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.
no subject
Perhaps one could say death is drawn to death. However if by instinct or sheer natural curiosity, one could never truly say. But Ronald was never involved with the aftermath of his job. He was always there to see them fall and take their souls but what happened with the mortal shell afterward? Not his department whatsoever.
Certainly the morgue was a different thing for him. The chill in the air doesn't bother him, not in the least. The bodies he inspects with minimal curiosity and the manner one would an animal at the zoo. But his attention is drawn to the sight of Richtofen and his... patient. However, Ronald knows better. Instead, he steps close. His attention shifts from the body, to the man, to the scalpel in his hand. There's more of that curiosity in his eyes as his hands are jammed into the pockets of his glasses. ]
Having a butchers at that body there? Could prolly tell you the cause of death if he was on my list.
no subject
Oh, it's the boy he met in the cafeteria a few days ago. Marvelous. As opposed to how he looked when they first met, though, now he just seems annoyed. He was in the zone, Ronald!]
Your list? [His voice is flat. It's clear what he really wants to be doing right now is slicing into that body.]
no subject
Yeah. We use it for work. The To-Die list. Shows us when a bloke's time is up and what's gonna off him.
no subject
What are you, then? Some sort of angel, or maybe a grim reaper?
[His tone of voice suggests that he's still a little skeptical, but at this point, he wouldn't put it past the tower to bring someone like that here. The only thing nagging at the back of his mind is that, if grim reapers are real, why hasn't he ever seen one before? He's certainly been around dying people enough.
That in mind, he presses the scalpel down, submerging it into the corpse's flesh. He doesn't cut the body open yet; the feeling of the scalpel breaking skin is enough to pacify him for the time being.]
no subject
[ He has a measure of pride in his work and it shows by the way his chest kind of puffs out a little and he straightens up just a bit. But oh, he was never one to deal with the bodies.
Ronald stays silent however as his eyes remain trained on the blade. ]
You'll have to excuse me though if I was bothering you from anything. Just decided to take a dekko around the tower for myself, wondered if there was anything interesting and all.
no subject
There are quite a few interesting things here, I think. Tell me - being a reaper, how exactly does that work? [Is this kid a heavenly being, or is it the opposite? Perhaps he used to be a human, or maybe something else entirely.]
no subject
Bit of a day job, really. Collecting souls, making sure no demons get to them before you do, get all your paperwork done on time... little here, little there. Arsed if I have to do overtime because I didn't dot my i's and cross my t's and all that.
[ Glancing over. ]
Course, I've got to ask. What do you do? S'not like I see most people with a healthy interest in the dead if you know what I mean.
no subject
Hm... How very interesting.
[At the question, a smile tugs at the corners of his lips, but it's there and gone so quickly that it's not noteworthy.]
Oh, you know, I did this and that. I was a doctor first, then I did some work as a scientist. Mostly, though, I dealt with the undead. At least, that's what kept me occupied for a while before I ended up here. [A shrug, as if he'd just explained that he watches birds for a living.] It was nice.
no subject
[ Arms folding behind his head now as he tilts it ever so slowly. More visible unease. Undead. And here he was just having tangled with a mess of them. ]
The undead, eh? Bit of a mess from that lot we ran into just before I wound up here. Fancy that. Though... you wouldn't be the kind of doctor that makes em, wouldja?
no subject
Oh, no, no, of course not!
[Either he's trying to be transparent, or he's the worst liar ever.]
no subject
Well that's a relief. Don't mind my saying so but I've had it up to bloody here [ motion to his temple now. ] with the undead to last me the rest of my lifetime.
Enough to give me the creeps.
no subject
Really now? I could never get tired of fighting mein Kinder.
[He stares at the face of the dead man, so still, so lifeless. He would look much better if he were leaping up and attempting to tear someone's throat out, Richtofen thought.
He blinks, then shrugs. Finally, he finishes what he started, dragging the scalpel down the length of the corpse's torso. He got a little bit overzealous and forgot to make a proper Y incision, but oh well. He'd have to deal with it.]
It's nice to work on them without having to strap them down, though, I suppose.
no subject
...right... strap them down...
[ Bit of a flinch here, folding his arms behind his back. ]
You mean... you've seen them before, eh? Soulless dolls they called em. Or something like that I think.
no subject
Seen them? I used to fight them. Waves upon waves of the disgusting little things. [He gives a wistful sigh.] Oh, it was such fun.
[He runs a gloved thumb over the skin he'd just cut open. He contemplates taking his gloves off for a moment, but decides against it. Maybe later, though.]