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Post by Deleted on Jan 25, 2018 6:11:01 GMT
 Calculated movements took a bony, scraggly man out into the puddles of a deeply shadowed dock between two, large fishing vessels lit only by metal-caged lights dangling from wires every few yards. Paranoid but not visibly disturbed, he kept constant watch over his shoulder. Claire had learned to ignore these months ago - standing beside him in a haze of gray mist within a world that he couldn't see, feel, or hear. The dreamwalking reality. It had taken him two hours to just arrive after the three hours he'd spent at home covering his entire bathroom in a sprayed-on, unmarked substance and then plastering his floor and walls with cut trash bags and tarps. After seeing the criminal tv-like display, she had to keep going. The FBI had told her they expected the man to make some kind of drastic, volatile move but not much later in the month. Seemed his plans had changed. For as long as she could, she pushed through the haze of getting further and further from her physical body.
Finally, when he made his stop at a smaller vessel tied down discreetly behind an overshadowing ship and stepped inside its quarters, she made note of significant marks. The boat had no marked name but the life preserver on the side had a missing, faded stripe. Rust lines practically surrounded the entirety of the old boat, but a newly painted section - obviously due to some kind of bodily repair - was nearly three feet wide and easy to spot up high on the stern side. Colors were fading, but the trim was dark. Blue? Purple? It'd have to do. Returning to herself was harder than she remembered it being. The walk was calm and the images became clearer the closer she got, but she felt sluggish and foggy. It was hard to stay focused. When she caught sight of herself, her arm extended and she let herself fall or drift forward; the ethereal sensation of both disappearing and reviving causing her heart rate to jump in a spike as it had always proved to just moments before waking.
"Alright she's back in, let's set the heating blanket on and start the propofol drip," an anesthesiologist in scrubs directed the four-man team monitoring the young woman on the table. "Let's go ahead and turn the gas off too and start sevoflurane at a 2% concentration - same as last time - that'd worked decently. Miss Elliott? Can you hear me?" Nothing. Not yet. A male nurse loomed over her and pulled an eyelid apart with a gloved hand to shine a light in a responsive pupil. "Good response time," he concluded routinely, checking the other just for good measure. The doctor made his way over and waited a moment until fingers twitched at the bedside. "Miss Elliott, are you awake?"
Awake... awake. Awake from what? Her eyes opened heavily and were, per the usual, minorly glazed at the groggy sensation of the gas effects being reversed. Her head turned with sleepy weight and caught the navy scrubs of the man standing beside her. "There we are. Congratulations. Director Williams owes you a steak dinner, I wager. Nearly eight hours under." "Eight hours," she repeated with a raspy, dry voice and broken words. "We'll get you some water." As the doctor spoke, a nurse had already started moving to a sink upon hearing Claire's voice; a simple side effect of the gas.
"Did I get hurt?" she furrowed her eyebrows at him, looking over at the woman now headed to her bedside and offering her water. His head shook with a grin. "All went swimmingly." Then why was she in a hospital bed? "Wait..." she sat up and caused concern from the team who were swift to slowly crowd her and try and coax her back to lying down. They kept saying things like having to rest a while or not to push herself. Had they called her father? Was he outside waiting and worried? Had she even finished packing to get to the airport? She looked down at the leads taped to her skin above her heart and felt up at the few on the sides of her neck and temples. A sweat began on her forehead.
"Miss Elliott I need you to lie back down for me."
"She's not listening." "Is she responsive?" "She was just a second ago." "Her eyes aren't focusing."
"Miss Elliott?"
Claire leaned further forward and quickly tumbled off towards the side of the bed and near the ground but had caught herself with a stumble as the leads peeled off of her and set her free from any connections to the now flat-lining machines. The grew louder, but their voices seemed further away. Then, one grabbed at her shoulder and she shrugged violently away - turning to him with a lost and defensive expression. Before she knew it, she was running. Every door shoved open and every person in her path was knocked to the side unwillingly simply by being unable to slip around them or trip anywhere but forward. Where was she? Where was her father? "Someone stop her!" "Grab her, hey!" An alert doctor ran in front of her from down the hall and plowed into her with a bear hug. She grunted heavily, a quick *chnk!* piercing in her hearing before realizing the broken syringe in his hand that he'd attempted to sedate her with. Unable to process, she simply wrestled her way out of his arms and crashed briefly into a rolling bed at the side of the hall before continuing her sprint.
