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12 October 2008 @ 09:17 pm
Theatrical Muse: Week 252: Question 252  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 1142


Innuendo.


Sid was an earnest, hard working man who always tried to keep a well functioning marriage between work and play. He was, however, a cheeky man also, and this sometimes led him to seeming more obscure than a large, if not entirely significant proportion of his colleagues. Sid Hammerback knew what the boundaries between work and cheekiness were, but it didn’t, it never stopped his inherent personal traits from slipping into conversation, in tangling themselves into the way he explained things. The Medical Examiner was a good hearted person, but he had lived a long and illustrious life, an exciting and carefree life full of exploration, of many kinds, and it had become so much of him, his way of living, that it was simply who he was. He was a bubbly man, a happy man, and when he tried to explain things, the best reference he had was sometimes himself, although this was not done in a purely self concerned way, so much as for a desire to be properly understood.


It was a warm day up above, the breaking of winter into something briefly warmer, but down in his morgue, in his domain, Sid was as cool as an ice cube, working quickly in loose scrub looking clothing, glasses close to his face and hair swept back. The victim on the table was a thin, brown haired woman, her makeup Egyptian style thick, lips ruby red, fingernails long enough to scratch, but not too long. Her clothing gave away clearly, any small and hiding reference that her face had been trying to impart. The long black leather boots, the black leggings under a long, flared, black skirt, the tight corset top. So, the clothing was a slight departure from atypical dominatrix wear of tight spandex and leather strapping, but it was obvious enough, to him at least.

Rustled from his intrigue when Stella came breezing through the door, Sid looked up, swivelling on the spot to face her, his face comedic, anticipatory and excited. For a split second he seemed to remember what kind of person he had exactly on the table behind him, looking momentarily crestfallen before resuming the slightly impatient grin of soon to be given explanation. He launched into his report soon after when she had come to a stop, carefully detailing the injuries, orchestrating it for her benefit, of course, but also saving the best for last.

Rolling the woman over, the ME smiled confidently and began to show the CSI the long marks on the victim’s back, the extended strips of broken skin, of exposed flesh, of some swelling, of immense damage.

“I took the liberty of looking up some reference pictures.” Sid said, showing a collection of the backs of unidentifiable people with the same kind of marks, except lessened. Stella seemed to be grasping the idea more and more, but it hadn’t quite seemed to click within her, and he was, vaguely disappointed, because he had recognised what had made the marks, almost immediately. However, it was not a large amount of medical knowledge that had lead him to such a conclusion, so one could suppose, if she didn’t indulge in such play, how would she know in the first place?

“They’re whip marks. I thought they were a bit harsh for a woman of her profession, being that they are usually the ones in control, and even so, some of these wouldn’t have hurt to get stitches on for healing. There is some bruising on her wrists, her ankles, some classic defensive wounds on her hands, so I was suggest that, final conclusion, an appointment went wrong, she was attacked, overpowered, bound and killed without mercy. Largely with a whip, perhaps something else. I’ve taken a sample from the whip marks, but I would suggest that she was poisoned somehow, maybe through these very injuries.” Sid explained, carefully, methodically pointing out what Stella needed to know, and what he wanted to tell her. She looked at him straight on when he was finished, a slight question in her eyes, something he had missed out on perhaps.

“How much force or strength are we talking about here Sid?”Stella queried, speaking strongly, without a hint of cheekiness or implication at all. This, once more, disappointed him somewhat, and for a moment he vehemently wished that she knew, some of what he liked, so maybe she wouldn’t look at him, sometimes, like he was a complete kook. Slight disinterested in her words for a moment, he mulled the question over inside his head, considering his own experiences and weighing them against what he knew the human body could do, and what it was possible of doing.

“Almost anyone can crack a whip, you don’t exactly have to have bulking muscles to do it, but this would have taken considerable effort, ingenuity.”

And together they talked and considered and mused over what could be and what might have already been enacted during the course of the crime, and he promised he’d look into the matter of the whipping, more so than he already had done.


When Sid called Stella back to the morgue later on in the shift, he had an even more peculiar and devious smile on his face, compared to the one he usually wore when excited or about to launch into one of his famous creepy reveries. To the side of his enclosure he had cleared as large a space as possible, showing her to it like an usher he stood her aside and picked up something from a bench. Being nothing other than a whip, the man smiled, rolling his eyes a little at her expression which seemed to imply he was delusional for trying such a thing.

The ME began an explanation, demonstrating his ability with the whip as he did so, and soon several explosive cracks filled the air. Eventually he got to the point, and said so, where he thought there was enough force in the action to give such injuries as they had seen on the victim’s back. The CSI’s smile was benefitted when her lips parted and her teeth showed, apparently she was grinning or laughing, or both.

“You didn’t have to do this Sid, but it is helpful in some way.” the woman said, and he thought, or maybe he misheard, the slightest trace of wistfulness in her tone.

Sid Hammerback shrugged, smiling, always the cheeky one, always the man full of so much trivia and knowledge.

“I thought you might like it.” he replied, slight innuendo given, and no mention at all of where the current whip had appeared, and how he knew how to use it so well. No, none at all, and he hoped, oh how he hoped, that she might just consider this talent, even if, just for the briefest of moments.
 
 
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