Another nosebleed. All his life he’d been prone to them, but to suffer three in a single day struck the young physicist as odd. They also seemed to arrive on a routine schedule, he noted, between three or four hour gaps. Robert would’ve timed the last bout for further study had he not been so damned lightheaded. It eventually came to a point where, along with some not-so-gentle coaxing from his sister, the elder Lutece begrudgingly left home for the Medical Pavilion, a silken handkerchief cupped tightly to his face.

By the time he’d arrived, the bleeding had all but ceased. Typical, he thought, as he strode with purpose from the metro towards the emergency room. It was his only option at such a later hour, however ridiculous the circumstance. Regardless, Robert approached the check-in desk with all the poise one could expect from a reputable gentleman.

"Pardon me,"

He lowered the handkerchief to speak to a man with shagging hair and an inborn scowl.

"It’s hardly pressing, but I’m in need of minor assistance." 


His brow furrowed at the stained silk handkerchief. The dried blood on the stranger’s nostrils seemed to mildly concern him, but in the end Harrison knew better than to be alarmed over something as simple as a nosebleed. The soft lips pursed slightly, and his growing five o’clock shadow prickled his skin. A blank stare was exchanged before the doctor finally uncrossed his arms and crossed the floor to take a closer look at the man, not without grabbing a pair of latex gloves and slipping them on quickly.

“‘allo, my name is Docteur LeCaine, what seems to be the trouble?” the same phrase day in and day out left his phase monotonously. Before the non-verbal consent was given for the Frenchman to reach over and examine the man’s face, his ice blue eyes glanced over the seemingly troubled expression across from him. 


Joe knew the look of sleeplessness well enough. The man behind the glass in his bathroom wore it all but permanently. He walked up behind the bar as the gentleman took a seat and tried to speak friendly, but quietly. He knew of headaches, too. Not that a drink would necessarily solve that.

"Sure, sure, I could mix you something strong enough," Joe said and smirked. He wasn’t a half bad mixologist. "How strong we talkin’? Long Island Iced Tea? Irish Car Bomb? Zombie…?" He hoped he wasn’t making an ass of himself and the guy knew the drinks by title. Last thing he wanted was to come off as ‘The Pretentious Bartender with all the Puffy Drink Names.’

Sure, the drinks wouldn’t exactly get rid of the headache. In fact, the amount of drinking that Harrison was about to do both here and back at his apartment would absolutely double the number of headaches he would have tomorrow… It didn’t matter. The doctor was far too exhausted to even care at this point. Finger digits poked at the corner of his eyes, removing the amount of sleep that had been building up. How long had it been since he had had a decent night’s sleep? Weeks? Months? Years? Rapture seemed to drain the life right out of him after that initial honeymoon phase.

As the bartender listed off the names of drinks that he had literally never heard of… LeCaine could feel his eyes blink progressively faster. He was from a little dump of an area in France… English was difficult enough without complicated names. After holding the clueless expression for long enough… A quiet mumble about something about a ‘long island iced tea’ left his lips… Clearly indicating that he was willing to be surprised.

Me being an apologetic asshole:

So, I know I have been HELLA absent from the community. I am really, really sorry. Right now I’m just completing my last week of classes of my Bachelor’s degree and also in the middle of trying to get into grad school. Asking for your patience is super annoying, I know - but yeah. Just some context as to where I’ve been. ilu all baes

ooc; how are you all still following me? I practically don’t exist on here. It’s embarrassing. 

There is a time and place for decaf coffee. Never and in the trash.
Aftermath || Harrison LeCaine


Hector didn’t bother to hang up the phone, instead letting it fall limply from his hand and off the bed. He winced as the receiver clanged against the floor, remaining otherwise still against the mattress. With his panic slowly but surely receding, the disciple allowed himself to shut his eyes, doing his best to ignore the nagging paranoia that came with risking sleep. Yet, despite the ordeal looping vividly in his head, Hector fell rather quickly into a heavy, merciful rest. It hadn’t been intentional at all, but no less welcomed as he was granted brief reprieve from reality. He even dreamed a little. Something about Central Park.

The disciple woke sometime later to the sound of the front door closing, his cheek pressed to pillow drenched in cold sweat. He was shivering as well, and badly, which only intensified the various aches and pains already plaguing him. A feeble groan promptly followed a sharp inhale of breath, his eyes instantly wet again. He made a point to keep them closed. His head was pounding too hard to invite in vision anyway.

As he halfheartedly reached for his blanket, Hector’s ears pricked at the sound of footsteps drawing closer to the bedroom. The disciple’s gut then wrenched in reflexive fear, his jaw set and eyes squeezed more tightly shut as if to will himself invisible. Yes, he’d invited Harry over. He’d been rather choiceless in the matter, but still, the man was expected. But, Rodriguez positively dreaded the doctor’s inevitable reaction to seeing him. It wasn’t that Harrison had a weak constitution—he couldn’t in his line of work. No, it was something far more foreign to Hector. Something ugly that he couldn’t articulate, even if he wanted to.

He was ashamed of himself.


The actor croaked as he grasped at his sheets, fumbling to hoist them up to his shoulder in time. He hissed sharply, too, as the fabric rubbed over the edge of his open wound.

"…S’that you?"

Harrison simply rolled his eyes with contempt as the door shut behind him. Only a complete imbecile would leave their door unlocked in this hell hole of a city. Ever since splicing had been on the rise, and people started to get some sort of bug going through their heads, driving them up the damn wall, LeCaine had been extra cautious going just about anywhere in the hours of the night. The door lock clicked and his half done-up leather shoes were tossed to the side, among the pile of whatever else was laying on the floor.

That was when he noticed the drops of blood. Hell, it was more like a trail, leading straight to the bedroom.

The eerie sight caused his hands to clutch the briefcase of medical materials much tighter than necessary. He kept his trenchcoat on all the same and stepped around the dried stains and softly called out after hearing the frail response from Hector. “C’est moi…-” the smooth tone hushed, unsure and slightly terrified as to what he was about to walk in on. “It’s just me-” the doctor seemed to try and soothe whatever he was now laying his eyes on. A pile of bones, blankets, blood, and well… It was a train wreck.

The feeble attempt to cover himself in bedsheets was noticed and the case of first aid materials dropped to the floor next to the mattress as Harrison immediately began to undo the buttons of his jacket, and toss it over the nearby chair. Soon after, sleeves were rolled up, as he knew all too well that there would be blood to be dealt with. He wondered weather more casual attire would have been a better decision.

"Let’s see what you’re hiding," a hand reached for the edge of the sheet, waiting to reveal the wounds.