Allison Cameron (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
as_damaged) wrote2008-02-04 04:38 pm
as_damaged) wrote2008-02-04 04:38 pm
Entry tags:
☎ voicemail
| ☎ voicemail ☎ text message ☞ action |
[ooc: you know the drill, if you need her and there's no recent post &c &c. whatever. ♥♥♥]
[ooc: you know the drill, if you need her and there's no recent post &c &c. whatever. ♥♥♥]
can i see you before the world gets too christmas crazy? not at the hospital.
❝ do you believe in what you see? there doesn't seem to be anybody else who agrees with me ❞
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
oshutup.livejournal.com
2011-01-15 01:38 am (UTC)(link)
Clad in deep blue winter coat, unbuttoned and over a white-collared shirt and slacks and particularly snow-resistant shoes, Peter Pevensie waits in the hospital lobby at five to one on Friday. He realizes that it's been quite some time between communications with himself and Doctor Allison Cameron, but that has never been much cause for someone like Peter to avoid further interaction. If anything it makes the meeting more reasonable, and lunch is a pleasant, neutral kind of territory where one can order things like tea but one is not limited to steeped leaves.
Hands in his pockets, one lightly around the device always on him save for particularly forgetful days, it's possible he smells clean like the winter outside but also lightly of hay. It's not a bad smell as it's not wet hay, just that warm straw-stacked kind of overlay the way the smoke from a wood-fire insinuates warmth even if it's just the smell.
In the absence of three most dear to him, Peter finds himself particularly grateful for this lunch. Allison is level-headed from what he knows of her and what he's been firsthand witness to himself be it in conversation or otherwise, and she has a kindness to her that he likes tempered with an intelligence he easily gravitates to. Her concentration in medicine is some cause for this of course, but there are other doctors he could speak with; he prefers her.
Waiting, he doesn't take seat and when asked by someone if he needs help he shakes his head an smiles no, but thank you. He's fine. It's the easy answer perfect strangers afford him.
Hands in his pockets, one lightly around the device always on him save for particularly forgetful days, it's possible he smells clean like the winter outside but also lightly of hay. It's not a bad smell as it's not wet hay, just that warm straw-stacked kind of overlay the way the smoke from a wood-fire insinuates warmth even if it's just the smell.
In the absence of three most dear to him, Peter finds himself particularly grateful for this lunch. Allison is level-headed from what he knows of her and what he's been firsthand witness to himself be it in conversation or otherwise, and she has a kindness to her that he likes tempered with an intelligence he easily gravitates to. Her concentration in medicine is some cause for this of course, but there are other doctors he could speak with; he prefers her.
Waiting, he doesn't take seat and when asked by someone if he needs help he shakes his head an smiles no, but thank you. He's fine. It's the easy answer perfect strangers afford him.
[[Ring ring ring, this call is coming in from an ID that appears to be Mindy Macready's phone.]
Like drinking hard, hot coal, Amory sips at his coffee. A necessity for the snap of caffeine that will trudge headlong into the permeating fog of his mind. And today, that fog sends him bumping shoulder to shoulder into the next customer in line, Allison Cameron.
"Sorry," he declares, inconsequential propriety practiced for the ease of getting along with strangers. But he catches the side of Cameron's face in an accidental glance, a sight that sends him into a sudden pause. He knows her. Of course he knows her- she helped save his life. Strangely, there's a nervous clench in his stomach, involuntary, and Amory realizes he has stopped too long to casually walk away.
"Hi," he addresses her softly. Calmly.
"Sorry," he declares, inconsequential propriety practiced for the ease of getting along with strangers. But he catches the side of Cameron's face in an accidental glance, a sight that sends him into a sudden pause. He knows her. Of course he knows her- she helped save his life. Strangely, there's a nervous clench in his stomach, involuntary, and Amory realizes he has stopped too long to casually walk away.
"Hi," he addresses her softly. Calmly.
[Left in the mailbox is this red envelope with eight orange coins inside, along with a note: Cameron, happy Chinese new year. You don't need to be Chinese to celebrate it so you get a red packet. Enjoy and good luck. --Angela]
How poor are they that have not patience!
