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Post by ROMAN ISLE on Jul 5, 2009 12:38:29 GMT -8
MADE HER SAY HOLD UP,
I GOT SENIORITY WITH THE SORORITY [/color][/font] - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - -  , SHE SAID SHE WANT WHATEVER SHE LIKE[/color][/b][/font] had her hair did, bound to fall[/color][/font] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - [/center]
Lunch.
Rome had been working his usual shift and skipped all opportunities to eat. Why? He had a mild hangover and eating would only make his sour stomach revolt in the intensive care unit. So, he’d traded breaks with Liza, who had to eat every ten fucking minutes because she was pregnant. Rome was just happy that he wasn’t the father of that poor kid (he’d done the math, it was impossible) and if Liza wanted to consume her body weight in Cheetos then he wasn’t going to stop her. Shortly after word got around that Rome was on a charity streak, Gary had asked him to take over for him in prenatal so he could call his wife. Wife. Right. Even though it was common knowledge that Gary was sleeping around on his wife with someone from the front desk, Rome agreed to contend with crying and spit-up for an hour. It was a continual surprise that something so small could require so much attention; he was never knocking anybody up.
Finally, seven hours into his shift, he was ready to eat. Good thing too, otherwise he was going to black out from lack of energy and dehydration. Unfortunately, in the middle of fucking the hostess from Friday’s last night, he’d forgotten to pack his lunch. In all fairness, she did yoga and he couldn’t keep up with someone from yoga if he tried. Crouching tiger and hidden mantis poses did nothing for his stamina. He was pretty sure he was going to pass out from it all at one point but Taylor (or was it Tanya?) had passed out first. That was how he’d woken up. On top of her, hand over the alarm clock and blankets tangled around his waist. Not good for someone who liked to semi-plan lunch.
So, he settled on the hospital cafeteria. The food in such was barely distinguishable from prison food. As far as Rome could tell, the primary aspects that separated the two had to do with vending machines that rarely worked and red jello. Red jello was forbidden in prison because the colors would excite the inmates. Gang rivalries and shit. Or something like that, Rome couldn’t recall that episode of Gang Land too well. Not being two seconds from starving to death. However, starvation didn’t seem so bad an idea once he’d taken a look at his plate. The potatoes looked poisonous, the vegetable mix was wilting and he was pretty sure that two-toned pudding was not on the menu. For the sake of survival, he snatched an apple up and scouted out his usual spot.
The usual spot was occupied. Unacceptable and bullshit. Everybody in the entire goddamn hospital stayed away from that spot because it was under a cooling vent that sputtered and sounded like it was about to cave in any second. He narrowed his eyes and discovered it was a mother and daughter duo. Crying. Upon closer inspection, he also realized he’d definitely have a threesome with both but that was out of the question if the crying wasn’t going to stop. Rome found another table, luckily, across the room and out of reach of the crying. Tray clattering on the table top, he slid into the orange plastic chair and set about not vomiting/consuming his sustenance.
- - - - -
FOR: Rumor!
WEARING: Scrubs!
WORD COUNT: 550!
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Post by rumor on Jul 5, 2009 18:47:38 GMT -8
* she can and she will , • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • Something inside Rumor Rose was boiling, and by the expression that had marred her unusually delicate features, it didn’t look too promising.
Her arms pushed open the doors of the cafeteria as loudly and conspicuously as humanly possible, her petit and seemingly innocent figure stopping in front of the entrance, bright eyes flickering over every single presence in the room. She avoided all of the commonly-dressed folk and moved straight for those in uniform, jumping from blue-clad man to woman, man to woman, looking for one doctor in particular. To most, her delicate features cast her as nothing more then a panicky young darling who’d just been told her boyfriend had herpes and had probably passed it on to her, but one shouldn’t be fooled. For Rumor Rose was neither delicate nor darling, so really, it was wise to beware.
Tousled auburn hair, relatively young looking, she repeated to herself, dashing forward and crossing through the first aisle of tables, bumping into an old woman with a cane and muttering some half-meant apology, arms crossed over her chest like a woman on a mission. She was huffing and puffing, her narrowed eyes mere slits on her face, accentuated by the dark rectangular frames perched on her small nose, and her hair - those messily kept dark curls which framed her face - looked as though she’d just run through the hospital. Well she had, so that’s how it goes.
