((please see our OOC thread Here to sign up or ask questions.))

((Player: Character
AppleDumplinCutie: Connor Whiteley -out
MayuSatomiJuRei: Payge Claridge -female
Bippy: Harriet "Harry" Green -Female
Naleh: Sarah Mindleton -out?
ChannaChan: Alana Levski -new))

((Current NPCs of note:
Thomas "Tom Cat" Ducatti: Runs the speakeasy "Clover" -male
Christian Moore: Police Detective -male
Nightgaunt aka "John" : The man with no face. -male presumably.
Tink Harrison: cop -female
Falkner Graves: The Photographer -male
???? : Nightclub Performer)) -????

-----
Things were dark, but perhaps you couldn't expect anything else out of a place called Arkham. Sometimes it was a wonder if the crazies were really all locked up in the asylum just on the shambling outskirts of the city, or if they were really the only sane ones, locked up for protection from the darkness and madness that reached from here to tiny Inismouth on the coast.
For some though, tonight, the rolling dusk may seem the herald to the darkest time they've ever known.

Payge: You dream: In your dream there's something quietly wrong. The hotel room you find yourself in is garishly splashed with something dark, glittering....red. You know it's blood, but does not have the faint 'hot penny' smell one usually associates with it. More like a thick smell, like raw meat. A man its across the room, adjusting the cuffs of red soaked gloves. He wears otherwise immaculate clothing. A long coat, a suit, tie. A folded kerchief in his pocket and a long white scarf around his neck, not even speckled by red. His face is shadowed by the overhang of his fedora, but as he lifts his chin, it becomes clear that he has no face at all. Where his eyes, nose and even mouth should be is smooth blank skin, given form only by the faint rises and falls of an skull underneath, the dimples of sunken places where his eyes might have been intended to go, the unremarkable ridge that hints at an phantasmal nose.
"You are needed."
No question the voice is his, only from where it comes...and then...
"We've got a live one!" Someone's hand touches your shoulder, warm, a little rough to the touch where his fingertips might brush bare skin. The ache in your head suggests an unexplained goose egg. The man hovering at your side has a kind, strong face. Firm jaw and grey eyes that probably used to be soft, and open. Now though there's a hint to them that his soul is as strictly ordered as the neat, dark blue uniform he wears. As bright as his badge.
The air still smells like blood, but no red immediately presents itself to view. "Someone bring me a blanket?"

----

Connor: You dream:You stand in the spotlight, the light glittering off the subtle sequining of the long black dress that wraps around your curves like an familiar obsession. The microphone in front of you seems almost to be waiting to see what happens next...and then the applause. The dark club before you, which smells like smoke and gin, lights up, metaphorically, to the sound of approval, although with the spotlight in your eyes, you can only make out one figure from the crowd with any clarity.
The man in front, alone at his table, dressed in an impeccable dark suit. In spite of being indoors, he still wears his fedora. A half finished drink at his elbow, he claps with the rest of the crowd, then raises his chin to look at you, raising the hat brim with his thumb to reveal the smooth void where his face should be.
"You are needed..."
Banging on the door, and a man's voice: "HEY! Get yer rear in gear! You know Tomcat's gonna be pissed! Yer our headliner t'night! Y' can't blow this! Connoooooorrr!!" His last word comes out in a long, plaintive demand, underscoring his open fear of this "TomCat".

Payge shook her head and tried to look around everything was fuzzy,the room was icy cold it smelt damp and uninviting she tried to remember what had happened, were she was . The only thing she found familiar was the officer hovering to her side. He placed a blanket on her shoulders.

"Were ..am I, were is that man?.." she mumbled

she said pulling the the blanket closer around her as she seemed partially unclothed. Feeling a sense of indignity.. she implored with her eyes a little more.

“Coming!� Connor shouted back putting on another layer of her favorite Ruby Red lipstick. She straightened out a curl and then grabbed the mink that “Tom Cat� had given to her and draped it over her shoulders and she rushed out the door. Connor weaved through he narrow hallway rushing past the other showgirls. They were extras, dancers: no bodies. Not Connor thought, Connor was a headliner. Everyone had come to see her, especially Tom.

