Players:
Summary: Angelo runs into a kid who wants fresh air and another who wants (or needs) pain pills.
Date: March 21, 2010
Sunday Off?
Rating: PG
Barnes Academy Entrance
Through another set of armored doors from the passage outside one enters a secure S.H.I.E.L.D. Base. The area is huge, more akin to a hangar or doomed stadium than a 'room'. The same transparent material domes the space and soars at least twenty meters above the metal deck under foot. At the far side of the dome, the leviathan-sized bulk of a S.H.I.E.L.D. Sub-carrier can be dimly seen. To the left and right are smaller corridors that connect to office, training and classroom spaces on the right and living, eating and recreational modules to the left. The center of this underwater atrium is dedicated to a larger than life bronze statue of Bucky and Toro, the first teen heroes of World War Two. The planters and raised beds containing ferns and small trees contribute to an 'open air' feel and almost hide the dormant security features, which are formidable and numerous.
Angelo sits on the edge of a concrete planter, pretending not to be aware that there's a camera looking at his back; there are plenty more where that came from. He's on break, and came out here to stretch his eyes. Looking at something further away than 10 feet, basically. He's humming along to the tune coming off his music-player, some old bit by Sugar Ray. "every morning mmm hmm mmm hmm hanging on the corner of my mhmmm mhrm bed…."
Caleb still hasn't quite got used to the time change since coming to America, so hes been up for the last few hours, but it's now about 8am so he figures he can go for a walk around without waking anyone, he's dressed in his school uniform, his white hair is still a little damp from his shower and his violet eyes are glowing faintly as is the yellow stone on the silver wristband on his right wrist, he steps out of the enterance of the dorms but stops when he spots the guy sitting on the planter, hmm he's not dressed like the guards, maybe he's a teacher.
No such luck, kid. You can't ever tell. The man at the planter is short, but very wide. He hears the faint ch-thwock sound of the entrance door's lock device opening to permit someone to leave, so he looks over at the eager fresh-scrubbed scrub and raises an eyebrow. Violet eyes. He waits to be approached, if the kid is going to do that. Not someone Ange has seen yet but it's Sunday dammit, and Angelo has to go see his Mom. Or she'll pitch a fit on the phone at the worst possible moment, generally when he wants lunch, or worse when he's on duty.
When Angelo turns to look at him he flashes invisible for a second (His clothes are still visable) as a reflex incase he's not supposed to be out, before remembering his clothes will give him away, he steps forwards towards the man, "Good morning Sir", his strong Irish accent sounding slightly nervous.
The moment of Hollow Clothing earns a continued raised eyebrow, and the presence of the irish accent causes Angelo to identify the curious student.
"You'd be Caleb O'Hallahan, am I right?" the man asks.
Caleb gulps and nods, "Yeah I'm Caleb O'Callahan, am i not supposed to be out?", the fact that the guy knows exactly who he is worries him a little.
Angelo shakes his head no. "It's fine, just amused. Everybody gets a bit stir crazy in there, Mr. O'Callahan. I'm Angelo diLucci. The physician of practice most of the time in this charming and beautiful space-ship of a school. By the way, check your orientation packet. There's a list of must-do and must-not-do in there. One ot the must-do's is to visit my office within the first week, so I can check you and make sure you're not bringing in something bad to our nearly closed environment."
Caleb relaxes slightly, he's used to doctor, he's be seeing them regularly since he was 13, "Good morning Dr. diLucci, sorry i'm still getting caught up, this school is very different to what i'm used to, when do you want me to visit your office?", he walks over to stand in front of the doctor.
Angelo rubs a finger over the bridge of his nose. "Most likely, Monday at the earliest, but I think you have a few days' leeway. I have Sundays off-duty but I'm waiting for my substitute to show up. Oh, and I knew who you are because I have to. I need to know the details about any possible powers or injuries that I might have to treat. And I am your pharmacist while you're here, so when you need a new supply of your medication I'll provide it."
at this point Caleb-player's laptop overheated and shut down, leaving awkward transition.
A few more minutes of small-talk chat and Angelo stands and greets a woman in a SHIELD uniform with a cadeucus patch on the shoulder and chest. "Hey, Sara. Nothing much happening. Here's the pager," and he hands her a small electronic device.
"I'll be back this afternoon. Just have to visit with my Mom so she'll stop thinking I've been kidnapped by a cult or joined a political party or something."
