01-09-2014, 05:34 PM
She held the door open long enough for Jacques to catch up. He sure laid it on thick. Torri wasn't sure if she was offended or not. Damn. When was the last time she'd had a date, anyway? Yes. Maximilian. She smiled dryly. She really should get out more. That's it, she told herself. Once back in Moscow and she was going to have to spend some time somewhere besides places that needed a blood sample just to enter. If only to practice talking to normal people. Ah fuck, who was she kidding? Normal people were bloody boring. It was still worth an effort, though. A mild effort. There was something to be said about a soft couch, jumbo-sized bottle of wine and your favorite cat. I should get a cat.
It was of course an insanely twisted labyrinth of halls and stairs that took them from the Mess to a phlebotomy suite, which was way off in the most usual and efficient of places, of course. A swipe of the badge later, and technicians looked up when they entered. She was given enough recognition that they got out of her way, but otherwise there wasn't much in the way of chit chat. After all, Torri was not resident GMO, just another face brought in for the Ascendancy's journey.
"Have a seat,"
she gestured at an old-school plastic chair. There was a arm that raised and lowered in front of it, blocking the would-be victim in place. And providing a suitable place to splay out one's arm. "Don't worry, I'll leave you enough to walk out on."
She said, dry sense of humor twisting.
She spent a few minutes uploading information into a screen on the wall, but only after diverting the patient records away from the usual files. Jacques wasn't the usual soldier, after all, and his samples belonged elsewhere than the usual mountains of data. When she turned back, bar codes were engraved on a quartet of tubes. Might as well overestimate how much she wanted. Jacques was lucky she didn't ask for a CSF sample. Actually..
It might have been a few years since she'd done a standard venipuncture, but the reason she rummaged for the gear was due to lack of familiarity with the room than lack of practice. It probably filled Jacques with all kinds of confidence.
Soon enough, she was seated across from him, gloves on, tubes ready, and tourniquet in hand. She met his eye to see if he was ready. Might as well make the ever dreaded small talk while doing the deed. Bedside manner and all. Besides, she was curious about something. "Alright, Mister Danjou,"
she repeated the correct pronunciation of Frenchy's name. "I can see why you ditched Frenchland, but let's hear your story for why you went to Africa to begin with."
She looked up from soaking a cotton ball in alcohol.
It was of course an insanely twisted labyrinth of halls and stairs that took them from the Mess to a phlebotomy suite, which was way off in the most usual and efficient of places, of course. A swipe of the badge later, and technicians looked up when they entered. She was given enough recognition that they got out of her way, but otherwise there wasn't much in the way of chit chat. After all, Torri was not resident GMO, just another face brought in for the Ascendancy's journey.
"Have a seat,"
she gestured at an old-school plastic chair. There was a arm that raised and lowered in front of it, blocking the would-be victim in place. And providing a suitable place to splay out one's arm. "Don't worry, I'll leave you enough to walk out on."
She said, dry sense of humor twisting.
She spent a few minutes uploading information into a screen on the wall, but only after diverting the patient records away from the usual files. Jacques wasn't the usual soldier, after all, and his samples belonged elsewhere than the usual mountains of data. When she turned back, bar codes were engraved on a quartet of tubes. Might as well overestimate how much she wanted. Jacques was lucky she didn't ask for a CSF sample. Actually..
It might have been a few years since she'd done a standard venipuncture, but the reason she rummaged for the gear was due to lack of familiarity with the room than lack of practice. It probably filled Jacques with all kinds of confidence.
Soon enough, she was seated across from him, gloves on, tubes ready, and tourniquet in hand. She met his eye to see if he was ready. Might as well make the ever dreaded small talk while doing the deed. Bedside manner and all. Besides, she was curious about something. "Alright, Mister Danjou,"
she repeated the correct pronunciation of Frenchy's name. "I can see why you ditched Frenchland, but let's hear your story for why you went to Africa to begin with."
She looked up from soaking a cotton ball in alcohol.