And then she spotted him.
Crossing the cafeteria carelessly, apple in hand, was her target. There couldn’t have been many young, brooding doctors who decided to shank their patients on a regular basis without informing them of their looming marriage, right? Well, that was Rumor’s reasoning, and so she pounced after him, very tiger-like, very determined.
She slipped into the orange chair across from him, setting her glasses a top her head, somewhere amidst the lush sprawling curls.
“Doctor Morris,” she began, leaning over the table and poking his chest threateningly, “That’s right, I know who you are. I bet you’re wondering who I am, aren’t you? Well, sir, I’m your worst fucking nightmare.”
Anyone - her size especially - who started a monologue like that, deserved some credit, at the very least.
Noting his silence, the vixen continued on, forearms placed firmly on the table as she continued to lean forward, keen on biting him if he decided to be difficult and cause a scene. “Oh, don’t sit there like you didn’t think this would happen! Everyone’s bound to get caught sometime! I know all about you and your games! You thought Estelle would never find out about your fiancee, and your kid, didn’t you? Well you know what, she did! And she hasn’t shown up to work in days, and her class is falling behind, and she’s about an inch from being fired, and you know why? It’s all because of you, you son of a bitch! It’s all your fucking fault!”
More silence? He was being difficult. Playing the ignorance card, was he?
“Estelle just sits there and cries all day and she’s wasting away her life because of you! But oh no, don’t think she’s crying for you, oh no! She’s crying because she trusted you, and she loved you, Mister Morris! Jim! Whatever the hell your name is! You’re ruining lives and you don’t even care - how the FUCK did you get hired to be a doctor, huh? How can you repeatedly fuck someone you diagnosed with diabetes, coax her into loving you, and forget to mention your kid! Your fiancee! Do you know what girls do when things like this happen? They eat chocolate, Jim! Goddamn chocolate! Chocolate for a diabetic, you do the math, asshole, you’re practically killing her!”
She paused to take a breath, looking around her and noticing the various yet subtle witnesses around her that had turned to figure out just what she was rambling about.
“You know what, I’d be scared if I were you, Jim. Because me, I’m a forced to be reckoned with! I may not look tough, but my father’s in prison, you hear me? Fe-de-ral pr-i-son” she sounded out the word, narrowing her eyes and practically growling at him from across the table.
“I curse the day you were born, Mister Jim Morris!” She stood, slamming her hands flat on the table for added dramatic effect. “Fucking piece of shit!” And she slapped him, before turning on her heel and sashaying towards the door.
There was a grin proudly displayed on her pink lips as she bounced out, stopping just as a rather handsome man, sporting a white coat over his scrubs came through the doors, oozing sex appeal, with a gold-plated ‘Jim Morris’ name tag on his lapel. Her eyes widened and she looked up, hand moving to cover her mouth and keep from shrieking.
She turned abruptly, through the aisle and back into the seat she’d been penetrating just moments ago, too frightened by the man she’d thought to be Jim Morris’ reaction.
“Look, uh,” she began, lifting her eyes just to his chest to search for some name tag, scolding herself for not thinking of this before. “I’m so sorry. I’m not particularly rational at times, and I didn’t think to ask you if you were Jim Morris, so I apologize. I didn’t mean to yell - I mean I did, just not to you, you know? Don’t take it personally, but you really shouldn’t sit around like this. I mean, I know it’s my bad and everything, but maybe if you wore a name tag, we could have cleared this up sooner, you know?”
Finally, her eyes lifted to his and she chuckled, dimples prominent. “God, you must think I’m schizo or something...”
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •  rome the great! : TAGGED
shitload. : WORDS
hospital, ftw. : SETTING
this, dearest!: OUTFIT
breakthrough – hope 7: LYRICS
see greatness, i do. [yoda, i am?] : NOTES
L O U D forest @ CAUTION 2.0 <3 : CREDIT |
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Post by ROMAN ISLE on Jul 5, 2009 20:30:09 GMT -8
MADE HER SAY HOLD UP,
I GOT SENIORITY WITH THE SORORITY [/color][/font] - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - , SHE SAID SHE WANT WHATEVER SHE LIKE[/color][/b][/font] had her hair did, bound to fall[/color][/font] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - [/center]
Teeth.
