[attr="class","drea"]

[attr="class","drea b"]

[attr="class","drea i"]an exasperated sigh leaves her lips the moment she rounds the corner. a man is lingering by the door to her morgue, white hair practically blinding beneath bright florescent lights. and while she wants to just simply turn and head back home, she has a job to do. clicking heels announce her arrival, her presence solidified a moment later by the appearance of her voice.

"it's too early for whatever the hell you're here for," her tone is dull despite the bite beneath words. and as her gaze drops to his hands, another sigh escapes. "and for showing up without a coffee."

yet, she'll still open the door and leave it ajar for him anyway, not bothering to usher him in. steel tables line the floor, three unoccupied while the last one holds a body covered in white sheets. she ignores everything in favor of dropping her belongings at the desk and slipping a lab coat over her dress shirt and skirt. only when she's finished preparing for the day does she turn toward the man, his presence finally being remembered. "so," she murmurs, settling onto the corner of her desk. "what do you need?"

it's not every day she has a living body in the morgue.

LANCE VOLLANS

[attr="class","lance"]

[attr="class","lance b"]

[attr="class","lance i"]he doesn't even hear the clicking of heels until she's already by his side. he peers up then, not remembering when his head had dipped or when his eyes had closed. there is bite behind the dullness of her tone but his skin is tough to break. "i agree," no amount of exhaustion will take the charm out of him. "i'll buy you coffee after." 

after. his expression hardens and he lingers outside even as the door remains ajar. always so confident and certain, it's unlike him to hesitate. but the body under the white sheet is enough to make him consider turning around and leaving. there's no need to dig up the past. there's no need for him to be here. but for whatever reason, he enters.

"miss brown. she passed away last night," he answers, nearing the steel table. "they never told me how."

drea oddmund

[attr="class","drea"]

[attr="class","drea b"]

[attr="class","drea i"]coffee sounds nice, even if she is obligated to linger in this cold dwelling for the entire day. she offers a soft hum of appreciation and nothing further. instead she'll tilt her head into his next question.

the paperwork is still fresh, the report still lingering in her mind. she remembers it well enough without having to grab the actual papers but she'll still search for them anyway. if only to slide them in his direction when she actually locates them within her files.

"are you a relative?" she murmurs, distracted by the shuffling of reports. it should still be on top... within moments she's locating it and pushing away from the desk to join him by the table. where he lingers at the side, she slides to a stop at the head. "or something else?"

the report is extended and while he takes it, she allows her fingers to settle onto the pale white sheet. is this the part where she's supposed to unveil the face? would he even want to see that? "are you here to ID her?" a simple question but she has to ask anyway. it's been a long night and she can't remember if authorities have already handled such a task. if not, she'll have to do it herself.

"miss brown was the victim of a fire," her eyes drop to the face hidden beneath a sheet. the wounds had been telling but prying apart the ribs and examining tissue allowed for further confirmation. "her injuries include varying burns, most third degree in nature."

LANCE VOLLANS

[attr="class","lance"]

[attr="class","lance b"]

[attr="class","lance i"]the shuffling of paper distracts him as he watches her struggle to find the file. "no," is his response to her first question, and he's quick to respond to her second. "i was the ranger who saved her from the fire. she seemed fine when the medics took her." the smell of ash is still fresh in his mind and he hasn't been able to stop replaying the scene over and over again in his head. how can he? if he had been quicker she might still be alive.

the report is extended and he takes it, flipping it open to scan the page for details. "yes." the report accurately reflects the medical examiner's words but it's not like he was expecting anything different. if anything the double-confirmation just cements the reality of the situation. something stirs within him and he feels it building, spreading--he exhales, closing the file as if it would help. he braces himself for what's about to come, unsure if he'll ever be ready.

"go ahead."

drea oddmund

[attr="class","drea"]

[attr="class","drea b"]

[attr="class","drea i"]"ah," she murmurs. there's a little awkwardness in her movements, in the way her fingers curl around the sheet's edges. so he's the one who found her and brought her out... there has to be a weight to that duty that she doesn't understand. she only sees the aftermath and that's enough for her to not want to get involved in such things. "from what i understand, the injuries were more severe than they originally believed." fire injuries always are, though. that much she knows, understands, sees too much.

she hesitates for longer than she'd like, eyes drifting up and away from the sheet to his face. it's not something that's easy for many, especially if there's some tether attaching the victim to the living. she's well versed in the art of comfort, sure, but there's still an understanding that he might not be able to handle the sight well.

it... it's not usually pretty. this one is no exception.