Tom Cat was not someone to be trifled with. If Tom said jump, you should’ve already jumped five minutes ago. Connor pushed the curtain back and wandered up onto the stage. Her heart raced as the bright light of the spot shining onto the stage blinded her. The crowd clasped and hollered as she wandered to the center of the stage to meet the microphone. Connor raised her eyes to the darkness. The smell of gin and cigarettes filled the air. Connor wrinkled her lip slightly. Something about the smell seemed off to her, like a faint memory. Then she parted her lips and gave a slight smile “thank you very much,� she said in a hushed tone quieting the crowd.

In the corner of the stage Connor could make him out alone at his table, Tom, watching for her, waiting to hear her. She felt nervous; suddenly she didn’t think she could sing. “You can’t sing,� a voice rang out in her head. She licked her lips. Tom raised his glass to her. He wanted her to sing, NOW. So she did. Connor parted her lips and the word’s followed from her like some bittersweet melody. The words of Mina Sermone came from her mouth and melodically filled the air. She placed her hands on the microphone crooning her sad song. She was singing. She, Connor Whiteley, was a star; and some how everything about it all felt so terribly wrong. This was not she; everything about this place seemed so off. Still she sang remembering things that couldn’t possible be real, or had they been?

[color=darkblue]"What man?" The police officer's face darkens with intensity as he seizes onto your question, draping the blanket over your shoulder. It's wool and smells faintly of dust and old coffee, but it's warm and shielding.
"Hamilton, can I get an hand? I want to take her down to the station and ask her some quesitions. I don't think this is a good place to do that." He called over his shoulder to a female officer, who's gray eyes regard you with an undecided mix of emotions. Pitty, Disgust...these are only a couple of the things that play on her face as she steps forward.
"You sure that's a good idea Moore? I'm not sure we've got all the...evidence...bagged."
"Positive." He noted, though he grimaced at her pause. Somewhere behind them you can hear footsteps fleeing for the door. Someone gags.
---

Connor
The club is packed tonight, and they're reacting well to the sound of your voice. Men and women alike hush, voices dropping to whispers if they speak at all.
TomCat is standing in the back of the room, adjusting and re-adjusting his tie, and watching the room nervously, though he seems pleased to see the way the crowd reacts to you. A risk worth taking, says the look on his face.
Not an unattractive man, with just enough Italian in his family tree to make him look dangerous and a little exotic. The dangerous part of course isn't far from the truth, since men like him don't get where they are by playing nice.
He's talking to someone, a man in a suit, standing in the shadows who adjusts his immaculate white glove neatly.

Feeling even more stupid, and incoherent, she shyed away a little from the judgmental stare of the female officer and asked..

"Why..why do you need me for questioning..?"

Payge started to panic wondering what had happened in this room her eyes darting from one officer to the next. Her mounting confusion made her feel dizzy, weak and sick to her stomach turning around way to quickly at the commotion she stumbled a bit, pulling the blanket around her even tighter. Someone had made a dash for the door..

"Moore" Said something rather ungentlemanly as you sprang up and made a lunge for the door, and you could hear his shoes on the floor scrape as he lunged after, as did Hamilton, who's strong hands grabbed at your arm. "HEY!" She shouted, things going too fast for formality, but enough to alert other cops on the scene, and there certainly are other cops. Three or four startled faces that look up as you lunge out of the bathroom.
This side of the bathroom is a slaughter house nightmare. The bed, the blankets, the walls...even the carpet are a dark, sticky red. The carpet even -sounds- wet under your feet, as though it had been soaked by rain. Only it's not rain.

Payge had only rushed and panicked as she felt utterly bemused by the situation.

Blood squelched up her naked ankles and she really didn't get very far looking back at Hamilton who had a tight hold on her arm. Eyes wide with terror payge uttered meerly a squeak, and then broke down in floods of tears.


" I can't... I don't don't know.. did I?" the blood red shone off the walls the carpets the bed spread..but who had the blood come from, she couldn't see a body. Infact she daren't look any further incase the cops jumped her and pressed her face into the putrid floor.

Payge honestly couldn't remeber anything except for a faint memory of a dream and a man.. did she kill the man, what was she doing in the room and why was she only half dressed, she was sure the answers would be coming weather she liked them or not.