His front teeth had barely penetrated the thin red skin of the apple, finding purchase in the fruit when he had company. Company translating to an unfamiliar brunette that he’d never seen around the hospital before. Rome was good about faces too and even better with racks. Neither of which on the woman across from him rung a bell. The logical conclusion being that she wasn’t working in the hospital and she definitely wasn’t a patient. Living inside of his head was Rome’s usual method of existence, so he wasn’t processing all of the conversation being thrown at him as he swallowed the sweet remnants of the apple. This, his dismissal of the dialogue, would be a sore mistake.
Rome caught the words, “Dr. Morris.”
Flattering, sure. Jim and Rome were on good terms and if anyone got as much ass as Rome, it was definitely the “good doctor.” Still, Jim wasn’t Rome. Or in this case, Rome wasn’t Jim. He was about to say as such, in his sarcastic jackass drawl when he was prodded in the chest. Christ. Using the traction from his sneakers, Rome shoved his chair back a little distance because as much as he loved being accosted by strange women, hangover days were not the days for this behavior. Damage control was seriously necessary. All he wanted was his now-abandoned apple and some water and maybe a quickie with Cassandra in the x-ray lab. Thanks to Jim, he had this crazy fucking girl with a voice that carried, screaming on shit he had no clue about. Amazing. Great. Stupendous. All the adjectives that derision could produce on command. Adjectives that weren’t keeping Rome amused.
“Look, lady, you’ve got-”
The non-stop talking was hitting his brain like hand grenades. A headache began to throb into existence as she continued about some imaginary affair and chocolate and Federal Prison and God knew what else. Rome pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he tried to will away the headache and blindly grope with his other hand for his apple. When his fingers grasped the forgotten fruit, he tried to figure out how he was going to gag the woman across from him without people noticing. Instruments with which to gag her came in a rush of interesting degrees, one in particular concerning Rome. Awful. That was no help at all.
“I’m not-”
Hand on his face. Or his headache had grown exponentially in the space of time between her calling him a piece of shit and his lungs exhaling angrily. Judging by the sting, Rome was going to go with slap. Definitely a strong slap. Her BMI shouldn’t allow for that kind of velocity. But no, no, that was unquestionably a bitch slap to rival all bitch slaps. His eyes flew open just in time to register some sadistic, self-satisfied smile on the mouth he’d been plotting to gag. And off she went. Oh, what the fuck. Eyes zeroed in on him from all around the room and he was sure that in some cosmic, karmic, Zen way he deserved that slap. Okay. But in public? In the workplace? By a random stranger? That was wrong shit. Bullshit, really.
Torn between watching her ass sashay away in too-tight-for-decency jeans and standing up to make a scene of his own, Rome did nothing. Truthfully, hangovers and slapping and verbal matches were an awful combination. He just soaked in the nosy cafeteria people and the view. Not to mention the marvelous, almost-glowing sensation of that handprint on his cheek. Rome was glad he had a lay on speed dial. After today, he would need it. Badly.
Just as things couldn’t get worse, Rome noted his apple had rolled to the floor. Bitten and forlorn. Absolute waste of apple. As he leaned over to grab it, he noticed the appearance of legs. And heels. Too-Tight-Jeans was back. To finish the job, he supposed. Straightening up with a glowering look coloring his face, Rome didn’t say anything. Because he wouldn’t get a word in edgewise and because he was partially too fucked up to think of speaking that was allowed in polite society.
“God, you must think I’m schizo or something...”
Delicately setting his apple on the table, Rome averted his gaze as he swallowed a myriad of colorful replies. His fingers splayed along the cool surface as he tried to still his heartbeat. Anger made his BP raise considerably. Too-Tight-Jeans wasn’t going to send him into cardiac arrest if he could help it. At least, not like this. Not if she wasn’t on her knees, first.
“We have a ward for people with schizophrenia. However, we don’t have a ward for women like you,” Managing to get himself under control, Rome’s cool-green gaze focused on her with a special level of disdain, “Women like you are referred to as ‘crazy fucking broads.’ Those patients go to the Vegas Police Station. In cuffs.”
Gathering his things, trying to do so with as little effort as possible, Rome had to get out of there. This fucking girl was insane. And going to kill him. Lunch wasn’t worth physical attack of the brutality kind. “My nametag, by the way, would read Roman Isle. Nurses don’t wear name tags on their fucking lunch. Thanks for the slap. Appreciate it. See you later, much.”
