True, I'm nervous.

[radiopalkiller]

Who: Philip, Jo Harvelle, Tauriel & [OPEN]
Where: Second floor hallway & the clinic
When: February 12th - February 21st
Rating: PG-13 to R for violence, blood and frequent mentions thereof
Summary: You'd thinking surviving the Valentine's Day killers attack would mean you're in the clear, but then again, this is Philip we're talking about here.
The Story:

He made it out, thanks to a certain Doctor's lucky intervention. He should've called it a day then, and headed for the clinic with him. But luck just didn't seem a good enough reason to brush off the fact that he couldn't get Evie to answer her device, no matter how often he tried. So he moved up to her room on the second floor, so he really should've changed out of his tunneling outfit first. Well, at least being mistaken for the murderer along the way guarantees he'll make his way to the clinic after all, and stay there for a solid week...

[[ OOC: Long story short, on February 12th Philip gets attacked by Tom and escapes. Jo mistakes him for the killer and shoots him. Tauriel finds him and patches him up, and he spends the next week at the clinic. That part is open to everyone, in case anybody wants to visit, comfort, bother, torment, entertain or question him. ]]

Comments

[nascensibility]

Evelyn is sorry, too - sorry that she hadn't started packing heat earlier on, sorry she hadn't considered arming herself. Wonderland has the habit of making you complacent before wrenching away your peace of mind and replacing it with a great deal of pain and bloodshed.

"Don't be," she replies automatically, because while the sentiment is lovely it isn't Philip's responsibility to keep an eye out for her. He needn't feel guilty -- what could he have done, anyway? Step out to assist and lose his last life in the process? Evelyn at least has the luxury of several more chances on her side.

Reaching out with her other hand, she lifts his chin and gives him a crooked little smile.

"Come on, then. Stiff upper lip. I can't have you getting all maudlin on me."

[radiopalkiller]

It's enough to get a different reaction, anyway. Falling back against his pillow Philip groans loudly.

"I was really just aiming for moderately demoralised. Guess I'd better work on that then."

He'd been hoping to can the forced cheer too, but it that's the alternative, then he'd better make an effort to bring it out. As if serial killer alert wasn't glum enough without the grey filter. Besides, he's not the one who died.

(Funny, how that never seems to work as an encouragement, no matter how much he tells himself that it should.)

"...You never mentioned helping out at the clinic before."

Unless something considerably slipped his mind, or that development is as recent as, say, today.

[nascensibility]

No, he's not the one who died, and the one who died is trying incredibly hard to maintain her own 'stiff upper lip' in light of her recent murder. Dwelling in her own fear and terror is considerably easier to do when the faces around her are laden with low spirits and glum expressions. Evelyn doesn't want to relive the events of February 12th any more than Philip wants to hear the gory details.

"I thought today might be a nice day to start," she replies tactfully, smoothing a wrinkle on his blanket. "And I can't sit around feeling sorry for myself while some people are getting themselves put up in the Mansion's convalescent home."

Another unmistakable jab at Philip's lack of self-preservation, albeit more gentle than her previous remonstrations concerning his neglect.

[radiopalkiller]

He only cringes when he almost catches himself pointing out that at least he made it here alive. Credit where credit's due, he did manage two lucky escapes in one day, but it's probably not the thing to boast about, all circumstances considered.

"It's, um, it's definitely a sentimental thing. I haven't been to the clinic in years, I thought I would- I thought I'd catch up with the place."

Bad joke followed by a worse attempt at a grin, but at least it's something. And it does remind him of a better train of thought, at least.

"Hey, um, do you still remember how many people we had running this place?"

[nascensibility]

If he keeps making all these dreadful jokes, Evelyn is going to have to tie him to the clinic bed and spoon-feed him soup.

"I don't...really recall, actually," she replies, chewing on her lip. Evie never made a habit of frequenting the area if only because she has a strong dislike of doctors and everything that is affiliated with them. What they do is fine, it's wonderful - modern medicine could not be better (although it will be, dear God) - but she doesn't like the sterile environments in which they work.

Frankly, it's why Evelyn insisted on giving birth in her own house. The doctor made a kerfuffle about it but after she gave him the what-for in between her contractions he graciously relented and delivered Alex in her bedroom.

"I was under the impression that any residents with medical licenses tended to avail themselves of the clinic in an effort to continue doing whatever they did back home. Why do you ask?"