Sep. 9th, 2011 12:45 pm
[identity profile] tim-drake-robin.livejournal.com
In his particular 'calling', it doesn't matter how good you are. Eventually you will take a bullet. The trick is to be good enough to not take it in a fatal place.

Tonight, he was good enough.

But damn did it still hurt.

If he were closer to home, he'd be taking the Redbird back to the cave. There were allot of 'if's going on right now.

A quick and temporary bandage had stopped the bleeding...mostly. His armor and training had made the difference, even so he had a bullet in his arm. Damnit.

At 2am in the morning, the clinic is mostly empty. Even so, he caused a minor scene walking in like he did.

He thought about asking the volunteer nurse at the counter if the Doctor was in...but he knew she was and the rumor of his entrance had probably reached her by now.

So he stood there, waiting and bleeding.

Gunshots wounds tended to bring out the Bat-Grump in him after all.
[identity profile] lesliethompkins.livejournal.com
Among individuals aged 20 to 35, drug overdoses are the third leading cause of premature death in Gotham City. The statistics are even higher than average in the East End. Most of those who survive the ordeal continue to abuse despite the experience. The terrible cycle, once started, rarely sees a happy conclusion. These past two weeks have been worse than usual. In the past fourteen days, she's lost four patients to drugs, all under the age of 25. From the set of symptoms present prior to death, Leslie knows she's lost four patients to the same drug. Meaningless deaths. All in the name of profit.

It makes her blood boil.
[identity profile] nynecrymes.livejournal.com
"I know, I know.  I'm the last person you wanted to see here, but...hear me out.  I'm not here for business."  He places a brown paper bag on the dresser next to her.  "Obviously pleasure's out of the question too.  Word about what happened shot through the channels."

He removes a small cup of peace yogurt and a spoon.  "So I did some checking in...I had a feeling you'd be here."   He doesn't give a second look to her bruises.  "Occupational hazards" as they're thought of. 

"I'm just here to talk, and...well, I wanted to see you."
[identity profile] seriouslyevil.livejournal.com
Oh, if Selina knew where he was right now, there was a good chance she'd kill him.

However, where he was right now was less important than where he had ben earlier. Not to mention what he had left behind.

He glanced at his watch, waiting for a few more precious seconds tick off. Once the he decided the time was right, he flicked open a cell phone, and dialed the number this least favorite kitty.

Ring, ring, Selina Kyle. And you might want to pick up sooner than later.
[identity profile] femme-du-chat.livejournal.com
Having to get used to your own body isn't something that most people ever have to do. Luckily for Selina, it doesn't seem to be taking her very long at all. Still, she hasn't ventured out onto the rooftops yet. Not further than her own roof, at least.

Wouldn't want to go and do something really embarassing.

Looking out over the city, a glimpse of something silver catches her eye as it moves through the night. Soft notes reach her ears as she turn to look, one of the facets drawing her eyes to it.

Whatever this is, she would like to keep it.
[identity profile] lesliethompkins.livejournal.com
One can never be too cautious with the care and security of pharmaceuticals. The clinic houses easily hundreds of thousands of dollars in prescription and over the counter drugs. Ultimately, responsibility for those drugs falls on the shoulders of the chief physician. Leslie takes that responsibility seriously. Inventory once reported a reasonable supply of penicillin. It would have been the truth had one of the orderlies not taken that supply to the streets for a quick sale. Now she randomly picks a day and counts with her own two eyes for accuracy. At least once a week, she'll set the time aside. If not twice.

She moves from the antibiotics to the codeine.
[identity profile] anotherknight.livejournal.com
He's never wrong.

He never allows himself to be wrong.

But it's staring him right in the face.

A lapse in judgment.

An error.

The few strips of gauze he's pulled from the drawer just aren't going to be enough to fix this mess.

The blood soaked wad currently in his hand is hurled in the direction of the sink.
[identity profile] -nightwing-.livejournal.com
Mother's Day has held mixed feelings for Dick in the years since his parents were killed. It's a pain that's gotten easier to deal with in the passage of time, and with a family of his own now, he's living more for the present - and the future - than ever before.

There are other people in his life who deserve recognition on this day; some who are mothers not by blood but by bond.