NOTES: Clinic panic. (Holy hell don't feel obligated to match this length, I'm so sorry!!!)
WEARING: Here. (Just the tank for the moment) |
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Jan 25, 2018 22:21:08 GMT
Post by Deleted on Jan 25, 2018 22:21:08 GMT
 - TANK - "I'll see you on the other side, drink in hand, smile on my lips." Yeah, that's not going to work either."
Sitting at the desk just inside the MNRU, his eyes were on the man across from him who was picking up a needle with three inch gauge. Next to Aaron's arm was a pile of six other needles, the metal tips all bent. What part, exactly, of the bulletproof skin did they not understand? The man's eyebrows scrunched together as he leaned forward, pressing it to his forearm and pushing. Then pushing harder. Giving a slight wince at the sharpness of the tingle coming from having something try and penetrate his skin, Aaron watched with some measure of curiosity. How many needles could he bend? Testing his limits was an intriguing prospect and one he had thought about testing with knives and guns of his own. In some of the darker moments in his life, when the PTSD rode him like a freight train, he considered testing how the back of his throat dealt with bullets compared to his skin. Thankfully, it never came to that. He'd sought help and support groups. Groups he was part of even today. It was necessary for continued health. For making sure those moments never came back.
Flinching at the rending sound of bent metal, the nurse cursed under his breath and set the needle of to the side. He started talking about how apologetic he was, that he really didn't know how to test his blood. Aaron started pulling his sleeve down, slightly bemused at that. Why did they need his blood, anyway? He was there to prove his neurological readiness, not his physical health. He figured they'd want to catalogue him in case he went rogue, which wasn't entirely a bad idea. It's not like they could stop him if he did, but it was good to know what you were up against. Having his record, name, social- those were enough for that though. He opened his mouth to give oratory to his concerns when a commotion started shredding down the hall. His mouth slowly closed as the nurse turned to the door in sudden concern, speaking to the woman by the door about what was happening.
"What's going on?" he asked. No answer, the man standing and moving through the door to go back and help deal with it. Pushing himself out from the other side of the desk he stood, adjusting the marine corps jacket he wore, unzipping it a little to give his arms more maneuverability. Using his foot, he gently kicked the chair off to the side, the see sliding down the wall and out of the way. Hands at his sides, he watched the doors explode open and the gaunt girl in tank top and jeans rush out. Panic was scribbled across her face, uncertainty and terror ordering her body to go go go. His brows came down as she rushed toward him, the door outside being about thirty feet behind him. Directly on her six was about seven or eight men, rushing after her and shouting. His eyes looked over her face in the slow-motion movement the situation started to spiral into in his head. He started getting tunnel vision as his mind was jerked back to....to her.
To his time in Kundahar.
".....Claire...?"
"That's her. Claire. My daughter. Isn't she fuckin' beautiful?"
Aaron held the photo, smirking at the look of Rebecca in civilian clothes. At the same time, he felt the envy- he wished he had a photo of himself before all this shit. He was laying on the cot below her, full casual military dress on with a single leg hanging over the edge and resting on the floor. His head rested against his pack as he sniffed at the likeness, handing the photo back up to the smaller framed woman above him.
"Yeah she is. It's a shame about that ugly fella on the right. Clearly she got your genes."
He laughed as she swatted the top his head, trying to get him with a decent slap for insulting the man who was wise enough to wife her up. Reaching behind him, his right hand unzipping the bottom pouch to grab a food pack and pull it out a granola bar. He bit into it and picked up his book, "Death in the Afternoon" by Ernest Hemmingway as she would continue.
"Happens to be the love of my life, thank you very much!" She joked at him, looking up at the tent's ceiling and imagining its deep green as the waving water on Lake Michigan. The day they took the picture, the sand castle on the beach and their lunch on the dock they sat on. "God, I miss my baby... she's such a fire cracker, holy hell. The snark that comes out of her mouth," she laughed, shaking her head and sighed, "Her dad and I are in for trouble. Have yourself a kid back home, Tanker."