Sara nods as if she didn't see anything funny about that.
Barnes Academy - Medical Center
The name medical 'office' rather undersells what his, in essence, a state of the art, high-tech and extremely well stocked medical bay and treatment center. There are always orderies and nurses in attendance to handle minor injuries and a doctor is always on call for more serious problems. In addition to a locked medicine storage facility, there are modules for isolating patients, a (hopefully never used) cryogenic storage and stasis module for preserving life (or bodies) when the local team can't stabilize a patient and a pair of ten bed infirmary modules attached to the main area. Each bed and exam table is equipped with the latest Stark-tech diagnostics gear.
Hovering at the entrance a moment, Mikhail finds himself quite uncomfortable. Just got out of one of these places, and didn't really want to be back. Still, he knows this is a must, and so makes his way inside. His motions are stiff, but he isn't limping. Favoring his left hip, even though it affords him the proper range of motion. "Excuse me.." The teen's voice is horrid. Like he'd been drinking and smoking since he were born. Longer than he's been alive. "Is Mr diLucci being in?" His accent too says that he's not from around here. Nor is his English all that good. A heavy Polish accent. As for the teen himself, he's really nothing to look at twice. Fairly plain, and wearing the Barnes student attire.
Angelo is sitting at a computer terminal on a desk near the entrance — this place has some amazing computers, but here, he has asked for a regular flat screen and keyboard-trackball, because the flatscreen can be used to show patients their records — and he's reviewing a few entries from earlier and the list of incoming students. A couple names make him say, "Woah!" and he starts to look closer, but then a newly arrived Mikhail Androv speaks, and Ange looks up, that voice making his power flash on instinctively for a moment. His eyes light up, tattos on either wrist glow yellow-white, and the top of another tattoo on his chest is just visible under the v-neck of the scrubs, also glowing yellow-white. White-blond hair flares like a halo, but then it all fades back down afterwards.
The moment of insight tells him that the kid hasn't just been exposed to phosgene gas, so he relaxes with relief. "Yeah, I'm diLucci, please, sit down."
He gestures at the guest-chair next to the desk.
"…." And then that kid isn't there anymore. No special affects, simply gone. Hazel eyes shift green after going wide at Angelo's power display, and then Mikhail disappears. Hopefully that power can work in a second there. You scared him. This isn't for long though, and a sheepish looking teen soon reappears. Looking uncomfortable he merely offers a usb device. «…Sorry.» Doesn't like to raise his voice because that hurts, but the apology is earnest. Now that 'scan' can work just fine. He won't disappear again without good reason. "Medical file." In case you don't have it already. In fact the teen is quite health side from the injury at hip, and his old throat damage. Needs a couple months worth of good meals.
The vanishing is a surprise, but the magic is fast. Bemused, Ange takes the USB device and slots it. "That's an interesting trick. Is that hip hurting you?"
He types while talking, the skill developed over several years of clinic work. Pay attention to the patient, glance at the screen only a little. "I'm pulling up your file," he explains, "and you'd be Mikhail Androv? Or, it says 'Misha' here, that seems a bit over-familiar. Which do you prefer? You should call me Mr. diLucci when I'm on duty, but Angelo or Ange works fine when I'm off-duty."
The USB files update the system's medical records, much more information on the keyfob than in the preliminary file.
Mikhail doesn't reply about his trick. "Is stiff, but yes, a little." His hip hurts. Explaining Misha is a little more difficult. "Yes." He's Androv! "..There was being another Mikhail in hospital, so I said it okay to call me Misha. Mikhail, please." And yes, that's a bit overly familiar, but it helped. Points to his hip, "Repaired. Had physical therapy too. I am being much better now." No exaggeration either. His files say he has been healing well. Within human norma, but still doing great.
Only after that does he ease into a chair. Doesn't mean to be insubordinate. "Mr. diLucci? ..What was.. um.." Lifts hands to motion around his head. Your funky power display.
The physician extends his arm, displaying the inside of his wrist. Against his dark skin, the white ink doesn't really show up well — it would have to be much thicker — but it's there, at close observation. "I have a connection through these tattoos to a powerful life-energy source. When I light them up, I can do things - heal injuries, repair damage, make defenses. I can also see whether something is injured, and how badly. Your voice sounded to me like you might have been hurt, and I turned it on by reflex. I can heal the hip if you don't want to wait for it to finish healing on its own."
