forensisch - Tumblr blog

[forensisch]

“well… it’s hard to forget such a striking colour.” faces, after a while, had a tendency to blend into each other, blur, and melt in abstract ways until nothing was remotely recognisable, and johann had to rub at his eyes in hopes of fixing the issue. he never seemed to have that problem with the good doctor. “and it’s not as much as i should have known—want to know.”

he’s a little taken aback by the question and, for a moment, falls into a pensive silence. “of course not. i don’t think i would know what to do with myself if you were to die before me.” the thought alone settles unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach.

@forensisch from x

"You're the only one who knows my eye color. And a few other things; more than anyone else. I am flattered." He is. He really is. Even after their time apart, it warms his heart to be so known. "Is this so you can match it with glass eyes should I die and become a taxidermy project for you?" The thought doesn't offend him; this is an honest question.

[forensisch]

not many people know or have interacted with johann, but i think the ‘how well do you know’ quiz would be fun to do… however thinking of questions is harder than i thought.

[forensisch]

“family?” johann is unable to stifle his laugh, and there’s a bitter edge to it that’s sharper than the scalpels arranged in a neat row at the far end of the room. “no, no. i don’t have any of that here. if i did, mother would be far too worried for my well-being, and father, well…” he trails off, a glassy-eyed stare accompanying the silence that falls between them. thankfully, it doesn't last long, and johann is quick to snap out of it and continue the conversation as if nothing had happened.

“but gotham has been a delight so far, and there’s no shortage of patients.” willing, or otherwise. “though, i have heard a few strange things over the radio.” the most notable of which being the frequent mentions of bats and clowns, but other than that, johann has been enjoying his time in the city quite a bit.

“hm?” his attention is momentarily pulled away from the small bottle of anesthesia in his hand and back to his patient. “oh! just an... interesting piece of information i thought was fitting given the nature of your wound.” while johann talks, he gathers an innocuous-looking syringe from the tray situated besides him and fills it halfway before freeing any air bubbles that may have been trapped inside with a few quick taps of his finger. then, without warning, he injects its contents—a mixture of lidocaine and epinephrine that will both numb the area and hopefully help stop the bleeding—around and into barton’s injury.

he only needs to wait a few minutes for it to take effect, so he starts to prepare a needle and thread in the meantime.

in a way, johann and barton weren't so different — what with him also learning not to ask questions pretty early on in his career as a quote unquote 'crime doctor' himself. it was as the saying said: curiosity killed the cat, and the less barton knew about his patients, the better, as that would implicate the both of them. patching up criminals technically isn't illegal in and of itself after all, but helping them evade justice is. barton had about enough thinking about that now, however, as his arms rippled with goosebumps. although it wasn't cold in the room just a second ago, he swore that the temperature must've dropped in it. that, or the amount of blood loss he was experiencing suddenly hit a not-so-good mark.

breathing hurt. it really did, and the only way that barton was able to avoid even a small bit of the pain was doing so shallowly. he couldn't help but wonder whether the adrenaline from being slashed was what kept his consciousness afloat for as long as it has been. lethargy had begun to seep into him even while sitting there. the only response that barton managed to johann's rather interesting comment was an anxious hum. having said that, it wasn't that the other was making him nervous. barton could just feel this weird 'on edge' sensation that didn't seem to come from anywhere specific.

he held onto the table beneath him with an iron-clad grip and one of his hands, subsequently. the metal somehow felt even colder than his surroundings, which was thankfully enough to ground barton (for the moment). nodding is what he did next to clue the other in that he was listening, albeit on a different attention level than before before he posed another question to him, ❝ interesting. you didn't come here for family reasons, did you? because i honest to god can't think up any other reasons as to why you might've wanted to. ❞ the place was guilty of not exactly having the best reputation, barton thought. he almost didn't want to return to gotham after being in metropolis for years... but he still considered it his home.

silence fell on barton's part for a beat. admittedly, he had no idea where he went mentally for a moment before he was looking up at johann; dead-eyed and letting his head loll to the side slightly, ❝ uhh, with anesthesia. say... what was that thing you said earlier about 'cutting a man in just the right place?' ❞

[forensisch]

whatever it was, he’s just happy to have jonathan close by and is perfectly content to sit in their mutual silence, hunched over the worn surface of the nearby dining table. he’s pinning insects, and has been at it now for the better half of a few hours, or so he thinks (he has long since stopped caring to keep track of the time), carefully and meticulously maneuvering each limb into place. drawn from his intense spell of concentration by the other man’s voice, johann glances up. his thin circular spectacles have slid halfway down his nose, and the whites of his eyes have grown red with lack of sleep. he even has to focus for a few seconds longer than usual for jonathan’s face to unblur. “you should start taking your own advice, because i could say the very same thing to you.”