Payge: "I don't know. Did you?" Hamilton's voice was cold as ice, though even she, like the others in this room, struggled to keep her stomach from rebelling against the reek of death.
"Let me take her downtown Hamilton." The man noted, swallowing hard as he emerged from the bathroom, putting a powerful hand on your shoulder. Although his tone was gentler, he was the more physically powerful of the pair, there was very little doubt about that.
Hamilton narrowed her eyes at him, and for a moment, the two stared at each other before she released her own grip on you. "Fine. But if I hear one WHISPER that she slipped your grip..." she threatened, angrily. "I -want- what she knows. You got me?"
"We all do, Hamilton. We're all in the same boat." He shook his head, moving to shift his grip and take your arm instead. "Come on. We're going to get out of this....mess. How's a cup of coffee sound?" He offered.

---

"Harry":You dream: The air smells like rain, and ozone, the heavy threat and wet clinging feeling of an impending storm. All around you, the city is laid out like an black, firefly covered mass. A giant, nervous animal hunkered down and shivering, waiting for the storm to come. As the wind buffets you, the flap and snap of heavy cloth catches your attention. A man stands beside you, his long coat flapping like heavy wings, his white opera scarf fluttering as though it were trying to escape. Beneath his fedora, slouched low on his forehead against the fierce wind, he has no face at all, but speaks in spite of this as he turns toward you.
"...You're Needed." He growls, holding out an immaculate white gloved hand toward you, as though in invitation.
-
"HARRY!" The editors voice cuts through the dream like a crack of thunder, underscored by the slap of a sheaf of papers hitting your desk. "WHERE the HELL is my article? I was supposed to have it on my desk FOUR HOURS AGO! What the HELL have you been DOING? Your NAILS? The Newsie?" He roared, red faced with rage, veins standing out on his neck. "WELL??"

Even though none of her questions had been answered, the idea of getting out of this place was very appealing, coffee sounded good. Hamilton released her arm and looked as stern and as calculating as ever, the hold on her from Moore was also commanding she knew she didn't have a choice. They wanted answers just like she did maybe she could blag her way at the station find out a bit about her self. They obviously weren't going to take the fact that she couldn't remember. Heck if someone had said to her she didn't know what was going on when they were standing in a room full of blood... well maybe Payge would doubt them too. However she spotted a coat on a chair in the far corner of the room, it was brown and obviously a woman's coat.. maybe it had something there. Maybe a wallet with ID a receipt some kind of clue.

"That would be nice officer, if I could just grab my coat?" she nodded eyebrow raised.

Harry looked up at her boss. The impulse to reach up and give his windpipe a nice big hug was pulling at the back of her head, but she knew that would be in bad taste. "Hello Boss." She sang sweetly, her lips forming a perfect smile. Harry hated him with a passion but as her mother said, 'you get more flies with honey'. "I must have just forgotten to turn it in." she said staring at her desk. Something about this whole senario was off, Harry didn't know what it was, but something was very very off. She opened the top drawer of her desk and found a stack of papers that looked like the article. "Here you go, silly me." she said, handing the papers over to her boss. "Oh and Boss?" She said her smile a little more feral. "I would never sleep with the newsie, thats what the secretaries are for."

Payge:The male cop looked over to the coat and grimaced, and you could practically hear the words it might have evidence... crawling through his reluctant thoughts.
"We'll get it to you. Sorry m'am but we've really got to go by the book here. I know you've got questions, but so do we. It's all going to be fine." He assured, sympathetically. "How about we get out of here. It....reeks."
"We'll send it along, Moore." Hamilton promised. "We just need to check things over...M'am." The polite title was an afterthought, given what she thought of you, and the hard look in her eyes. She was all business, and was trying very hard to make that clear. The man felt he could afford a certain sympathy, this woman allowed no such chink in her armor.


Harry:
Your boss, if possible reddens even further, which given his vaguely simian features, makes him look even more ridiculous, or possibly as though he were being strangled by his tie and heavily starched white collar.
"I swear woman! I'm going to drop dead of a heart attack from all your damn FORGETTING" He barked, snatching the papers and flipping through them. "If this is crap you can bet your last dime that It won't run! God knows why the hell I hired you in the first place if all you do is drive me barking mad!"
His rage is perhaps why he doesn't see the photograph that slips into view as you pull the article out, an note paper clipped to it, but not in your writing. Although the picture is currently obscured by the note, you can read it clearly enough, even out of the corner of your eye.
Harry: This is it. If this is really him, this picture is gold.

She felt uncomfortable now... damn! Like she just asked for the world on a plate, they expected her to walk out in just her lingerie and a blanket. And sit in a dark police station no doubt were she would be judged as though she was some kind of whore.. but she shuddered at that thought. IT was apparent whatever she was doing in that room wasn't of pure intentions.. was she married she looked at her hand for a ring. Nope none there.