Taking another bite from his acquired sandwich, he let out a little chuckle around his food, the words drifting off the page with the eloquence beholden to it's author. "So you keep telling me. I'm 25, Becs, and in the meanest bush the Afghans have to offer. I seriously doubt children are on my future radar." He didn't realize how insensitive he sounded, but on the other hand he was always this blunt. That was just the dynamic they'd set up. It was Tank. Or Tanker. It was Becs. They didn't wear masks or play games or pretend that they were something they weren't. They were like brother and sister. Blood. They joked about death, about who would get to be the hero to the other.
He still hated her for taking that win from him.
He drifted back to Becs' funeral, to the girl that stood with her father, the age and torment evident as the empty casket was lowered. How did you approach someone like that? How did you tell them in adequate detail the type of connection, the type of person their mother was or meant to them? You don't. you couldn't. They knew. Far better than you ever could. Though he saw her as a sister, to them she was the mother and wife. The daughter. You couldn't stand there and tell them anything they didn't already know. He remembered the flag draped over it, the guns firing into the sky. He remembered his clenched fists, and the conviction to return to kill everyone that stood in his path.
The warrior rebelled inside him.
He blinked and his lips parted with a slight gasp. One nobody else would hear in all this commotion, thankfully. The incredibly softened gaze would shift to the men behind her, and as she moved by him he'd step in the way of the others, bringing out a hand that the guy trying to skip around his moving frame would run into. Like hitting a brick wall he stumbled back, stunned, hand clutching at his chest as he and the others would skid to a stop, their eyes coming to him in shock at having someone else so brazenly keep them from a patient.
"My friends....I don't think she wants your medical attention."
He didn't know what was wrong with her, or what they thought was wrong with her. But in that moment, she could have everything wrong and he'd still take her side. The woman didn't know it yet, didn't know what electricity was simmering beneath the surface, resting under the sternum of the man behind her. She didn't know that, if necessary, every back in this room would be broken to get her to the door. He'd always felt this place in his chest where Becs' bubble popped and left a gaping maw of anger, confusion and guilt. Now, his mind going over everything in his head, he whispered the smallest prayer to himself. The cross against his chest seemed heavy. Heavier than it had ever been as he sent his words rocketing toward the smirking woman upstairs.
'Thought you had the last laugh, didn't you, Becs? Well here I am, taggin' you back. I'll look after her for you, yeah? Since you had to go all Saving Private Ryan and get the first ride up. I got this, so the balls in your court now. Lets see what you got, bitch.'
He gave the evilest smirk, which caused those in front of him to be more than a little startled. But it wasn't for them. He wasn't even really here right now. He was somewhere else entirely, standing behind the pain of glass between him and the mechanic, flipping her the bird.
'I win.'
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Mar 24, 2018 22:05:07 GMT
Post by Deleted on Mar 24, 2018 22:05:07 GMT
One second she was sprinting down the hall past the by-standers lining the sides, the next she was faced with a closed set of double doors that wouldn't open - locked unless an active employee scanned a card of identification. She ran into them, causing them to shake and rattle, but they didn't budge. Her hands slammed against the push bars but to no avail. The hundreds of questions that she had upon waking up had taken to the back seat, the adrenaline simply drowning out anything except for the need to run and find something she recognized.
Her body flipped around to face the small group chasing her down, eyes desperate to locate another exit, and then she saw it. "Operation Iraqi Freedom". A singular patch on the shoulder of a stranger's jacket practically pulled her in like a magnet. He was only a yard or so away, arms sturdy at his sides, and he soon took a quick side step to have a shorter doctor simply run into him and fall backwards like he'd charged a brick wall. Her eyes went briefly to the doctor, then back to the patch, and soon she found herself shuffling slowly to the side to put him more so between the team of would-be grabbers.
The one doctor held his chest, trying to catch the air that was knocked out of his lungs, and the lead of the team put his hands up to show an understanding at how the situation looked - eyes to the man that was protecting what seemed to be a victim. "I'm very clear on how this looks," he started, his face apologetic with a deep frown that pulled a the wrinkles on his face, "The woman behind you woke up with quite the scare. She's confused." Of course she was confused! She took deep breaths, hands still flat against the dead-end doors behind her.
"I want to know what happened. I want to call my father." It didn't exactly exude the tone of someone demanding even as hard as she tried, and the lead doctor frowned deeper with the team behind him obviously a little confused at Claire's statements and a bit nervous at the intervention of what could very well be a metahuman man simply trying to do the right thing. "She's an employee here. An agent." Her head shook frantically and her face tensed, quick to argue. "I do not work here!" "Your employee ID badge is in your pocket, Miss Elliot," he lifted his head to speak over the man's shoulder, then went back to discussing with him. "We have to check her, please, and find out what on earth is causing this episode."
