ArchivedLogs:New Colleagues

New Colleagues
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Elizabeth, Micah	2 April 2014 Meeting a new doctor at the Clinic.
Location <NYC> The Mendel Clinic - Lower East Side
With its sharp crystalline edges and sleek lines knifing up into the sky, this building is one of the most /distinctive/ new additions to the neighborhood. An angular structure in glass and steel, the tall tower has a deceptively slender look to it that is belied by the heavy security as soon as you enter the doors. The front doors are frosted with the Clinic's logo -- a rising sun over a rod of Asclepius -- a motif echoed in many places throughout the building. Visitors to the clinic must first pass through a small mantrap, guarded by some of the Clinic's security guards; once they make it through the metal detector and airlock's double doors they emerge into the much more hospitable lobby. With dark wood floors underneath and comfortable black and red couches at its edges, the high windows give the room an airy feel. A bank of elevators to one side carry visitors to the many destination floors, while the wide welcome desk at the other side is manned by a security guard ready to help point visitors in the right direction. Late afternoon on a Wednesday finds the city sunny and warm and the Clinic bustling. Both inside /and/ out, something of a bottleneck at the security trap caused, perhaps, by a minor kerfluffle with some of the protestors outside. Jax is /not/ here on duty -- he /has/ a badge clipped to his jeans that states he is a Senior guard but his clothing is just everyday street wear and not the distinctive red and black uniform. And yet despite this he is -- or has been -- outside, coaching a second guard through the minor disturbance. Only then does he head in, a little bit flushed through his pale cheeks, scuffing a hand over his bald head. The name on his ID may or may not be a familiar one, given his terrorism arrest and subsequent exoneration (and honours) that have put his name up with the ranks of -- well, Magneto, he isn't exactly in /good/company when it comes to Famous Mutants. His face doesn't quite match the one that had been spread all over the news, though; no piercings, no brightly inked tattoos, shaved bald head in place of bright dyed hair, bland unassuming Cooper Union tee shirt and jeans. Elizabeth arrives, only to have definite problems with the protesting crowd outside given her obvious status as a mutant. Keeping her wings furled in close each side of her back, eyes straight ahead, she paces briskly for the door whilst doing her rather good best to ignore heckles and jeers. Pausing for a moment, she clips her own identity badge in place on the lapel of her jacket before getting past the guards, only then turning to frown at the protestors and study them for several seconds. This done, she flicks her wings outward, stretching them as much as she can manage without any impacting taking place while she steps toward into reception, fussy folding of feathers follows before she glances around and inclines her head to Jackson without much sign of recognition. "I am afraid I am new here and so do not know names yet, Doctor Elizabeth Bowen." Her accent is mild but suggests Florida. "Hm? Oh! Hi!" Jax's tone is chipper-bright and /his/ accent is immediately glaringly obvious, a /heavy/ molasses-thick drawl that indicates the /deep/ Deep South. "New? Oh, gosh, ma'am, welcome. I'd say it ain't always such a madhouse but, it kinda really /is/ always such a madhouse. We try to keep it quiet as possible for you, though." His smile is immediate, sunny-warm. He extends a hand (the smallest finger on it is missing, just a nub of scarred stump in its place) for a handshake as he tips his gaze to regard Elizabeth -- the woman is reflected in the large mirrored lenses of the sunglasses he hasn't bothered to remove indoors. "Jackson Holland. M'on the guard staff here, I'm sure I'll be seeing plenty of you around. You come to any of us if you meet with problems, aright, Doctor?" Elizabeth smiles back at the response, flaring out feathers once again as she extends a hand to firmly shake the one offered, definitely stilting the motion as others move past. She does pause a moment at the missing finger and briefly develop a hint of a front, but that is immediately gone. "Thank you, I am afraid that thanks to these." Turning her head to check for space is followed by a shift of her feet for balance then gesture with an extending wing. "I tend to draw a lot of attention which cannot exactly help your job." "This whole /place/ draws a lotta attention," Jackson answers with a quiet laugh, "it ain't hardly your fault