The Head Doctor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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damned_institute2012-07-18 11:34 pm
head_doctor) wrote in damned_institute2012-07-18 11:34 pm
Entry tags:
End of Night 64: Head Doctor's Office - 3rd Floor
While it wasn't uncommon for patients to black out at the end of Nightshift, a select few would have a wrench thrown into their normal routine. Rather than waking up bright and early in their typical bed, they would find themselves propped up in a comfortable leather chair.
The room itself looked like an office straight from the 1950s – almost cozy, in fact. None of them would recognize the oak table in the middle of the room, or the two bookcases, which were neatly arranged with all kinds of texts and books. Between those bookcases, though, was a picture of the Institute, framed with wood that perfectly matched the rest of the room's décor.
The knickknacks scattered across the bookcases -- staff photographs, a golfing figure made of business cards, and some prestigious-looking awards – didn't seem out of place for a regular office, either. The desk itself was the centerpiece, and was obviously well-used. That wasn't to say it was messy, exactly, but the inbox and outbox resting on top of the glass-paned surface were stuffed with a variety of paperwork and envelopes. Though most of the room looked old-fashioned, the keyboard and two flat screen monitors contrasted with the rest of the office.
These things would probably escape the notice of most of the people visiting this evening, though. After all, anyone who woke up in this office would be treated to the sight of a man peering through his oval-rimmed glasses as he leafed through some folders. Although his face was distinct enough for anyone who'd had the opportunity to see the Head Doctor in person, the small microphone sitting just inches away from him said volumes about who he was.
As soon as the patient awoke, the man looked up, offering an unexpectedly amicable smile. After closing the folder, he set it down next to the outbox and leaned back in his seat.
“Ah, good evening,” he greeted as he pulled the glasses from his nose. “I've been expecting you. You've been brought here because I thought you might be interested in making a deal, so let's discuss things like gentlemen, shall we?” Nodding toward the newcomer, he chuckled. “Take a moment to regain your bearings if you need it. I realize this must be a bit disorienting.”
The room itself looked like an office straight from the 1950s – almost cozy, in fact. None of them would recognize the oak table in the middle of the room, or the two bookcases, which were neatly arranged with all kinds of texts and books. Between those bookcases, though, was a picture of the Institute, framed with wood that perfectly matched the rest of the room's décor.
The knickknacks scattered across the bookcases -- staff photographs, a golfing figure made of business cards, and some prestigious-looking awards – didn't seem out of place for a regular office, either. The desk itself was the centerpiece, and was obviously well-used. That wasn't to say it was messy, exactly, but the inbox and outbox resting on top of the glass-paned surface were stuffed with a variety of paperwork and envelopes. Though most of the room looked old-fashioned, the keyboard and two flat screen monitors contrasted with the rest of the office.
These things would probably escape the notice of most of the people visiting this evening, though. After all, anyone who woke up in this office would be treated to the sight of a man peering through his oval-rimmed glasses as he leafed through some folders. Although his face was distinct enough for anyone who'd had the opportunity to see the Head Doctor in person, the small microphone sitting just inches away from him said volumes about who he was.
As soon as the patient awoke, the man looked up, offering an unexpectedly amicable smile. After closing the folder, he set it down next to the outbox and leaned back in his seat.
“Ah, good evening,” he greeted as he pulled the glasses from his nose. “I've been expecting you. You've been brought here because I thought you might be interested in making a deal, so let's discuss things like gentlemen, shall we?” Nodding toward the newcomer, he chuckled. “Take a moment to regain your bearings if you need it. I realize this must be a bit disorienting.”
no subject
"I'm glad we understand each other," Izaya acceded. It wasn't meant as his full agreement—not yet—but it was an indication, at least, that he was leaning towards it. Heavily. "With a job like this, I'm sure payment will be held until the delivery of results... so what kind of timeframe did you have in mind? A day? Two or three? A week?"
How long he had to work with would be the final, decisive aspect in accepting the job. It was always easier to cultivate rumors over a longer period of time, but with the illness... Too long, and the ever-resourceful patients might figure out a cure—and the opportunity would be lost. "I'd imagine it's a race against the clock, hmm?"
no subject
"It's not set in stone yet. It will at least be a few days, but you have to understand that the sooner this all takes place, the better." In reality, he was curious to find out just how quickly the patients would work.
"I imagine you'd like a more concrete answer, but you've worked under difficult circumstances before, haven't you?" It was a subtle challenge, a way to ask Izaya if he felt he couldn't perform simply because he was limited in terms of time.