outfit.

Monday mornings were a time of unbelievable excitement for Rita. The start of the week meant the start of more stories. It was a kind of satisfaction that weekends simply could not give to the Daily Prophet reporter, and unlike many of her colleagues she loathed the weekend. What was a weekend to someone who had no personal life? Rita was too devoted to her job to find any solace in relaxing on a Friday night with a glass of wine. Instead, she would normally be found in her small study at her flat in London, her quill poised over her parchment as she furrowed her brow while writing to feed the news-hungry world.

This was no ordinary Monday. Something awful had happened at St.Mungo’s in the early hours of that morning that had cost a patient his life. Six-thirty am, and Rita's heels could be heard click-clacking down the quiet halls of the hospital. She tottered herself up a set of stairs to the white-washed walls of the first floor and made her way with an air of importance down the corridor. She stopped outside of a door and peered at the sign on the door. Jason Marren. Healer-in-Charge.

Rita’s lips curled up at the corner as she hitched her mock-croc bag further up her arm and rapped her knuckles smartly on the door, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for her newest interview-subject to let her in.

It had been a long couple of days. He had had to fit in work, sleep, and taking care of Aidan while attempting to stay sane. Then he’d gotten the urgent owl a few hours prior to when he was supposed to be in for work. It had tapped endlessly (or so it had seemed) on his window until he finally threw the pillow he’d had nestled against and under his upper chest and head at it. To say the letter was unexpected was like saying a ghoul passed the wizarding exams. Well… perhaps not quite so drastic.

Still… he hadn’t exactly been in the best of moods as his three hours of sleep self got dressed quickly before dropping Aidan, sleepy and cranky, off with Fiona while she worked. Then it was to the hospital where he worked for the next four hours attempting to help stabilize the transferred patient from Romania.

In the end, he’d left the room feeling defeated and angry with himself. He always felt that way when he was unable to help a patient; when they died from complications or whatever it was that brought them in. Though a natural part of life, death could bring down the best environments. And he tried hard to keep his floor optimistic. Still… he’d given everyone involved a pat on the back and words of encouragement. They had done all they could, right?

That was the question he had to ask himself, and it was the only thing going through his mind as he stood under the cool water in the staff showers. Not only was he washing his uniform of the various messes from the room, but he was cleaning himself for the start of his actual duties. With hands on the wall, he hung his head and let the water beat down on him, unbiased and neutral in their view of him.

A short while later, he emerged clean. A cup of coffee and fresh outfit later (which he’d brought with him, stuffed without care into a small bag) and he was ready to get to his office. Make that two cups of coffee. He managed to throw back the first with a biscuit before making it out of the staff break room. Stepping quickly towards his office, his surprise was evident on his face as he saw a shorter, blonde woman at his door. Slowing his pace, he frowned and glanced around.

“Hello… May I help you?” He had on the navy healer high collar frock with the crest of ‘healer-in-charge’ shining bright and polished in the artificial lighting on the collar, and the matching navy trousers were tailored to him. A bit of controlled scruff covered his face from being unable to shave before work, and if he did say so himself, he smelled particularly clean and pleasant this morning. She looked familiar, though… and her outfit was a bit off. Still, he offered her a friendly smile.

Rita's head whipped around to face the voice that had just addressed her. She eyed the man and his attire, from his navy tailored trousers to his high-collared shirt and the crest on his chest. That was it. She smiled at him, a slightly pitying smile at the stubble on his chin and bags under his eyes. Those, as well as the coffee in his hand were telltale signs that she had found precisely the right person.

"Healer Marren, I presume?" She asked whilst pulling off the glove from her right hand and holding her perfectly painted red nails out to him. "Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet." She said with a slight nod of the head. "I must say, I am here under grave circumstances regarding..." Her voice quietened and her eyes widened slightly. "...the events of this morning." She said in hushed tones, looking up and down the corridor to make sure no prying ears were around. "It is not yet public, but it will be. I assume that if you want to make sure the details released are correct, we should perhaps step into your office where we can discuss this in a more...private setting?" She let her eyes flicker to his door and back to his face, as though trying to subconsciously steer him to unlock the door and open it. "After all, nurses may be retelling their account of what happened as we speak to eager listeners. And who knows what kind of stories they may be fabricating?"

