Logs:PCR
| PCR | |
|---|---|
polymerase chain reaction // personal connections revealed | |
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2023-05-10 Why here? |
| Location | |
It's not so strange at all really, this intrusion into the laboratory at this early hour -- with a fairly strong culture of healthy work-life balance here this place is not chock full of people inclined to push themselves to working crazy overtime. Nerds are nerds everywhere, though; hyperfixations and the grip of exciting projects does here and there tend to lead to Losing Track Of Time, and it isn't unusual to find coworkers drifting the halls in the small hours or rushing in bright and way too early when an idea has struck. It might be a surprise, though, to look up and find this particular doctor wandering in. "Toure", maybe not as common as "Johnson" or "Miller" but not so rare as to note; Dr. Toure, probably heard several times by Lily around here already -- in an administrative capacity, maybe, might need sign off on the absolute biggest things, or in a personal one from a fellor researcher, really helped me out in the past. Dr. Rasheed Toure, likely enough known outside of here before, a standout pioneer in his discipline, revolutionizing the field of neuroscience and highly respected for the work he has done to further understanding and treatment of neurodegenerative conditions. Currently, dressed in slacks and a vertical striped blue and white dress shirt that despite the look of finely tailored cloth somehow manages to seem just a bit ill-fitting on his faintly slouched posture, hands in pockets, in an unrushed but steady line directly for Lily. "Dr. Allred?" Polite tone, small nod, just a hint of New York in his voice as he continues: "How are you settling in?" How has Lily been settling in? In the month or so since her arrival she’s gotten quite comfortable in this laboratory, at this bench, at least. This long stretch of work surface has not, perhaps, been formally cordoned off for her but it’s become distinctly Allred’s bench. The equipment has been rearranged to be just so, empty shelves above the water/gas lines filled with requisites for her wet work, her size of nitrile gloves, her preferred brand of hardback laboratory notebook. Where bench meets wall, a few photos are tacked up: Lily with other hikers in front of a waterfall in Appalachian autumn; Lily some years ago in black graduation robes with a red stole, holding a toddler on her hip; Lily with some other young people in white coats, posed in front of a banner that says “WELCOME, INTERNS!”. When Rasheed makes himself known, Lily is in the process of lifting — very carefully! — a Very Strange Jello Rectangle out of a clear liquid and depositing it on something that looks a lot like a flatbed scanner. Maybe it is a paper scanner? Stranger things have been repurposed in the name of science. Her lab coat, breast pocket filled with pens as ever, is open over a navy button down dotted with small white-lined birds, tucked into dark jeans that might pass for slacks at a distance. Hair well away from her face in a tight braid, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She looks up at her title, eyes widening slightly behind her glasses when she realizes who has interrupted. The gel slips the rest of the way out of her hands. "Dr. Toure." A little bit of stress on the name that could be disbelief or awe. "Uh. Good? Well? Ohsh--" Lily glances down and away, reassuring herself that the gel is still intact enough, then back up. "Sorry, I just -- wasn't expecting company this morning. I didn't -- realize you were the Dr. Toure. Or --" A second crease joins the fading red one on her forehead from her safety goggles, "-- that you were on site." "I rarely am, these days." There's a bit of regret, here, in Rasheed's voice and the small pinch of his expression. His eyes widen, reflexively he holds up a hand halfway towards the gel as it slips but then catches himself, folding his ungloved hands behind his back instead. "More labs than we used to have -- more paperwork than we used to have. Even since you were at Hofstader." He's looking -- at the tacked-up photos, first, and then at Lily. "We can always use more talented geneticists here, Mashallah, but I admit I was a little surprised to see you back." Lily nods, though the furrow in her brow is not unfurrowing in the slightest. Her own hands (gloved and damp) meet in front of her in an uneasy twist of fingers, her cheeks just slightly flushed. "Well, it was -- a bit of a doing, getting my MD done -- I'm hoping to go back and finish my PhD, one of these days." She perks up on the last clause, hopeful there before settling into a more careful choice of words. "I was really grateful for the opportunities at Hofstader, and I was proud of the work.” "Oh -- as you should be," Rasheed sounds perfectly earnest, here, "it's very promising, and I'm looking forward to seeing what more you accomplish here. There's still so much we don't understand about what governs how the X-Gene expresses from individual to individual -- or