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Contact Post
25 August 2037 23:55 |  |
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The office is just where it's always been, and thankfully, there's no mind tricks that hide it from view this time. There between the glassware shop and the pharmacy is a sturdy polished door with an embossed brass nameplate bolted to the wall next to it: DR. ALAN J. HILL, MD, MPH.
Stepping inside leads to a nicely-furnished waiting room; handsome dark wooden furniture, comfy red upholstered sofas, a decent selection of Nexus magazines laid out for those looking to kill some time before their appointment. (Titles include CHOWDOWN, the leading reviews of Nexus restaurants and bars, SERVOS, a periodical for the robotic denizens of the Nexus, and WHOOPS!, a guide and advice publication focusing on LOLs, curses and similiar.) Soothing classical music is piped in by a speaker resting up on top of a bookshelf. There's no receptionist or desk designated for such. The door to the doctor's office is closed.
But after a certain point, the door opens and one of the poor mixed-up boys is called in. Looks like we're going about this one by one.
The office space is a warmly lit by streaming sunlight through a window opposite of the door. Despite the office being ground level in the Nexus, the window is clearly looking down from second floor vantage, overlooking a park and busy thoroughfare. The weather is sunny with a bit of cloud cover with no sign of snow. It looks to be a nice spring day, honestly. Out of place and strange with the cold and wintery look of the Nexus as of late.
Floor to ceiling bookshelves, an old fashioned victrola softly playing Bach, stained wood filing cabinets, a three-sectioned painting of a distinctly religious (rather demonic) nature, the familiar desk that often shows up along with the doctor in the Nexus. The banker's light, the metronome, the nameplate. The doctor himself is seated there, hands folded on the desk and wearing a smile.
After a gesture towards the open chair opposite of him, he asks, "So! Where shall we begin?"
Stepping inside leads to a nicely-furnished waiting room; handsome dark wooden furniture, comfy red upholstered sofas, a decent selection of Nexus magazines laid out for those looking to kill some time before their appointment. (Titles include CHOWDOWN, the leading reviews of Nexus restaurants and bars, SERVOS, a periodical for the robotic denizens of the Nexus, and WHOOPS!, a guide and advice publication focusing on LOLs, curses and similiar.) Soothing classical music is piped in by a speaker resting up on top of a bookshelf. There's no receptionist or desk designated for such. The door to the doctor's office is closed.
But after a certain point, the door opens and one of the poor mixed-up boys is called in. Looks like we're going about this one by one.
The office space is a warmly lit by streaming sunlight through a window opposite of the door. Despite the office being ground level in the Nexus, the window is clearly looking down from second floor vantage, overlooking a park and busy thoroughfare. The weather is sunny with a bit of cloud cover with no sign of snow. It looks to be a nice spring day, honestly. Out of place and strange with the cold and wintery look of the Nexus as of late.
Floor to ceiling bookshelves, an old fashioned victrola softly playing Bach, stained wood filing cabinets, a three-sectioned painting of a distinctly religious (rather demonic) nature, the familiar desk that often shows up along with the doctor in the Nexus. The banker's light, the metronome, the nameplate. The doctor himself is seated there, hands folded on the desk and wearing a smile.
After a gesture towards the open chair opposite of him, he asks, "So! Where shall we begin?"
The office is on a quiet side street of the otherwise bustling Commercial District, tucked between a pharmacy and a glassware shop. It's easy to miss; in fact, it's not uncommon that someone looking for the practice wouldn't even see it until they walked past it once or twice. And good luck noticing it at all if you aren't seeking the good Dr. Hill.
There is no waiting room; the front door opens right into his office. Floor to ceiling bookshelves, an old fashioned victrola softly playing Bach, stained wood filing cabinets, paintings of a distinctly religious (possibly demonic) baroque nature, a desk identical to the one that had been in the Nexus upon their first meeting. There's the banker's light, the metronome, along with an embossed silver nameplate and a handsome little stone statue of a black panther.
Regardless of how quick she may have travelled or the fact she did not see him in passing, the doctor is standing at the broad and bright window on northern wall. A window that should be facing nothing but a brick wall, had she paid attention to the orientation of the street and building before entering. But soft, yellow sunlight filters through and there is the distant sound of traffic. He appears to be watching it with mild interest by the time he hears the door open.
"Ah! So glad you could make it. Please, have a seat, and we can begin."
There is no waiting room; the front door opens right into his office. Floor to ceiling bookshelves, an old fashioned victrola softly playing Bach, stained wood filing cabinets, paintings of a distinctly religious (possibly demonic) baroque nature, a desk identical to the one that had been in the Nexus upon their first meeting. There's the banker's light, the metronome, along with an embossed silver nameplate and a handsome little stone statue of a black panther.
Regardless of how quick she may have travelled or the fact she did not see him in passing, the doctor is standing at the broad and bright window on northern wall. A window that should be facing nothing but a brick wall, had she paid attention to the orientation of the street and building before entering. But soft, yellow sunlight filters through and there is the distant sound of traffic. He appears to be watching it with mild interest by the time he hears the door open.
"Ah! So glad you could make it. Please, have a seat, and we can begin."
An address can be a tricky thing in a place like the Nexus, with the commotion of doors coming and going (quite literally) and physical landmarks not always where you saw them last. The commercial district at least seems to keep a little more concrete than other regions, and that's where the business card said to go. Though it might still take some doing to locate this particular practice. Viatorus likely may find himself walking past a pharmacy and a glassware shop twice or thrice before the next pass reveals the office to be between the two, plain as day but somehow overlooked until this very moment. Almost as if this location didn't care to reveal itself until it chose to.
Inside, there is no foyer or waiting room. It opens immediately into a handsomely furnished office. A record player next to a wall of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves softly emits classical piano music. Other features include high-back leather chairs, dark-stained wooden filing cabinets and the faint smell of vanilla tea. The place is warmly lit by large picture windows opposite of the entrance door allowing in afternoon sunlight. Regardless of what time it was when Viatorus decided to drop by, and disregarding the fact the windows from the outside should face a brick wall.
To Viatorus' right, there is a polished oak desk. Along with a green banker's light, a selection of fountain pens, framed photos and a small black stone statue of a panther, there is a name plate set in embossed silver: DR A.J. HILL.
There is a chair waiting in front of this desk. It looks comfortable enough.
Though the doctor himself does not seem to be present at this moment, maybe taking a seat while one waits for his return isn't so bad. Going on the state of the place, he must not be far.
Inside, there is no foyer or waiting room. It opens immediately into a handsomely furnished office. A record player next to a wall of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves softly emits classical piano music. Other features include high-back leather chairs, dark-stained wooden filing cabinets and the faint smell of vanilla tea. The place is warmly lit by large picture windows opposite of the entrance door allowing in afternoon sunlight. Regardless of what time it was when Viatorus decided to drop by, and disregarding the fact the windows from the outside should face a brick wall.
To Viatorus' right, there is a polished oak desk. Along with a green banker's light, a selection of fountain pens, framed photos and a small black stone statue of a panther, there is a name plate set in embossed silver: DR A.J. HILL.
There is a chair waiting in front of this desk. It looks comfortable enough.
Though the doctor himself does not seem to be present at this moment, maybe taking a seat while one waits for his return isn't so bad. Going on the state of the place, he must not be far.