Her hand traced along her thigh until she felt a rectangular piece of solid plastic. Fingers dipped into the pocket and she pulled out the card, afraid for a second to even look down. Once she did, her heart dropped into her stomach and she took a step away from he door, legs wobbly. The world spun around her a thousand miles an hour and she swore she could feel gravity shifting. There, with her picture, read "Agent C. Elliot, Employee No. 0405. MNRU Facility 001." "Wait..." her head bobbed to the side, trying to shake off the sensation of reality pulling from beneath her and the weightlessness of her body as it continued to struggle finding the ability to keep its balance.
NOTES: Clinic panic.
WEARING: Here. (Just the tank for the moment) |
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Post by Deleted on Mar 25, 2018 8:31:51 GMT
- TANK - "I'll see you on the other side, drink in hand, smile on my lips." Aaron half turned back, giving a little glance at the girl and holding out a hand palm facing her to give a kind of "Steady" feeling or impression before his eyes returned to the doctor. It was plausible she was an escaped patient. He'd never been here and didn't know their protocol. If she was a meta that didn't have a clear grasp of the reality of her situation, then it might lead to extenuating circumstances like this. As the doctor spoke, he didn't reply, letting the man continue to talk even after Claire had said she doesn't work there. As she removed the card, Aaron cast a glance back and caught a glimpse of his own, and the sudden shock and confusion on her face was proof that it was indeed what they said.
He'd look the doctors in the eye.
"You all stay right there."
His tone would brook no room for argument, the nurse that had been behind the counter trying to stab Aaron with needles now bringing a small folder with a semi-profile on Aaron and his abilities. The soldier wouldn't know that, however, as he had turned back to walk over to Claire slowly, crouching as she seemed to sink. He brought a steady hand up, covering the card a little and looking her in the eye, hoping she would return the gaze. Panic. It was something he was used to seeing in people like him. People who had trauma of some kind. He wanted to cover the card to prevent further damage to her.
"Claire...my name is Aaron. You don't know me, so you might be thinking you have no reason to trust me. I came here today for a check up, and God saw fit to put you in my path. If what these doctors say is the truth, you might not know or remember something is wrong. They can probably help, if that's the case. I'll go with you to be sure, and if you or I don't like what they do, I'll kick out a wall and take you to see your father before supper hunger sets in, okay?"
He'd be looking her in the eye the whole time. It was important for people with trauma to have a foundation, and his calm words and promise of help was hopefully a start. He was a mountain, in this instance, and she was drowning. He needed to keep her grounded in something, and having someone safe you from those who wanted you a prisoner was a start. He'd offer his other hand for her to take, if she wished it. It's possible he misread the doctors intent, and he was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. But he was very honest when he said he'd kick out a wall. It was the truth. He'd stay in the crouch, ready, in case she may fall or pass out as well. She had that look. Like the floor fell from under her. If it did, he'd be there to catch her, and take her where she needed to be.
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Post by Deleted on May 23, 2018 2:40:33 GMT
The last thing she remembered was hitting the ground. No, wait, not the ground, it wasn't that hard. Arms. They felt big, but maybe it was just her thin frame that made it so. She should've been panicked to be touched by anyone in that situation, in that hallway, but... no. It was safe somehow. One image was blurry, but it cleared up better and better from the blackness of her unconsciousness.
"Claire...my name is Aaron." Aaron. Aaron. No, she didn't know an Aaron. There were a couple in high school, maybe one from the university, but she didn't remember the young ones much and the other was roughly as round as a beach ball. But his name made the image of the circle - some tan thing she was trying to picture - just a little clearer. "You don't know me, so you might be thinking you have no reason to trust me." No, she didn't, nor anyone since she'd woken up. The one person she knew she could trust was over half the country away. The circle took a more focused shape with outlined edges and more color coming into view within the center to start forming something else within. What was it? Whatever it was she recognized it. "I came here today for a check up, and God saw fit to put you in my path." God?... God didn't put people in her path. He took them out of it. She wanted to believe differently, really, but it just didn't feel possible. Not until she finally made sense of the shape within the tan circle...
