nysalogs | c-c-c-catchall early meetings,

[ John's shot a text off and thought himself up to Thesa (the instant teleportation thing isn't going to feel normal fast, but it is handy)— and he's headed straight to the mess hall, straight to the coffee. in waiting for her he'll go to pick up a couple of espresso shots and get himself situated with a pad of paper he's picked up from the dorms - may as well take some notes if they're going to be thinking out loud.

hindsight tells him that neither of them really know who they're looking for. but they know where they're meeting, they know when, and maybe the coffee will give it away, along with John glancing around for company. ]

( she's not far behind in thinking herself up to Thesa, just give her a minute or two to get herself situated. she takes off the wings and halo angely bits off her suit since she doesn't actually need them. for now the white of her suit is hard to not take as a doctor's white. plus, it's got primum non nicer on her shoulder so it's a bit on the nose.

when she gets to the canteen, it's not hard for an intelligent person like her to put to two and two together. man looking for company, with coffee. maybe he's a bit shorter than what she expected, since doctors are, in her experience, taller or grander or just somehow larger than life, but she smiles at him all the same as she approaches and sits across from him.

in a moment she has produced a notebook of her own. see? colleagues. ) Hello there, John. Ready to get down to business?

[ and herein he finds himself, not unusually, seeming less than impressive. decked out in the shirt, jumper and jeans that keep him feeling mostly like he might not actually be on the verge of insanity, entirely unremarkable to look at, and in sweeps Angela Ziegler, looking thoroughly impressive by merit of both biology and dress. even without the trimmings, her suit would qualify as a conversation piece absolutely anywhere on his planet.

wow. ... alright, head in the game, John Watson. head in the game.

and she's already got her notebook out. he can tell they're going to get on swimmingly.

a smile to greet her properly, and John raises his brow and his pen in a display of absolute assent. ] Ready as I'll ever be. Good to see you. Now for the fun of working out where to start.

( She's not a woman who has to be impressed to give respect; she's just glad that there's another here whom she can, without qualification, call collegue. Even if a lot of the research she herself is responsible for is probably going to be over John's head, they come from a common background, and, to judge by the matching pads, mindsets. She gives him a pleased little smile at the poise of his pen as she reaches for a cup of coffee.

After a sip: ) How about we get to know each other? ( She laughs. ) Not at the beginning, of course. Did you happen to have any involvement with those draughts Lysa was passing around? Either taking one, or administering one.

No. Call me paranoid, but I wasn't keen on getting involved with a magical mystery brew.

[ he almost stops there and sends the question back, but— that wasn't actually overly helpful, and there's more to say, so, ]

I kept catching the edges of conversations about what had been happening with them, walked past a few rooms that I didn't realise were housing patients until later. Eventually accidentally stumbled into a room where somebody was shuddering through the side-effects, but at that point I was— [ a slight hesitation: wasted isn't the most professional wording ] out of commission.

Yourself?

Well, you know what they say about paranoia.

( A few things, actually. But whatever witticism she maybe specifically thinking, she doesn't say, instead moving on to answer his question. While speaking to him she looks up at him every so often. For the first bit, though, her lips curve into a grin and her eyes light with unspoken understanding. Being as mindful as she is about preserving her body's peak as long as possible, she was the sober designated adult that evening. )

Ah. Well. I took one of the mixtures myself. I had two bruised ribs and minor abrasions from a run in with the local wildlife. All of this was healed within ten minutes. Oddly enough, the side effects lingered longer than my wounds did. It's not as quick as what I'm used to, but it's still remarkably effective for something--natural. Unprocessed.

Of course, the biggest issues are the side effects. But I do believe there is real potential here.

[ he listens closely and well, taking the opportunity to sip at his coffee and get that caffeine involved in the process— he hadn't known that she'd had such close contact with the potions, and the fact is that makes this whole venture seem a little less removed: ultimately he'd objected to the things on principle and observation, but personal experience puts them in a much better place for understanding.

John nods out his approval and understanding - if she, as a medical professional, thinks some aspect of these things is worth salvaging, he can get behind it. especially given they ten minutes to heal up some bruised ribs, side effects aside.

and the next thing to do is talk about the importance of isolating and understanding the key ingredients but... hang on. ]

Just to back up a bit - ten minutes is a slow heal for you?

( The sweet bitter bite of black bergamot tea washes back as she regards him, eyes widening every so slightly. Her surprise is at his. She had said she was from the future, hadn't she? At least fifty years as far as she can tell--his time was right on the cusp of a real technological boom. Surely he, even though he'd been living in, could have seen it for what it was?

Once her tea is swallowed, she gives an elegant smile and rests one of her hands on her notebook. )

Let me qualify my statement: in absolutely ideal conditions, with the proper facilities, for such minor wounds. I mentioned I was from your future, didn't I?

[ forgive him this slight squint. there's a lot to deconstruct there and that elaboration really doesn't help to clarify altogether very much. ]

Yes, but you didn't mention we'd upgraded to miracle medicine. How fast are we talking?