that people get kinda jerky 'bout things that ain't no ways their business. I hope you like it here /otherwise/, though. It's -- an interesting place to work, I'd guess. An' I know a lotta the other medical staff, you'll be in good company. You doin' primary care?" His handshake is firm, a little callused and quite /noticeably/ warmer than it should be, an uncomfortably feverish heat to his skin in the brief moment before he lets go. "Well I have only been here a few days but this is definitely better than what I was doing before, the whole work environment is infinitely more friendly." Elizabeth then nods, another copious flick of her partially extended wing taking place before she furls it inward. "I am a general practitioner yes, I wanted to be a surgeon but... Well, issues. It was hard enough to get a degree and residency." "What was you doin' before, ma'am?" There's a curious note to Jackson's tone as he steps aside from the entry way to lean up kind of /against/ one of the lobby couches rather than properly on it, hip settling up against its side. "Oh, gosh, I can imagine -- well, no, I /can't/ imagine but school got difficult enough for me when folks found out an' I went to /art/ school they're /supposed/ t'be liberal hippies. Where /did/ you go to school? My boys are gonna be applying at colleges next fall an' it'd be good to know where won't kick 'em out just for looking mutanty." Despite the mention of nearly college-aged sons he -- admittedly looks only barely out of /his/ teens, if even that. Micah is dressed in work clothes of discount store quality: TARDIS-blue polo shirt and khakis with a CONTRACTOR ID badge clipped to his pocket. His auburn hair looks like it /started/ the day relatively neat and is slowly degrading into its natural state of muss as the hours go by. A black nylon rolling bag comes along behind him like a dog at heel, wheels clicking softly whenever they meet a change in surface or seam in the flooring. He is, perhaps unwisely, on the phone as he walks, having inopportunely been contacted by a hard-to-reach insurer and not wanting to lose them. "What I'm sayin' is the old brace is such a mess it'd be more expensive for me t'try t'fix it than t'make a new one. Right. Proximal trimline's entirely too short as-is, ain't distributin' pressure appropriately an' ain't got no kinda control with that lever arm. I gotta replace the articulation with a straight hinge on account of the excessive range of motion on here, too. S'gotta script from the ortho. already, so I'm really not sure what the problem... Yes, give me her number an' I'll talk t' /her/ about it." Finally stopping by a wall, Micah pulls out a pen to scribble a phone number on his palm. "Mmhmm. Thank y'sir. Have a good day." Once the call is ended, he enters the contact into his phone instead of relying on hand-notes. "Working in Alaska for an oil company, it was miserable but when they realized how much they could save by my not needing a helicopter to get to the middle of nowhere? Well I got a job which was more than I could say for elsewhere." Elizabeth reaches back to smooth her feathers as she talks now, relaxing a little but remaining standing, shifting her weight to one foot. "As to where I studied?" The mention of sons does ensure Jackson gets peered at curiously. "Boston. It was the first place in the world to give medical degrees to women so there was a PR angle to it plus while they felt I was a freak I guess I come across as an aesthetically pleasing and non threatening freak? I would not really recommend it though, I got assaulted and held down while somebody went to town with a pair of scissors in my first year as an example." A slight shudder is vastly exaggerated by the scale of her furled wings, rustling feathers audible. "That was a long time ago but I do not think they are necessarily more mutant friendly now." "Held down an' -- oh /gosh/ but people do get horrible about bein' a mutant don't they?" Kind of reflexive-unthinking, Jackson's hand curls loosely into a fist, thumb brushing against the missing stump of his finger. "That's rough -- Boston, though, /huh/, you know Doctor Saavedro gone to school up there too. Was at Tufts though I think." Though he doesn't sound /quite/ certain. "I'll -- keep that in mind, my kids -- /do/ look pretty threatening so they --" His words break off into an abrupt bright grin at the sound of a second Southern accent in the room. "Micah!" The sight of the other man puts a sudden cheerful /bounce/ into Jackson's posture, bobbing up on his toes where he stands. "Hiii -- ohgoshphone." He claps a hand over his mouth add though he actually /needs/ this physical reminder not to talk, waiting