As only two hours had passed since the fateful incident, the details had not spread. Well, not far anyway. Rita's first port of call for the morning had been the Daily Prophet office, to enforce damage control. Some of the other staff were already there too, on the phone to various callers who were phoning to tell their stories of the morning. But Rita knew that getting an interview straight from the acromantula's pincer himself would be the most vital thing the Daily Prophet could own. At least for that week.

Nodding slowly when she presumed he was… himself, he reached out with his free hand and took hers in a shake, though he was a bit reluctant. He couldn’t be rude, though. Even as tired as he felt, he could receive people who knew him by name. Then she said her name and he felt a curse forming in his head that he kept far from his lips. Giving her a small smile, he shook her small hand before pulling his bigger one back, standing up straight.

Rita Skeeter. Not a name anyone wanted to hear from the bright red lipstick woman, that was for sure. They were starting earlier and earlier. “Pleasure to meet you.” He wasn’t sure if he was pleased or not, but it seemed the right thing to say at the very least. He’d read a couple articles here and there of hers; he wasn’t impressed with the way she embellished what she was reporting, and had to be careful now of how he responded to her. He wished he’d had more sleep now.

“I must say, I am here under grave circumstances regarding… the events of this morning.”

He took in a quick and stacked breath, pursing his lips at the mention of these events that she shouldn’t have any privy to knowing about. His gaze didn’t move away from her face, no matter how dramatic she acted with looking around as if she expected a pair of extendable ears to be hanging around. Why else would she be knocking on his door at such an indecent hour, though? Lifting the coffee mug to his lips, he took a small sip. It was bound to get out eventually.

When she made the nonverbal cue that she wanted to go into his office, he thought of a number of reasons not to. Still… he couldn’t be rude. Giving her a small smile, not quite reaching his eyes, he nodded and pulled out his keys, opening the door, holding it for her. “After you, Miss Skeeter.” Stepping in behind her, he pushed the door to before moving to his desk, motioning to the empty chair on one side. Setting his coffee mug down on the table, ruffling some papers together and tossing them behind onto a file cabinet, he tried to break his mood by giving her a more heartfelt smile.

“May I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea… water?” Moving back around, he sat on the edge of the desk close to the chair he’d offered her, crossing his arms over his chest. Perhaps if he got his obligations done with early in the day, he could go home a few hours early. Or take his break in the form of a nap in the break room. Best not to think on it now; he wasn't going to get that break for a while now.

The small smile that he offered when she said her name was enough to tell Rita that he knew who she was. Then again, who in the wizarding world didn't know who Rita was? After nearly forty years as a reporter - although not all of it for the Prophet - people were bound to know her name even if they didn't recognise her face. She had, afterall, covered some of the biggest stories that had ever graced the pages of the biggest wizarding papers.

At this recognition, she had to stifle a grin. Even after all this time she couldn't help but enjoy the famous - or infamous - feeling she had when people knew who she was, regardless of whether it was for good or bad...and for the most part, it was bad. Marren unlocked the office door and motioned for her to go in first. "Such a gentleman." She purred as she brushed past him on her way into his office.

On entering the room she looked at her surroundings. Not much in the way of decoration graced the room. In fact, it was rather drab. Rita looked at the empty chair he motioned to. Her face twisted slightly at the scuffs on the wood and the fraying fabric. However, being the kind person she was, she decided not to say anything. She perched herself on the edge of the chair and set her bag down on the floor.

Rita pulled off the other glove and, placing it inside her bag, pulled out a piece of neat blank parchment and her acid-green quill. As she smoothed the parchment out on the desk, she sucked on the end of the quill for a short moment, then let it hover in mid air over the leaf of paper. It danced on the spot, desperate to be able to write something.