@forensisch liked for a starter \o/

This is either parallel play or a test of wills. Jonathan isn't entirely sure which one. The shared space is quiet save for the ambient sounds of the pair as they go about their business. Jonathan is furiously studying the blueprints of the Gotham Gazelle's offices and Johann- well. Jonathan hasn't really looked at what Johann is doing.

Jonathan doesn't know how long it's been. He knows at some point he has badgered Johann about getting sleep. He knows he's gotten that same needling in return. Time stretches so far before and behind that he can't say when either of these things were. His eyes burn and his joints ache with cold, as if attempting to coax him to lay his head down somewhere warm and rest.

He grits his teeth instead. "When was the last time you slept? It does you no good to push yourself." The good doctor doesn't need sleep. He's busy. He has plans to lay. He's sure Johann could do with rest, though.

[forensisch]

since moving to gotham, johann had quickly discovered that inquiring into the ‘hows’ and ‘whys’ of the injuries his patients acquired, no matter how curious he was at the time, was not worth the trouble it caused. thankfully, most would leave if they were still capable of walking and find help elsewhere, but there was one particular incident where a patient had accused him of being an undercover cop ( which was hilarious, given the illicit nature of his practice ) and tried to fight him off with a scalpel.

so he doesn’t pry, and while barton decides whether or not they would like to sit, he busies himself by putting on a pair of fresh rubber gloves.

“the human body is funny like that. cut a man in the right place, deep enough, and he can bleed out in only a few minutes.” johann does not elaborate any further than that—either completely unaware or uncaring of how suspicious such a comment might sound—as he continues with the task at hand. however, he does note the array of old scars that decorate barton’s skin but spares them no more than a cursory glance.

“a while.” the question itself hadn’t been very specific, so johann felt no initial need to elaborate any further. then again… good company was hard to come by these days, even more so the ones that could provide a decent conversation. “but if you mean here, in gotham, then only a few years.” which isn’t a significant amount of time, ( if you were to compare him to any of the other solo-run clinics ), but this city isn’t like the others he’s visited in the past and he’s learned quite a lot in those short years. like, for instance, asking his more lucid patients if they would like to be numbed during a procedure.

“now, would you prefer i do this with or without anesthesia?”

maintaining prolonged eye contact with other's is a good way to make them uncomfortable. and due to how barton wasn't sure how the other man would react to him quite blatantly lying through his teeth about how he ended up with a gash in his rib area, that is exactly why he did it. but it seemed like maybe he didn't have to worry about him nosing around in his business any further after all. for, even though there was doubt clearly written all over his face, johann stopped there with his inquiries. now what was that saying again — don't look a gift horse in the mouth? the other doing that was certainly fine with him, so he was going to take the fact that he wasn't trying to pry it out of him as a gift, and leave it at that.

borrowing trouble when the pain in his side wasn't the worst he'd experienced, but it wasn't all that tolerable either, so it didn't seem like that good of an idea anyhow. it had been bleeding for the past twenty minutes before he'd reached johann's clinic, and the deep cut ached like the knife that he'd been slashed with was still in him. but luckily, he hadn't been that unfortunate to have ended up with it sticking out of him, as his latest victim had rather clumsily swung it at him; but barton has to give them props. they did land a hit on him, when most didn't have that kind of time before they were dead and being cut open like during an autopsy. barton retracted his hand from his side, then despite his inner voice telling him not to.

he supposed part of the reason why was because sometimes he felt like things that happened to him actually happened to someone else, but looking at his hand now, it was painfully obvious that it did. it was absolutely soaked with blood and smelt heavily of iron. barton cleared his throat as a distinct dizzying feeling entered his mind. it only lasted for a moment, though, before he was shaking it off and climbing onto said operating table that johann had pointed to. god's... did he wish that matilda was around so that he wouldn't have to resort to trusting a complete stranger to patch it up for him. but his daughter was currently away in another town, so this was the next best thing for him to deal with his wound. barton huffed through his nostrils in quiet resignation as he watched the other closely.