An eagle lifted its head proudly with the country of Iraq beyond it. Around the circle, three words were sewn: Operation Iraqi Freedom. Her mother had that patch, had been there and liberated there. She'd called to brag about her new friends just barely younger than Claire that adored playing soccer with her out on the flat sands after they'd secured the nearest town. This patch, her mother's patch, she'd follow it if it lead her to the grave. "...if you or I don't like what they do, I'll kick out a wall and take you to see your father before supper hunger sets in, okay?" The other words didn't so much register, eyes glued in and out of focus to the patch on his shoulder among a few others before she lifted them to his face. It quickly became nothing but a pool of peach from his face and white from the walls of the hall behind him when she turned to a noodle.
She trusted him.
The low, constant beeping was the first thing she recognized - definitely a clinic room. It was never a good sign, meaning she'd passed out or hadn't woken up somewhere along the way of coming in and out of her Dreamwalk during a session. It took forever for the damn headaches to go away and more often than not made the Director impatient. She'd thought she'd outgrown the fainting spells by now. Such was her luck. From her waking, one set of signal beeps increased slightly following the rate of her heart. Claire grumbled with a wrinkled face, hand lifting to rub at the aching of her closed eyes that still didn't do so well under the ceiling light. NOTES: Waking up.
WEARING: Here. (Just the tank for the moment) |
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May 31, 2018 15:56:10 GMT
Post by Melvin Newton on May 31, 2018 15:56:10 GMT
"Miss Elliot?" "She's running!" Melvin turned in time to see Claire leap out of bed and head for the hall, an attempt at sedation ineffectual against her armored skin. I suppose some habits are hard to break. She ran, panic in her wide eyes, calling for a phone, her father. Denying she was employed here. Has she forgotten? Some kind of memory loss episode...Ahead of her in the hall, Aaron Hunt emerged from an exam room. Melvin paused, watching. Words were exchanged. Someone pointed out Claire's employee badge. She fainted. Aaron caught her, and Melvin stepped out. "In here," he said, gesturing for the room. "Just... lay her down." He checked her eyes with a light. A faint. Damn that Joyce Williams! She was pushing Claire too hard, demanding too much. Melvin exhaled a long breath through his nose. "Thank you, Mr. Hunt." A side effect of too much dreamwalking? Or something more sinister? He'd been worried about Claire's mental health for some time now- she was alone, nervous, fearful. It made her a good test subject in many ways. But he'd prefer a sane subject to one who did tricks like tearing off her monitors and running. "What if she tries to run again?" One of the nurses, looking at him expectantly. "Put a Posey on her," said Melvin. "Ankles, too, but leave her arms free." If she ran again she might- well, hurting herself was unlikely, given her power, but hurting others was well within her capabilities. On the other hand, he didn't want to give her the traumatic experience of waking up with her arms restrained if there was any way of avoiding it. Once they'd put the monitors back and goven a bit of oxygen to help her wake up and gotten the vest and ankle restraints on her Melvin took his position by the bed and gave her another once-over, just to be sure. Not that it was likely she was injured, given the scope of her abilities, but given what they now knew about the ability of mental states to affect her armor... His gaze drifted down the to ring finger of her right hand. He picked up her hand and examined it critically. No, he hadn't imagined it. The prick mark of the needle was still there. So Nathan's suggestion had worked. That would be useful. Already his mind was filling with ideas for tests, trials, procedures to try and capture the magic of her abilities. This was a breakthrough. But he had to see to her mental health, first. It was not long after that Claire woke up, announcing her presence with a man and movement. The light seemed to be giving her trouble. Melvin moved the slider down a notch. "Hello, Claire," he said. "You had a bit of a scary episode. How do you feel?" |
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Post by Deleted on Jun 1, 2018 3:07:08 GMT
- TANK - "I'll see you on the other side, drink in hand, smile on my lips." He followed the doctors instructions, bringing her in and laying her down. The doctor did an examination, offering up his thanks. Leaning against the wall next to the bed, Aaron kept his hands in his jacket. Thanks were not needed, nor was acknowledgement of it. The fellow in front of him didn't know it, but Aaron didn't give a ruddy muddy fuck about his tests and his work. If the woman woke, and wanted out again, he'd rip the vest and restraints off and take her through the wall as promised, and if the good doctor stood in his way he'd tear off the fellows beard and beat his ass to death with it.
