Now you're calling me up on the phone

[restingstitchface]

Who: Jonathan Crane
When: June and July
Where: Cadens + Horizon
What: Closed prompts and open logs
Warnings: Possible discussions of trauma







Hello! If you want a prompt message me on safekeeping or Discord.

Comments

[restingstitchface]

Well, medicine has advanced, of course. But the motivations for some behind its development are as selfish as ever. I suppose some things never change.

[Crane leans back in his chair. One ankle crosses behind the other, eyes dipping to admire her journal.]

Do you mind?

[beautifullies]

Oh, no. Please.

[ She's nothing to hide; this is not her personal journal. Although Crane will find (along with the obvious) that like a lovesick and much younger woman, she has written Jamie's name a few times in the margins, always taking care with her script compared to other hastily written things. ]

I've no idea when I'll wind up living out the rest of my life, but it would be nice to see large advancements in my lifetime.

[ And not any that she already knows are coming, either. She wants true, 20th century advancement. ]

[restingstitchface]

[He reaches out and takes her notes, her collection of sentences and words. Some parts are more fascinating than others. The scientific is browsed and perused, the personal ignored or set aside. Names are denoted for later questioning - and he makes a sad and disapproving sound. Injecting it with a little empathy.]

Keep hoping like that and all you'll do is make yourself ill.

[His attention remains in her notes and handwriting. He doesn't seem to pay her notice.]

[beautifullies]

[ Claire scoffs and gives a tilt of her head, as if to say 'you have a point.' She watches has he goes through her notes, her loopy but neat cursive, shorthand for quite a lot of the writing. Finally, after a few generous moments, she clears her throat a bit. ]

I have to admit, it's a bit exciting knowing someone is reading what I've thought with interest. My husband always listens, but he's...well, he's from the 18th century. I've had to start with explaining the concept of germs.

[ She's sure if he didn't believe her then, he doesn't believe her now, but that doesn't make it any less true, and so she doesn't mind. ]

Is there anything there you'd like elaboration on?

[restingstitchface]

No, I'll be fine. Thank you.

[It is a mild affront - to imagine he might ask questions like he were back in his professor's lectures. But he keeps his pleasant tone and mild manner.]

Besides, your writing is no worse than mine.

[That spidery scrawl that he clings to out of spite as much as habit. His grandmother never had liked it.]

[beautifullies]

[ Claire chuckles and rests her chin in her hand. ]

I appreciate that, thank you. Do you mind if I explore while you read?

[restingstitchface]

Not at all.

[His voice is barely audible - a mere murmur as his attention is focused elsewhere.

There are all manner of unlabelled bottles and vials sitting on nearby shelves, a compound microscope holding a slide of nervous tissue. The nearby blackboard is scrawled top to bottom in equations and chemical compounds of formula ahead of her time. There is nothing else to find other than a collection of journals related to his laboratory work. His private notes are unavailable for public perusal.]

[beautifullies]

[ Claire gets up to wander, her skirts making the faintest noise of fabric on fabric anytime she moves. The microscope is zoomed in on immediately, and she recognizes what she's looking at once doing so.

The equations aren't at all her forte, but at times she thinks she recognizes an element. Picking a journal at random once she gets to them, she opens it to the middle and begins to read while standing. He was correct: her handwriting isn't any worse than his. ]

[restingstitchface]

[Crane watches Claire investigate, comfortable in his chair. She beelines from his microscope to his journals, glimpsing his blackboard on her way. Satisfied by her ordinary behaviour, he returns his attention to her work. Notes about native flora, thoughts written in the margins, together with one name repeated again and again.

But his interest in people draws him back to reality. He closes the book and deposits it on her chair before treading silently across the floor to where she is reading.]

Fascinating, isn't it? How flora with no relation to each other produce the same chemical formula.

[Opium makes morphine. This desert flora makes morphine.]

[beautifullies]

[ Claire startles, just a little, but then she relaxes and turns to face him. ]

I think that's what always fascinated me, it's why I found myself interested in botany initially. The way something in its natural form can be transformed and do something incredible.

[restingstitchface]

[Part of him wants to offer a small smile; a wry glance and a gentle laugh.

But he masks himself with solemnity.]

Flowers can become the most fantastic medicines. Or the most destructive weapons.

[beautifullies]

Too true, Doctor.

[ She turns toward her journal, nodding at it. ]

I would be interested to know what you were most curious about, truth be told. I always thought my own notes came across dry, so I hope they weren't a bore, at least.

[ She says what needs to be said and moves on, for the most part, unless something completely wild catches her eye—nothing of note there, not in that journal. ]

[restingstitchface]

Not at all.

[He speaks thoughtfully, glancing back at her journal, his mind wandering to other things even as part of it focuses on his guest in the present.]

Your notes on medicinal plants caught my eye. Not too surprising when one considers my background, really.

[Not to mention his, err, interests.]