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sylvanSpider sylvanSpider is offline
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Default Give me a hand, would you? No, like, literally. [Seppy&Spidey][[m,probably]]   #1  
((Okay, first thing's first. This post is only gonna have Simon, my other lady will come in a bit later. ^^))

Simon Caldwell sat at his desk in a too small, labless, apartment complex. Prior to today, he'd been a student at the university that belonged to this gods damned town. Having been kicked out for using the lab for alternative studies not related to those studies that he was supposedly being graded on, he was out of academia and out of a job (having had a work study worked out through that self-same university). A cup of black coffee was steaming beside the morning paper, opened to the classifieds job section. Red was etched around some of them, either circling the advertisement only to subsequently leave an 'x' over the article all together.

The jobs he wanted, those with access to a fully furnished laboratory, all required an academic medicinal degree, but he'd been hoping to find one experience related. He'd altered his own eyes to work better than they did before, changing their eye color from brown to a deep crimson. But, now he had dark vision, so that was pretty neat, right? It wasn't that he actually wanted to better himself. No, that was for those ambitious fucks that wanted to be the very best before their pathetic human bodies gave out on them. No, this was simply to see if he could—anesthetic free, of course. Everything he did was simply to prove he could. And he would, with just about anything he felt like doing at the moment.

Now, however, he was out of resources. He groaned and lifted the cup of still steaming coffee, emptying its contents into his gullet, setting the coffee cup down, and standing. Grabbing the newspaper, he crumpled it up, tossing it into the bin and moving his happy little ass out the door.

Time to hit the bricks, I guess.

And hit the bricks he did. Hands jammed in his pockets, Simon boarded the bus keeping an eye out for any business that seemed like it was in the least related to medicinal studies or practice. Finally, he saw it. A rinky dink sign that read “Dr. Nicola Amratige”. Nothing more. That's all it said. Simon got off at the very next stop, retracing the bus's route to get to the office. A bored looking secretary sat at the desk, looking up from some cheesy magazine or other and rolling her eyes at the newly appeared Simon, “Do you have an appointment.” The question was more of a statement than a question, the woman seeming to know that there were no new appointments.

“No.”

“Then why are you here?” the woman droned. Simon stared at her for a moment before answering.

“I'm here to talk to Dr. Armatige. If I don't gain a meeting with him today, I will not leave,” Simon returned, calmly and matter-of-factly.

The secretary rolled her eyes and pressed a button on her phone, “Dr. Armatige? Some crazy guy is here wanting to speak to you. What do I tell him?”
Old Posted 01-03-2018, 07:33 PM Reply With Quote  
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