"yes please" she nodded "This place is horrific I can't even begin to imagine.."

the instant she stepped on the carpet something came back to her.

A voice muffled, friendly was beckoning her to come in the room, she was giggling. Apparently happy she opened her coat to just reveal her green patterned lingerie and she made a skip to the bed.. this was someone that made her feel happy, at ease.

"This is wrong.. what if she finds out..." she said with a worried tone.

his voice muffles into darkness. It was apparent she was in deep thought, but she couldn't make out what the guy was saying.. she hoped while she was following the officer out he wouldn't suspect anything.

Harry listened to her bosses rant, trying very hard not to burst out laughing. Though she felt she needed to defend herself somewhat,why she wasn't sure. "You hired me because I'm one of the few people in this business who can spell and because most Burlesque houses only let women back stage." last part she let slide out smoothly, hoping to ease her bosses ruffled feathers. "I am sorry to cause you so much stress though." Harry added, feeling that some modesty was needed. "I'll be sure to be more prompt with my reports from now on." She said ernestly. The photo caught her eye and she waited until her boss had let her be before sliding it out of the drawer and onto her desk. This isn't my handwriting Harry thought to herself as she pushed the note away to reveal the photo. There was nothing terribly enlightening about it, several men sitting at a table in some sort of bar or nightclub. Did I take this? Or perhaps the note writer. Harry scanned the faces of the men in the photograph, it was obvious they didn't know they were being photographed, as none were looking towards the camera. "This is it..." She muttered under her breath in a mocking tone. "This is what?"

Payge:
"Who's 'she'?" Moore's voice cuts into the haze, almost at the same second as a quick gust of cool autumn wind. It smells like the city, smoke, exhaust, cigarettes, and the faint crisp smell of leaves creeping in to make it an strange and exotic perfume. The sort of strange 'drug' of a smell that makes the city the seductive, creeping beast it is. Had you been distracted that long that you're now standing outside??
Flashing lights mark the police wagons, as do their particular shape, and a morticians wagon pulls away solemnly from the curb.
The milling police here don't see it, their steely eyes trained to try and keep voyeuristic photographers at bay, though by some miracle, the press scavengers have not yet arrived. Payge however, may well make out the shape standing on one of the fire escapes of a building across the way, if only by the quick flutter of his trailing white scarf. In this part of town, he looks very out of place. Too upscale, too pristine....too predatory.


Harry: "You'd BETTER! You've got one hell of an attitude for someone in this much trou...Are you listening to me???" He demanded, slamming his hands, palm first on your desk in near chest pounding display of superior mass and authority. "This is a newspaper not an tea social! We've got DEADLINES and you're looking at...at..." He leaned forward to peer into your drawer. "At BAD PHOTOS! What the HELL are you doing toting around pictures of Ducatti's crowd when you're supposed to be doing my social column!? Who the hell took that cr-- anyway?? I want him fired! Can't even take a decent shot! Look at this mook in the background, it's like he's got no FACE!" He picked up a hand to gesture demonstratively at the drawer.
He's right, actually. In spite of the comparatively crisp photography, a man in the background, behind the gathering at the table, appears to have no face. Although he faces forward, the space under his hat is completely blank, as though his features had been smudged away, impossibly, as the film developed. A trick of film development? A joke?

The performances of bravado meant to force her into submission only grated heaver on Harry's nerves. "Yes SIR I am listening." She said with a sort of forced calm. "And to be quite honest I don't know where I got the photo, perhaps one of the photographers though it would go with the article." She carefully slid the note onto her lap, hoping her boss hadn't seen and tucked it carefully into the band of her skirt. As her boss fumed Harry looked at the photo more carefully; her boss was right, in the background was a man who seemed to be missing a face. "That's rather odd...I've never seen that before in a photo."

"What... ? did I say something out loud? I don't know I was just think.." her voice trailed away and her eyes drifted around outside the streets although overcast it wasn't a bad day and the smell of the leaves comforted her, Payge's eyes then caught the man in respect to were she was standing quite far up in a building not sure weather it would be a good idea to draw attention to him. He definitely looked strange but it was the man in her dream. She kept quiet for now, if he was a hallucination then she'd definitely be in trouble. And Payge felt Moore would be more than happy to lock up someone like her with the click of a finger.