“May I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea… water?”

"Oh yes. A glass of water would be most refreshing, thank you." The quill immediately started scratching away at the parchment in such a furious manner that it seemed as though it would begin to tear it to shreds.


" Such an early morning seems to have taken its toll on Healer-in-Charge of the Creature-Induced Injuries department at St.Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Ailments. Miss Rita Skeeter, reporter for the Daily Prophet and allround woman of upstanding citizenship perches herself delicately on the edge of a worn chair.

The Healer's office seems as dark and worn as the man who inhabits it. The bleak walls reflect the boundaries that this man faces in life, the family man and Healer, the hero of the wizarding world. The carpet is thread-bare as is this poor man's soul. People have walked over his good fortune all of his life, and it is now beginning to catch up with him. "

The quill was like an overexcited chihuahua. Jason eyed it momentarily before letting his eyes glance back to her face. He wondered briefly if she knew the effects of too much makeup on the pores of the face, and decided to push that out. Some people chose to wear certain things, including obnoxiously bright colored lipstick and nail polish. If anything, it just made her more of who she was.

“Oh yes. A glass of water would be most refreshing, thank you.”

He had just started to push himself up off the desk when the quill started to make itself useful. Raising an eyebrow in its direction, he took in a slow breath before nodding. “Give me… just a moment then.” Stepping out of his office, leaving the door open, he wandered down quickly to get a glass of ice and water. Once that was done, he hurried back. Jason didn’t really like the idea of leaving her alone in his office. He preferred it plain and sparse as he didn’t spend much time in there. Best not to get comfortable.

Plus he’d left family photos up and didn’t need… any more fuel for her fire. Though he doubted she’d care much about that. Offering her the glass, he finally sat back down where he had before, holding his own quill he’d pulled from his inner breast pocket and tapping it back and forth between his fingers. Something to keep him busy while the pen finished up. Though he was interested in what it was writing, he kept his curiosity in check.

“How can I be of assistance, Miss Skeeter? I don’t want to keep you from your engagements.” He hoped she had some pressing conference or meeting or brunch to get to. Scratch that. Breakfast. Brunch would let her stay too long. Resting either palm on the edge of his desk, he leaned forward slightly, giving her his best disarming grin.

Moving a hand back, he finally reached his coffee mug. Picking it up, holding it tightly, he took a sip before it was set back on the desk top. Next time a little less sugar, perhaps. It was refreshing, at least.

Marren raised a skeptical eyebrow at the quill's scratching. "Oh ignore that." She advised with a wink. "Its just doing my writing for me. Such a drab job when one has to do it oneself."

He left the room to go and get her glass of water, which gave Rita the chance to look around properly. It was considered rude afterall to make a point of scrutinising one's possessions with that person in the room. She stood up and left the quill where it was, once again dancing in mid air desperate for words to be spoken. She made her way over to a set of drawers, on which were perched several photographs. Marren with a woman, presumeably his wife. Another of baby, only a few hours old by the looks of it. And another of Marren with the same woman and a toddler, a small boy who Rita assumed to be the boy in the previous photo.

Marren had been quick in fetching her glass of water back. She jumped as he entered the room again, turning away from the photos as quickly as she could. She didn't like to be caught prying into people's business, but that was how she created her best work. "Thank you." She said taking the cold glass from him. She sat back on the seat.

“How can I be of assistance, Miss Skeeter? I don’t want to keep you from your engagements.” Rita smiled and shook her head as she swallowed her first sip of water. "Oh no, not at all. Well, I did have a brunch to get to, but the person I was meeting knows how important my work is." She flashed a smile in which several of her gold teeth glinted in the harsh white light of the room. "She always expects that I won't turn up. Simply to avoid disappointment. We have all day, Healer Marren. Plenty of time to fine comb through the details."

