||Yoooooo…went ahead and wrote up a list of verses, now that I’m actually getting more into this. Uncle Vinnie’s spreading his wings, he is ;__; Hopefully we can add more in the future but this is the stuff I’m really into so far. And if anyone ever needs to check back with it for any reason, it is located on the far right of Steinman’s blog, directly underneath the “Medical Journal: Or How I RP” box. Thanks!
“Tell Me” [[ ey how bout some story swappin in the WWI AU?? ]]
I’ll write a drabble about my character confessing something to yours…
It was well into the evening before the rain let up. The doctor didn’t mind the rain at all…especially since he wasn’t in the trenches. Though, over the course of his three-year campaign in Western Europe, he didn’t need a visit to recall the state the lines would be in upon his return. He just wished his furlough lasted a bit longer, so the grunts could clear the mud and slime out. And so, warm and dry in an inn on the outskirts of Paris, Dr. J.S. Steinman sat between a window and the hearth, sipping his mug of warm milk.
"Of all the people I’ve known in my life, I must admit that none were as diligent or dedicated to their craft or careers as my father. And this is even counting my professors and mentors throughout my surgical career. He got up at the same time every morning, at exactly five AM, and stoked the fires in the ovens downstairs, after which he’d immediately start preparing the dough for the breads. He worked six days a week and even snuck in a few hours on the supposed ‘Sabbath’. My parents were Jews, yes, and…mingled…with such a crowd, but they were not as observant as one would think. The most remarkable instance was when the man suffered a inguinal hernia and returned to work the next day. He put a chair by every oven and table and simply moved from seat to seat.’If I don’t bake, no one will. Rather, the Rosenberg’s might, which is much worse’, he said. Yes, the only time he ever took days off from work was when he was physically ill and catching. And my father rarely caught sick.
…You know, come to think of it, I never actually told him how much I admired his work ethic. Nor thanked him for instilling in me the same attitude. And I’m not entirely sure I regret it either. I’ll have to think on that more.
Ｗｈａｔ ｃａｎ Ｉ ｄｏ ｗｉｔｈ
ｔｈｉｓ ｏｎｅ， Ａｐｈｒｏｄｉｔｅ？
"In that case, I want a hand-written apology letter delivered to my mail explaining your little... tantrum when we had that little chat. Add in a 25 dollar gift card to Hot Topic. Oh! And I demand 40% of your revenue every week for the rest of the year."
Dear Mr. DeWitt,
I am no longer interested in hearing whatever sort of drabble is pouring from your plebeian, thuggish mouth.
Here is a photograph of my hand…please feel free to talk to it as long as you wish.
|| "I'll go tell the Rapture Council that you eat dick burritos."
“Au contraire…I am the Rapture Council.”
It seemed as though she had only drifted through the days leading up to that night, knowing how much trouble this was probably going to end up being for her. The woman was well aware of the time, noting that she was running rather late as she quickly carried herself to the Kashmir’s entrance. Elizabeth was anxious, for a number of reasons — unsure of how he would act toward her, that people would start talking — and it certainly kept her from leaving at an appropriate time. Fortunately, the woman hardly felt bad once she’d stepped into the restaurant, quite determined to keep in mind the entire reason why she’d agreed to do this; because he agreed to help her.
Lucky to have not turned any heads as she made her way to the Doctor’s table, Elizabeth only offered the man a quick smile before pulling herself into the adjacent seat. She’d have considered telling him how she would have blown him off for a quiet glass of champagne and an early night, but figured there were certain things she should at least try to hold her tongue with. No reason to not return the courtesy she had been given.
"I…apologize, then. Must have lost track of time.”
The woman seemed a little anxious, eyes darting about the room as though she were expecting someone to jump out and assault her; but she tried to move past it, to focus on Steinman without losing interest or vomiting at the sight.
"No—unfortunately people seem to be quite forgetful these days. I haven’t been able to retrieve any names, and Cohen had me running around all week. So I haven’t really gotten a chance to investigate.”
The woman gave a sigh, pausing a moment before nodding toward the man. “I take business is booming for you…?”
Like an old sage, albeit a significantly more sinister one, Steinman listened to her answer. Through hooded eyes he watched her, his face soon wreathed in fragrant, vaguely cedar-smelling smoke.
"Fret not, my dear. I already told it the situation is fine, have I not?" There was a marked hesitance and almost anxiety in her tone, her expression, her body language. It was unmistakable, even to the lowliest of morons. The surgeon concluded that it would’ve been as good a time as ever to do a bit of probing of his own, but not until she had gone through his list of enquiries. He had to play the gentleman, after all…
He shifted in his chair slightly, taking another few puffs. “Indeed it is. Business has taken to a very steady incline since the mass marketing of ADAM and EVE. Plastic surgery is one of, if not the biggest, surgical market in the city. Even more so than general, if you can believe it, and that’s not to say that we don’t see a fair share of general patients as well. There’s a direct bathysphere line from the Pavilion to Neptune’s Bounty so you can imagine how many oafish, clumsy stevedores we get who need something patched up.” He meditated on the thought for a moment, more smoke wafting through the air.
"Now about your…missing child…what would you like to know? But of course, would you like a drink or something before we begin? Perhaps a bit of nosh?"