"alright," she murmurs. and then, the sheet is carefully lifted, the face beneath unveiled. she folds and rests the upper portion of the sheet just above the collar bones, revealing the mauled face of a little girl. she wants to grimace, wants to wince and tear her eyes away, but it's not the first time she's seen this girl's face. it won't be the last, either.

drea lifts her eyes away from the girl's burned face to the man's, as if expecting to see watery eyes and a look of horror. she sighs softly and goes through the motions of explaining, of offering condolences as if she's nothing more than a machine. "the burns were terrible but the main cause of death was smoke inhalation," she provides. at some point while explaining, her gaze drops back to the little girl. "among the carbon monoxide inhaled, there were also severe burns to her respiratory system. both the toxins and the burns ultimately led to death."

LANCE VOLLANS

[attr="class","lance"]

[attr="class","lance b"]

[attr="class","lance i"]for once, lance remains silent. the gravity of the whole situation is what stops him from speaking. so he listens because that's all he can do. injuries more severe than originally believed--he feels helpless, like things were always out of his control and that maybe things will always be out of his control. if he is at the mercy of a greater power then so be it, but he refuses to believe that. not yet.

lifting the sheet brings with it a sudden air of coldness. he almost shivers but he steels himself, knowing that this is something that must be done. and yet, he comes close to faltering at the sight of her mauled face. "she didn't look this bad." surprisingly, his voice maintains its level, unshaking even as grief shakes him.

there's no look of horror. no watery eyes. just a trained expression.

"i was fighting the fires for at least two hours. i spent most of it in burning buildings filled with smoke and yet i'm still here." he pauses then, unsure why he's even speaking. "she must have truly suffered." and he hates himself because of it. if he had just been quicker--he sighs, nodding before looking away.

"that's her."

drea oddmund

[attr="class","drea"]

[attr="class","drea b"]

[attr="class","drea i"]she has to keep herself from immediately covering up the deceased once he takes a look. it's uncomfortable to watch. to be the sole witness to this time and time again always manages to take a little piece of her away every time. and yet, she still continues on as if nothing bothers her, as if she doesn't see the faces of the day when the work is done and she's trying to sleep.

"they never do," she comments softly, as if it's something she's too accustomed to hearing. whenever someone comes to id a body, it's always within the same realms of commentary. they never looked like this, they didn't look this cold, this blue. it's jarring to say the least but she's trying to ease away from that fact and into more explaining as if that'll help him process it a little easier. "death tends to leave everyone looking different from what they were." like shells of a former being.

his expression almost leaves a sour taste in her mouth. like he's trained to handle this or like it doesn't bother him as much as she originally thought. odd but not necessarily bad. in fact... it almost reminds her of her own. she can't place whether that, alone, gets under her skin or not.

"an adult's lungs are far more developed than that of a child's," she offers another scientific explanation. the body of a child is still growing, still coming into itself. it can only withstand so much trauma before it gives in... one of the downfalls of this job is understanding that fact. her head turns to observe him a little further, falling into a mild silence when he speaks next. she doesn't miss the way he has to drag his eyes away, the way he can't seem to handle much more of it.

she's quick to pull the sheet back into place, covering the girl's face with a gentleness she normally doesn't show. "fires are unfortunately not merciful when they claim their victims."

a nod follows before she's drifting away from the table as if she wants to herd him away from the deceased and toward her desk. it's not that she doesn't want him to linger by the body... it's more so that she's trying to be kind in an odd way. "i'm sorry," she murmurs and while it's practiced, practically second nature, it's genuine all the same. "i imagine it's not easy to be in this position."

LANCE VOLLANS

[attr="class","lance"]

[attr="class","lance b"]

[attr="class","lance i"]she offers sound explanation based on science and logic and yet it does little to quell the emotions he feels. the rage that builds because he couldn't save her in time. even someone as seasoned as him still has his fair share of doubts and anxieties. with a clear head he knows that this isn't his fault--that he had done everything in his power to help her. but he can't help but feel dejected. could he have done more?

even under the cover of the sheet the air in the room feels too heavy. he follows her when she drifts away like she's the only thing stopping him from drowning. "it's not your fault." it's not his either but it doesn't feel that way. he places the file back down on her desk before leaning against it. "it's fine. this isn't the first time and i'm sure it won't be the last." 

someone told him it would get easier; he wishes they were still around for him to call them a liar. he sighs as his eyes involuntarily drift back to the body under the sheet. "she just reminds me of someone."

