IC Inbox for Ryslig

[certaininequities]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, DR_OSBORN.

FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 243.720.373.632

*** USERNAME has joined 243.720.373.632
<DR_OSBORN> You've reached Dr. Norman Osborn.
<DR_OSBORN> Please leave a message: I'll respond as promptly as possible.

Other Handles:
[Back2Formula] regular anon * [Pierglass] trolling anon * [LutinVert] Goblin/Alton Mode * [EpigaeaMemoriam] Support Group anon

Comments

<DrOsborn>

[certaininequities]

Don't worry about it. I have a practically non-existent staff, it's just me and two other people. And I'm flush from doing some small chemical work for local pharmacies. Consider it a boost to help you get settled here. So many people helped me when I arrived, I'm just paying it forward.

[goryteller]

[But I need something to distract me, is what he wants to say. I need to get out of this fucking flat before I lose my mind.

Instead, he says: ]

Thank you for your generosity, Dr. Osborn. You won't regret hiring me.

[certaininequities]

I look forward to it. You're welcome to come over to the building before hand, if you'd like. I can give you a tour.

[goryteller]

I would like that very much.

When?

[certaininequities]

Whenever is most convenient. I could even meet you there this afternoon if it works for you. I'm going in to work on some of those side projects I mentioned.

[goryteller]

That's great. That sounds great.

I'll be there.

[And he is. He arrives a little after noon, wearing borrowed clothes and fidgeting with the bits that are too big for him.

If the doors are unlocked, he'll wander into the lobby, aimless and anxious. If they're locked, he'll pace near the front steps.]

[certaininequities]

[they are, indeed, unlocked. the tall building looks normal enough from the outside, but the lobby itself is ... certainly a sight. the inside has been constructed to look like an outside - specifically, if someone took Times Square, stuffed it in a blender, and then painted the resulting slurry on the walls. neon and billboards jut out at odd angles. there's an ad for whiskey, a Broadway poster for Feline Royalty! The Musical!, snd a neon Cola-Coca sign. Mana tried her best, okay. He said it was in New York, and she'd tried to put in as much New York Stuff as she could ... right down to the hot dog cart between the elevator and the reception desk, which appears to be fully stocked. the elevator dings and Norman walks out - human save for his green pallor, blunted claws, yellow eyes, and the six spider legs protruding from either side of his spine. his smile is full of sharp teeth, but still somehow warm, as he approaches wearing a lab coat that's been expertly tailored to allow for all the extra appendages]

Katurian, I presume. Welcome to Oscorp.

[goryteller]

[This is a lot.

He's not sure what he expected when he walked into a research institute, but he knows it wasn't this. When Norman emerges from the elevator, he'll find Katurian looking a bit like a rural tourist in his first subway station. Confused. Intimidated. Maybe a little frightened.]

Hah?

[It takes several seconds for Norman's words to register.]

Sorry. I... erm. [Remembering himself, he extends a hand to shake.] Yes.

[certaininequities]

It's something, isn't it? Trust me, the lab itself is normal, the lobby is the worst of it.

[his handshake is brief, firm, the perfect professional greeting.]

Has anyone told you about Mana, yet? And the coins?

[goryteller]

[Katurian's handshake isn't very practiced or professional, but he makes an effort.]

Sometimes, they show up under your pillow.

[It conjures up images of the tooth fairy. Even when he was a child, he found the notion disturbing, trading body parts for coins.

But what does Mana take from you in lieu of teeth?]

You can use them to purchase another feeding method, if you'd like.

[certaininequities]

Yes, you've got part of it. People can also buy things from their homes - which is how I got Oscorp. But the trick is, when you ask for things, you need to be very specific, or she takes ... liberties.

[he chuckles]

I said I wanted my New York office, and ... she tried to make part of it actually New York.

[goryteller]

[He smiles a little. It's funny, he thinks, trying to shove a city inside of a building. And not much has been funny since his arrival here.]

Ha.

[It's a laugh, or at least an approximation of one.]

But the labs look normal?

[certaininequities]

THey certainly do - or at least, what passed for normal in 2002, in New York. I'm still getting used to having to specify that sort of thing, here.

[he leads Katurian toward the elevators with the easy stride of a man on his home turf]

So, if you don't mind my asking, what did you do for a living where you're from?

[goryteller]

[He winces in anticipation of his own answer, stepping into the elevator. ]

I worked at an abattoir. Cleaning up animals. Blood. Other things.

[He doesn't meet Norman's eyes when he says it. ]

I didn't like it, but the people who ran it were willing to look the other way. I was quite young when I started and no one else would hire me.

[He worries with his hands, fidgeting with the zipper on his coat.]

My parents died when I was fourteen.

cw: alcoholism, bad family dynamics

[certaininequities]

[a year in Ryslig has desensitized Norman to some degree, so the word 'abbatoir' doesn't startle him as much as it may have before. the elevator doors slip closed as he pushes the button to take them to the fourth floor, and he folds his hands in front of him as he listens. Norman does note Katurian's discomfort, though, and surmises that if it were the only job available to him, he'd feel very uncomfortable about it, too.

and then ... well, it just gets worse. he's in the middle of a patient, understanding nod when Katurian drops that last bomb, and his eyes widen]

Fourteen-?! That ... oh. Oh my God. Were they ... good to you? Do you miss them?

[he doesn't realize that that isn't exactly the first thing MOST people would say when hearing that a boy lost his parents when he was barely a teen. but given the amount of days and nights he'd wished he'd wake up to find that his own father had finally pushed his liver to the breaking point ... well.]

[goryteller]

[The question's prescience catches him off guard, and so he laughs, shifting his weight a little as the elevator goes up. ]

No. Not at all.

[It's a little more complicated than that -- sometimes his parents were very good to him, but it's easier to leave that unexplained. ]

[certaininequities]

Then that's what I'm more sorry to hear. That, and that your only option to support yourself was to work in a place like that.

[he pauses, then gives a soft chuckle of his own]

No wonder you weren't bothered by Emily's lack of tact. Regardless, you won't hurt for options, here. And I'll certainly never ask you to put yourself to any task you aren't comfortable with.

[the elevator gives a soft, pleasant ding, and the doors slide open to reveal a hallway much more like what Katurian may have been envisioning: clean walls and floors, off-white and pale gray with deep green accents at the door jambs and the sills of the windows that look into the sectioned off laboratory spaces. Most of them are pristine with lack of use, but Norman steers them toward the one section with racks of tubes and several tools laid out upon the tables.]

The main laboratory is this way. My adopted son, Peter, has a workspace here, but it's for his own personal use and projects, so you won't need to worry about knowing where that is.