Even Lesbians Grow Old


ross_icon.gif zachery_icon.gif

Scene Title Even Lesbians Grow Old
Synopsis Just a normal night at the morgue (really!) wherein Zachery has to deal with his rather…enthusiastic assistant, Dr. Astrid Ross.
Date January 9, 2009

Harlem Morgue

Today has been a busy day for Doctor Zachery Miller. He's had to talk to five people at least, and all of them alive. None of them even bothered to be remotely interesting, either. What a bother. Fortunately, though, he's always got work to get back to. And tonight, 'work' appears to be a middle-aged, latino man lying on the autopsy table sporting three stab wounds in the neck, and an impressive gash right across the gut. How handy, didn't even have to open him up.
… Not that Zachery would have had to anyway, but one likes to keep up appearances. And it is because of just that, that he's currently poking impatiently at the cold insides of the man's abdomen, mumbling as he inspects what he already knows. "Severed, severed— not severed. What a surprise." Sigh.

"Doctah Doctah, gimmie the news I got a…big file folder and papers for you to sign!" The song kind of tapers off towards the end as the lyrics no longer fits. Plus she speaks the last bit. She, being Astrid Ross, Doctor Ross, formally, but she's never formal and never expects anyone else to be. Specifically, a young forensic pathologist fresh out of med school a year ago and became saddled with the lucky Dr. Miller.
The incredibly, morbidly cheerful young doc with blonde hair bound in a purple scrunchie, but otherwise dressed in the usual lab coat ensemble does a step-step, then a Risky Business slide up to Zachery. She presents the folders to her boss, then clicks a pen. Then her gaze goes down to the perforated corpse. "Wow. What, was someone preparing to stick him in the micro, so they poked him to avoid explosion?"

"Ross." To hell with formal. But also with first names, apparently. "For the last time, no singing. You can dance if you really want to, but quietly and out of my line of sight." He sounds serious enough, but at the same time trusts that Ross will completely ignore him. The folders get a glance, but he holds up sticky, gloves hands. Busy! "Haven't you learned to forge signatures yet? It's so much easier. The dieners could probably teach you." This is probably not so serious, either.

"Oh, I've learned. But I also know that you'd throw a hissy if I did. And I prefer to use up my hissy quotient for the day on more entertaining matters." Big grin from Ross. Then she steps up beside Zach, goes up on her tip-toes and peers over her shoulder. Definitely within the personal bubble. "Can I help, can I huh huh huh?"

Zachery, as a result from this personal-bubble-popping, freezes up. Gaagh. "Yesyoucanhelp." He finally breathes, expression lost between annoyance and slight panic. "You can help by, ah— stepping back so I can wash up and sign those papers, yes? I'm done with Mr. Microwave over here."

Ross brightens, but her face falls at the second half of that. "That's no fun. That's no fun at all," she pouts and rock-steps back. "We got anyone else in the freezer? Oooh. Did you hear about that guy whose arm got ripped off? The foreign guy who was hailing a cab on the wrong side of the street and that big truck came by and smoked him? And his arm, his whole fucking arm went flying off into the stairwell for Grand Central?" She sounds so enthusiastic, like a little kid describing fireworks.

Zachery appears mostly used to the enthusiasm, though the story does earn her a bemused grin. "Are you sure people aren't just telling you stories again? I think I'd know if we got someone like that in." Though he has been a little out of it lately, all things considered. After making his way over to dispose of his gloves, he washes his hands with water so hot it makes him grit his teeth. All the usual, though.

"Oh no, no. It was from Bill, you know. The night janitor? He listens to the police scanner." And those reports are always accurate. Ross follows her boss across to the sink, despite the fact there's no real need to. "But it was in Jersey, so we're not going to get the stiff. Shame." Sad face. "Man. The bodies have been so boring lately. Stabs, shots. We need some good, creative Evolved killing stuff. Remember the dude with the railroad spike that was phased into his skull? The metal was fused with the bone. Remember that? That was something else."

Zachery shoots Ross a glance as she rants 'n' follows, quirking a brow. But then… he simply nods. "Yes. I do remember. Do you remember when Bill said he saw a bison at the Burger King, which then proceeded to tell him its plans for taking over the world?" He dries his hands, staring at Ross with half lidded eyes now. "That Bill. He sure has the best true stories ever."

"That doesn't count! He smoked some bad weed that night. And there really was an animal at the Burger King. A…deer, but you know. Bill's never seen a fucking bison before." She drops the files down on a nearby surface, then moves down to the rows of freezers. Then, she starts to peek into them and read their toe tags, like a kid shaking presents under the Christmas tree. "Oooh. Suicide. Nifty. On New Years Eve." Tut. "Drama queen."

