I'll miss the work. I came here thinking I knew medical mysteries, before I had to figure out the challenges inherent in getting an IV line into someone with impenetrable skin. Or deal with immortal cheerleaders who can't feel pain, work out the clinical uses of werewolf spit... have awkward conversations about swapping spit with werewolves... I'm going to miss the kind of place where your friends can magically appear in the living room to ask how you set the microwave and where it's occasionally necessary to check whether or not the pink hair's natural.

I reckon I'll even miss the curses. There aren't many places where you can tell yourself the horrors you're living through will be done in twenty-four hours.

I killed a man.

Back home, not long before the city took me in. It was a choice - my choice - he had the blood of half his nation on his hands already, and I was supposed to fix him up to go back and dip his hands in the rest. He was a small scale dictator in history's terms but letting him wipe out a whole race would cancel out every good thing I ever did.

So I... didn't fix him. I watched as he died and got my hands bloody. I thought

I still think I did the right thing. And I knew my own life might not make it through the other side quite the same as before.

So I showed up here without much to go back for. I avoided the people who used to care about me, and I made friends with the City's monsters because they helped me realise that monster's a badly defined term.

And a few of you stuck it out long enough to help me back over the line I crossed.

I haven't been settled this long in my life. Haven't made or lost this many friends. And when I go through my door tomorrow I know there's one of you I'm not planning to let go of, but anyone else without a place is welcome too. Plus there's this wedding I've got a bunch of spare invites to.

It's New Jersey. None of you need to worry about being too weird.



Private to Saya:

Sophie, you're going to need to choose one of the cars.

Private to House:

If I could tell you to change one thing in your life... I'd tell you there are some things you can't change. And that if you're ever tempted to hold a Survivor-style showdown to hire a new team, half the people you know are going to use that as a dating pool.

Private to Mae:

My address back home is on the last page of your Christmas present. Try the phone number sometime. I'd still like to buy you dinner. Or beat you at chess.

Private to Ginny:

If I were headed to war, I know who I'd want on my front lines. Take care of yourself while I can't. And remember, that kid with the scar? Food, music, sex. No man's above all three.

Private to Penny:

I've got two hands, I can not let go of you, too. But otherwise, tell me where you're going. I'm not walking through that door before I've seen you somewhere safe.

Private to Stiles:

I've put what we've done into a file you can take back with you if it might help. My numbers on there too: if it connects, just remember my condo doesn't allow dogs. Look after yourself.

Private to Eden.

Where are you going? If it's into a world of vampires I need to figure out which of you to worry about.

I'll miss you so much.

Private to Wilson:

If you want to come back with me and skip the next couple of years I wouldn't blame you. But I think the you I know now would choose to live them, no matter what. You'd be surprised what people can live with.

Look after her for me.

Private to Cameron:

Coffee?



[ooc: everything about killing Dibala is very lightly filtered from the House crew - meaning they can choose whether they see it or not. Thankyou, Poly, and goodnight.]

[Chase is sitting at what's clearly the large communal table in the kitchen of the Welcome Centre, to anyone who's ever visited (and who hasn't?).

He's working on something involving matchsticks and careful detail work.]

Found him huddled in a corner when I finally went up to take measurements in the loft. [A sheepish smile.] Sorry, Penny, I had to raincheck getting started again. And I brought you another mouth to feed.

[Because what Chase is working on... chirps. And with closer focus the camera makes out that it's a bluebird, with a delicately crafted matchstick splint over one wing.]

But I thought maybe I could take you out for dinner to make up for it. And then maybe find a few other ways of making up I shouldn't put on the network. What do you say?



[ooc: doll!chase aka penny's perfect boyfriend.]

Remember kids, Doctor Google's only your friend if you don't happen to know a real one. And if you don't happen to know a real one - hi, I'm Doctor Chase. I can use the anatomically correct names for your more interesting body parts without blushing, and tell you what it's safe to do with them.

Embarrassing curse today, huh. Sure glad I'm not caught up in it.

( NSFW. And also mocking in the fondest way. )

[This one's coming out to you from the dining table at the Cathedral rectory, where a black-robed Doctor Father Robert Chase adjusts his dog collar and sips delicately from a floral mug of tea.]

Not to sound like anyone's schoolteacher, but there's no reason to wait for high days and holidays to show up for Mass. The congregation at this morning's service was looking a little thin. Everyone's welcome, I for one would love to see a few new faces coming into the fold.

And, to sound exactly like someone's schoolteacher, cachetism, Latin and Greek classes start up again for the new term from this afternoon. In the Vestry as usual, after confession hours.

Finally, Miss Mac Cionaoith assures me the High Tea she's laying on for us this afternoon will be enough to feed the five thousand and I can vouch highly for her cucumber sandwiches. There's food and company for residents new and old, and a guarantee of no preaching at the table. Though I thought we might discuss plans for this fall's Harvest Festival. How about a pageant? There are some old costumes in the storage room, if anyone wants to find a reason to dress as a ham.