- - - - -
FOR: Rumor!
WEARING: Scrubs!
WORD COUNT: 896!
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Post by rumor on Jul 6, 2009 0:01:43 GMT -8
* she can and she will ,
Now, as she waited for some sort of response, Rumor was at her best behavior. And by that I mean, she was smiling, hands subjected to her lap, eyelashes battering every now and then for added tenderness. She couldn't help but notice how his pale skin made him look as though he was carved of stone, a breathtaking Adonis dolled in scrubs and banished to Las Vegas for god knows what awful crime he must have comitted. After all, beauty in such bounty - and by bounty she was being entirely lustful, of course - was far too valuable. She pictured her Adonis belonging in Greece, or Paris, or some European paradise, definitely not Las Vegas.
No, he definitely did not belong in Vegas.
For a brief moment, she pondered luring the young greek god into a cage in her apartment, and selling him for his sex. It was one of those many off-set ideas that Rumor never should be allowed to have, but seeing as she quite frankly had no filter, well.
And then the poor man responded. First by insinuating that she was worse behaved than a schizophrenic, and then he called her a 'crazy fucking broad.' She simply reacted at first, while digesting his unpleasant outburst by smirking, scoffing and shaking her head. He had not just told her she belonged at the station.
"Excuse me?" She half-murmured, unable to register exactly why he was reacting the way he was. Yes, she'd crossed the line and she'd slapped him - she couldn't quite remember if she had but she was pretty sure the mark on his face was there for a reason - but she'd apologized, hadn't she? And regardless, it wasn't her fault he sauntered around sans name tag, practically begging to be confused as some two-timing doctor of a douche. The first thing she thought of doing was letting him know what was on her mind, so she did just that.
She let the boy know what was up.
"Hey, jackass," she began, standing just moments after he had, palms flatly placed on the table for steadier ground, and intimidation to the max. "Let's not blow this out of proportion, okay?" Her voice was saturated with disdain and though she was ultimately compelled to whack his face with his food tray, she refrained, swallowing and taking a deep breath at any moment she felt an attack coming on. Even with her calm demeanor and soft-oken voice, her words were lined with hostility that couldn't be misinterpreted. And if he hadn't noticed her venomous glare, he was about to get a mouthful that would make him wish he had noticed, and turned the other way in a quick dash out the cafeteria.
"Now I don't know who your boss is at this very moment, but you better believe I'm going to find out. And when I do...oh, you can bet I'll complain! Because you're rude and insensitive and an absol- wait, you're a nurse?"
For a moment, Rumor leaned back, eyes penetrating every inch of him from head to toe as if determining in that moment whether she thought he was bluffing and whether she thought he was being ridiculously absurd. And if he hadn't determined her resolution, he was going to hear it.
"A nurse? Seriously? You couldn't put in the extra few years and become a doctor? What kind of pussy are you?" Surely, her words were unfiltered and lined with mockery, but every bit of her was fixed on kicking him while he was down, in every unphysical way possible.
There was another pause in her bit of a monologue, where she sauntered over to his side of the table, taking his arm lavishly and gripping his bicep, before tugging him towards the door. If she was doing to rip him to shreds, she'd rather not have it be in public. At the hospital. As she walked though, her hissing continued, but low of course.
"Alright, you nurse you," by this time her glasses had slipped from her head and down to her nose, where she used a free hand to steady the frames against her face. "There is little I wouldn't do to pick you pieces right here, right now, in your domain. Now in your delicate situation, being a nurse and all, I'm sure you're well aware of just how damaging that would be to your career, am I right?" She was pushing one door open and slipping through, with him in tow. "So let's cut to the chase. You apologize, for calling me a crazy bitch whatever, and admit that really, the only cuffs you'd like to see me in are in your bedroom, and not in jail. Deal?" She pivoted to face him, bodies mere inches from each other, her face tilted towards his. And the vixen cracked a smile, an awful one at that.
rome the great! : TAGGED
shitload. : WORDS
hospital, ftw. : SETTING
this, dearest!: OUTFIT
breakthrough ? hope 7: LYRICS
worst idea, typing all that via bb. : NOTES
L O U D forest @ CAUTION 2.0 <3 : CREDIT |
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Post by ROMAN ISLE on Jul 13, 2009 21:11:30 GMT -8
MADE HER SAY HOLD UP,
I GOT SENIORITY WITH THE SORORITY [/color][/font] - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - , SHE SAID SHE WANT WHATEVER SHE LIKE[/color][/b][/font] had her hair did, bound to fall[/color][/font] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - [/center]
Leave.