Marren perched himself on the edge of the desk and Rita set her glass down on top of a Healthcare magazine. "Now." She said straightening up. "Lets get down to business." The quill spun up in the air with excitement as though doing a pirhouette. "Lets start at the beginning. How exactly did you feel when you received notification of the patient arriving at the hospital this morning?" She leaned forwards to make sure she heard every word correctly and pushed her glasses further up her nose. "In your own words, Healer Marren." she encouraged softly.

“Oh ignore that… It’s just doing my writing for me. Such a drab job when one has to do it oneself.”

That wink didn’t make him feel any more at ease. If anything, it only caused a little more worry. However, he merely nodded and gave her a reassured smile. He supposed when you worked with it for as long as she had, that annoying, almost nails against chalkboard noise just got to be white noise. “Whatever you need to help you with your job, Miss Skeeter.” Not that he was challenging her ability to do her job without it, of course.

When he got back with her water, he was slightly dismayed to see her looking with mild interest (a sideways glance would have made him think such with her) at his photographs. The little boy in the photo smiled and laughed before stomping in place while giving the picture taker a silly face. He loved that photo… “You’re welcome.”


“Oh no, not at all. Well, I did have a brunch to get to, but the person I was meeting knows how important my work is.”

He merely blinked and raised an eyebrow. What luck he had today. “Well… I suppose that’s to our advantage, then.” Fine comb. He figured if her ‘fine comb’ ever got to his hair, he’d go bald before he was ready. The very idea made him want to cringe; he had noticed his hair line pushing back farther at his temples the older he got. Still, it worked for him. Or seemed to, anyway.

“Now.”

He took in a breath through his nose, frowning slightly in thought as he nodded to her desire to get down to business. Best get to it as quickly as possible; that would make it quicker to get done with, right? The naivety he displayed could be considered cute by some, annoying by others.

“Let’s start at the beginning. How exactly did you feel when you received notification of the patient arriving at the hospital this morning? In your own words, Healer Marren.”

He did pause at that, frowning slightly. How was that going to write the article? If it was a purely objective one about the situation… then why did his feelings or emotions matter? Rubbing his chin in thought, he let out a soft chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck. “Why don’t you fill me in on what you know of the situation, Miss Skeeter, and I’ll gladly fill in any blank spots you have.” He had to be careful about this.

It was his job on the line if he let it out wrong.

“Why don’t you fill me in on what you know of the situation, Miss Skeeter, and I’ll gladly fill in any blank spots you have.”

Oho! Rita eyed the Healer in a new light. The man wasn't stupid. Not that she had ever expected him to be, but it was always good to know that those in charge of saving your life had at least something between their ears. The corners of her lips curled up into a wry smile and she leant back further in her chair, relaxing a little now she knew she could speak to him in plain terms. She picked up the quill and placed a paperweight on top of it. The wizarding world was not interested in what she knew. They wanted to know the real deal from the primary source. She clasped her hands together and rested them on her lap.

"Very well." She said after a short pause. "As I'm aware, a man was brought here in the early hours of this morning. Transferred from a hospital in Romania...Craiova district, if I'm not mistaken. My sources have informed me that the gentleman, by the name of Noah Sterling had been transferred from the hospital after sustaining serious injuries from an Antipodean Opaleye, a young dragon that had been imported from New Zealand." She paused and checked Marren's expression. "It is widely known - at least by people who are familiar with this situation - that Mister Sterling was in fact stable when he was transferred here. And yet," she looked at the quill wriggling to get free of the paperweight, "he lost his life?" She asked quietly. Her eyes wandered back up to meet Marren's.

"How is that, Healer Marren? How can a man be stable upon arriving at the best wizarding hospital in the world, with the best trained staff...and not come out alive?"