❝ yeah, i assumed as much. it hasn't stopped bleeding ever since i got it even though i held pressure to it for what seemed like forever, ❞ if he wasn't currently in pain, barton might've cared that he was showing off some scars of his to johann. but he swore that the pain was only worsening as time went on and so he couldn't care less about that. a shiver involuntarily ran through his body as he pressed his hand back to the wound, all whilst he held back a hiss, ❝ so, how long have you been practicing? i figure i might as well get to know you a little as you're literally about to stick some sutures in me. ❞

[forensisch]

happy father’s day to johann’s old man who absolutely deserved being fed to pigs.

[forensisch]

johann wishes he could still visit his mother ’s grave.

[forensisch]

@mad-hunts / ❝i didn't lie. i simply presented a... selective truth.❞

“hm.” johann does not sound even the slightest bit convinced of the other man’s claim, yet despite the doubt that begins to fester beneath the surface, his expression remains unchanged—tight-lipped and professional—as his gaze settles on the open wound, watching it ooze a steady supply of blood.

how someone came to acquire such an injury—and in a rather inconvenient place, too, between the six and seventh ribs, from what he can see—isn’t on his list of priorities at the moment.

after all, it’s not the first time that a stranger has come to his door in the early hours of the day—before he’s even had time to brew a cup of coffee—with blood on their hands, asking for help. johann, of course, is always prepared for just the occasion, so he’s hardly in a rush and gestures vaguely in the direction of the nearby operating table—a silent request for his patient to sit—while readying a tray of the necessary equipment he’ll need.

“either way, you’re going to need a few stitches.”

[forensisch]

i don’t think he would make a good faceclaim, but adrian brody has a very johann looking face. the large nose, downturned eyes. the pathetic, wet look. his side profile is perfect.

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@mcnomaniametus / cont.

it’s a lie, and they both know it. but johann at least has the courtesy not to point out the obvious. instead, he hums a noncommittal tune from his spot in the doorway before deciding to cross the threshold of jonathan’s workspace with quiet, precise steps. he’s careful not to disturb the good doctor while observing the various notes lining the wall, admiring the passion hidden in each little detail until a rather accurate anatomical sketch catches his eye. johann is briefly enamoured with the piece, unable to look away. 

he’ll have to bring it up later, maybe offer some insight into human anatomy that may help jonathan’s plans to make what he can only assume is a human ‘jack-o-lantern’. for now, it’s their health he’s more concerned with.

“today is…” falling silent for a moment, johann briefly pulls out and checks his pocket watch before continuing. “saturday.” worry etches itself onto his features, furrowing his brow and deepening the lines of his face. the issue is one he can understand quite intimately; after all, he knows what it’s like to suffer from insomnia, and while he can’t be sure if the same affliction plagues the other man, he can understand the struggle all the same.

“you should rest, at least for a little while.”

[forensisch]

committing medical malpractice all by yourself, handsome?

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[forensisch]

WHAT CHESS PIECE REPRESENTS YOU?

you are a BLACK KNIGHT, the black sheep, the underdog. as the only piece that can jump over others, you can easily get yourself in and out of situations—always catching people off guard with your charisma and cunning. you move in the shadows, trading information with shady people, getting the upper hand through not always good methods. how far do you think this road can take you? for all your charisma or cunning, lies can only get you so far. one day, that mask you’ve put on will slip, and you’ll be left defenseless. but until then, oh black knight, live like there's no tomorrow—because there might not be.

TAGGED BY: @mad-hunts ( thank you! <3 ) TAGGING: @mcnomaniametus, @babydxhl and anyone who wants to do this.

[forensisch]

johann has the worst penmanship. it’s not messy, quite the opposite in fact, but it is illegible unless you’ve worked with him for years or know how to read a doctor's scrawl. he’s is capable of writing 'normally', but finds comfort in knowing that others will struggle to read his notes.

[forensisch]

Grief Slut, Evelyn Berry

[forensisch]

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