Connor gazed out across everyone never losing her sight on Tom. After all this was for him. Had he not had been the one to ask her; she wouldn’t have ever done this. The light reflected bright back at her but through the glare she could see him through the lights. He fiddled with his tie. It was not like him to be nervous. He was the kind you couldn’t rock. Maybe it was because of the other man who’d approached Tom that he seemed to be anxious.

Still Connor sang her little heart out, walking across the stage and wailing along with the piano. She glanced at Tom out of the corner of her eye. He was no longer alone. She couldn’t see whom he was talking to though. The gentleman adjusted his white gloves. She didn’t know why she was so fixated on the white gloves. “Rabbits wore white gloves… the kind that make you follow them down rabbit holes…� she thought to herself as she closed her eyes hitting the high notes perfectly.

Connor placed her own gloved hand against her cheek rounding to the end of the song wondering what the hell just made her think of white rabbits. The audience whopped and cheered for her as she blew a kiss to the crowd and crossed the stage delicately. She needed Tom. She needed to go to him and seek his approval as she often had.

(( I’m sorry I’m late…rough week @ work))

Payge: "Tell you what, I'm going to radio back to the station and we're going to have a doctor look at that goose-egg." Moore frowned slightly, concern written on his face. "We need you to make a statement and sign off on it, but I'm going to have the doc check you out first. Understand?" He asked, trying to guide her toward one of the empty vehicles. He didn't follow Payge's gase, assuming her to be distracted, maybe concussed. "Just...perfectly standard procedure."
Up on the fire escape, the mans head turns faintly, and although he has no visible eyes, his 'gaze' is transfixing, like an insect being pinned to the board. Then mutely, he flips his scarf over his shoulder and walks up the fire escape toward the roof, giving the brim of his hat a polite tip, in a sort of I'll be seeing you gesture.

Harry: The photo seems to have transfixed your bosess interest for the moment as he finally seems to be taking on a healthier shade than 'heart attack red'.
"....Must be a trick." He snorted. "Someone's just messin around. Looks like an F--in' Nightgaunt."
((This term may at your disgression trigger a memory: Nightgaunts are a night flying mythos creature with very long fingers and no determinable features. They're known for snatching people and flying them around, usually doing little more than tickling and pinching them mercilessly before dropping them somewhere again. However for the setting: you cannot always be rest assured they will drop you someplace safe.))

Shuddering at the thought of seeing that man again. The idea made her feel uncomfortable.

Placing her hand on her head and acknowledging Moore's comment. Maybe he was right, I've obviously had a knock to the head, not to worry the doctor will sort it out.

"Ok, I trust all of this will be sorted out at some point" she said in an almost sigh.

"Can I ask? Who was murdered in the hotel room? It might help me a little.." looking back it was a mess, was she capable of something so indescribably horrific.

At the word Nightguant Harry felt her stomach tighten and the room suddenly become devoid of oxygen. She didn't understand it, She'd only ever heard the word in passing, anxious mothers telling wayward children if they didn't watch themselves the Nightguant would get them. Stuff like that. But Harry trusted her gut, and if she was feeling this off about it, something was off. "Yeah..." She said, now a million miles away from the conversation. "Yeah maybe a trick..."

Payge: Moore opened the back seat of the car for you, tradition again. Never knew how someone was going to decide to act on the way to the station.
"Personally I didn't know him, or rather found it rather hard to identify him....in his current condition. We're looking into it. We'll get the answer eventually, but anything you can tell us will help. I know a lot of people find it a stretch these days, the Prohibition and all, but the boys in blue aren't the bad guys." He offered, giving you a serious look. If he didn't have that faintly battle worn look there, behind his expression, his open face would have vaguely begged to be reassured and comforted like a lost puppy.

Harry: Your boss grumphs again, tapping the sheaf of paper from your article on the desktop before he tears his eyes away from the faceless man in the picture. "Right. Anyway, pay attention to the damn clock ok?" He growled, rapping the papers again. "I've gotta run this damn thing over to the pressess now so we can get that damn paper out and make the damn newsies earn their pay."Now get yerself on home before you fall asleep on my dime again."

"oh.." she said slightly disappointed, looking down at the pavement watching a leaf nudge her foot as though it was asking her to come out and play brushing the leaf off it flew away with the wind to join it's friends. Payge walked up to the car door, acknowledging what he said.