Nobody could ever say he didn't keep his promises.
As Claire woke, he stayed where he was, eyes narrowing a little at the sudden examination of the finger. Still, it wasn't his business for the time being and Claire had yet to make a clear minded decision about her position here. So he'd let the gentleman ask his questions, remaining where he was while questions rolled about in his head. Would she remember what happened? Remember what he'd said to her before she fell into her slumber? He surmised neither mattered- he'd told her what she needed to hear at the time and he'd reiterate it now if it was necessary. As she rubbed her forhead, He shifted around her bed, grabbing the light dial and turning it down a ways so that it was just a dim bulb.
"Better?"
His voice was husky as he glanced out the window. Full force there now- several men, nurses and various staff. They were going about their business but he knew why they were there. Or at least, he assumed he knew. Can't have the girl wondering off again, could they? His brow furrowed as a dark look came over him if for but a moment. He didn't like killing civilians. He'd avoid it as best he could. But if left no choice, he'd ratchet the body count to get her free. He had to remember that. And if she was a prisoner, that she might have reservations too. He turned back and would listen to the doctor ask his questions, hands returning to his jacket as he waited patiently.
'I found her Bee...don't you worry, I'll make sure your daughter is safe.'
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Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2018 23:14:37 GMT
A The blinding light didn't hardly last. First, the room dimmed considerably and then a bulb that'd been near her like some kind of lamp had also almost entirely turned off by the two men in the room. Claire rubbed at her eyes with her index finger and thumb, digging into them to try and will away the blurriness and the aching on the inside of her head. Had she gotten hit by a sledgehammer? "Better?" She hummed in agreement as her answer first to the voice before giving a small nod and a tired, "Yeah."
"Hello, Claire." That voice she knew. Dr. Newton had been the head in charge of her dreamwalking sessions - getting into them, getting out of them, ensuring her stability during, etc. He'd been the genius to think of using gasses in place of anything in an IV. "Mmm?" were they done? It was difficult to remember her last session. What was it again, where had she gone? Right, the Russian family, the odd locker with the dull lighting, most members waiting at the table when the thin and scraggly man had entered in. It was taking a bit to focus on them, but if she thought hard enough she was fairly certain she could sketch their faces decently.
When her hand left her face, she opened her eyes and adjusted them to a much light-friendlier room with Dr. Newton standing at her side and reading the machines in a different room than the dreamwalking center. A clinic room? Her head turned to the other side, seeing a rather burly man also nearby and looking expectantly at her. "Dr. Newton-?" But he was already on top of it. "You had a bit of a scary episode. How do you feel?" A scary episode? The face she gave him was obviously one that was more confused and concerned than lost and scared.
She'd expected to wake in the same solid white room as she always had, go back for a shower and rest, then eat dinner and start on her sketches and reports. A lumberjack stranger and a clinic room wasn't exactly what she remembered upon being gassed into the dream. "Uh. Well," she was hesitant with her separated words before replying, "Like I got hit by a truck? And hungry? And... lost," her eyes slid over briefly again to the man on her other side. "Soooo, what's going on?" as much as her head pounded, at least her words sounded collected as she firmly posed the question to Dr. Newton, eyes and ears intent on the answer. NOTES: Back to the present.
WEARING: Here. (Just the tank for the moment) |
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Jun 19, 2018 12:42:07 GMT
Post by Melvin Newton on Jun 19, 2018 12:42:07 GMT
She awoke, and not in the grip of panic as he'd feared. Confusion passed over her but she seemed to respond to the enforced calm of his voice. A calm one, was Claire. She didn't seem to be experiencing any confusion, only a bit of missing time. The entire episode had vanishes for her. How unaccountably odd. "You got up and ran from the test room," he said. "You went down the hall in confusion." He glanced over at Aaron and gave a small nod. "Mr. Hunt was able to calm you down. You seemed to know him." He glanced at her monitors. Nothing unusual jumped out of him. He'd need to do a full workup for safety's sake, but he couldn't exactly start with Hunt there. The man was a nuisance and Melvin hoped he would leave soon. Until Hunt left, Melvin couldn't share with Claire the breakthrough about drawing blood, either. HIPPA regulations. @aaron Claire Elliot |
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