Encounterlogs
Meridiths Odd Encounter Sr Rachel 240429
In the small town of Haven, when a buzz of unusual activity on social media alerts Meridith, a character deeply entrenched in the eerie underbelly of the community, she's drawn towards an unsettling development at the local Institute involving pre-med students and a particular Doctor James Miller. The notifications buzzing on her outdated phone point her towards a viral concern gripping the medical student community – something supernatural is afoot, deeply irony-laden for a community that deals in the empirical and explainable. Upon arriving at the Institute, Meridith discovers that the situation is more dire than she anticipated. Doctor Miller, a specialist in dissociative disorders among adolescents, has become the very subject he used to treat and is now perceived as a patient spewing nonsensical ramblings about the supernatural – a revelation he deems revolutionary but is met with institutional attempts to silence him.
Meridith's confrontation with Dr. Miller unveils a noble but naïve man caught in the throes of a discovery far beyond his comprehension or control. His insistence on the existence of the supernatural, driven by his observations and a distressing conversation with a scared student, pushes Meridith into a precarious position. Instead of enforcing silence through fear or manipulation, she chooses to guide him towards a path where his discoveries could be nurtured but contained within the secretive Order, suggesting a possibility for him to do good without endangering the precarious balance between the known and the unknown worlds. Her decision to protect him rather than suppress his findings comes from a place of empathy, understanding the potential Dr. Miller holds in revolutionizing the understanding of the supernatural. In the end, Meridith's actions, influenced by her connection to the mysterious Order and her own moral compass, suggest a future where Dr. Miller might pursue his groundbreaking work under the protective and watchful eye of those who navigate the fine line between the visible and invisible realms.
(Meridith's odd encounter(SRRachel):SRRachel)
[Sun Apr 28 2024]
In A Small Cabin
In this small but well-designed living space the walls are adorned with wooden panels, giving a sense of nature indoors. To your left, there's a black sofa with plush cushions, and warious throw pillows. The sofa is strategically placed near a large window that allows natural light to fill the room during the day. The window also provides picturesque views of the surrounding wilderness.
On the opposite side, there's a neatly arranged bed with green linens and various mix-matched pillows. The bed is framed by a wooden headboard, adding to the rustic feel of the cabin. Overhead, a warm and subtle lighting fixture casts a soft glow, creating a tranquil ambiance in the sleeping area.
Adjacent to the bed, a built-in closet is seamlessly integrated into the wooden wall. The closet features sliding or folding doors, maximizing space efficiency. Inside, there are shelves, drawers, and hanging rods for organizing clothes and personal items, keeping the cabin clutter-free.
Overall, this one-bedroom cabin combines the comforts of modern living with the tranquility of nature, providing a serene retreat for those seeking a peaceful escape.
It is night, about 49F(9C) degrees, and the sky is covered by thin white clouds. There is a waning gibbous moon.
(Someone in Haven has found out about the supernatural and is freaking out about it. They're at risk of exposing the secret, hurting themselves, or hurting others. Your target and their allies are tasked with containing the situation.
)
There's some hullabaloo going around on social networks -- in the groups that Oak students frequent. Notifications pop on Meridith's phone. She might have an older model, not made for browsing, but notifications are coming in via text message. There's not much information - just 'so-and-so has commented on so-and-so's post' and 'so-and-so liked so-and-so's post.' Still, it's unusual. There's rarely anything quite this viral in a town so small.
Meridith might further notice that all the people being named are other pre-med students. Doctors. People she's met, or at least seen the names of, on the clinic roster. Something is not quite right on Institute grounds, and it isn't just its shaking.
Meridith is a pretty dialed in person. She keeps her eyes and ears open, she keeps her head on a swivel. She's a hunter, and she knows how her prey operates. It isn't always spooky shapes in the mist, it's often people, often in the news, hidden and so forth. She hesitates at the names and exhales softly. It's a quick movement. She goes without weapons, already in too much shit for shooting the Father to want to make it worse. On too her bike and zooom, she's off down through the town to school.
It's a nice night, hallucinatory apocalypse aside. The sky's clear, the stars twinkle, the power lines fall -- all's normal in Haven, as far as Haven goes. As Meridith zooms through streets, buildings swell and descend around her until, at last, there is the familiar parking, and the Institute looming austerely ahead.
There's some kind of conversation happening in Reception, with a gaggle of students and, yes - Father Jack, but Meridith doesn't have time for that. The trouble isn't with them, if Meridith's phone is to be believed.
Soon, familiar lines emerge underfoot, red and green and yellow. They mark out where Meridith's meant to travel. Hushed whispers fill the corridors. It's more ominous than the screaming not atypical to clinic grounds.
She'd catch a few words. 'Visiting doctor,' are two of them. They're followed by 'don't know what to do with him,' and 'such a shame' and 'what a waste of a tremendous researcher.'
The roster now reads: "Doctor James Miller - specialist in dissociative disorders and PTSD among adolescents.' Oh, the irony."
Meridith enjoys the sights and sounds of the city. Despite the apocalypse which she doesn't have any part in. No siree. Never heard of any dragons before. She pulls into the parking lot and slips off. She slips by as quietly as she can past the student, sticking to the shadows. Jack's as likely to toss her in the clinic and greet her and she doesn't have time for that.