At the clinic of one Leslie Thompkins waits a present that has literally been a lifetime in the making: a large, square, elegantly wrapped box resting on her modest kitchen table will reveal a leatherbound photo album. Inside can be found a legacy of photographs from as recently as a few weeks ago to more than fifteen years - informal snaps of Barbara, Dick, Tim, Cass, and Jason. They're not all of the greatest quality but what they lack in photographer's skill they more than make up for with the personalities contained therein.

A simple note in a familiar all-caps print, placed just inside the cover, reads, "Here's to many more. Happy Mother's Day."
[identity profile] femme-du-chat.livejournal.com
Come back to Gotham, the first thing Selina did was check on Sonia Alcana. To make sure she was still safe, still around, even. On some level, she's expected Sonia to have left the country or something at this point. Or to at least want to leave the country. If that's what she wants, Selina can probably manage that as well.

The second stop is to get the cats and visit with Holly. There was concern over the new scar on her arm. And there really isn't anything Selina can make up on that one. It really was just totally insane and doesn't make much sense. Magic is... Well, none of the magic she runs into fits into the everyday very well. Explaning it just makes her sound even more crazy and tired than she is in actuality.

Heading home to her place, she ends up sitting on the couch, all three of the cats bumping into her for attention. She's not paying them the attention she normally would. Right now, she's too busy staring at the newspaper. Amongst everything else, there is a growing feeling that maybe she should go back to being a loner. Recently, it seems, she's done a lot of making things worse for people. All of the good she's done is hard to see when all of the negatives are thrown in front of her.

She spends a long time staring at the paper on the coffeetable.
[identity profile] http://users.livejournal.com/_alfred_/
Good food, good friends, and good conversation.

Devoted as he is to stately Wayne Manor and the legacy it represents (and the person in whom that legacy is vested), Alfred appreciates the rare opportunities to slip away for reasons that have little to do with his duties. Such opportunities are thrice appreciated when they involve the lady currently seated across the table from him.

"I recommend La Parisienne Poulet Aux Framboises," he says as he studies the menu. "A simple dish compared to some, but most satisfying. It is regrettable that raspberries are not currently in season, but since they serve merely to garnish this dish, your palate may avoid the offence."
[identity profile] lesliethompkins.livejournal.com
Stitching a wound requires a pair of steady hands. Those of Leslie Thompkins barely qualify at the moment. The anger that boils within threatens to explode in effusive language. Cursing her patient's stupidity will have to come later though. Right now, all of her concentration is focused on the task at hand.

The stomach wound she closed just two days earlier has been reopened. The area around the remaining stitches shows definite signs of infection. His color looks worse than it did the day before. This is one patient who won't be testing the limits of his endurance any time soon. He's done that already. Now he's paying the price.

A select number of friends and family gather to pick up the pieces.
[identity profile] lesliethompkins.livejournal.com
The average post-operative hospital stay for a patient recovering from abdominal surgery is four to five days. Leslie will demand two. Three she recognizes would be overly optimistic. There's only so much rest and pain medication Bruce will stand. Once he reaches that threshold, there will be nothing in her power to keep him at the clinic. He'll return home to a different kind of recovery. One punctuated by trips to the computer whenever the watchful eyes of Alfred are turned. One elongated due stubbornness.

Further bleeding, infection, and shock are always risks after invasive surgery. Observation in the first 24 hours is essential. The minimalistic sounds of machines working in the background keep her company in the private room. The lights have been reduced to one in the hopes that he'll continue to sleep.

She casts a sideways glance at her patient. The joy brought to her earlier has recessed. In its place is a weight born of worry and fatigue. Each time her expertise is brought to bear, she wonders if it'll be the last. Neither answer is particularly settling.


Feb. 14th, 2007 07:15 am
[identity profile] http://users.livejournal.com/_alfred_/
Some time after he arrives at Dr. Thompkins' clinic, Alfred draws the good doctor aside. "If I could have a word with you in the foyer?"

Seldom has the entrance to her clinic been labeled a "foyer."
[identity profile] femme-du-chat.livejournal.com
Selina Kyle is not someone who is familiar with the sensation of guilt.

She has, in and out of costume, done what has needed to be done and put it all down as the cost of living.

Right now, however, guilt and uncertainty have tight holds on her.

The Dark Knight is heavy and akward but she gets him on the table, knowing that Leslie will be here soon. Leslie will be here to fix the physical wounds, though the emotional ones might well be too large to understand the scope. This is all so complicated now since she did what she thought was right instead of what was needed.

