Doctor Edward Richtofen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
doctor_dismemberment) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2012-04-15 08:01 pm
doctor_dismemberment) wrote in towerofanimus2012-04-15 08:01 pm
Entry tags:
The Doctor is [Enamored] (OPEN)
Characters: Doctor Richtofen and YOU!
Setting: Floor 19 (the library), 26 (the morgue), and 27 (the laboratory).
Format: I'll match you.
Summary: When walking upstairs, Richtofen discovers the new floors. Two in particular attract his attention.
Warnings: Mentions of Nazi Germany, possible cannibalism, detailed descriptions of dead human bodies, possible mentions of necrophilia (but not the actual action), and Richtofen being the all-around crazy person he is on a daily basis. Approach with caution. He bites.
[Floor 19]
Richtofen's busying himself trying to find some reading material, muttering to himself in disapproval about the lact of proper technology or psychology sections. Eventually, he comes across some old medical books, and figures it couldn't hurt to refresh his memory (on which parts of a human are the most breakable, that is).
In addition, he's theorizing about the properties of some other species in the tower - trolls, Hylians, et cetera. You might hear him wondering aloud about what troll horns might be made of, or whether it's just sunlight that kills vampires, or if artificial lights will work, too.
He seems very engrossed in his guesswork.
[Floor 26]
Upon walking upstairs after he's finished in the library, with the intention to return to his dormitory, Richtofen comes across the morgue. He stops in his tracks abruptly. This is new. He's kept documentation of all the floors in the tower, and this was not one of them. His surprise soon gives way to curiosity, and he steps off of the staircase to look around.
It's been far too long since he's been in a morgue. He missed it. He missed the sharp, clean stench that just barely managed to cover up the unmistakable scent of death. He missed the way the overhanging lamps made the metal of the tables and the tools glint, as if beckoning him closer. He missed the rows of drawers that looked so pedestrian, until you opened one up to reveal the still, lifeless body inside.
He missed the bodies most of all. Their splotchy, blue-purple flesh; the way the blood pools underneath them; the coldness, the stiffness of their limbs... Human life reduced to meat, destined to spoil and rot away as if they were a piece of pork that had been carelessly left out of the refridgerator.
He soon finds himself crossing the room to one of the drawers. As he runs a gloved hand over a mortuary chamber's handle, he thinks back to a time not too long ago when he couldn't go one day without gunning down an undead Nazi. He longs to feel the pungent assault of the stench of rotting flesh against his nostrils again, imagines a poor dead bastard still wearing his torn-and-tattered SS uniform over his maggot-infested, rotting body. Eyelids picked away by birds, cheeks rotting away to show a once-diseased gumline, the very tip of a bone poking out from the tip of an overworked, bloodied finger...
Richtofen shudders. Almost cautiously, he pulls the chamber open a crack, unleashing a blast of cold, stale air against his face. He allows himself to breathe it in, then braces himself out of instinct as he pulls it open the rest of the way. He'd fully expected the body inside to sit up and leap at him, but, much to his surprise, it remains perfectly still.
He peers down at it. It's male. Caucasian. A strong jawline, close-cropped brown hair, and the barest hint of what could be pudge but might also be postmortem bloating clinging to his stomach and thighs. He doesn't remember seeing anyone like this in the tower - there's something about the man that's simply pedestrian, too normal for a tower inhabited by trolls and elves and teenagers with brightly-colored, overstyled hair and clothing. He isn't quite sure just by looking at him what the cause of his death could have been.
So he decides to find out for himself.
Anyone who enters the morgue at this point will see Richtofen hovering over the body, still in the chamber where he found it (it's a bit too heavy for him to bring over to an autopsy table himself), a scalpel pressed to the skin just under the corpse's collarbone.
[Floor 27]
It's like a dream come true.
He had thought the morgue would be his top discovery of the day, but clearly, he was wrong. This. This is it. Richtofen walks through the laboratory at a quick pace, hurrying to see all of it at a glance, and once he's walked around most of it once, he begins to take his time to see everything.
This is wonderful.
There are observational areas.
There are quarantine rooms.
There are bottles and flasks and tubes of all shapes and sizes, filled with who knows what.
There's element 115.
He holds the glowing red meteorite in his palm. It almost feels like it's pulsating under his fingertips. He has no idea what he's going to do with it, exactly, but it's a relief to finally have some in his possession again.
