So help me, please doctor, I'm damaged

[beastlybeauty]

Who: Justine and YOU
What: It's time for everyone to get their physical! Let the doctor games begin.
Where: In Justine's office
When: Spanning all last, this, and next week. Or whenever your character is eventually dragged to their physical.

[Threading out your character's physical is not a requirement! However, if you think that your character may be affected seriously or you just feel like threading it out, this log is for you. Even if we thread here, please make sure you have filled an OOC form here.]

The office is completely sterile, but it has ivy patterns in tasteful greens, golds, and silvers climbing up the walls. There is a small desk in the corner, stacked with thin files full of notes. If one slid over to check the papers spread over the files, they'd only find messy but impossibly complex models of hybrid DNA strands, drawn idly as she was thinking of something else--the blueprints of new muttations, but no one would be able to figure that out without a brilliant Capitol-level understanding of DNA and how the chemical bonds translate to physical traits.

Justine sits at the desk, waiting for you to arrive.

Comments

[shenunigans]

"Most people don't." It's said curtly, almost bitterly even if he's trying to look flippant about it. Establishing rapport would probably make this easier, but he's of the impression that he can yes, no and maybe at a few questions and leave.

He tries to peer at the file through his shades as discreetly as he can before falling back into his chair. He considers being genuine, asking for something that can help him sleep or stop the headache he gets just thinking about sirens, but when he opens his mouth all he can manage to say is "Nah. I mean. Beyond the standard complaint of being here at all, which I'm sure you get a lot." He's so understanding and kind to your doctorly needs. "I'm ready for the mandatory health shaming quiz. Fire away."

[beastlybeauty]

"If you say so." She looks down at the page, making a note in the corner. He didn't ask her for anything. People, especially people in the Hunger Games, always want something. Just not necessarily things that they're willing to ask for.

So it's worth noting that he didn't ask. "Would you tell me your full name, age, and date of birth?"

[shenunigans]

There's plenty Dave wants, but there's not a lot he's willing to ask for. Not from someone he doesn't know well enough to trust, anyway. Bitten once twice shy and all of that jazz, who knows what it might get him into if he isn't careful.

"Dave Trouble Strider." He sounds that off with absolutely no hesitation. It's a lie, of course, but his middle name is a source of speculation for many. "Sixteen. December third, Nineteen ninety-five." Probably ancient history for her.

[beastlybeauty]

"Dave Strider." She doesn't respond to the middle name. She knows he's screwing with her. She's had far worse.

"Sixteen." She murmurs softly to herself as she writs down his answers, then looks up at him with a small smile. "Are you sexually active, Dave?"

She is perfectly happy to screw with him in kind.

[shenunigans]

There's a tiny little flicker of annoyance at himself for pulling that, but he hasn't had the impression that she'll smite him for trying to joke around.

"And I don't look a day over thirty." He adds, only to make himself more comfortable. This of course means nothing when she throws him a question like that and his face heats a little for it. "I wish." Is the answer he blurts out, and he's never been more glad for his sunglasses. "No. Nada. Nothing. Just a string of disappointments." Stop talking, mouth.