youngest of the three moved his hands around the cat. There was a moment, just a fraction of a second when nothing happened, the boy had begun to lift the cat from it's dying spot on the ground and it was still limp. Then there was a rush, that felt like burning all the way from his body, like a sheet of paper having a corner torn off, except that paper was his heart. Griff thought he was having a heart attack, but then the cat MOVED.
Freezing still, the youngest stared as the little tabby blinked and moved it's head into a more natural position. It began to purr weakly. Griffin looked up at his two brothers with his mouth open, then let out a soft groan and fell backwards onto the floor, exhausted. He didn't wake up till much, much later.
When he did, his whole family was gathered around him, a doctor was next to him on the bed. There were muttered words and a vial of his blood on the sideboard. A soft grey tabby was coiled at the end of the bed. The word Meta human was being uttered around the room and the boy sat up in the bed. “What's going on?” Griff said nervously, chewing his lip. His father looked grim, and clamped his hand on his son's shoulder.
“Just relax, Griff. We'll sort it out. Rest.”Influenza
When his room-mate had gotten sick, Griffin had done the very sweet thing of fixing him up something to drink – a hot honey and lemon and a small amount of buttered toast. He'd spent the afternoon playing doctor, and found himself enjoying the whole experience so much, he'd even offered to help get his friend into the bathroom and keep an eye on him for the rest of the weekend. Normal people would have escaped as fast as they could, but the short boy had worked hard to keep him comfortable throughout the whole nasty affair.
After a week of explaining to various teachers that Nathan was very sick, Griff had wished his powers could have extended out to help the boy through the trouble. But of course, there was nothing that his powers could do with aggressive living cells, and he just went to training feeling a little glum that he couldn't help Nathan any more than he already had.
Of course, another week passed, and Griff felt funny. He woke up feeling feverish, and he had sniffles. He even panicked when he felt off his food, his body was shaking and he was 100 percent certain he had got Nathan's bout of flu. He dragged himself to his morning class and apologised for his sluggishness, then steadily convinced himself further and further that he had definite flu symptoms. He got out his trusty medical symptoms book from the library and sat, testing himself against each of the signs, till he knew he was sick, and had to go and see the nurse to get a pass out of his lessons.
“Mr. Jones, there is really absolutely nothing wrong with you. You don't have a fever, you don't seem to have the poor reaction to light.” She said simply, checking the boy over once more. “Your pulse is normal, you don't have swollen tonsils.” She tutted gently, and took a blood sample anyway, patting the boy's head. “Just take a few paracetamol and I'll let you know if the test brings back anything nasty.”
Griffin frowned as he left the nurse's office, scuffing his feet as he disappeared back into his dorm. He was sure he was sick. Maybe he had mono? Maybe he had something more serious? He'd have to go back to the library tomorrow and check. He wasn't going to let his body create unnecessary strain when he could fix the problem himself.
And that was how Griffin became a hypochondriac.Open Compound Fracture
When Griffin had first gone to medical school, he found himself in a whole manner of situations that he would have turned his nose up at when he was small. Though he'd already expressed a desire to be a general practitioner, he wanted to be trained in as many different types of problem as he could get under his belt before he ended medical school.
Which was why he was running alongside a trolley with an A and E patient, listening to what the head paramedic was saying. The man on the trolley looked a mess, there were cuts and bruises all over his body, and even Griff felt a little queasy seeing his leg, a shard of bone erupting out of the skin all jagged, leaving the leg looking completely wrong. But eventually, the clinical side of the short welsh man flicked on, and he began to assess the damage. He'd need pins, the wound would need thorough cleaning, antibiotics would need to be prescribed to lessen the chance of an infection in the bone, he'd need stitches too.
As the cart wheeled in through to x-ray, something Griff thought was kind of redundant seeing as how the man's leg was very obviously broken, the short man kept an eye on the injured patient's vitals, pulse, breathing, airways, all the important things. His pulse was a little weak, but he assumed that was because of the open wound in his leg, a place absolutely packed full of blood vessels, and the bone had ruptured a few, though, thankfully, missed the main artery.