even the fluctuations in the same individual over the course of time, and I'm hoping there's as much Lassiter can learn from you as you can learn from this facility." His eyes have tracked down to the rectangle of jello somewhere in here, but now return to settle squarely on Lily. "I wasn't questioning your interest in the field, though. It's just -- I know the options are slim in this branch of genetics, but there are other -- less controversial research facilities out there. After that tragedy with your brother, after what people said in the news --" His hands turn up, spread. "Why here?" Lily stills at brother, at news. Her gaze drops from Rasheed to her hands, anxious twisting paused. She swallows. “I’m here for my brother,” Lily manages at last, quiet. “Here, this field, and here, Prometheus.” She turns to close the gel viewer, giving Rasheed only a view of her in profile. Slowly, but with firm conviction: “This program is the only one anywhere close to cracking X-Gene expression, and my goal since I was very young — since I lost my brother the first time — has needed that puzzle piece solved.” Lily is peeling off her gloves, but glances sidelong back at Rasheed when she continues, “I can’t cure mutation without it. A less 'controversial' facility won’t get me there in my lifetime. Prometheus might.” Rasheed has crossed one arm over his chest, long fingers resting in the crook of his elbow. His other hand lifts, cupping his cheek, as his brows crease into a slow -- slow frown. "I am sorry," comes out heavier than his previous words, by all evidence sincere. "I had known him since --" His breath comes out in a slow hard push. "Well. Long before he was Dr. Allred. Came to us so unstable it was a miracle he got here in one piece. Lot of days spent worried he'd end up half in a wall before he learned to control it. I'm just sorry we couldn't --" His head shakes heavily. "Don't know if he would have wanted it cured, later in life. Gave him a lot of complication -- some we still had to tease through together even -- years later. But a lot of joy, too. I've seen others, though, whose abilities were so incompatible with life that -- well. Your work will save lives." The ball of inside-out nitrile compresses in Lily’s grip for a moment before she sets it down. “I hadn’t realized you knew him — well, that you knew him, but for that long — There were so many people at the funeral, so many stories, and that whole. Time. Was a bit of a blur for me.” When she turns back to Rasheed, Lily is fidgeting with one of her many pens, the cap clicking lightly when she twists it. “I’m glad you were able to help him control it, what I remember was — terrifying, then in retrospect, fascinating. I have so many questions now, about his life, his power, but.” One shoulder hitches up. “I can’t ask him. I can, maybe, with my work here, prevent more mutant children from suffering.” "It was a complicated ability. Moreso than people understood. Even once he had it under control -- I think a lot of people don't realize how much these mutations can affect every part of someone's life. The way he moved, the way he thought -- when he lost his arm regular prosthetics just couldn't work, I had to work with a whole team to develop an entirely new type of myoelectric --" Rasheed stops, bows his head. His voice drops lower, apologetic. "I'm so sorry. There's so much I could tell you -- he was an amazing man. I'm sure you heard it a thousand times. He and I -- didn't always see eye to eye on the work we did here, but." His eyes lift -- looking back to Lily's scanner, and then to her. "I'm glad you're with us, Dr. Allred." With his head bowed, Rasheed might miss the slight widening of Lily’s eyes, the way her hand tightens against the pen in her hand. "… I have. But. If you had the time, I would love to hear — everything." Lily glances up, meeting Rasheed’s gaze with bright eyes, rapidly blinking. "I’m sure you are busy, I’m also going to —" Her eyes track briefly, also, to the machine beside her, "– be quite occupied with my project, really." When she looks back at Rasheed, there is a small, thin smile on her lips. "You’re a friend of my brother’s, Dr. Toure. You can call me Lily." Rasheed's nods, lets out a slow breath. "Of course. It's ambitious. We've been working on unraveling this since -- well. Before Prometheus was Prometheus, really. I'll leave you to it, but my door is always open." He turns to go, but halfway to the door pauses, turning back to Lily. "-- I noticed you put in a request to work with Joshua Salinas. His ability is -- highly relevant to your project, obviously, but. Just -- be careful there, mm? He can be a lot more dangerous than he seems. Your safety is always our priority." And then, hands back in his pockets, he is gone. "I’ll drop by." Lily’s smile does not falter, though her eyebrows lift at Rasheed’s warning. Nods, replies even though the man is already walking away — "I’ll watch out for him." When Rasheed is out of sight, she glances down at the pen in her hand, and twists the cap once more to stop the recording. | |