Harvey is on his way to the hospital and then jail and Bruce is laying here.... bleeding and in need of serious care. The urge to disappear is strong.

Before she does that, she needs to know that he'll be alright. Before she tries to figure out if she is or not.
[identity profile] mari-grayson.livejournal.com
There is no moment of silence, when so many are gathered to discuss the state of the multiverse, but there comes a time when the conversation is not quite so noisy. Nightstar flies above the heads of the attendees, landing before a draped painting. Judging by the size, the attendees may wonder if the hidden work is a lifesized portrait, but of who? Those most familiar with the Dreaming, and the Endless, may think of the paintings lining Dream's gallery, and what they are used for.

"Excuse me," Nightstar says politely, waiting until all (or at least most) have focused their attention on her. "Dream said that he would be willing to let you all have glimpses in the dreams of those who dwell in the multiverse. I'm afraid you won't be allowed to make any requests, and the glimpses may not last very long." She smiles ruefully. "I also don't know how much use you'll get out of what you see, but ... please pay attention?"

With that, she pulls the veil aside, revealing that the frame is, at first glance, empty.

And then the frame fills with images....
[identity profile] jla-extras.livejournal.com
Midnight. 12AM. 0:00. O Dark Hundred.

Most find themselves in warm beds at this hour, buried deep in hazy slumber. For many, it has been a long, tiring year. Many are weary, but for some, sleep doesn't come.

In the darkness, in the stillness, and sometimes, yes, even in the shadows, there are things still awake and moving. Some are restless. Some are working. Some have nothing better to do.

All things alive or aware, awake or asleep, can feel the blood in their ears at this hour. A new day is coming and the world is waiting for it.
[identity profile] old-saint-nick.livejournal.com
There is some debate within mystical circles if there is indeed such a creature as the embodiment of Christmas Giving known as Santa Claus. But whether or not there is such a being, the spirit of giving itself is very real, be it incarnated in a fat man in a red suit or not.

Throughout this small blue planet of Earth, people have brought trees into their homes, decorated them with lights and ornaments, and placed them in locations of honor. Stockings have been placed on the chimneys. But most of all -- in the spirit of community and giving -- people have placed gifts under the tree.

Some are looking forward more to the receiving than the giving. But for many, it is the act of giving which warms them, which fills them with the holiday spirit.

Each person, in their own way, becomes a part of this spirit of giving. Each person, in their own way, becomes Santa Claus.
[identity profile] jla-extras.livejournal.com
It had already been a trying 24 hours or so for the nurses.

It had started with the new superflu. Or so they had thought, even though it began a couple weeks after the onset of the superflu was recorded. The kids in the ward were getting sick. Chills, vomiting - it was heart-sickening to see the kids so miserable.

Then the symptoms intensified. Children cried for their mothers. One had fallen into a coma. The emergency room soon began to overflow with similar cases.

That morning, one of the children in the unit, who had already been battling AIDS, died, less than 24 hours after getting sick. The other kids were hanging in there, but most of the nurses and doctors were already pulling double shifts.

This is what's happening in one of the many hospitals in San Francisco. The scene is the same at other hospitals as well.

In Gotham.


Star City.

New York City.



Opal City.

Central City.

Keystone City.

St. Roch


And on. And on. And on.
[identity profile] lesliethompkins.livejournal.com
Late breakfast at the Connaught is a simple but elegant affair. White linen and fine china grace the table. Tea and toast form the meager meal. It isn't much. It's all she can handle at the moment however. The effects of sleep and jet lag still linger on her features.

The dining room is pleasantly quiet. Leslie feels a bit like a fish in a fishbowl though. The rest of the tables are empty. The waitstaff hovers at a polite distance, unaccustomed to serving a singular guest.

He bought out the entire hotel?

Two Hearts

Sep. 22nd, 2006 12:16 pm
[identity profile] http://users.livejournal.com/_darkknight_/
Those few that know Bruce Wayne - the real Bruce Wayne, not the one that waves to cameras for photo ops with supermodels, starlets or extremely sexy former jewel thieves - know his proclivity for brooding. He does so less often than people may assume because his work, both business and crimefighting, keeps him busy and distracted, but when he gives himself the time to sink into the shadows that have gathered about him since boyhood, he can sit for hours in a dark room and ruminate on things as dark as people fear he contemplates. His preferred place for this activity has long been the Wayne Manor study, where the ghost of his father seems ever-present.
Ruminations... )


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