He watched what she did, raising an eyebrow in curiosity at the paperweight she picked up. Then, when she put it on top of the quill, he let out a quick breath that was a soft chuckle before letting his eyes flitter back to her face.  If the quill could stay there, then perhaps this wouldn’t be such an exhausting meeting after all. He doubted it would stay smothered under the weight of the oversized dark green rock, however, with its master mere centimeters away.

Come to think of it… that rock had been a lovely ‘present’ from a trip a certain someone had taken years ago. A reminder of things she could easily throw at him, perhaps. Shaking his head, he settled in to hear what Miss Rita Skeeter had heard.

“Very well.”

Listening to what she said, he frowned in thought, letting his hands rest on the side of the desk. Her sources had to be on the inside for some of that information. When it seemed to end with when the man got to St. Mungo’s, however, he felt a swell of pride. At least his staff had, for now, kept their mouths shut. He merely pursed his lips to the side when she paused, waiting for anything else. Then she stated a broad ‘known’ fact that the patient had been stable.

“-And yet… he lost his life?”

He felt any chance of a smile fading as he rolled the weight of the world off his shoulders with a slight shrug. It was a question. She knew something had happened, didn’t know what. He heard her last two questions; looking down at her, he finally let out a sigh and sat up straight, hands clasped lightly in his lap. Dealing with the press was normally handed off to someone else, but on occasion he, and other in-charges, had to deal with them. He thought about it a moment, and the wishes of the family, before responding carefully.

“Hypothetically?” Pausing for a brief moment to show that he was proceeding as if it were. “If a man or woman came to St. Mungo’s stable and then ended up passing… something happened that caused him to become quite unstable to the point quick and correct interventions were useless.” Pausing again, he shifted slightly on the desk, looking more at ease even though he wasn’t. Lifting his mug to his lips, he took a sip before proceeding. “In this example, and I’ll keep it purely hypothetical for now… If a person were transported from somewhere in Romania where he was stable, he could become unstable anywhere in between. How did they bring him in? Did they fly? Apparate? Floo perhaps? All those play a factor in what possible complications can arise.”

He was really just beating around the bush. He hadn’t gotten the actual report on what the hospital wanted to come out and say. Noah Sterling had been well known in the creature community, and would be missed. Watching her a moment, he waited for the next attack. It felt like a well rehearsed duel. Or perhaps not well rehearsed as more of a well prepared one. He wasn’t sure what she might throw at him next.

Rita listened intently as Marren spoke of hypothetical situations. Her eyes flickered to the quill, still trying with all of its might to free itself from the clutches of the evil paperweight. Rita rested a finger on it, almost as though hushing it so she could concentrate on Marren's little speech. The movement was stemmed, at least for the moment. She let her eyes move back to Marren as he took a sip of his coffee. Instinctly Rita picked up her own glass and took a sip, wiping the condensation that had dripped onto her hand on her green cloak.

"All those play a factor in what possible complications can arise.”

He had finished. Rita set her glass back down on the magazine entitled Wand or Weed; A Healer's digest of Magical Medicine and looked at the Healer with a knowing expression. "That's all very well, Healer Marren." She stated in calm voice, her eyes narrowing slightly as though scrutinising him through her glasses. "But this is not a hypothetical situation, is it?" She sighed. "I - my readers - want answers, Healer Marren. They don't want to hear about what could have happened, they want to know what did happen." She shook her head. "The sad thing is, this will all come out eventually. And in the wrong context. Who will look like the antagonist then?" She raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows at him. "It is not your staff who will bear the brunt of this unfortunate incident. It is you. Healer-in-Charge. You are the one sacrificing your reputation."

Her eyes flicked for the shortest of seconds over to the photographs on the drawers. "And your family." She said, pity in her voice. "Your delightful little family. Could they deal with all of the bad publicity?"

“That’s all very well, Healer Marren… But this is not a hypothetical situation, is it?”

