ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Ebony, Ivory, and Glass

Vignette - Ebony, Ivory, and Glass
Dramatis Personae Iolaus
In Absentia	Sunday, December 8th, 2019 Part of Future Past TP.
Location <?> - Laboratory
The soft fingering of ivory and ebony keys echo through the empty chambers of the laboratory, audible over the whirring sounds of carefully maintained equipment and the soft rush of air from the ventilation system. The melody is light, haunting, pitches rising and falling like so many waves crashing against the sand of the shore. Iolaus' hand trails lazily through the air, purple glove pulled tight against his skin, in time with the sways of the music. His eyes are closed, head nodding back and forth slowly like the leaves in a light breeze. Grey streaks are shot through his hair, and the doctor's face is worn with lines from years of horror. Still, as a beep and the sound of a motor slowing to a stop cause him to look down and open his eyes, they, at least, have not lost their brightness. "Sample number six hundred and thirty seven," Iolaus dictates, voice calm and flat against the vibrant stroking of the piano keys. "Insufficient expression," he says, peering down at the display on the machine, before opening it up and removing the vial from inside. "It seems the effort to reduce the Herxheimer reaction have caused it to become ineffective, as I was worried about. We will have to approach this from another angle - perhaps a slower uptake of the effects will help widen the index." He carefully tosses the tube into a bright red biohazard bin at the end of the lab bench before making his way wearily over to a large set of refrigerators along the wall. Opening one of the doors, the doctor's fingers play along the rows and rows of carefully capped vials like so many keys on his own piano. "Sample number six hundred and thirty eight is serial number... 118SF stroke B, inactivated." He taps the door closed behind him as he steps back towards the lab bench and inserts the vial into the machine with a practiced, careless skill. Closing the lid, Iolaus glances up at a large clock on the wall. "RT-PCR beginning... mark." A press of a button on the machine, and he steps back once more, the song fading to a quiet close in the background. Iolaus stands, immobile and alone in the silence of the dimly lit lab. His eyes close once more, and his head drops down towards the floor as a quiet whirr starts up as the machine behind him starts to spin, and the air rushes mutedly through the ventilation system. Iolaus' hand lifts into the air once more, hovering in the air for several seconds before beginning its sweeping gestures, conducting the invisible orchestra of machines, beakers, and test tubes from the lit stage surrounded by darkened rows of lab benches. It is almost a minute of silent conducting before the music becomes audible to anyone but the doctor, a new song beginning: Debussy, as played through tinny intercom speakers. A sad smile broadens on the doctor's face as he continues, the bobbing of his head matching up with the sweeping rhythm of the song. It's not until the song has faded and the doctor stands once more in the loud silence of the laboratory that he opens his eyes, looking upwards at the ceiling. "I'm telling you, you have nothing to worry about." Iolaus says, thumbing a small switch on his waist to mute the recorder attached to his body. "I know, I know, you think I am not up to the task. But have faith a little while longer - have faith. It's not easy for me, paidi mou, but I will solve it eventually. I will make this all right again. I have not lived through so much to fail you now, ilikakada. You wait, and you watch." Iolaus turns the sad smile downwards, stepping up to the lab bench and picking up a picture. The frame is well-worn, brass rubbed smooth in places by fingers skating along it. "You will see. I promise, you will see." Iolaus sets the picture down on the table gently, giving it a last smile and turning to peel his gloves off and toss them into the trash. He looks only for another moment before stepping out into the hallway beyond, as the next song begins to waft through the air, leaving the photo of Jax, smiling as he hugs his children, to guard over his work.