Post by Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask on Jul 19, 2014 8:38:30 GMT -5
During daylight hours let it be known that Jeremiah Arkham more often than not followed all health code restrictions. He refrained from smoking inside any building of Arkham Asylum and took his smoke breaks out on the front steps of Arkham Mansion. But right now it wasn’t day and he’d clocked out from his job over ten minutes ago.
Jeremiah Arkham walked from the men’s restroom, coffee cup dangling from hand, a lit cigarette hanging from between his lips as he walked down the hall and reentered his office. The coffee cup he placed in a small cupboard that sat above his couch and when that task was done, he removed the cigarette from his lips and blew the smoke from his mouth while he moved again to sit behind his desk. He tapped the cigarette on the lip of his dark, blue ashtray and set it down as his attention shifted to his computer. With a few clicks he was signed and the computer shutting down. It was all a routine as little by little he disconnected himself from Arkham Asylum more and more. He had been expected home an hour ago, but he was in no hurry to get there and more and more his work was keeping him later and later. That night it’d been a fight erupting in the last block of recreation time. Jeremiah spied the almost completed report sitting on his desk and snatched the forms before placing them in a manila envelope. This he placed in the briefcase he pulled from beside his desk along with several other envelopes and various folders. Even when Jeremiah had a day off, it never really was without work.
He snapped the briefcase closed and for a moment removed his glasses and rubbed his temples. He was ready for home. Ready to walk in the door, kick off his shoes, and grab a glass of scotch before he disrobed and climbed in bed. He vaguely wondered if he was hungry or just so tired his stomach was queasy? It was necessarily a physical weariness as much as a mental fatigue that bore into his skull. He pushed away from the desk, replacing his glasses and picked up his cigarette again. He took a long drag as he took his white coat from the back of his chair and searched it for anything he’d need to take home. Once that quest was satisfied he crossed the room to hang on off his coat rack.
That was when he heard the front doors of the Mansion open.
With a frustrated sigh, he moved out of his office. He didn’t hear the nightguard of Mansion and worked his mouth. Probably on break. Of course.
He smoothed his tie and began down the hall. He began speaking before he fully entered the entrance way.
“I’m sorry but the Asylum is-”
He stopped as he saw just who was had walked in. His displeasure disappeared and was replaced by surprise and curiosity. Why was he visiting so late? Still Jeremiah cleared his throat and strode to close the distance between them.
“Dr. Elliot, you’re…visiting at an unusual hour,” he said politely and held out his hand for the man.
Jeremiah Arkham walked from the men’s restroom, coffee cup dangling from hand, a lit cigarette hanging from between his lips as he walked down the hall and reentered his office. The coffee cup he placed in a small cupboard that sat above his couch and when that task was done, he removed the cigarette from his lips and blew the smoke from his mouth while he moved again to sit behind his desk. He tapped the cigarette on the lip of his dark, blue ashtray and set it down as his attention shifted to his computer. With a few clicks he was signed and the computer shutting down. It was all a routine as little by little he disconnected himself from Arkham Asylum more and more. He had been expected home an hour ago, but he was in no hurry to get there and more and more his work was keeping him later and later. That night it’d been a fight erupting in the last block of recreation time. Jeremiah spied the almost completed report sitting on his desk and snatched the forms before placing them in a manila envelope. This he placed in the briefcase he pulled from beside his desk along with several other envelopes and various folders. Even when Jeremiah had a day off, it never really was without work.
He snapped the briefcase closed and for a moment removed his glasses and rubbed his temples. He was ready for home. Ready to walk in the door, kick off his shoes, and grab a glass of scotch before he disrobed and climbed in bed. He vaguely wondered if he was hungry or just so tired his stomach was queasy? It was necessarily a physical weariness as much as a mental fatigue that bore into his skull. He pushed away from the desk, replacing his glasses and picked up his cigarette again. He took a long drag as he took his white coat from the back of his chair and searched it for anything he’d need to take home. Once that quest was satisfied he crossed the room to hang on off his coat rack.
That was when he heard the front doors of the Mansion open.
With a frustrated sigh, he moved out of his office. He didn’t hear the nightguard of Mansion and worked his mouth. Probably on break. Of course.
He smoothed his tie and began down the hall. He began speaking before he fully entered the entrance way.
“I’m sorry but the Asylum is-”
He stopped as he saw just who was had walked in. His displeasure disappeared and was replaced by surprise and curiosity. Why was he visiting so late? Still Jeremiah cleared his throat and strode to close the distance between them.
“Dr. Elliot, you’re…visiting at an unusual hour,” he said politely and held out his hand for the man.