He's a bit surprised to learn of the ability to heal. Still getting used to this 'everyone around has superpowers' thing. Sure Mikhail heard about them on TV, but this is much different. A hand lifts to his throat, touching the scar there. A very old scar. His expression says he's still trying to process the impressive power options Angelo has. "Is being very old." Said of that scar. "I was being four." Touches over the eye as well. "This too." Neither of which affect his day to day life a great deal. Certainly no injury to the eye. "I.. think I will be passing for now. If that is being okay?" Uncomfortable with another's powers used on him like that. "Sorry."
Ange smiles, and answers, "No need to apologize. Your hip is healing nicely, no infection. We'll just keep up the physical therapy so there's no impairment as it heals, and … " he types a bit more quickly, " … I've just prescribed some painkillers. These are different from what they had you using before, no chance of addiction, but you have to be sure to take them with food, and on the schedule that will come out. They'll reduce the inflammation and you'll have a lot better recovery but you can't skip them because it doesn't hurt. And only for the next week. You'll reduce the dose on the last day, and if it starts hurting again, come see me immediately, OK?"
He's gotten the history, and nothing he saw was missing from the medical report, so Ange doesn't see a need to force the kid to go through the ropes. Unless he wants to.
No, Mikhail is a good kid, and doing as he should. Doesn't look thrilled at the painkillers, but that thinning of lips only heralds the accepting nod. "Okay." Doesn't want to take the drugs. Bah. "Where am I to be getting them?" The drugs. Doesn't look around again, for he took in the room already. Didn't look like there was a pharmacy tucked back there, but appearances can be deceiving. "I am also being sorry for poor English." Not that Angelo seems all that bothered by it. "I was not expecting to be speaking as much." A look of distaste. "Thank you." For helping. "Oh, I was not being told who new therapist would be. Are you knowing?"
Angelo checks the chart. "They haven't assigned you one … oh, heh, I get to do that. We have several qualified PT's here. Or, I can do it myself if you want." He flexes an unreasonably impressive bicep, and winks. "I know about training, after all." Good lord. "But Guido Chekovitch speaks Russian, if you prefer someone who'd be easier to talk with."
A pneumatic tube in the wall delivers a tube to the desk, and Ange pulls out the paper envelope inside, a manila packet large enough to hold the 75 tablets the prescription calls for. Instructions are printed on the packet in english and russian: take 3@3 per day with morning, noon, and evening meals. Take one at night with a glass of milk. On Saturday, take 2@2 per day with each meal and one at night. On sunday take one per meal. If you feel unusual pain or itching, contact Angelo or another duty physician immediately.
The young man eyes that arm a bit warily, but then he's thin. It's kind of intimidating there. Still, Mikhail merely nods. Medical files do tell of the trauma he's struggling with, and that he's withdrawn. Still, the psych team felt all he needed was monitoring. Poor kid has been put through nearly every test SHIELD could offer. Including the telepaths, if this SHIELD has them. "Russian is being second language, sir. It is not mattering to me who." A serious teen it appears.
He totally jumps at the tube delivery though. Doesn't vanish again at least, but it startles him good. Looking uncomfortable again, Mikhail carefully accepts the package. There's a looking over of it, and a peering within. Yep, those are some pills. A lot of pills. More than a little daunted over.. "So many?"
Angelo nods. "Yeah. Ten of them a day for five days, spread out over the day. Then eight on Saturday, and four on Sunday. It'll keep that inflammation knocked way back. Otherwise it would cause permanent injury, enough to come back and haunt you when you got to about 35 years old. There's a few extra in case you lose one, but you should bring any unused back afterwards. And let me know if it doesn't work. You should be without pain by Monday afternoon at the latest."
He checks the schedule … "OK, you're signed up for daily half-hour sessions at 8am with Mr. Chekovitch. They'll take place here, we have a Physical Therapy room. Those will go starting tomorrow for the next month. Your classes won't conflict - but if someone tries to over-schedule you I'll be notified, and we'll make appropriate arrangements."
He runs a hand through that shocking-white-blond hair and adds a note to the file.
"Mr. Androv? You're going to be fine. It's safe here." Angelo projects his best "reassuring" voice, noting all the information there in the file under 'severe trauma'.