What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
Thou know'st I'll work on it, as long as we're here;
You'll smile at me again in time.
What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
Thou know'st I'll work on it, as long as we're here;
You'll smile at me again in time.
Hey lady, it's me. Give me a call when you got a minute.
i know i keep saying we should talk. but we should talk. please.
I hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded
worksmart.livejournal.com
2011-04-09 02:10 pm (UTC)(link)
If and when Cameron answers this knock at her door, the face she'll find there is a familiar one. He's holding two card-and-plastic wrapped sandwiches in one hand and wearing, at least until he catches himself, an unguardedly hopeful expression.
Edward doesn't feel like he belongs. He's like that kid who transfers into school mid-semester, observing the hustle and bustle around him with a certain detachment, maintaining a distinct point on the periphery. Maybe that will change in time once he's actually cleared for actual work, but Edward doubts the title 'doctor' fits anyone who worked for a company that murdered humans.
And if Ed's the new kid, it's no surprise he's eating alone today. Or he would be eating at home, if he had remembered to bring his wallet. There's a clumsy fumbling of metal bits and receipts as Ed searches in his pocket for an elusive orange coin, all the while standing rather awkwardly at the end of the line.
And if Ed's the new kid, it's no surprise he's eating alone today. Or he would be eating at home, if he had remembered to bring his wallet. There's a clumsy fumbling of metal bits and receipts as Ed searches in his pocket for an elusive orange coin, all the while standing rather awkwardly at the end of the line.
who are we to tell ourselves that we're misunderstood
worksmart.livejournal.com
2011-06-06 12:41 am (UTC)(link)
They're in-between peak shifts at the coffee shop, but there are a few early visitors keeping solitary company there, staring blearily at network devices or unfolding papers over the tables. One of the booths in the corners would be more private, but Chase has deliberately picked a spot nearer the middle of the room to wait for Cameron. However she feels about it, this isn't about making her feel trapped.
The ring has been sitting in the ICU office at the hospital since the day after the curse, had she only known to take it. It doesn't feel like his and yet there's a familiarity to it that bothers him. He hasn't wanted to keep it too close. Maybe it is a dead man's ring and he's being an insensitive arse for not handing the thing over as soon as she'd asked for it but there's too much she's obviously not telling him to trust to that.
That's why he all but blackmailed her into this. It wasn't gentle, it wasn't nice, but he's so tired of having to apologise for tripping up despite being left to find his way in the dark.
He turns the thick, white gold circle over between his palms, and finally, testing his memory of the fit for the first time since the wedding, slips it on.
The ring has been sitting in the ICU office at the hospital since the day after the curse, had she only known to take it. It doesn't feel like his and yet there's a familiarity to it that bothers him. He hasn't wanted to keep it too close. Maybe it is a dead man's ring and he's being an insensitive arse for not handing the thing over as soon as she'd asked for it but there's too much she's obviously not telling him to trust to that.
That's why he all but blackmailed her into this. It wasn't gentle, it wasn't nice, but he's so tired of having to apologise for tripping up despite being left to find his way in the dark.
He turns the thick, white gold circle over between his palms, and finally, testing his memory of the fit for the first time since the wedding, slips it on.
[Perhaps it's irrelevant that the hour is long past what might be considered lunch, given that no arrangements for meeting have yet been made. The bars have been open for a few hours, though, and up close it's evident that Chase has made a prior visit to this one. He doesn't seem drunk but the taste of gin is faint on his breath. The smell of smoke clings to the check shirt half tucked into his jeans.
His hair, brushed but just edging scruffily long, is dark with what could be brick dust. He looks, if anything, a little tired, and who knows how he found her apartment (a month underground has shown that almost anything in this City can be procured for a fee) but he's here now, and knocking. Counting the chances she won't be in.]
His hair, brushed but just edging scruffily long, is dark with what could be brick dust. He looks, if anything, a little tired, and who knows how he found her apartment (a month underground has shown that almost anything in this City can be procured for a fee) but he's here now, and knocking. Counting the chances she won't be in.]
[Left propped against her apartment door in the early hours of Christmas morning, and simply signed, Robert. (http://www.watabaran.org/images/2008/lotus_lingon_liggande_medium.jpg)]
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