[ooc: Road Not Taken: Chase didn't drop out of seminary and was ordained as a priest.]

[Lieutenant Robert Chase of the Royal Navy at your service, gentlemen. Before you laugh at the flouncy bow round his neck or the pretty braids in his hair, you might want to pay attention to the finely crafted sword he has belted at his waist.

Or either of the pistols, really.]


So the reports were true. This city really has gone to the dogs.

Fair warning to those who would sail under a pirate flag. These waters are the property of Her Majesty's Navy and we will see them rid of their polluting taint. The dissolute and the immoral, thieves, pirates and savages should throw themselves upon the mercy of the Crown now, or I'll make it my personal duty to see your hides tanning on the harbourside. There may be redemption for some of you yet.

But very few, I'll wager.

Come then, who will fight and who will flee? I have a spot to fill on the gallows in the morning.

[Chase is sitting on the edge of a bed in one of the hospital clinic's exam rooms. Behind him the door is open just enough to show a packed out waiting room.

He's holding a small thermometer.]

It's time to stop by the hospital if: one of these is showing above 103°F and you're a normal adult human. Other species can use their discretion.

If you've got a headache that painkillers won't put a dent in, and it's stuck around for more than a day, or it's shown up with a fever like the one above in tow.

Trouble staying conscious is another good call on when to come in and see me.

[He glances over his shoulder.]

If you're feeling great right now and don't know what I'm talking about: good. Avoid crowded places and hopefully you won't pick it up. Anyone who thinks they might be coming down with something and doesn't want to pass it on to the unwary should avoid crowded places, too. Unless it's this one. We're getting to people as fast as we can.

Meanwhile, if whoever's running the rebuild could figure out what's happened to the plumbing, that would be great.

[He hops off the bed and goes to the sink to turn on the tap at the wall. It's dry.]

I guess we can't blame it on something in the water.


[OOC: consider this a CATCH ALL post for anyone specifically wanting to come and see Chase at the hospital over the next few days, though he'll be doing the rounds of other people's posts, too. I will be a little slow over the next couple of days because, uh, graduation *\o/* but backtags are forever.]

[FROM THE DEVICE OF MR J. WACHAWSKI: only those particularly familiar with the residents of City Hospital's coma ward will be aware of the true owner of this hijacked device.]

Halibut offered:

A safe plaice for nonpartisan citizens, or anyone willing to put aside piscean sentiment in return for a bed for the night - the sick, old, young or scared. This doesn't have to be krill or be killed.

We're well dolphinded. There's free medical care.

If you can stick by the house rules, keep the noise down and the fights outside, and you have a checkable network record, reply to this post and let minnow.


[Private to: House, Wilson, Cameron, Penny, Mae, Carla, Ginny, Stiles]

6 letters: to steal from Ernie's friend.
5 letters: banking on you taking your eye off the sofa.

I'd like to know you're safe, even if you're not taking the offer.

[There's a petite blonde girl sitting on the edge of an unmade bed. She's wearing a Western Bulldogs football shirt which hangs low enough to almost conceal the baggy men's boxers.

The camera has been turned on deliberately. She stares at it.

5

4

3

2

1]

Just getting it over with.

[And she leans across to switch the feed off.]

[Hello, City. Today Blond Doctor is looking rather perturbed.

And holding a pink hankie.]

Um. The old lady who runs the hospitality cart just spitwiped my face.

[He stares, for a minute, then turns his device off.]



[ooc: general post for the 12/13th. Should you wish to, then feel free to come and mother him nicely or aggressively in comments or action <3]

Charmus Jerkus.

Couldn't find the entry in my Latin dictionary, but if we were going by playground rules I'd think all the insults were a backward attempt to hit on me. Except, when he compliments my ass there's just no feeling in it.

[Someone's just amiably on the edge of drunk, chatting into his network device through the background noise of a busy bar.]

So, anyone want to let a Jerkus buy them a drink?

[He's sticking a sign to the door of the clinic. Here, let him read it to you.]

Symptoms of seasonal flu: stuffy nose, sore throat, aches, shivers, cough, sneezing, headache, mild fever, and the incurable urge to spread it around in public.

If you've got one or more of these and you're not pregnant, suffering with a pre-existing health problem or at least reasonably certain you'll be dead before the weekend's out, don't come to the clinic. If imminent death is a possibility- [He taps the phone number at the bottom of the sign] call.

We've got a bigger crowd than usual in today already. Let's try not to turn it into a pandemic.


[ooc: have at! backtags and everything except House doubles more than welcome ♥ }

[Chase is in one of the hospital pathology labs, a centrifuge whirring away on the desk in front of him. He's flicking through a messy looking sheaf of paper.]