It's not that he's going to argue, but there are clear signs that he's thinking 'EW!' pretty big in there as he holds the pills like they will bite him. Doesn't quite realize it, but his crazy aunt taught him to be scared of some things he shouldn't. (That isn't in the files though. Aspects of his file do reference things that require clearance codes. Like that Aunt, and a certain aspect of his medical file. Namely that he carries remnants of the super soldier serum inside him.) "Thank you." The physical stuff isn't a big deal. That he knows he needs, and has been going with for a couple weeks now.
Assured, his his eyes narrow just a little before he can control it. "I am knowing that." He's safe. Makes a pointed look to the terminal, for he has a good idea of what's written there. "I am needing time. Wouldn't being here if it was not safe." Pauses, looks unhappy with himself, then says, "Wouldn't be here." Sorry, learning still! "Was hard month."
Angelo nods. "And by the way, your medical records are your property."
He slides the (updated) USB fob back towards Mikhail. "Everything in them," and he glares at the "enter authorization" marker on some of them, "EVERYTHING in them should be open for you to read. And I will not discuss them with anyone else except with your permission. Which reminds me, may I have your permission to share the relevant parts of your medical record with colleagues here? I will not discuss them with anyone outside this office. Not even Colonel Fury." There is of course a form to sign for that permission.
Looking away, just a glance, jaw works a little as he thinks. Angelo's words are the right ones, and have been the whole time. It's why the teen hasn't snapped at all. Mikhail shakes his head for the everything in them. "I am knowing what is locked." Perhaps assuring Angelo. This as he accepts the fob. "SHIELD has ..been careful." The pause was for grammar, no other reason. "Making sure I am being safe. Making sure they are.. you are…" Thorough. Painfully so. Just sighs a little for it though. He understands.
"Yes, they can be knowing." His files. "They lock files only because it is being linked back to bad things. More for my being safe than secret." No, the teen knows what was done, and why. He's okay with it. "SHIELD has been much kind to me." No, his paranoias really aren't a hatred of either America, or this institution. "Thank you for your kindness, Doctor."
Angelo shakes his head, and smiles. "Not Doctor. I'm a physician, but I haven't gotten the full doctorate yet. That's five more years of study and hard work, but I'm working on it."
Nevermind that in many other countries he'd have no trouble at all getting the certificate; Angelo is not going to claim the title until he earns it.
A sheet of paper comes out of the printer, with the HIPAA release information. "Could you please read and sign? This is the permission form, for the records. You have a copy in your records on the fob there."
As for the secrets… of course, if it were important for Angelo to know, the Seraphim-powered Eye would have told him everything, but since it did not, he doesn't need to know. Grumble.
No, the secrets aren't all that important here. Whatever cast the shadow he's still shivering at, he's none the less long out from under. For now it's something that may be a danger in the years ago. No immediate risk. Mikhail accepts the paper with a firm look. Here's where that English problem comes in again. Reading this will be slow, for he must puzzle through many of the words. Now and again he even asks, "What is this word?" Still, he reads it all through, and then signs.
Asking could be a possibility. Then again when people see locked files, perhaps it's better not to ask. Paper and pen offered back, he shifts to the front of his chair. "Are all people here having powers? Met Danny, and he said students are. Teachers being too?"
Ange explains the word, and the general meaning, as needed. He doesn't ask about the secrets - he's not a counselor, as such, and thus doesn't need to know anything there. And the signed sheet goes into that same tube and is shuttled off to the records department, fwooop! where it will be scanned and recorded and filed and spindled and folded and… yeah. Bureaucracy. Love it.
"Not everyone will have metahuman powers. Most will. But some are simply very well trained agents. This is a school for young people who have powers and need to learn to use them in positive ways, in safety. It's also a school for young people whose parents are either super-powered or are agents. That's why I came on staff here."
Appreciating the help, Mikhail eyes the evil tube thing warily for a moment. Doesn't like that it made him jump. This is of course a fleeting thought, and muddied hazel eyes return to Mr diLucci. Mikhail doesn't protest that he already has power training, for he already went through that with some others. Got a big 'Tough' for it too. Ah well, more practice can't hurt. "I was not knowing about children of agents." Said in a thoughtful manner. That allows him to better grasp why he's here. Not just because of powers, but because it's already made to protect.
"Which is why you are being here, Mr diLucci?" Not clear on which of those options apply.
Angelo stops for a moment. Good question. "Both really. I got my powers last year. I still need to learn how best to use them. And I can do that in service to the school here, and not have to worry about someone trying to kidnap me and treat me like something they can hoard to themselves."
