[attr="class","drea"]

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

[attr="class","drea i"]the sigh that escapes is exasperated, paired with a nice roll of the eye.

"i meant metaphorically but if you want to," she huffs, nose scrunching mildly as she works to keep pace with him. "who am i to stop you?"

at least the scenery is pretty. gorgeous, even, but it's difficult to enjoy nature when her lungs are working overtime to compensate for her lack of physical fitness. there's a reason why she stays in the lab instead of the field and this proves it. poor drea oddmund, done in by a damn run.

she meets his wink with the raise of a chin and the baring of teeth. classic aggression serves a purpose in this case: it motivates her to push past the current pace. her step quickens just to catch up to him.

"tell me to come on one more time and you'll lose your tongue."

is it a threat? perhaps. she does happen to be very handy with a scalpel, after all.

CIAN MAHER

[attr="class","drea"]

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

[attr="class","drea i"]indifference comes with the remark, as if it doesn't bother her either way. perhaps it could and perhaps it never would. a strange ground to tread, sure, but she's come to understand one thing about life: one is born waiting for death and it's always as uncertain as it is inevitable.

"no."

short, sweet, absolutely to the point. unfortunately, there's a lack of care in regards to her ability to run. he'll push her to her limits with a grin, that much she's acutely aware of. what a pain in the ass.

his pace is light, floaty, patient. surprising in a way that's irritating. the beckoning is met with the roll of a single eye and a sharp huff. begrudgingly, she follows suit in a jog, trailing a mere few steps behind him.

"bite me."

CIAN MAHER

[attr="class","drea"]

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

[attr="class","drea i"]it takes a moment for the question to process, as if she doesn't understand that he wouldn't know what that part of the brain is, let alone what it's called. and once it does process, her eyebrows fly up into her bangs, one hidden beneath an eyepatch.

"the thought process part of the brain? that's where your judgement and line of thinking originate," it sounds dull, bored, as if recited from a textbook on command. see, frontal lobe action.

he steps up to her, baited and frisky. there's no hesitation in the way she stares back. unblinking, unmoving, stoic. her lips stay spread, stay aggressive, stay baring teeth. where there's a bark, there's always a bite.

"sure about that?" she doesn't doubt it, really, but that's if the run doesn't kill her first. realistically, six miles just might. with a nonchalant air to her, she adjusts the eyepatch on her face and then glances down at her manicure. pristine, clean, short, just the way she likes it.

"if this is just a warm up then i'm the bloody queen of galar."

CIAN MAHER

[attr="class","drea"]

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

[attr="class","drea i"]this is a joke, right? he has to be joking...

except, the only punchline right now is her. fucking hell.

"only?" her nose scrunches up at the thought, as if bile might travel up her throat within seconds. once she actually starts running, that really just might happen. for now, however, she holds steady. arms rise to cross haughtily over her chest, head tilting slightly to peer at him with a single eye. "do you have head trauma i don't know about? damage to the frontal lobe?" he has to, given that level of thinking.

and where he grins with amusement, she bares teeth in open aggression. it's half a smile, right?

"there's better cardio than this."

CIAN MAHER

[attr="class","drea"]

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

[attr="class","drea i"]is this the part where she extends a hand for a shake? she's out of practice with social interactions. i mean really, who's hand is she gonna shake? the bodies in the morgue? nope. she decides against it in the moment, instead dipping her head in acknowledgement. "lance," she repeats. a pause and then the widening of a smirk. "nice to meet you." even if it's under... less than ideal circumstances.

oh, right. the accent usually gives her away... funny, she always forgets it's not common here. "ballonlea," she supplies. the city of mushrooms, tucked away in the depths of a forest. gorgeous, sure, but eventually the bright glow of colors fades into muted tones and it loses its spark. her head tilts with the question. another pause, this time long enough for her to sip on her iced coffee and mull over an answer.

why hoenn? simple yet loaded perhaps. she'll answer truthfully, anyway. "bigger opportunities after school," and she was mostly bored of the galar life but she'll leave that out for now. her coffee settles onto the table and she leans over it, propping her chin up in her hands when her elbows settle. "and just a bit of adventure, i suppose." she'll allow silence to fall for only a moment before she's asking a question of her own. "not a hoenn native?" only fair, right? she can't place the accent but it's not one she runs into daily.

LANCE VOLLANS

[attr="class","drea"]

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

[attr="class","drea i"]the walk is relatively short and painless. traffic noises filter in one ear and out the other, keeping her preoccupied for the majority of it. it's only when they approach the cafe that she realizes where they are. she's passed this exact cafe plenty of times, although it's a bit smaller than her usual haunt. coffee is coffee, though. besides, as long as they have liquid sugar she'll be fine.

she's settling into her chair with an iced coffee, plenty of liquid sugar included, in hand when he asks the first question. it earns half of a laugh from the doctor and she's pausing to sip her coffee before indulging in an answer. "better," she sighs happily. something about a girl and an iced coffee just feels right, like the world could end but she'd be fine.

"drea oddmund," she supplies, although there's a small smirk that lingers after her name is uttered. she's only half teasing when she adds, "but you can call me doc if you'd like." a pause, a beat, and then a question of her own is breathed into the space between them. "and you?"

LANCE VOLLANS

[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

[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","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","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","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","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","drea"]

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

[attr="class","drea i"]her gaze drops to watch him fiddle with the newly shed sweater. expertly tied as if he does this every day, secured around the waist with little effort. hm, not bad. her movements are quick because really, they have to be for her little legs to keep up with him. it ends with her trailing a little behind him as he stalks away.

searching for a snake and finding her instead... is that fitting or simply amusing? she can't decide. instead, she'll offer a little laugh. "do you want, i don't know, assistance or something?" it's the least she can do after offending him by mocking his precious sweater, right?

sweat continues to bead beneath her own eye patch and she's ushering it up with an irritated sigh. a hand rises to brush away the perspiration, ignoring the way the socket barely even reacts to the roughness of her hand. the barely there breeze feels a little nice on the usually shielded part of her face but she's quick to cover up the lack of an organ with the eye patch once more. sand in there? no thank you.

"drea oddmund," she supplies in a matter-of-fact tone that's just barely bordering on prideful. there's satisfaction to be found within the concept that she can push him without much effort. maybe she'll actually try this time around. "no, i don't actually. normally i'm just cleaning up whatever messes are left." her head tilts to the side, an eyebrow raising a moment later. "would i? you sure are certain you know what i like," another laugh follows because really, he's not exactly wrong but that's neither here nor there.

her lips settle into a firm line, hands settling onto both sides of her hips. her, nuts? well... probably but that's not the point. drea scoffs anyway, as if she can dismiss his comment with an actual explanation or even just a wave of the hand. she'll do both in the end. "if you die out here, you go to the morgue and guess who runs it?" a pause for dramatic effect, for sweeping her gaze away from him and toward the endless amounts of sand around them. "that'd be me. one of the league's medical examiners, at your service." probably one of the only ones if she's being honest. dissecting dead bodies isn't exactly a desirable profession these days. a shame, really... the dead don't talk and she gets bored with no company.

@matthew