first floor rec room / makeshift clinic | sunday | december 6

[fratboybitch.livejournal.com]

Just like yesterday, Dr. Alex Karev was back in the clinic, tending to the sick, the comatose, the pregnant, and the people that just needed a place to conveniently socialize. The exam rooms were still curtained off and no named nurses were going back and forth, checking on those that had been admitted. The waiting room was blessedly empty and Alex was kicked back behind the desk, writing on a clipboard and looking very busy as one usually is in a hospital.

His pager was blissfully quiet and Alex was grateful for the momentary downtime. Being a doctor was a tough job.

[second verse, same as the first. bring me your tired, your hungry, your comatose, your whatever! alex has a bad bedside manner (unless you're a girl or griff, apparently) so feel free to play off that. ocd is up! come in!]

The Roof, Sunday Morning

[anarchist-queen.livejournal.com]

Leda, orphan with a mysterious past, looked out over the town that had been her haven for the past several months. The motorcycle gang that had been hunting her had yet to find her here.

She didn't know what they wanted, but she suspected it had something to do with the birthmark on her left shoulder. And maybe, there was a clue there to her true parentage.

[For the purposes of SOW, Leda is not currently an elf. Post is very open.]

Behind the Dorms, Sunday Afternoon

[furnaceface]

Jonothon Evan Starsmore, the stunningly handsome and ridiculously wealthy rock-star descendant of the late Jack Starsmore, heir of the vast Starsmore Fortune, esteemed leader of the mighty and powerful Clan Akkaba, and wielder of Mysterious Powers of Which He Never Spoke, lifted his guitar and took a pleased look around at his surroundings. The stage was set. The band was ready (even if they were all nameless, faceless individuals. The focus wasn't on them, here.)

No, no, the focus was on Jonothon, his hair perfect, his face perfect, his chest? Dare I say it? Perfect, as if sculpted by the hand of God himself. It would have been a shame to put a shirt on it, in spite of the time of year. And anyhow, this particular corner of the island was unseasonably warm. It would be a shame to not take advantage of the sunny sky, the green of the grass and the leaves in the trees, the warmth the day had to offer... and other types of heat, at that. Perfect chests were for showing off, and Jonothon would like to encourage all of his audience to partake in that very same mindset.

But all of that hardly mattered. What really mattered, here, was that there was to be a concert today. And, perhaps afterwards, Jonothon would let his most avid admirers backstage for a personal tour.

[Open! So very, very open.]

Fifth Floor Common Room, Sunday Evening

[not-jaded-yet.livejournal.com]

Jennifer was far too amused by all the antics this weekend. She was popping popcorn in the common room. A lot of popcorn. She just hoped the entertainment would come to her... or she'd have to mount an expedition. With some fellow people not saddled by the insanity.

She figured it was something to do with her gamma irradiation. Thank goodness for it, she thought.

For now? Om nom nom, popcorn.

[ooc: So v. v. open]

Roof - Late Sunday Evening

[noearsyet.livejournal.com]

George sat on the edge of the roof, looking out over the island that would eventually be his doman.

Once his tintillium concern came through, of course.

For now he was simply brooding over his lost love. She who was his ...sister.