"Were you being SHIELD before this?" Getting into personal questions now, isn't he? Still, the teen asks, sitting on the edge of his chair, watching for Angelo's expressions and shifts. "..May I be knowing how you got powers?" Okay, so Mikhail asked that one. Manners aren't lost, just nudged aside in curiosity. That's why he's asking. Just curious. The teen does enjoy learning about super heroes, and now he's pretty much surrounded by people with powers. Wants to know!
Angelo closes the open files with a few clicks, and logs out of the medNet system. He leans back and looks over at Mikhail, and decides that this isn't inappropriate. Not completely.
"I was very stupid and very lucky. Or alternately, I was chosen by powerful beings to be their representative. Or all of the above. I was working at a clinic in Manhattan, in the Chelsea district. On weekends one of my friends from work and I would go to the dance clubs and we'd find partners for the night."
Oh, very euphemistic, Mr. diLucci.
Angelo shakes his head sadly and sighs. "My friend left with someone very early one night, and I was making friends with my own objet'd'desi're, and someone slipped drugs into our drinks. We lost all our common sense, but we also left before that someone could take advantage of it. My 'date' decided that I needed a tattoo." …
As the telling goes on, the teen suddenly finds that he might have been better off not knowing. Picking up lovers on the weekend? His whole expression says that he's totally unsure on how to feel about this. Was okay with the going to clubs part, but the casualness of this idea is a bit much. Attempting to process this, Mikhail shifts back on his chair. Fingers curl around the sides of that seat, arms tight against sides. Mouth opens, but he is slow to actually make the words. Finally, there's a settling on the safe option. "The tattoo that glows, yes?" Not that he knows how a tattoo can give one powers, but hey.
Angelo is not at all blind to that reaction. "Your instincts are correct. It's not a wise idea to do what I did. It's why I always went with my friend. We were supposed to leave together, take our dates to a public place, but again, someone slipped a drug into our drinks. And I thought I could handle myself. Overconfident and stupid, yes."
This is all told in a matter-of-fact way; the intention entirely to point out the foolishness and its consequences.
"This is where I think we were guided … the tattoo artist had a friend who is a druid. A magician. The friend had sent him a sheet of tattoos and some enchanted ink. NO idea how that works, by the way. The tattoos were magical symbols that collectively were spells, and the ink artist was forced by the spell to put them all onto me when I asked about the design. And I was too … stoned, frankly, to know better."
Angelo rubs his wrists with a light pressure, tracing the Ankh designs.
"The instant he put the last bit of ink onto the one on my chest, the spell went off, and I was filled with this incredible light. It washed away the drugs and alcohol, instantly, it healed my date from some diseases and it even cured the tattoo artist of his own illness for a while. But I wasn't asked if I wanted this, and I wasn't given a choice about it."
He's not a stupid boy, and he's gotten a lot of training children normally don't get, so yes, he thinks it a very bad idea. Mikhail slowly nods at the confirmation what he feels is correct, but he says nothing during the rest of the telling. No, keeps his eyes locked on Angelo, for all they wander over the man somewhat. Face and those tattoos.
Speaking of eyes, they widen for the idea of magic. That's real? Shock and a dubious expression. Still, no arguments. Your story, so he should respect it. "For a while?" That's what caught his attention there. "Why only being a while?" Isn't cured.. cured? After the asking, though, he says, "I am being sorry. I am knowing about not having choices." Misha is a kid who grasps that things will get better. He's not wallowing, and he is healing, still, things continue to hurt. "Are you being glad it was light? Healing instead of being dark?"
Angelo has decided that this kid is definitely one to keep track of. Extraordinarily perceptive, which is likely because of some of the "bad stuff" in the blocked parts of his record.
"I am incredibly glad it was healing, Mikhail. With what I know now, I might even have gone there sober and asked for it. But it does have some consequences."
He thinks about how to answer the question. "The tattoo artist was a very self-destructive man. Healing him simply meant that he could go out and do the things that had damaged him earlier, all over again."
Another thing to be noted is that Mikhail doesn't show shock at someone being self destructive. Oh yeah, he knows about that one. Closely. Not himself at least. That probably would have showed in the scan. Misha isn't that way. "Oh." What else can he say about that? "I am being sorry you were not having choice. That makes anything good bitter." Something else he's struggling with now. "Are you still having contact with friend? Not tattoo artist," The word artist is articulated carefully as he's not spoken it often. Knew what you meant though. "But other friend." Then he tilts his head. "Are you being shamed? No genders?" That curious look again.
