01-20-2014, 12:20 PM
Jacques was quite the character. The tech that shoo'd him away from her scope shot Torri a look that said she thought much the same. Then the woman excused herself, but not before taking one last look as he stipped out of his shirt. Torri empathized. During her own med-gen residency, she got used to seeing no more of a patient than their DNA.
The routine of the blood draw went as well as she'd expected. Jacques veins were plenty hydrated, even in the bloody desert. His jibe about their food made her smirk about the time she popped one full vial out for the next.
The Foreign Legion of France sounded vaguely familiar, but Torri knew nothing about them otherwise. It certainly explained why his family ditched France, and gave her a more robust story to pair with the results of his blood tests. Soldier father. Don't know about the mother. While the vial filled, she briefly studied the tattoo. At least he's dedicated. Maybe a stool sample too.
Vial filled, she swapped it out for yet another. It was definitely overkill. She had a device in one pocket of her labcoat that could match DNA identity to the CCD corps database with a couple drops of blood. The technologies capable these days made her head spin sometimes. Throw in the supercomputing power of the Facility's biostat analyzers, and she could work herself blind pouring through all the data. Four vials might raise a few brows here in the middle of the bloody desert, but thankfully, she had that fancy chip in her badge that pretty much told everyone to shut up and leave her alone. At least when it came to med corps duty. Hopefully the gossip around the laboratory focused more on Jacques' physique and goofy grin and less on Dr. Weston's unusual sampling requests. Playing word games with Michael just sounded exhausting.
"Some helpful advice: if you're going to walk around the CCD, you should learn the lingo.
" She offered. "Middle East, Europe, the Far East, whatever. Those are all fine, but don't let anyone with one of these,"
as her hands were otherwise occupied, she cocked her head toward any one of the CCD's patches on her arm, "hear you talk about Saudi Arabia."
She smiled a tad to ease the tension. She'd not turn him in for the slip, which had the potential to come with a hefty fine. More so than the McDonald's bill would cost him.
Finally. Three deep red vials were laid in a row, which meant she popped on the fourth and final.
"My father enlisted after the absorption. Most of what I remember growing up came from base life in the wonderful world of South America. My dad is Colonel now, in Mexico. Probably waiting for the day the USA goes belly-up. My mom's a nurse for base families."
Army dad plus nurse mom equals army doctor Torri, right? At least it explained why her accent was a little diluted.
"I was shuttled to Moscow not long ago, and am here for the festivities."
She was sure he'd know which ones she reference. Otherwise, there wasn't much more she could say about them. She shrugged, "It's alright. It is what it is. At least its not humid."
Fourth vial in hand, she popped the tourniquet and pulled the needle in time to press a wedge of cotton on the wound but not before few drops of blood smeared on his arm.
She nodded for him to take over, "Thirty-seconds to clot,"
she added and dropped an extra cloth for him to wipe off the smear while barely withholding an amused grin about the situation. It was fortunate he'd doffed the shirt after all. "Stay there."
Samples in hand, she left the room for a brief moment. When she returned, she taped him up if his arm wasn't yet clotted by then.
Edited by Torri, Jan 20 2014, 12:21 PM.
The routine of the blood draw went as well as she'd expected. Jacques veins were plenty hydrated, even in the bloody desert. His jibe about their food made her smirk about the time she popped one full vial out for the next.
The Foreign Legion of France sounded vaguely familiar, but Torri knew nothing about them otherwise. It certainly explained why his family ditched France, and gave her a more robust story to pair with the results of his blood tests. Soldier father. Don't know about the mother. While the vial filled, she briefly studied the tattoo. At least he's dedicated. Maybe a stool sample too.
Vial filled, she swapped it out for yet another. It was definitely overkill. She had a device in one pocket of her labcoat that could match DNA identity to the CCD corps database with a couple drops of blood. The technologies capable these days made her head spin sometimes. Throw in the supercomputing power of the Facility's biostat analyzers, and she could work herself blind pouring through all the data. Four vials might raise a few brows here in the middle of the bloody desert, but thankfully, she had that fancy chip in her badge that pretty much told everyone to shut up and leave her alone. At least when it came to med corps duty. Hopefully the gossip around the laboratory focused more on Jacques' physique and goofy grin and less on Dr. Weston's unusual sampling requests. Playing word games with Michael just sounded exhausting.
"Some helpful advice: if you're going to walk around the CCD, you should learn the lingo.
" She offered. "Middle East, Europe, the Far East, whatever. Those are all fine, but don't let anyone with one of these,"
as her hands were otherwise occupied, she cocked her head toward any one of the CCD's patches on her arm, "hear you talk about Saudi Arabia."
She smiled a tad to ease the tension. She'd not turn him in for the slip, which had the potential to come with a hefty fine. More so than the McDonald's bill would cost him.
Finally. Three deep red vials were laid in a row, which meant she popped on the fourth and final.
"My father enlisted after the absorption. Most of what I remember growing up came from base life in the wonderful world of South America. My dad is Colonel now, in Mexico. Probably waiting for the day the USA goes belly-up. My mom's a nurse for base families."
Army dad plus nurse mom equals army doctor Torri, right? At least it explained why her accent was a little diluted.
"I was shuttled to Moscow not long ago, and am here for the festivities."
She was sure he'd know which ones she reference. Otherwise, there wasn't much more she could say about them. She shrugged, "It's alright. It is what it is. At least its not humid."
Fourth vial in hand, she popped the tourniquet and pulled the needle in time to press a wedge of cotton on the wound but not before few drops of blood smeared on his arm.
She nodded for him to take over, "Thirty-seconds to clot,"
she added and dropped an extra cloth for him to wipe off the smear while barely withholding an amused grin about the situation. It was fortunate he'd doffed the shirt after all. "Stay there."
Samples in hand, she left the room for a brief moment. When she returned, she taped him up if his arm wasn't yet clotted by then.
Edited by Torri, Jan 20 2014, 12:21 PM.