It all applied to the same thing. Same protocol was used in similar situations. It was like werewolf bites; you gave the same medications for it. Or the recent Runespoor activity… The hospital was always a controlled chaotic environment, with procedures set up for certain things so that it didn’t feel like you were running around with your head cut off when you were thrown into something unexpected. Still, he was slightly surprised (though why he wasn’t sure; she was a reporter) that she got around his little speech so quickly. He merely shrugged half heartedly at her rhetorical question.

“I – my readers – want answers, Healer Marren. They don’t want to hear about what could have happened, they want to know what did happen.”

Her readers… Attempting to not scoff at that, he took in a slow breath and reassessed her. His mind played over the events of the early morning, trying to think of the easiest way to put it out that it would comply with the hospital policy and the patient’s right to privacy. Frowning as she started to turn it around, he forced his hands to stay where they were though they itched to be across his chest. He’d not sat behind his desk for this interview so that she couldn’t ever start to lean forward to get that ‘I’m above you’ condescending attitude, and yet…

“And your family… Your delightful little family. Could they deal with all of the bad publicity?”

Then he felt a little angry, as well as a bit apprehensive. Fiona didn’t need anything negative in the papers, what with her project at the museum. Pulling his wand out, he glanced to the photos as well, making a small movement and muttering a spell to make them turn over on to their faces. Pocketing it again, he looked to her, obviously unenthused. “I do hope you’re not attempting to bribe or threaten me into this story, Miss Skeeter. My family is certainly not necessary to bring into our conversation.”

After a few more moments of thinking, he continued. “The problem with your interview and what you want to know is that every patient has the right to privacy, as do their families.” Crossing his arms over his lap in a relaxed pose, he shrugged. “As I said I will fill in blanks in what you know, but I can’t condemn anyone. Everything was done to save Mr. Sterling. All I can tell you is what we at St. Mungo’s did, of course.”

Another brief moment and he raised an eyebrow at her. “There will be press releases later in the day, of course.” Shrugging slightly, he let his hands rest once again on the desk, leaning forward slightly. “The man arrived, we stabilized him from the trip, and then found he was losing a lot of blood. We did everything we could to stop it and replenish it, but it was too late.” That was a good gist of what happened… left out some of the more important and tiring things that went on but… She didn’t need to know that right then.

She had certainly ruffled a few feathers. Jason pulled out his wand and Rita watched as, with a swift flick, the photos fell face down on the drawers. She blinked as he put the wand away and turned back to her. He was exquisitely mysterious. That expression was unfathomable.

“I do hope you’re not attempting to bribe or threaten me into this story, Miss Skeeter. My family is certainly not necessary to bring into our conversation.” Rita chuckled. "Oh no, healer marren. You have me all wrong." She crossed one leg over the other. "I'm simply looking after your welfare." She gave a winning smile, as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

After a few moments of thinking, Jason spoke up again. “The problem with your interview and what you want to know is that every patient has the right to privacy, as do their families.” Rita shook her head. "I simply want to know what will be later released - but a little earlier." She sighed and pulled the paperweight off the quill. It began scratching at the paper again. Rita felt that this was the turning point in their discussion - she would get something out of him, and everything needed to be documented from this moment forth.

“The man arrived, we stabilized him from the trip, and then found he was losing a lot of blood. We did everything we could to stop it and replenish it, but it was too late.” Rita drummed her fingers on the desk as she listened. A small frown formed on her red lips. "My information tells me otherwise. According to my sources, the gentleman in question was already stable when he arrived here. He was brought here only for recovery." She eyed the healer warily. "It would do to remember who you are speaking with, Healer Marren." Rita warned, raising an eyebrow. "I am not a reporter who has nothing between her ears. I won't be taken for a ride."

Looking after his welfare. How sweet of her! If only he were so easily convinced of her innocence and worry for his wellbeing. He was sure he was more on the dot than her disbelief could say. Quite the silver tongue she had. “Then let us stick to me and leave my photos out of this.” He didn’t like the idea of it at all. Little Aidan hadn’t done anything in his short life, and Fiona hadn’t recently… well, to anyone else anyway. His guilt nagged at him but he pushed it aside while he watched the woman in front of him.