Hmm. Zachery leans over the files, going over them carefully one by one. "Yees. Well, you know. Easy for the family. No more of those pesky 'visit the parents' new year's resolutions, eh? Check the top right one. Old age, I suspect. Family wasn't convinced. Fit as a fiddle 'til the last day, they said. Probably used to ride a woolly mammoth to work, I said." He frowns at the papers, and scribbles something down. "They didn't like that much."

"Hey! That was my wooly mammoth joke!" a beat, "No wait, mine was mastadon. What's a mastadon anyway?" Ross goes to the freezer in question and tugs out the drawer with the confidence of one who has opened them hundreds of times before. "What, they think grandma mixed her uppers and downers or something?"

Scribblescribble. Zachery peers toward the drawer for a second, and pulls a face at what he can see of its contents. "There's worse ways to go. Blood results're in a day. Maybe she was doing heroin behind their backs, and used another grannies' dirty needle." He turns back to the papers with a grin, signing the last few and gathering it all together again, neatly stacked.

"Maybe she had a late-in-life lesbian experience and died of a heart attack," says Ross with a straight face as she leans in close to examine the face of the dead octogenerian. Then she sends an impish smile Zach's way. Yes. That was an attempt to ruin lesbian fantasies. "Knocking orthopedic boots."

If there WERE any lesbian fantasies, Zachery's face makes it ever so clear that there won't be any ones anymore now. Even if he's decidedly not looking directly at Ross. "Thank you for ruining my late dinner plans. Or… anything that has to do with eating, ever again." He gives a shudder. "Please let it be heroin instead."

"Hey, I'm sticking with the lesbian senior citizen theory. Lesbians grow old too!" Ross looks pleased with herself. "Figures. That grosses you out when you were just up to your elbows in entrails. Real classy, boss."

"I'm completely classy." Zachery notes, tilting his head slightly and wandering over to hand back the files. "Besides, organs are perfectly normal. Even when they're still attached to things and wriggling healthily. But her—" He looks toward the dead woman again, unable to keep a sickened look off of his face. "That, I do NOT want to imagine… wriggling." His words trail off, reluctantly, as though he really rather would have preferred not finishing that sentence.

"Aw now boss, you're just make it worse for yourself! Runaway imagination. Tut tut. So!" Ross claps. "Shall we put granny on the slab and cut her open?" There's that giddy look again. She enjoys her job far too much.

Whereas that question may have gotten Ross a wholeheartedly positive answer before this conversation, Zachery just shakes his head now. "Too boring." He makes up, quickly, and motions toward the rest of the drawers. "Pick another one. Any one."

"Well now! You made that resolution far too easy to fulfill," says Ross with another big grin. And then she's tromping down the line of freezer drawers, leaving Zach to put the old lady back. "How about…hm," she examines the chart. "Surgery death. Oooh."

Zachery, classy as he is, nudges the old lady-drawer back with his foot a little before closing it all the way the proper way. Ahem. "Excellent. Don't think I've peeked in there yet. Is it messy?" Because, judging by his tone and the new, eager look on his face, that would totally be a good thing.

Ross peeks, then she opens it all the way and rattles it out with a flourish that would make Vanna White proud. "Tada!" the corpse is of a 40-something man with an angry scar down the middle of his chest, hastily stitched after the failed surgery to make sure nothing would fall out. She skips over to the files and reads, "Says here, Douglas Yee. Went in for a bypass, came out a stiff. Complications. They want us to find out who to sue, pretty much."

Zachery moves over, and just stares at the stitching for a moment. "You know, sometimes I wonder if these surgeons take knitting courses on their off-days. And then accidentally confuse the levels of precision." He squints at the surgical victim, then mutters in an afterthought, "Or, you know, the punctured aorta might have something to do with it."

"Punctured aorta?" Ross flips the files of the chart up. "There's no record of a puncture. But then, that's what we're here to find, isn't it? Evidence! Clues. All that exciting stuff." She's grinning, but she has the sinking feeling that her boss has yet again solved the mystery before she gets to get her hands dirty.

Wait a minute, was that out loud? Zachery winces, but only slightly, before clearing his throat and giving a quick shrug. "Well, it happens more often than you'd think. The thing with the… sharp bits and the…" He motions vaguely with his hands, then gives up on his sentence all together and snatches the chart away to frown at it. Intensively. Serious business. "You know I think maybe you should try one by yourself this once. I may get that bite of food yet, if I can get the images out of my head."

"Right. I'm on it." Ross is suspicious, but her boss has done weirder things than diagnose a victim without ever opening them up. She goes to scrub up. As Zachery walks out for that food, she rather loudly calls out, "Oh Agnes!" in her best Granny voice. Then she switches it up again, "Oh Dorothy!"

The only response this gets is a sickened groan from out in the hallway. The only verbal one, at least. Payback will be had. That is fact, as always.

January 9th: Missing The Obvious
January 9th: Brothers In Arms
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