The imperative was to leave. Desert this whacked-out, completely off and insanely hot woman so that Rome could enjoy what was left of his lunch in peace. Peace pertaining to a store of Smirnoff and Doritos in his locker. Anything else expectactions-wise would be expecting much too much. Seriously. He was pretty sure that his intentions at this point were prison-Plexiglas clear. Whenever he was sure about anything usually meant there was little to no room for misunderstanding. The dame across from him seemed to want to defy this common law of his world. Rome was none too pleased at this development as it played out in the form of constant attack.
“‘Out of proportion?’” He repeated, eyebrows knotting with consternation at her assertion, “You wouldn’t know ‘out of proportion’ if it ran over you with a Greyhound. Repeatedly.”
The tray in his hand was discarded, shuttering onto the table with noticeable volume. He was sure more than a few heads were tuning in now to the little drama that would undoubtedly distract them from whatever sad event was plaguing them. There was his noble deed of the day. Keeping others from their pain for at least a small while. For now and that now would be ending soon, God willing. Rome stole another calming breath, his gaze lowering with plain dislike at the petite form that was on a collision-course with his meal time. When she was done with her empty threats, he gestured vaguely in the direction of the hospital director’s office and then once in the direction of his actual doctor’s quarters. There was more than enough mocking in his smile to convey his message.
“Please, feel free. I’d be more than happy to escort you but I have things to do attend to. You, regrettably, not being one of them. Try not to look too crestfallen and. because I know you’re wondering, it’s Roman Joaquin Isle. My director’s name is Marcia Lowell and tell her I’m still on for lunch tomorrow…so long as some VICIOUS, GOD-FORSAKEN HARPY doesn’t ruin it-…”
Oh, clever. Here came the nurse jokes. He should have surmised as much from a woman so small. She’d surely be finely trained in the talent of bringing people down to her size. The heels were always indicative of superiority issues. He knew that from a long history with tiny dates in teetering heels. This girl was no exception to the rule. When she called him a pussy, Rome nearly choked on his spit.
“A pussy? I’m a pussy for having a stable job? Oh, wait its because women are typically nurses. Right. How progressive of you,” Rome murmured sarcastically, shaking his head in disgust at her generalization of the profession, “How very modern woman. I imagine you’ll go blog about this later. Congratulations on that. By the way, nurse or not, I’m sure you wouldn’t turn down a session of ‘doctor’ if I asked nicely enough.”
He didn’t like that he wasn’t able to savor that particular implication; two could play at the stereotyping game. But when she strolled in his direction, the Fight or Flight mechanism kicked in. Rather hard, at that, so he had no choice but to pay attention. At once, he was being grabbed and tugged away from the scene they’d so dutifully created for the fellow cafeteria-goers. Rome wanted to pick her from his arm like a nasty little mosquito but he refrained. Simply put, mosquitoes didn’t wear jeans the way she did. He fell into compliance the best that his ego would allow, only half-hearing her threats and venomous undertones.
When she spun on him, Rome was compelled into action. The options marquee-ed across his brain, bright and flashing with unadulterated allure. He clicked off the electricity that fed that particular section of his thoughts and opted for usual Rome behavior instead. Leaning away from her and scowling with no small amount of annoyance, he spoke after she’d spun her little self-absorbed web of invitation.
“Look, crazy broad, I understand you being upset with my naming of your erratic insanity. However, just because you’ve gotten this far in life on looks and knocking boots doesn’t mean it works with those of us who are in no shortage of each. That said, handcuffs would be appropriate for you. But not in my bedroom. My director’s office is passed the cafeteria, first door on the right. Marcia Lowell. Have a nice day.”
The cheekiest of smiles brushed across his mouth as he sidestepped her and sauntered on in the direction of his lockers. Smirnoff. Doritos. He had just enough time to do both before surgery.
- - - - -
FOR: Rumor!
WEARING: Scrubs!
WORD COUNT: 774!
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