He was delighted that he could scrub into surgery though, and when the patient was put under, he silently witnessed the bone being pushed back into place and screwed, plated and generally pinned into the correct position. Though the surgery was completely fascinating, and a real insight into the orthopaedic side of his profession, Griffin was still determined that he wanted to be a GP. To keep an eye on those who had these injuries and help them through the recovery, as well as keeping them from doing themselves any further harm.
When the man woke up from his operation, he found a warm, smiling face next to the bed, holding a clipboard and a pencil.
“Hello there Mr. Taylor.” He said brightly, taking a glance of the vital signs and noting them down. “Your operation was successful, we've managed to pin the bone back and stitch the skin. How are you feeling?”
In the notes that accompanied Griffin's final exam, his examiners and teachers all commented – Excellent bedside manner, warm and friendly.
Griffin got the highest possible grade when he left medical school. His family were very, very proud.Senile Dementia
Griffin was 36 when his mother began to forget things. He'd been working at Kocher for a year, helping the students with their own health problems when his eldest brother called, his voice slightly broken.
“Griff, it's me.” Gethin's voice was tentative, so different from the normal, confident tone his brother gave on the phone. Instantly the youngest brother halted in his step, moving from his kitchen to the sitting room, and sank down in a chair. “It's Ma. She's … she's...” His voice cracked, and he was certain he heard his brother crying.
“Geth? What's wrong?” He said anxiously, running his hands through his beard.
“Me and Owen came down to visit on Sunday. Dad says she's started forgetting things. She forgot who we were in the morning, then stopped wearing glasses because she said her eyes were fine.” Gethin paused, letting out a deep sigh. “The doctor says-”
“It's dementia.” Griff concluded. His heart sank low in his chest as the words fell out of his mouth. He suddenly didn't want what was cooking in the oven. “I'll book a flight back home, Geth. Don't worry.” He added softly, fingers gripping the phone a little too tight.
“Can you...?”
“Only decaying cells, I can't... fix Ma.” Those words were even more painful, and he clenched his jaw tightly. “I wish I could.” He added sadly. There was a poignant silence on both ends on the phone, then a heavy sigh. Griffin wanted to be home right now, but he knew he'd have to get permission to jet home, and even then, he wasn't sure if he'd want to return, knowing his mum...
His mum was going to forget him.
The next week dragged by painfully slow, as Griffin decided to take leave of Kocher till he could get his mum the best possible care. The flight was just as slow, and the doctor couldn't appreciate the Alps beneath him as he flew back to Wales. All he could think of was his family, the pool of nerves and fear that when he walked through the door his mother would blank him and not even recognise him. It was terrifying, to the point where Griff had visited the toilet twice on the journey there – and not even thought he was coming down with something.
When he drove in silence to Pontypridd, he still felt worried, in fact, the closer to home he got, the more knots there were in his stomach. As he pulled up outside the family home – his parents had refused to sell it even though their children had all flown the nest – he paused to compose himself, to push the sick feelings down, out of his throat. He hesitated, then knocked tentatively on the door, chewing on his lower lip so hard he could feel the delicate flesh tear.
“Griffin.” His father said, looking sombre, and so much more tired than he remembered. They shook hands, then Daffyd, never normally a cuddly man, pulled his youngest into a tight hug. “Owen and Gethin are inside with your mother. She's... having a turn right now.”
The nerves and fear multiplied as he stepped through the door into the sitting room, where his mother sat on the sofa, staring glassily around her as though nothing seemed to be right. Her teeth were grit as Owen gently tried to explain to her that this was how the living room had always been, no one had changed it when she wasn't looking.
“Ma.” Griffin said quietly from the doorway, heart racing as his two brothers looked over to him.
Cerys paused, and looked her son over for a moment.
“Griffin.” She said with a warm smile, opening her arms up for a hug.