for the older man to hang /up/ before his exuberant re-greeting: "/Hi/ I don't got class tonight do you want to get -- oh wait /manners/, Micah, this is Doctor Bowen, she's just started at here. Doctor Bowen, this is m'husband," even now saying that puts a noticeable warmth in Jackson's expression, a small flush in his cheeks, "Micah. He kinda also works here but he actually does important stuff." Apparently in contrast to his /own/ position, as he is fingering his guardly staff ID with this statement. "Hey, hon. Apologies for that, I try not t'walk an' talk but who /knows/ when they would've called me back if I didn't pick up an' have that conversation /just/ then," Micah replies with a warm smile that doesn't quite match the content of his speech. He shifts the handle of his bag over to his left hand to offer the right to the new doctor. "Nice t'meet y'doctor. Always glad t'see new folks comin' on here. Ain't never got /enough/, it seems. I work in adaptive equipment...primarily O&P. Contract here on a kinda as-needed basis." His head shakes at Jax's description of work in the building. "Right, Jax. Keepin' us from gettin' blown up an' the patients from bein' attacked ain't important at all," he observes with light-playful sarcasm. "This was Boston University School of Medicine rather than Tufts." Confirms Elizabeth before adding. "Threatening is often not ideal, I might have been able to hit people with my wings and sort of... Break them, but who do you think would get in trouble then?" A quirk of her head then follows at the reaction to Micah, wings tilting behind her then a faint grin. "A pleasure to meet you Micah, we have just been talking about colleges though I am afraid I could not recommend anywhere. I only started here a few days ago so this is rather a new environment." She follows with a question addressed to both of them though definitely more to Jackson. "I was told that all of the guards here are mutants?" "Every last one of us," Jackson confirms cheerfully to Elizabeth. "-- Flicker's out front," he adds to Micah with a small laugh, "he got out the hospital an' went /straight/ to his first day on shift. I swear he's /talked/ half the protestors into bein' pleasant an' heading home. -- But yeah, hundred percent bona fide freaks here to keep you safe. Actually the only department here that /has/ many mutants hired." He looks a little thoughtful at this. "Outside'a security there's only," he tips his hand out to indicate Elizabeth's massive wings, "a tiny sprinklin'a us around here." He frowns, here, a little wistful abruptly. "An' one less now than there was last month. Lost a man from research --" He shakes his head quickly at the thought of Liam, smile returning in a moment. "Our boys look -- kinda /sharky/, it puts most folks on edge." "It don't usually go too well on the law front when people without active X-genes an' people /with/ get into tussles, n'matter who was at fault, truth," Micah agrees with Elizabeth's assessment with a sigh. When his hand is free once more, he fishes through a pocket and comes up with three business cards, deep blue backgrounds with white writing on them declaring, 'Gorilla AT. Micah Zedner, MSOP, CPO, ATP' along with a pair of phone numbers, business e-mails, and a P.O. Box address. "In case y'need those." He passes the cards to the new doctors as he nods at the question of mutant guards. "Ohgosh, yeah. S'kinda hard t'/recruit/ folks as don't have special abilities here. An' it sure's handy t'/have/ certain abilities for guard duty. But...not as many people with special abilities make it through medical educations, so. Yeah, not as many workin' those positions. Hence the understaffin'!" He chuckles a bit at the description of the twins. "They got pretty impressive teeth an' claws. Folks just assume they mean t'use 'em on everybody. They're sweethearts, though." "I can imagine, we tend to have every reason to learn how to take care of ourselves but as you say, getting an education and professional certification? I was lucky to be in a position where it was possible no matter how much effort I put into it." Elizabeth agrees, inclining her head as she takes the cards. "Thank you." Tucking those into a pocket she then idly stretches her wings out, careful to avoid hitting anything or anyone. "Flicker... I think I saw him yesterday? That is quite a trick though the ghost images were disconcerting." Then a grin. "I am pretty sure sharks do not have claws." "Yeah, I suppose there's just a dearth'a folks actually /making/ it through med school as are mutanty. You don't hardly need an abundance'a schoolin' to be a guard here though me an' Flicker both got our jobs just by