April 23rd- Hartford Hospital Cafeteria, Hartford, CT

It was technically spring. It was chillier than normal and a flu was going around. At least the rain was normal pelting rain. Anyone near the large glass windows by the elevator could hear the raindrops hitting the concrete outside. It was dreary and dark but supposedly tomorrow was going to be clear and the temperature in the high 50s.

The Cafeteria of Hartford Hospital was busier than normal for a Tuesday evening. For a hospital the food actually smelled good, the scent of jerk and adobo wafting in the air. The open room was packed with staff and civilians alike. Some are just catching a bite to eat after a long day. Others are talking among themselves as a distraction. A couple news stations played on the televisions around the room. No audio played but rhe closed captions were on.

You find yourselves sitting at a table with a few strangers due to the limited seating. Your reasons for being here this evening are your own, but you could have a bite to eat, have a seat while you wait, or simply gather your bearings.

A chef and a server were at work in the kitchen portion of the room. A pair of medical staff sat among the crowd. The regular people were easily a dozen if not more. Seated at your table are a long haired redhead woman in biker leathers, a college age boy typing furiously on his phone, an older gentleman with white hair and a cane, and a 30-something woman with black hair in a bun dressed like a corporate worker.

Simon sat, keeping to himself. He was reading a professional magazine and shoveling breakfast into his mouth before his shift started. This was probably his only meal for the day and it was heavy on protein and light on Carbs. He did not pay mind to anyone at the table with him, even the pretty redhead. He knew better than to open his mouth and swallow his foot. He barely looked up beyond his magazine.

Get some food in your mouth, they had told him. It wasn't a really serious injury, just a nick from an exercise gone wrong, but it had bled a fair bit as it as right next to his left eyebrow. That place bleeds like a stuck pig with the slightest provocation.

He would soon be out of there, but his friend- kind of friend, technically the person that did this to him- said that it's the best option they had for miles and miles. He was still struggling to comprehend the distance in the US, nothing like where he'd come from, and he didn't have a car, so he was at the mercy of Eric. At least he was a nice, chill dude, kind enough to drive him all the way here.

While not particularly squeamish, the food didn't seem all that appetizing. He looked around the table with a slightly awkward glance, his gaze lingering ever so slightly at the pretty tough-looking redhead, exactly his type, but settled at his phone again. He hated making other people uncomfortable, and getting stared at by a long-haired, bearded mediterranean man in his late 30's definitely counted as that, especially around here.

He just waited for a bit, for Eric to come over and grab a tray of his own, idling away at his phone. There was a small taped pad right where the nick was, but other than that seemed fit as a fiddle.

"Oye, Duro!" said the corporate woman while nodding at the man reading the magazine. "You some kind of doctor? Tonight is mad. This old lady in radiology attacked a security guard. This some kind of full moon thing?"

She sucked her teeth and shook her head. The young man and the redhead looked towards the man with the magazine in curiosity. The old gentleman gave a side glance at the woman that spoke. He forked some cabbage and read the news as he chewed.

Eric arrived. The woman in biker leathers moved over to make room for him to sit. She asked the man with the obvious head wound, "What you in for?" She looked him up and down examining him.

It always surprised him, how rude corpo wageslaves can be when they're not forced to be nice. Stereotypes had a nasty habit of self-enforcement.

He looked at Eric sitting next to him, but before he could say anything, the redhead asked him a question. Not one to leave an opportunity, he turned to her with a small smile and simply said, "Well, I got cut by a sword", he replied, putting on a faux-mystery air while he literally struggled to skewer an unruly pea.

Simon looked at the corporate type, he knew that type well. Personality of a sociopath, wanted to be in charge, and wanted their own way period. Her question was almost stereo type and his answer was automatic, "EMT, ambulance monkey." He just shrugged at her second question, and went back to his magazine. He just hoped they would leave him be until he finished his meal.

The redhead’s eyes lit up. "A sword? Nice!" she said. She pulled the jacket off her shoulder. A faded scar contrasted against her skin. "Machete. I’d show you the chainsaw but I don’t feel like getting up." she pulled her jacket into place.

She stretched her hand out offering a handshake. "I’m Dru. A 302 Coyote decided to try to take my head off. Thankfully it just clipped me."

The older gentleman looked obvious in his interest to engage in the conversation. Instead he put his head down and ate another piece of kielbasa.

Elsewhere in the room people came and went. And yet there was an equilibrium maintained, the number of people in the room stayed relatively consistent.

Simon glanced up at the mention of getting hit by a sword. "Must have been a small sword or a rapier. Probably was going for your eyes as a feint and connected. You'll need stitches and you'll have a scar, but you're in luck because young women like her are attracted to men with scars." He said all this while looking back at his magazine, as if his interest is half in half out of the conversation. He looked at his watch, he still had 30 minutes before his shift started. He was getting antsy and wished time to move faster. He had never been good at sitting around and waiting or talking to strangers. It just wasn't his thing. It seemed most of the people at the table shared this aversion.

The strange man's ears perked up at Simon's comment. He actually turned to him with an even broader smile. "Close enough! It was actually a longsword, obviously not a full-strength blow or sharpened. I mean, we wear masks normally, we're not as dumb as we look!", he exclaimed with a chuckle. "But just a drill gone wrong, and honestly nicks and burrs on the blade need to be taken care of as soon as possible, otherwise things like these happen- hear this, Eric?", he admonished his friend while waving the fork in a very teacher-y manner.

He very discreetly ignored the comment about young women being attracted to men with scars. He had no desire to make the young woman uncomfortable.

Simon's eyes flicked to the redhead. Then to the others. He put the magazine down and looked at the TV, maybe that would entertain him for 29 minutes.

Dru squinted at Odysseas and pulled her hand back. She went about looking around the room before looking at her phone.

Headache, fever, nausia, joint stiffness, it seemed like a full blown flu. Maybe that was what this crowd was about. Well he could look forward to a shift that would be a "Shitshow." He rubbed his head.

He let the chatter die down, not particularly interested in keeping it alive. It didn't help that his head was in pain, after all; while the injury was quite shallow and certainly non-life threatening, it was definitely annoying. He finished his meal without much enthusiasm and went to drop the tray wherever it was supposed to, before looking around for a vending machine to grab an overpriced energy drink.