She'd remembered him. Griffin bit back tears as he clung onto his ageing mother with relief. She smelt like she always did, of flour and of the roses she tended out in the garden. Her elderly hands were shaking a little as she cupped her son's cheeks.
“Oh Griffin.” She said, kissing his forehead. “I'm not very well.” Her voice was sad and nervous, and she whispered softly. “I keep forgetting things.”
Griffin simply held his mum, burying his face in her shoulder so she couldn't see him cry.Streptococcal pharyngitis
When Cerys started to forget everything, Griff admitted he couldn't cope. His father was already in the nursing home, and his brothers had, within reason, begun to move on too. There were still visits, every birthday and Christmas, but seeing both his parents decaying away without his ability being worth anything was enough to make the doctor crave being as far away from the whole thing as possible. He supposed it was quite cowardly, seeing that his parents had looked after him – why couldn't he do the same? But then, it was beyond even his level of care. Cerys didn't remember what day it was any more, little own her own children and husband.
When an open position for another doctor – one in Vermont – came up, the doctor took the job in both hands and leapt for it. He'd explained to Gethin and Owen that he planned on going to America, and though Gethin was angry at first, angry that his brother was bailing, he eventually understood. He said a sad goodbye to his parents, a father that was now zimmerframe bound, and a mother who didn't know who he was, then began to pack his belongings up for his last move (he hoped). His nieces and nephews came out to say goodbye as he boarded the flight to America. A small gaggle of Jones' waving eagerly as their uncle, their brother-in-law, their brother, disappeared from their lives indefinitely.
Griffin instantly liked Pilot Ridge. The house he'd bought was a lovely change from the houses in Pontypridd, or for that matter, the apartment he'd had in Switzerland. It had two floors and a lovely big basement, which he converted into a sort of office – filled with books and a large leather sofa. He even had a nice large garden, something he'd never really experienced before. He instantly decided upon getting himself a pet, and ended up buying Gladys, a pygmy goat. He enjoyed the week before work, and found himself shedding a lot of the past stresses away, though he still felt twangs of guilt nag at him from time to time.
Of course, he still believed he was going to get hepatitis when he got a splinter, but that was Griffin for you.
When the first day came, Griffin settled down in his desk, arranged his cactus collection daintily around the window sill, and set up a few family photos and landscape pictures around the room. He dusted off the chairs, stuck his name to the door and checked there wasn't anything suspect on the examination table. He was even humming as he set his name and files up on the database, and blushed a little when the nurse caught him humming the theme to Pirates of the Caribbean. Looking over at her, he tilted his head quizzically, only for a young girl to be sent in, pointing at her throat.
“Hello there.” Griffin said warmly, gesturing to the chair. “What seems to be the problem?”
The girl frowned, then croaked out “My throat.” Her eyes filled with discomfort.
Griffin took a deep breath and moved out from the desk, wheeling his chair over and taking his little torch and his wooden spatula, smiling. “Say Ah, and keep that mouth nice and wide.” The girl complied, and he peered deep into her throat, frowning a little at what he saw. He then quietly took his aural thermometer and checked her temperature. Withdrawing, he began typing on the computer.
“What's your name sweetheart?” He said gently, looking over to the girl.
“Helen Baxtor.” She replied, holding her throat in both hands. Nodding and pulling up a new file, the man quietly typed away, before printing out something and handing it to her.
“You have strep throat. I've just printed out a prescription for Amoxicillin, which will help you feel a lot better. If you pass it to the nurse on the way out, she'll try and get the medicine for you later today. Keep your fluids up and try and rest as much as you can. I'll also print out a sick note for the rest of your classes today and tomorrow. Come see me Wednesday morning.”
As the girl left, smiling and nodding her thanks, Griffin span happily round in the chair. He already loved his new job.Behind the M A S K . . .Name: Zuu
Age: 21
RP Experience: 11ish years
How did you find us?: Gypsy MagicShow your S K I L L S . . .If you don't know how I RP by now, you should all be ashamed of yourselves :c.
