ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Void
| Vignette - Void | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2013-12-04 ' |
| 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. The brain of the dead are a disconcerting place. It clenches at his own mind, a sucking gaping void that reaches into his brain and tries to pull it down along with them. By now it's a familiar feeling, encountered plenty in the course of his work at the clinic. Familiar, but no less jarring. A familiar feeling in a familiar setting, here in the quiet of the clinic, the soft beep and whir of monitors and computers the only sound down here just now. And the same sucking dragging feeling when his hand meets flesh. Only it's warm flesh, this time. Warm hand, warm arm, warm face, but the void inside drags harder even than the hungry zombie half-mind. It takes a few tries, each day when he comes down here, before he can overcome the reflex to withdraw and really bring himself to take Hive's hand properly in his own. For a while there is nothing. Just the emptiness, black and deep and sucking. His head tips forward, a slow fall to rest on Hive's chest. He closes his eyes and focuses. On the warmth. The slow rise and fall of the other man's chest. The heartbeat keeping steady rhythm beneath his ear. These small signs of life to anchor him as he steels himself, and dives in. | |