I'm starting to understand why the City Guide has an entire section on zombie handling strategy. Someone told me they used to be a regular problem, here. Anyone long-term enough to be able to tell me about that?

[He's about to ask another question, but a second voice, deep and rolling, curiously accented, interrupts.]

What is an enemy to you, Doctor?

[Chase's head snaps up. He takes a gasp as though the breath has been punched out of him.]

You're not here. You're never really h—

[But the voice comes again, and as Chase moves, the picture on his device swings to show a man in a tattered, bloodied surgical gown, the flesh rotting away from his face.]

Men make choices.

[The zombie sweeps a rack of equipment to the floor, and the screen goes black.]



[ooc: Chase's ghoul is Darth Vader Mufasa James Earl Jones Dibala, the genocidal dictator of a small African nation, who he murdered shortly before arriving in the city. Dibala will be/have been around for a little bit to bother anyone at the hospital.]

[Good (very late) evening to you, City. This transmission appears to be coming from inside a stall in the men's room at one of the City's bars (the Blue Light, if you're familiar with it).

Chase is (fully clothed and) sitting with a large green parrot sidling back and forth across his shoulder. The parrot appears to have something to say, and Chase has one arm out, network device in hand, videoing it.

Yes, this is essentially a selfie.

But over to the parrot, which is repeating, in Chase's voice:]

Um, I need you to relax your anus.

Um, I need you to relax your anus.

Um, I need you to relax your anus.

Um—

[And Chase is... giggling? Yes, giggling. He has to draw a deep breath and try to settle his shoulders to manage to speak at all.]

So, what's the likelihood I'm getting slapped on the way home?

[And then, the familiar squeal of the men's room door opening, and the sudden wide eyed look of a man in a bathroom stall making that request. Chase drops the network device as he tries to grab the parrot's beak.]

[Chase steeples his fingers together, looking at the camera.]

Quick update. Unless it's a congenital condition, this hospital regrets it's unable to perform amputations on anyone finding themselves conjoined.

Believe me, we've tried. Turns out, it hurts you more than it hurts us.

[And he leans forward.]

Give it five days and I reckon we'll find out if it's a curse or not. Until then, try steering clear of the circus.

[And leans back again, picking up something from his desk.]

In the meantime, if you went home from the library yesterday with a book you didn't want on Multiple Myeloma, then I might have something of yours.

[ It's held up for the camera. TADA.]

I'll leave it with reception, so no need to thank me in person. Really.

[The doctor is in his office, where he's been since just before midnight. It is now two pm.

He's on the phone, back to the camera.]

Tell him I'm not available for surgery today.

Because I'm not available for surgery today. Yes, I'm in. I'm in my office.

[He shoves a hand back through his hair, frustrated.]

No, Manda, I don't want a coffee brought up. I'm busy.

It's fairly straightforward, you tell him I'm Not - Available - For - Surgery...For God's sake, he's not that frightening, is he?

Then tell him to call me and I'll tell him I'm not available for surgery.

Yes, unless it's life or death.

I'm sure about the coffee.

I'm fine.

I'm fine.

You're very sweet, but I'm fine. I'll speak to you later.

Right, maybe later I'll want coffee. Bye.

[He hangs up. The sigh on the click of the receiver isn't an exaggeration - nor is the startled look when he turns to notice his device is recording.]

Oh, for-

[Transmission end.]


[Chase is wearing a white T shirt, the slogan of which cannot be seen on camera. It is, howevever, I KILLED A MAN AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS... please feel free to try and bother him by network or in person, some characters may get in, but that door is locked.

ALSO this will be backdatey because uni has started and I'm tired.]

[A view of the good doctor and a small team in surgery. Chase is wrist deep under yellow, iodine-swiped skin.]

And that's what it really means to have your stomach tied up in knots. Well that looks much prettier than it did before - the rest seems clear. Book scans and barium for five days to check things are moving through clearly and the other adhesions shouldn't be problematic...

[He lifts both hands free, gloves bloodied to the wrist, and backs up.]

If you can close up here... Have me paged when she's through recovery so I can explain the switch to open. I'm going to-

[Wipe out.

Whatever Chase was going to do, it's interrupted by him suddenly crashing out of view behind the table. Surgical tools and kidney bowls of unidentified matter shower to the ground. There's a groan and, just at the edge of shot, a foot clad in a bright red stiletto being tentatively stretched out to one side of the table.]

I'm going to go and strap my ankle.



[ooc: still unwell so still backdating, sorry sorry <3]

I wouldn't say I'm equipped to deal with freak weather conditions, but I've spent half my life living with the seasons running backwards, and back home the houses used to spray snow scenes in their windows in midsummer.

[Zip - zip - shuffle]

It's nice to feel seasonal for once. The blizzard's dying off. Anyone else up for checking out the slopes?



[ooc: backdatey as mun is a sickly little plant.]