He scrapes off a sample and puts it on a slide, examining it under a microscope. For once, he actually looks content.
Setting: Floor 19 (the library), 26 (the morgue), and 27 (the laboratory).
Format: I'll match you.
Summary: When walking upstairs, Richtofen discovers the new floors. Two in particular attract his attention.
Warnings: Mentions of Nazi Germany, possible cannibalism, detailed descriptions of dead human bodies, possible mentions of necrophilia (but not the actual action), and Richtofen being the all-around crazy person he is on a daily basis. Approach with caution. He bites.
[Floor 19]
Richtofen's busying himself trying to find some reading material, muttering to himself in disapproval about the lact of proper technology or psychology sections. Eventually, he comes across some old medical books, and figures it couldn't hurt to refresh his memory (on which parts of a human are the most breakable, that is).
In addition, he's theorizing about the properties of some other species in the tower - trolls, Hylians, et cetera. You might hear him wondering aloud about what troll horns might be made of, or whether it's just sunlight that kills vampires, or if artificial lights will work, too.
He seems very engrossed in his guesswork.
[Floor 26]
Upon walking upstairs after he's finished in the library, with the intention to return to his dormitory, Richtofen comes across the morgue. He stops in his tracks abruptly. This is new. He's kept documentation of all the floors in the tower, and this was not one of them. His surprise soon gives way to curiosity, and he steps off of the staircase to look around.
It's been far too long since he's been in a morgue. He missed it. He missed the sharp, clean stench that just barely managed to cover up the unmistakable scent of death. He missed the way the overhanging lamps made the metal of the tables and the tools glint, as if beckoning him closer. He missed the rows of drawers that looked so pedestrian, until you opened one up to reveal the still, lifeless body inside.
He missed the bodies most of all. Their splotchy, blue-purple flesh; the way the blood pools underneath them; the coldness, the stiffness of their limbs... Human life reduced to meat, destined to spoil and rot away as if they were a piece of pork that had been carelessly left out of the refridgerator.
He soon finds himself crossing the room to one of the drawers. As he runs a gloved hand over a mortuary chamber's handle, he thinks back to a time not too long ago when he couldn't go one day without gunning down an undead Nazi. He longs to feel the pungent assault of the stench of rotting flesh against his nostrils again, imagines a poor dead bastard still wearing his torn-and-tattered SS uniform over his maggot-infested, rotting body. Eyelids picked away by birds, cheeks rotting away to show a once-diseased gumline, the very tip of a bone poking out from the tip of an overworked, bloodied finger...
Richtofen shudders. Almost cautiously, he pulls the chamber open a crack, unleashing a blast of cold, stale air against his face. He allows himself to breathe it in, then braces himself out of instinct as he pulls it open the rest of the way. He'd fully expected the body inside to sit up and leap at him, but, much to his surprise, it remains perfectly still.
He peers down at it. It's male. Caucasian. A strong jawline, close-cropped brown hair, and the barest hint of what could be pudge but might also be postmortem bloating clinging to his stomach and thighs. He doesn't remember seeing anyone like this in the tower - there's something about the man that's simply pedestrian, too normal for a tower inhabited by trolls and elves and teenagers with brightly-colored, overstyled hair and clothing. He isn't quite sure just by looking at him what the cause of his death could have been.
So he decides to find out for himself.
Anyone who enters the morgue at this point will see Richtofen hovering over the body, still in the chamber where he found it (it's a bit too heavy for him to bring over to an autopsy table himself), a scalpel pressed to the skin just under the corpse's collarbone.
[Floor 27]
It's like a dream come true.
He had thought the morgue would be his top discovery of the day, but clearly, he was wrong. This. This is it. Richtofen walks through the laboratory at a quick pace, hurrying to see all of it at a glance, and once he's walked around most of it once, he begins to take his time to see everything.
This is wonderful.
There are observational areas.
There are quarantine rooms.
There are bottles and flasks and tubes of all shapes and sizes, filled with who knows what.
There's element 115.
He holds the glowing red meteorite in his palm. It almost feels like it's pulsating under his fingertips. He has no idea what he's going to do with it, exactly, but it's a relief to finally have some in his possession again.
He scrapes off a sample and puts it on a slide, examining it under a microscope. For once, he actually looks content.