Miracle is, of course, an objective term. I am not always a miracle worker.

( Is she amused with herself? Yes. A bit. But, as she rests both her hands in her lap, she gives his question a good attempt at consideration. She's thinking about how much she needs to actually explain. )

...For something so minor, I would have been able to take care of it less than two minutes when I had access to the best facilities, and as many resources as I needed. Here, it would probably take me about seven. I am being very conservative at the moment.

[ seven minutes. John's brows are raised about as far as they can go for moment... and slowly sink down into an expression that sits somewhere on the borders of incredulous and amused. I am not always a miracle worker. funny. seems to him like the future's got a lot going for it.

or would have done.

a deep breath, as if he's preparing to spout some kind of wise and terrible thing... ]

... Remind me again why you're deigning to work with me when I'm basically medieval?

[ nope, just playing. ]

Medieval?

( There a laugh in her voice then, another light in her eyes and it's clear she's asking, really? Has he not seen just as much of the conduct on the surface of the planet below them she has. He's playing, but it's not just a one-man game. Lips pursing ever so slightly, she raises her chin and sets it on her palm with a haughty casualness.

Two can play that game. )

You're not suddenly self-conscious are you, John?

Me? Uh, yeah.

[ listen. sometimes, to win, you first have to lose. is he feeling in any way uncomfortable, despite his apparently hugely inferior medical expertise? no, owing in no small part to her attitude. is he going to play hard regardless? you bet. ]

Why wouldn't I be? I'm the Nokia to your iPhone.

[ oh, but actually - ] Speaking of insane healing speeds, I have had an encounter with a magical healer now. Just not Lysa.

( When he's going to play along, why not have fun? She looks at him and laughs, and she doesn't mind at all that it looks like it may be at his expense. Which, of course, it isn't. Especially if he's enjoying it too. )

Perhaps. But only one of those brands is still around in my time.

( And guess which one it is? Without really becoming too serious, she continues. ) Lysa is misguided, not magical. But go ahead and humour me: what about this healer was so magical?

Pardon me. [ for insinuating that highly improbable healing medication of the Lysa variety might be anything other than scientific - he had been being facetious, but it's hard to about the woman he's referring to now. this healer, John really would love for Mercy to be able to debunk the ~magical~ properties of. ]. Her hands glowed, she held them over my skin and in less than two minutes the tissue from a wound I sustained on a metal edge of one of the pods was completely healed with little to no trace that anything had ever happened at all.

[ if he looks slightly absent, it's only because thinking back to feeling his skin knitting itself back together under that warm glow is a strange kind of out-of-body experience all of its own. ]

I should probably also mention I think she was a fish. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but context where context's due.

Edited (casually forgets an important line) 2017-08-25 22:03 (UTC)

( She's having her own kind of fun with their banter, but she does sober up and listen to him and to what he has to say. And she does her best to parse. Even though she comes from a world with science gorillas from the moon, she has a hard time believing this other woman is a fish. That seems like a bit of a stretch even to her. Mercy, with amusement glowing in her eyes, manages an otherwise oddly straight face: )

Are you sure she wasn't a marine mammal of some kind? That seems much more likely.

( Sorry, if John was looking for any kind of reassurance. Though she gives a thoughtful look, and even puts her hand on her chin, she doesn't have anything useful to say. Yet. )

Was her healing warm? Or itchy?

[ the look he gives her on that marine mammal remark is something wild. and by wild what we really mean here is bordering on homicidal - overstatement only insofar as he's not yet lost enough of his mind to get to That Point. (kidding, probably, but it's filthy all the same, in no small part because no, he absolutely isn't sure and he'd really rather not spend any more time thinking about it.)

but onwards to the next question, one he can actually without shooting daggers out of his eyeballs. ]

Warm. I could feel the skin healing, but not in the way you usually can. Not itchy, just— I honestly don't know how to describe it. Warm.

( aaaaand that look is pretty much what she was expecting. so much so, she has to put her hand to her mouth and cover the evidence of how thoroughly pleased she is that he took the bait so completely. once she removes it, there's still obvious signs of strain there. but she is trying so very admirably to not look like she's taking the piss. so to speak, anyway.

after listening to him, the best she can do is this: helpfully shrug, and sigh a little, as if she's finally acknowledging how much bullshit they actually are wading in. or is it swimming in? there's enough of it really to be a full sea up to their necks. )

What if I told you that, in my personal opinion, that sounds like magic?

( short of waggling eyebrows, her gesture to punctuate this is by placing her hands on the table and leaning into her elbows. )

[ ... you can go off some people, you know. ]

Yeah? Magic? [ shocked and amazed! eyebrows up! there's even a little jaw drop for effect, taking a quick sip of coffee as if to steady his freshly frayed and addled nerves. this is a revelation. he is overcome. ] Wow. —D'you know, I never would've seen that coming.

[ 🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃 ]

c-c-c-catchall early meetings,

for Mercy, Thesa station

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oh my god.... in what watery inbox depths did I lose this I'm so sorry

rises like a monster from the black lagoon?

also does this, we are lagoon monsters now

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