"If I remember you will be the first to know, as far as I'm concerned I haven't done anything wrong. I'd like to know as much as you" she said opening up to him a little more.

It made her smile. Of course prohibition, I clean down at one of the bars I think not far from here, she sat in the car not quite sure weather she should be happy of her newfound memory.. touching her bump, god.. must have been a big knock.
"can you take me to the doctor now please, I feel a little sick"

the tapping of papers on her desk brought her out of her musings. "Oh...yes sir I'll be more careful from now on." The fight no longer in her voice, her eyes still locked on the faceless man. When her Boss "kindly" suggested she go home Harry was forced to agree with him. Maybe I'm just exhausted from this article...a warm bubble bath and I'll be set the thoughts rushed into her head, trying to rationalize the turns her stomach was doing. Gathering up her bag and coat Harry stood and carefully pushed her chair in. "G'night Boss." She mumbled before leaving the office and strolling into the hallway. She gave a half-wave to the secretary before putting on her coat and walking out onto the street.

Payge: "I'm going to have to have you talk to the doctor at the station." He admitted, closing the door behind you and going around to the front seat. "It'll be a minute, so just hold on." he shut his own door with a click, looking around before pulling away from the curb, leaving the scene of horror and the faceless man behind you.
Your own apartment, you may remember vaguely, is in a building not unlike these. Towering blocks of 'brownstone'. Sturdy monsters. Some graffiti mars the walls that you drive past. Dark symbols. Mutterings involving the words "Ghoul" and "Nightgaunt".
One even goes so far as to offer the cryptic and nonsensical comment: "Phnglui mglw'nafl Cthulhu r'lyeh w'gah nagl fhtagn." This last one is somehow ominous and wrong, in spite of being nonsensical. In the front seat, Moore radio's ahead, exchanging codes and asking for a physician to meet you at the station.

Harry: Your boss grumbles something that sounds about as close as he gets to being warm and cuddly, making a dismissive gesture as he hunches out of the room with his acquired article clutched firmly in his large hands.
When you leave the building, the night has fully set in. Somewhere in the sky overhead, something heavy takes to flight, it's wing beats distinct in the darkness, but it doesn't circle into the visible light, merely wings away in silence.
Somewhere in the city, you can hear the sound of police sirens, maybe a block or two away, and as you watch, an vehicle actually rolls past, though it's flashing lights aren't operating.
Behind it on the street, a well dressed man seems to be making his way home from the opera, the flapping of his long coat sounds not dissimilar to the flapping of wings from above a moment or two ago. His collar is turned up against the night chill, and a white scarf flutters around his neck. His head is bowed, hat slouched, but he continues forward as though familiar with the area, unusual for someone in such high dress.

Sarah:
You dream: In the dream, you're in the doctors office, though it's late at night and the lights have been dimmed. In spite of this, a man sits on the examination table, perched with a silent energy, like a tiger hunched down in false relaxation, ready to move at the drop of a hat.
"...It's not enough. For everyone one of you I find, ten dark things are born." he growls, head lowered. Rudely, he wears his hat in-doors, slumped down. He looks up, and stares into your eyes. His face is somehow completely forgettable, except for those eyes. The same watery blue as your own, but...empty. Like the glass eyes of an well constructed doll. he stares at you for several moments and reaches up, hooking his fingers at the edges of his strong jaw and tugs. With a sickening, strange sound, like peeling a sticker, the skin begins to come away, showing other skin beneath it. Although this revealed flesh is unmarked, it's somehow terrible. Like all the dark things in the world revealed, but he continues to pull. Stripping away his doll like, forgettable face, all of it.
Underneath, only blanck, featureless skin meets your eyes.
"You're needed."

"Doctor?" A soft female voice intrudes on the terrible dream, and a gentle hand shakes your shoulder. A pretty young thing, the nurse looks tired also, as many are these days, but then again, you never know the reasons why. "Doctor we have a call from over at the police station. One of the officers has an subject for questioning, but they need them looked at. I thought I'd see if you were free?"

She stared at the nurse in the befuddled confusion one gets upon waking. 'Doctor...' that somehow sounded wrong and she tried to remember what she was dreaming about earlier. Some guy who ripped off their own face...that couldn't be right...too many late night radio programs. She thought wearily to herself and stood up and stretched.
"Ah yes of course I'll be right there." Sarah replied with a distracted smile still trying to remember her dream.