Angua von Uberwald (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
von_uberwolf) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
savetheearth2013-11-20 04:11 pm
von_uberwolf) wrote in savetheearth2013-11-20 04:11 pm
I'm not dead yet!
Oblivion passed, and Angela's consciousness slowly crawled back into the universe. It was Dark. Dark and extremely cold. She felt vaguely sore, like she had had a heavy workout yesterday, but she couldn't clearly remember if she had. Worry about that later, figure out the present, then you can figure out the past.
Eventually, she decided that the reason it was so dark was that there was a sheet covering her entire body, and it was cold because she was lying on some kind of metal surface. She tried out a few mental explanations for why she might be in this situation and liked none of them. Nothing for it then but to try sitting up. Angela stiffly pulled the sheet off of her face and creaked up into a sitting position. It was still dark, but at least now she could make out some shapes. Moonlight filtered in through some windows towards the ceiling, highlighting parts of the room in stark light compared to the otherwise relative black. Metal tables, rows of refrigerated cubbies lining the wall, neat stacks of surgical equipment, biohazard containers, a computer in the corner. "Morgue."
She was in the morgue in the police station. She was completely naked, lying under a sheet, in a morgue. She didn't FEEL dead, though.
Suddenly the memories that had been waiting for a good moment to get her attention jumped into focus. The drug bust. That too young face behind the gun. The numb feeling of shock as her insides were reduced to a bloody casserole by multiple armor piercing bullets. Dropping the shotgun. Dying. She HAD died! No one could have survived that. Anyways they don't take healthy people to a morgue.
Grimacing, she dared to risk a glance down at her torso. No gunshot wounds. No bandages or stitches. Not even a goddamn scar! What the hell was going on!? She shoved that thought aside for the moment. Whatever had happened, she was still here, and it was getting damn cold. Angela ripped the tag off her toe, furiously ignoring the DOA written on it, hopped off the table, and padded across the room to a closet to poke around in. A minute later found her wrapped up in someone else's lab coat. It wasn't a very long coat, and if she bent over she would distract the hell out of any men behind her, but it would do for now. What she really needed was some place to get her act together. She couldn't drive home, since her keys were in her locker, and the locker room might have some of the night shift right now, who would want to ask her questions that she really didn't feel up to answering right now.
So. Explain to normals why she's not dead, or walk home alone in the dark without much in the way of clothing? Not that getting home would help much without her keys.
She glanced over at the desk in the corner. It had a computer...
[Audio at 2 in the morning.]
I have had a really, really bad day. I need a place to crash for the night, some clothes, and a lack of stupid questions. If anyone felt up to supplying any of those I would be extremely grateful.
Eventually, she decided that the reason it was so dark was that there was a sheet covering her entire body, and it was cold because she was lying on some kind of metal surface. She tried out a few mental explanations for why she might be in this situation and liked none of them. Nothing for it then but to try sitting up. Angela stiffly pulled the sheet off of her face and creaked up into a sitting position. It was still dark, but at least now she could make out some shapes. Moonlight filtered in through some windows towards the ceiling, highlighting parts of the room in stark light compared to the otherwise relative black. Metal tables, rows of refrigerated cubbies lining the wall, neat stacks of surgical equipment, biohazard containers, a computer in the corner. "Morgue."
She was in the morgue in the police station. She was completely naked, lying under a sheet, in a morgue. She didn't FEEL dead, though.
Suddenly the memories that had been waiting for a good moment to get her attention jumped into focus. The drug bust. That too young face behind the gun. The numb feeling of shock as her insides were reduced to a bloody casserole by multiple armor piercing bullets. Dropping the shotgun. Dying. She HAD died! No one could have survived that. Anyways they don't take healthy people to a morgue.
Grimacing, she dared to risk a glance down at her torso. No gunshot wounds. No bandages or stitches. Not even a goddamn scar! What the hell was going on!? She shoved that thought aside for the moment. Whatever had happened, she was still here, and it was getting damn cold. Angela ripped the tag off her toe, furiously ignoring the DOA written on it, hopped off the table, and padded across the room to a closet to poke around in. A minute later found her wrapped up in someone else's lab coat. It wasn't a very long coat, and if she bent over she would distract the hell out of any men behind her, but it would do for now. What she really needed was some place to get her act together. She couldn't drive home, since her keys were in her locker, and the locker room might have some of the night shift right now, who would want to ask her questions that she really didn't feel up to answering right now.
So. Explain to normals why she's not dead, or walk home alone in the dark without much in the way of clothing? Not that getting home would help much without her keys.
She glanced over at the desk in the corner. It had a computer...
[Audio at 2 in the morning.]
I have had a really, really bad day. I need a place to crash for the night, some clothes, and a lack of stupid questions. If anyone felt up to supplying any of those I would be extremely grateful.
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