drea oddmund

[attr="class","drea"]

[attr="class","drea b"]

[attr="class","drea i"]not her fault. not his, either, if she really pauses to think about it. sometimes things like this just happen. tragedy isn't picky when it chooses a victim and neither is death. there's little to do but offer sympathies and condolences with the acute understanding that it does next to nothing in the face of remorse. grief and mourning are things she's familiar with seeing but each person handles it different. he's no exception.

her eyes watch him as he places the report back on her desk, as he settles against it a moment later. the expression she wears is stuck between understanding and blankness. almost bordering sympathy but not enough to feel real. it's practiced, much like the explanations she gave and the motions she went through. in a sense, he's correct. it won't be the last but... that doesn't mean it gets any easier. "that's true," she murmurs and offers nothing further.

instead, she'll follow his gaze and observe as it settles back on the table, on the white sheet and the burned body beneath it. there's hidden history within his words. she shouldn't pry, shouldn't even entertain it. and yet, she does anyway if only to satisfy some morbid sense of curiosity. "who?" a single question, almost hesitant as if he can ignore it if he wants. something tells her, however, that he might not.

LANCE VOLLANS

[attr="class","lance"]

[attr="class","lance b"]

[attr="class","lance i"]there's no reason for him to share. they don't know each other--she just happened to be the medical examiner on duty at the time. he doesn't even know her name. but perhaps that's what makes it easier to open up. there is not usually comfort in unfamiliarity but this time there is. as strange as it feels, he embraces it.

"my daughter. she was about the same age when she died." 

the words feel foreign in his mouth like it's the first time he's said them in a while. he already expects another question because it's one he's been asked before. it's one he's had to answer far too many times. "car accident. they swerved to avoid a deerling and lost control." it's one that never gets easier to accept.

drea oddmund

[attr="class","drea"]

[attr="class","drea b"]

[attr="class","drea i"]her body stills beneath the weight of the truth. it's almost as if the unearthing of trauma makes her colder somehow, even with the notion that it's not her own. and where her face hadn't been as expressive before, it certainly is now.

it shifts through emotions for a moment. understanding, sadness, and finally sympathy.

"i," she starts and stops, unsure of what exactly to say in this moment. her eyes dart between him and the body. "i'm sorry for your loss." she settles upon and it's truthful, genuine, soft. the loss must be a weight far too heavy for him to handle, like atlas struggling to hold the weight of the world on fragile shoulders. and for a brief second, she's torn between reaching out to comfort him. it's decided against as quickly as it comes but the urge still rises anyway.

and while she was going to ask how, he supplies the answer as if expecting the question to come. her head tilts slightly to the side, repeating the explanation in her mind like she's imagining herself writing such a cause in a report of her own. "how long has it been?" she murmurs. has it been days, months, years? time doesn't heal wounds as easily as one might think. instead, sometimes... the wounds fester the longer they exist until they're blackened parts of flesh too painful to ignore, too far gone to fully mend.

LANCE VOLLANS

[attr="class","lance"]

[attr="class","lance b"]

[attr="class","lance i"]value often detracts from repetition but not in this case. the sentiment in her words is not lost and he regards it for their full value. he doesn't respond with words but instead expresses his gratitude with a nod. the last thing he expected was to find some form of solace from a stranger. but he does.

"a little over a year."

remnants of a tear fade away as he blinks. he drags his gaze off the body and takes a step away, as if doing so would make alleviate the weight on his shoulders. "come on. i owe you coffee." and even without waiting for her acceptance, he's walking towards the door.

there's nothing left for him in that room.

drea oddmund

[attr="class","drea"]

[attr="class","drea b"]

[attr="class","drea i"]just over a year.

she doesn't need to pry to know the wounds are still barely healed. with such a short amount of time, how could they be? if she had to guess, he might be in the later stages of mourning. those ones are... tricky, to say the least. she's careful with her response, offering nothing more than a hum of understanding and a short nod. there's nothing more to say. not now, anyway. he's still a stranger that waltzed into her morgue, not someone she'd play therapist for.

besides, he's pushing away from her desk and wandering to the door before she can fully gather her thoughts enough. before she can ask if he needs anything else from her. the promise of coffee from earlier returns and drea's a little caught off guard. "oh," she murmurs, turning her head to follow his movement. "you were serious?" her tone is surprisingly lighter than the usual snark. there's less bite, more surprise. who is she to deny free coffee, though? she lingers for a moment before grabbing her keys and trailing after him to the door.

LANCE VOLLANS