committin' impressive enough violence around the head of Security." Maaaybe he is joking about this job interview process -- at least his tone is amused and there is a lopsided grin on his face. Hopefully joking. "/Did/ you see Flicker, he's a /absolute/ sweetheart -- oh, yeah, ghost-people, that's him aright. Sharks also," he muses, "don't dress half as stylish as our kids." Micah nods at the thanks for passing his card along. "Flicker /is/ a darlin', but is he doin' okay guardin' right outta the hospital? Sometimes I think don't nobody I know /know/ how t'take a break when they need it. S'he gettin' off soon? We could feed 'im. An' Hive. He ain't likely t'eat much without folks puttin' food in front of 'is face." Another giggle comes at the observations of claws and clothes on sharks. "They're impressively shark-like, but not exactly sharks, true enough." "Well if he is actually recovered from whatever it was then going back to work might well be the best thing for him rather than moping at home feeling some combination of miserable and guilty?" Muses Elizabeth, then a wince. "I met somebody called Hive and he was wandering looking like a walking skeleton but did not take kindly to any suggestions he should probably eat." Then a quirk of her head, wings angling to mirror the motion behind her, on far larger scale. "So stylishly dressed sort of sharks? That is going to be rough, they are lucky to have you two to look out for them." "Well, they did fix him up pretty good," Jackson answers with a small uncertain shrug, "think he was tired'a lyin' around nohow -- oh gosh no he /just/ got /on/ shift, he won't be off till midnight. Could bring Hive somethin' though for sure he's probably still onsite over at the lot." Jackson bounces slightly on his toes again, here, "--oh gosh you met Hive too? He's," there's /just/ the slightest hesitation before he continues brightly, "/also/ a sweetheart in -- his own way. I tried to get him lunch today but he told me he gave up food for Lent. Only but he's Buddhist. He built this /whole/ place, you know." Jackson's hand sweeps out wide to the building around them. "/Gifted/ architect -- we should feed him." He says this with a decisive nod, slipping his hand into the crook of Micah's arm. "You might see one'a my pups around here some time," he adds to Elizabeth, "tiny and blue and toothy, Sebastian works as Doctor Saavedro's personal assistant so he's around sometimes. An' m'sure I'll see /you/ around plenty." "I guess. Just hope he /is/ back up t'snuff. Can get a little /hairy/ out there." Micah's head tilts toward the doors to indicate the mass of protestors outside. "Hm. Too skinny an' grumpy, that'd be our Hive. He /is/ a sweetheart. Just kinda a grouchy sweetheart. In a...Grumpy Bear/Oscar the Grouch kinda way." His lips pull into a lopsided grin with his own words. "But, yes. Bringin' 'im food for sure. It'd be nice t'see what's goin' on down the construction site, anyhow. Sure it don't /look/ like much yet, but still!" His grin broadens into a brighter smile at Jax's hand on his arm. Elizabeth definitely looks surprised there. "He is an architect?" A shake of her head follows. "He deliberately sidestepped around admitting it even when discussing the subject." Then another glance to the protesters outside. "I can imagine, given that law against public displays of 'mutant powers' I have been avoiding just flying to work with that lot there potentially watching. Hopefully nobody tries to pluck me on the subway or something." Then a grin. "Well I work here now and hope to continue doing so." "He's a /brilliant/ architect," Jackson confirms with an almost proud smile. "Designed this whole place all on his lonesome. Won him some kinda architecty award, too. Think the building design might'a been the only part of this project that got praised rather than outrage." Jackson glances outside, too, shaking his head slightly. "He wouldn't come t'work if he couldn't handle it. He's good." His nose wrinkles at the thought of being /plucked/, and he gives a small shiver. "I'll pray /that/ don't happen." With a small tug at Micah's arm and a small wave to Elizabeth, he turns towards the door. "I hope so, too. Be seein' you, Doctor." “He does amazin' work, s'true. We're...off t'see where he's buildin' our /house/. Excitin' stuff!” Micah's eyes widen at the mention of /plucking/ on the subway, but he decides not to comment. “I know he's good. He's /too/ good sometimes, is the problem. But we should be goin'. Nice meetin' you, doctor. Hope t'see you around.” He waves before filling his not-Jax-escorting hand up with bag handle, rolling off toward the (much less crowded and complicated) employee exit to the garage.