Saturday 1-21-06

Saturday, January 21st, 2006 11:36 am
[identity profile]
He stashed his crutches in the office and sat in the rolling chair from the desk. He had charting to finish, notes about Thursday night to document.

He didn't remember writing excuses for the kids, and wondered if he'd done it so automatically that he forgot he'd done it, or if he'd, well, forgotten to do it.

He tugged the crossword puzzle out of the desk drawer, but couldn't concentrate on that either.

Doctor is in. No coffee, no Cash -neither dog nor music. No mobility either, but he's not immediately advertising that. You know how pools without life guards say 'Swim At Your Own Risk'? Yeah.

[OOC: Slowtime likely, yeah, but don't hesitate to tag in]
[identity profile]
*DEATH is still sitting at the desk as the evening wears on, reading his books and scribbling his notes. Perodically he experiments with various jazz hands techniques. He is beginning to wonder where the Rat had gotten himself too. He certainly had something to learn about efficiency, though, truthfully, he wasn't terribly bad. For a skeletal rat.

Suddenly, as if on cue, the Death of Rats comes scampering through the door, and scrambles up onto the desk, dropping a bag of candy triumphantly on the desk.*


*DEATH sets up a small red and green bowl, complete with blinking lights, on the desk, and pours the candy in. He begins to to pick through it, noting in appreciation that the assortment contains christmas colored gum drops, wax lips**, candy bells and a wide assortment of chocolates, including chocolate christmas trees.

The Death of Rats picks up a small, non-descript bit of chocolate, chewing cautiously. There was something about that candy man that made him wary. Still, he ought to let DEATH know about the recommendations.*



*DEATH, heeding the Rat's advice, removes the few wax lips to be had and several of the gum drops from the bowl.*

DEATH is in for the evening. And he has candy and jazz hands. Come bleed and be festive.

((OOC: The bag of candy was carried on the back of a *rat*. Which means there is only so much of it to be had. I'm putting a little ** by anything that the bowl is out of.))
[identity profile]
*DEATH strolls into the clinic with a pile of official looking papers in his hands. He seems to be working on something. Periodically you notice what looks like a Victoria's Secret catalog at which DEATH scratches his head. Or skull.

His rubber duck seems to be absent.*

((OOC: DEATH!mun is heading to bed. Feel free to bleed all over the floor, but keep in mind that it will be played out in the late morning tomorrow.))

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