The Doctor's Heart

The Attendings of Faith Hall General

Riza woken to a fairly peaceful room, unlike her normal mornings of running women trying to get ready for the day in a haste with makeup flying everywhere. Nor a sleep deprived Nat who stumbled in from a night of 'fun'. Just a calmness, a calmness that unnerved the trauma surgeon. A calm before a storm hit, she didn't like it. Riza couldn't decide what was the storm yet but a storm it was.

She hopped out of bed, going to her small cedar truck she stored under her bed and pulling out the soft deep azure scrubs her kept stored in the bottom. She had to reach past several years of memory. A torn lace wedding dress stained with mostly tequila, several worn leather diaries, a lighter baby blue pair of scrubs and a fairly new and slightly used prom dress to get to the scrubs of Faith Hall General. It had been a while since her intern years. That hospital made her into the woman she was today. She changed, slowly. Feeling nostalgic about wearing her old scrubs. How many times had this shirt been pulled off in haste to well... A sly grin tugged on her lips. As heated memories played in her mind. Or these draw strings been yanked at, post haste. She laughed to herself before more sobering memories plagued her. And how much blood did she had to scrub out of this uniform after an emergency trauma case? Rize remembered that it had been drenched with blood after a severed artery. Riza hummed a familiar tune to herself as she slipped her feet into those clunky white shoes. Extremely comfortable and soft but not pleasing to the eye. She finished the look with a white lab coat with silver threads that spelled Dr Goldeneye Riza MD, head of Trauma.

Riza eyed herself in Nat's mirror. She looked like a surgeon again. Dressed for the OR. Ready for surgery, prepared to save lives. She looked like herself. To finish off her old look, she twisted the mass of purple hair up into a tight bun. Pinning it in place with a rubber band and a few pins. Chasing the stray violet strands away with a couple more pins. Riza stared at her face, she looked so different from her resident years. Older and sterner, not so innocent. A knock startled her out of her trance. "Yes?" She asked, smoothing down her scrubs.

"Are you ready, Riza?" Benn's voice echoed through out the empty room.

Riza casted one last look at her appearance and said, firmly and strode purposely to the door. "Yes, I'm ready." She opened the door and looked at a tired looking Benn. "I'm guessing you're ready too?"

"Yeah." Benn answered, sounding equally tired. The tall man pushed off the walls that he had been leaning against with his bulky arms crossed. "What's with the getup?"

"It's just my old scrubs." She answered, feeling a bit defensive about her sentimental clothes. She started walking down the hall that led to the latter. "Let's go, I need to see my persons."
She murmured as she climbed.

"Persons?" Benn echoed.

"People who understand me when I don't understand me." Riza answered, bringing a hand up over her eyes to shield herself from the harsh rays of the sun. Slightly surprised to find none of that. Her eyes found the image of the seaside town and the fishing port. Her island was a wintery island that always seemed to rain half of the year or it would snow the other half. Only a handful of days out of the year had no rain or snow whatsoever. Those were very few to come by.

It was raining now, soft drops pelted the water surrounding the Red Dawn and the docks. A thick mist curling around the island and the ship. The moisture dampening her skin before a drop of rain could. She moved to the side of the ship, her gaze lingering on the large ferry boats that would travel from island to island. They carried passengers who worked on the largest island in the archipelago but lived elsewhere. And the smaller fishing boats would dodge the massive and extremely slow ships to reach their fishing spot. Riza had treated a lot of the fishermen on her island, coming into her ER for one reason or another. All related to fishing, of course. All of them knew her by name because of their frequent visits. A handful died on her table.