"G-G-Good morning, Dr. Dagon!" Doc seems in relatively high spirits, a cup of coffee clutched in each leather-gloved hand as he shuffles into the Morgue, the younger doctor's usual tan trench coat quickly hung beside the door and one cup handed over to Felicity before he pauses to take a sip of his own. "J-just us t-today I take it? D-Didn't see Dr. H-Hunt on my way in, s-so I only g-grabbed two cups of coffee." He scrunches his nose a little at his own cup- it's never particularly good coffee here in Huntsville, but people under the threat of an eldrich horror can't be choosy, Doc reasons.
"I m-m-managed to catalogue the f-few n-new arrivals w-we had last night before I went home, n-nothing out of the n-norm, just some a-ah, old a-age decedents from the n-nursing home, th-they're in drawers six and f-f-four." He skirts around Felicity carefully, moving to the file cabinet behind the desk. "I d-don't think we have a-autopsy requests for them, b-but preliminaries are d-done. N-No ah, 'potential c-cult activity' or 't-tentacle-related injuries' to speak of. A p-pair of phrases I d-don't think I'll e-ever get used to- d-do you get used to th-that?"
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