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discedo_logs2010-09-04 12:05 pm
asitcouldbe.livejournal.com) wrote in discedo_logs2010-09-04 12:05 pm
Entry tags:
[closed]
Who: Lisa Cuddy (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
asitcouldbe), Thomas Knowlton (withoutturn)
Where: Saint Andrew's Hospital
When: Sunday, 9/4; mid-afternoon
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Summary: PLOT PLOT PLOT
the log:
Cuddy still couldn't quite process the fact that she had been out of the city for over three months. Everything still seemed the same. Sure, some people had come and gone, but that happened every day; it was the monotony of day-to-day life that didn't seem to have changed. Little progress had been made. No one, as far as she knew, had been able to figure out anything that might help them get back home. Some might have found such consistency strangely comforting. Cuddy found it maddening.
When things started to seem like too much, she took refuge in her paperwork. It was purely clinical, which she had to admit was a relief sometimes. Paperwork didn't have feelings that could be accidentally hurt, or limbs that could be (accidentally or otherwise) broken; it was safe from death and hunger and grief. In short: she didn't have to worry about it. She just did it.
On this particular afternoon, she was in her makeshift office at the hospital, processing and filing the results of that month's medical forms. The hospital itself was rather busy-- she'd gotten up from her desk more than once to help treat the sudden influx of sick patients that had been coming in lately-- but her office was quiet and calm: just the way she liked it.
asitcouldbe), Thomas Knowlton (withoutturn)Where: Saint Andrew's Hospital
When: Sunday, 9/4; mid-afternoon
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Summary: PLOT PLOT PLOT
the log:
Cuddy still couldn't quite process the fact that she had been out of the city for over three months. Everything still seemed the same. Sure, some people had come and gone, but that happened every day; it was the monotony of day-to-day life that didn't seem to have changed. Little progress had been made. No one, as far as she knew, had been able to figure out anything that might help them get back home. Some might have found such consistency strangely comforting. Cuddy found it maddening.
When things started to seem like too much, she took refuge in her paperwork. It was purely clinical, which she had to admit was a relief sometimes. Paperwork didn't have feelings that could be accidentally hurt, or limbs that could be (accidentally or otherwise) broken; it was safe from death and hunger and grief. In short: she didn't have to worry about it. She just did it.
On this particular afternoon, she was in her makeshift office at the hospital, processing and filing the results of that month's medical forms. The hospital itself was rather busy-- she'd gotten up from her desk more than once to help treat the sudden influx of sick patients that had been coming in lately-- but her office was quiet and calm: just the way she liked it.