WAY extraordinarily perceptive. Angelo shrugs, a faint wistful smile present for a moment. "My date? No, I tried to reach him but he never answered. And yes, this one was a 'him' but I've had female lovers too. I like both, and not ashamed to say that. I am a bit ashamed to think how foolish I was being. You should never feel ashamed for doing something in love, as long as it doesn't hurt other people. And being offended isn't the same as being hurt. But here's the thing now … well. I light up whenever I get too emotionally intense. So I haven't had a lover of either gender since last August."
There's no judgment in the teen's expression. He's clearly having trouble parsing it all, for adults are seldom so open, but he's not reacting in a negative manner. "You.. are.. um.." How does Mikhail say this? Shifting on his seat, angling away from the injured hit, he struggles with words. "Very open." Distressingly so. Offended isn't what he's feeling at least. And then there's the idea of lighting up. In spite of his best efforts a smile creeps into being. Sorry, there's going to be a silly grin in a moment. "Light up." Picturing this, oh yes. "Maybe people are wanting it being in the dark, yes?" So totally teasing you. Sorry. His harsh voice ruins some of it though.
Angelo laughs. "Oh, that mental image you are probably having? JUST as bad as you think. It's not just wanting to be in the dark, though."
After a moment he continues. "So, yeah, I can't have casual lovers any more. Anyone I would want to be with I would have to know, and they'd have to know ahead of time what I do. And I haven't had time to meet anyone. That's part of the problem with this kind of job, Mikhail. I have very little time for a private life, it was part of why I went cruising on weekends."
He rubs his chin for a moment, thinking about the surprise at his openness.
"I'm very open with some people. With students here, I will be, about a lot of things, and partly that's because I will be teaching the health classes, and I can't be hiding or lying about anything when I do that. There are things I won't talk with you about, of course. Other peoples' medical information for instance."
Fighting down that grin, Mikhail manages a look of amusement in the end, trying to keep his stoic demeanor. There's a kid in there all right, and why the psych people said he just needed time. Sure he's in therapy as well, but hardly the watchful warning others might have gotten. "I am liking it." Being open. "Is surprise, but good." A firm nod there. "Most try and protect me. Think m..I won't be understanding." Wry that one, and he looks upwards. English, understanding, yeah. Not the topic he meant.
All this means there's a relaxing. He's not as wary now. Growing comfortable. Or at least as comfortable as this chair will allow his hurting hip. "Am not worried about that." Other peoples' medical information. Who cares? "In Poland there was not being the same issues as America, but I am not being used to speaking so plain. Um, about lovers." Sorry, there's a faint blush as he says it. "Is like.. who cares male, female. Not my business."
"Are you teaching college level? Having you as teacher could be fun." He's already out of high school, so there's that dividing line there.
Angelo checks on that, pulling a preliminary schedule book from inside the desk. "It says it's a 301xa elective, so I would guess, yes, I would be teaching all grade levels. Although I'll adjust things to fit the relative academics for the students."
He flips ahead in the schedule. "I also have a first aid course that I'll be teaching, once we get the rest of the hardware. That'll go once per quarter."
There's some disappointment for what Angelo teaches. Mainly because Mikhail doesn't need any of it. "I am already knowing first aid." More like he's trained in the combat, high stress, version. No classes doesn't mean he can't come to Angelo for advice though. This revelation is going to help the teen on a few occasions. "Thank you for your time, Mr diLucci." Doesn't think he can come up with more questions at the moment. It's beginning to hurt his throat. Still, he gives a smile for the time spent today. It made him feel better. Pills in hand, he rises to his feet. Looks at the pills in distaste, and doesn't thank for those. Doesn't want those. "Is there being anything else?"
Angelo shakes his head, "Nah, I'm done here … you caught me on my day off anyway. I'm gonna go get my workout done. Remember, this is medicine, not recreational or anything else. Take the first dose with your next meal and you should be able to move without pain very soon after that."
He stretches a little, stands up, and leads the way out.
A little nod as he takes in the instructions, and with that the teen disappears. Again, no power affects, and no warning beyond that one catch that his eyes shift from hazel to green. Not even an unnatural green. Just green. In his other space, Mikhail makes a face at the pill bag. Ew. After a moment it gets stuffed into a pants pocket.