“I simply want to know what will be later released – but a little earlier.”

How convenient for her. He couldn’t help the grit of his teeth when the quill came out and started to go to town on her parchment, his jaw set as he imagined setting it on fire. He kept his opinion to himself, and his wand in check. The flare of anger at mention of his family started to ebb away the longer he had time to think it over. She was just trying some silly tactic… right?

“My information tells me otherwise. According to my sources, the gentleman in question as already stable when he arrived here. He was brought here only for recovery.”

A brief flash of uncertainty entered his eyes before he frowned slightly. Her sources had to be someone on the inside then. Cursing his luck, he merely raised an eyebrow and waited, watching her face. Wonderful… now he had to backtrack and explain himself. And that quill was back out…

“It would do to remember who you are speaking with, Healer Marren… I am not a reporter who has nothing between her ears. I won’t be taken for a ride.”

Who would mistakenly take her for any type of ride? He kept his opinion on that in check as well. Taking in a slow breath, his chest rising, he let it out just as slow, finally putting on a small smile. “Then we understand each other.” He didn’t want his family brought up, and she wanted the real story. He would try and give her the best one he could come up with. “When a patient arrives from a long distance, he can become unstable during the trip. It’s always protocol that no matter the situation, we attempt to stabilize from the start.”

Pausing a moment, he put a hand out and waved it a moment. “So we did stabilize him when he got in.” What else had he said? Blood… yes. “For a period of time a person can appear stable even if they are losing blood at a rate we don’t want. Especially if it is in their chest or abdomen cavity.” Making a motion to his chest and then abdomen area respectively, he shrugged. “Internal injuries are a greater concern than those they patched up at the hospital he was at prior to being transferred. You can’t see the damage until you look with your wand.”

“At the time we realized that was the problem… emergency surgery and life saving techniques were employed to try and keep him stable. And as I said… it was too late for the blood replenishing and other life saving attempts.” There… he hadn’t gone back on what he said, and had made it appear more full and believable. He didn’t mention how long it took them to realize he was bleeding so much into the chest cavity, nor that by the time they started surgery he was fairly gone all ready. Those were inappropriate points to mention. And it had been around the start of the surgery he’d been called in.

The quill scratched away furiously. It was quite an annoying sound to the untrained ear, but to Rita the sound was simply wonderful - the sound of new thoughts being transcribed and made into a reality.

“Then let us stick to me and leave my photos out of this.” Rita's eyes lit up slightly. She could understand someone not wishing to discuss their personal life, but there was something else in his voice as he spoke. Worry, perhaps? Her eyes narrowed as she studied his expression. That jaw, solid and set, the gritting of his teeth. There was definitely something more to this story that he wasn't saying, and there was more than certainly a particular reason he didn't want to spill. Rita highly doubted that it was due to the proprietors of St.Mungo's pushing their thumb on him - he was a big boy, afterall. He had been doing this job for a while now, and was more than capable of handling situations like this.

And Rita had interviewed many Healers with regards to incidents that had taken place at this hospital over her years. Only now had she come across one so unwilling to share his experience - how curious. This made Rita even more cerain that it was not his position in the hospital that was causing him to be so closed off.

“Then we understand each other.” Rita nodded. "So it seems, Healer Marren. If you will." She motioned with her hand for him to continue speaking. "And as I said… it was too late for the blood replenishing and other life saving attempts.” Rita watched him for a few moments before speaking.

"Your reluctance to tell the truth seems strange to me. I have interviewed various other healers regarding other incidents that have taken place here, and never in all my time have I had such difficulty getting the simplest of stories onto paper." She tutted and shook her head as she stood up from her chair and made ready to leave. "Perhaps you should speak to Miranda Elliot about acceptable ettiquette when being interviewed by the Prophet. I didn't have any problems the last time I interviewed her. She was your colleague once, was she not?"