06-21-2011, 06:21 AM
"Fontaine," one of the other scientists leaned back in his chair. The creak that resounded through the scribbling of pens and pencils was almost comical. "Do you still have the charts? I want his health records." John Snow needed the paperwork so he would know exactly how to treat the phoenix. It shouldn't be too hard: the birds were known for being "reborn through the ashes." They should be hard to kill . . . but here in the asylum that was questionable.
Tossing his pen down on the table in a disinterested fashion, Snow stretched his arms over his head and yawned. "We've been here for almost an hour. What's the temperature at now?" He seemed immune to the glares of his colleagues as he disturbed the hushed silence. There was an irritated cough from somewhere behind him.
They'd been doing experiments all day: they always did. John's job was to fix up the damage that wasn't automatically fixed up. He was a doctor. Running a gloved hand through his white hair, he sighed again. This time the glares were more furious. He heard someone whisper in the back. "If he doesn't want to be here, he should just leave. I don't want to miss something important like last time."
Snow's eyebrow arched, but he said nothing. Instead, he looked back to Frederich Fontaine. They'd been working alongside one another for years. "What did you say? How cold is that cell, now?" His turquoise eyes flared with fury, but he kept himself calm enough. The only sign that betrayed his emotional state was the fact that his fist was clenched as he rested his cheek against it.
He never had liked the process of waiting. Snow enjoyed immediate responses and events he could respond to faster than others. He wanted challenge. The doctor thrived on it.
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((I will post with Sarah later. :sweat:))
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