Her hairs are on end the moment she enters and she winces upon seeing the name. Doctors make her itchy now. She looks for signs of where she might find his office, trying to trace the location to find her quarry.
Not his office. Meridith's misread - this is an unusual circumstance. The doctor's become the patient.
She finds out when a receptionist almost slips on the floor, rushing past her. "You're *late*!" she says, waving frantically behind her. "You were meant to be helping with Dr. Miller fifteen minutes ago. He's in Examination Room #1." Meridith's been mistaken for someone else -- but it's too late to correct anyone now. The receptionist's rushed off, and one way or the other, someone needs to be on the job. Whatever the job may be.
Time to see just how good the American pre-med education can be.
There's yelling coming from where she's meant to be. Whispers might be better, after all. A male voice bellows: "LET ME OUT OF HERE!" He's insisting on calling the APA. Sweet summer child -- they wouldn't know what to do with a fraction of what happens here.
Meridith turns her gaze toward the woman, she's interned here briefly, but she has no authority. Still this will be...good enough. She nods and plays along, striding with great purpose. When she hears the bellowing she exhales. She hates this role, every time she's called to do it. It's never fun. She lets herself into the room. "Doctor Miller," she adopts a sharp tone, chiding. "Have you ever known a patient in psych who get let go by yelling?" she asks quite seriously.
At least Dr. Miller's already in a strait jacket. He can't do Meridith much harm, where he is, strapped to a familiar machine. He couldn't anyway. He's thin and reedy, with wire frame glasses that make him look owlish. Dr. Miller's the bookish type - go figure - with a nervous, fast-paced stammer. "I-I- no. But th-this is important." What a loud voice, from what an ultimately unthreatening man. "D-do you even know what's going on around here?"
He's steeling himself. He can deliver the news with the gravity he needs to. He can be commanding. A deep breath: "Ghosts are real. I've seen it."
He's so serious. He's waiting, wide-eyed, for the gravity of his statement to hit Meridith.
Meridith nods to Miller, he's cute, the kind of guy that makes her gnaw on her cheek a little, but the tied up thing and the whole panic and sadness doesn't work for her. She bows her head politely. "Of course Ghosts are real you dumbass," she scowls at him. "You think you're the first person to figure that out?" She exhales harsh and moves over around to him.
Now the display reads: "Confused." Meridith didn't exactly need the help; it's pretty obvious Dr. Miller's confused, from the way his thick eyebrows scrunch.
"Y-you don't understand. I'm not crazy." Ah, he thinks that Meridith's humoring him.
A memory's playing now. It's from his perspective, of course. He's behind a desk, with reams of paper up to his chin. A student comes in. She's a little, dark-haired thing with big, bright eyes -- the kind of eyes that are spectacularly emotive. Right now, they read scared.
"It's happening again. It's Caleb. I know it."
Dr. Miller had thought, up until now, that she'd been suffering trauma from her brother's death. In a way, he wasn't wrong; she was, in fact, suffering from his death. It'd just have been quite a bit more convenient if he'd stayed definitively, irrevocably dead.
When it'd become clear that he couldn't help her, he'd spoken to a network of doctors and researchers, some of them useless, some of them hackjobs, and only one of them in the know. That one had directed him here, to Haven.
Meridith leans back against the wall some, watching it play out. She watches with deep interest. She lets it play for a time and let's him speak. "Doctor. Take a moment and breath deep. Collect yourself and explore this with me logically, yes?" She gestures once. "Do you think there was one ghost and you're the one who saw it?" She gestures again, "Of course not. There have been a lot of ghosts, and a lot of people have seen them. Isn't that miraculous?" She raises her brows. Then she points outside. "Weird, how nobody seems to talk about it, or know. Except it's not weird at all, tell me why?"
"Y-you believe me." Call him Dr. Dumbfounded. Of all the possibilities - and oh, there had been plenty. The screen shows it. He'd pictured getting arrested, having his license revoked, getting locked in an asylum (that one's actually accurate) - he hadn't thought of this.
"N-no one talks about it because..." All that academic rigor kicks in. "I-it's traumatic to see ghosts. P-P-P-TSD alters perceptions and, and, cognitive processes. M-maybe the manifestation of supernatural phenomena - o-of ghosts - i-is personal. Subjective. And... and so some people d-don't want to talk about it b-because it manifests in a way that's s-stigmatized. Or, or maybe they're locked up too soon to say."
Trust him to think of all the scientific reasons why not -- and not the human and organizational reasons why not.
Meridith leans forward toward him some. She stays silent for awhile, and nods slowly. "Nope, a lot of people know cuz there is a lot more shit going on than ghosts, and when people shout about it, they find ways of making them quieter," she scowls. "Why do you think I'm here? Twenty something young woman, I'm not a doctor."
Meridith takes a long moment to collect herself and then explains. "So the situation is two fold. One? You forget. Two? You shut the fuck up. Three? You disappear."
Option three is out; option three reads like a murder in the making.
"I c-can't just not talk about it. Do you know how r-revolutionary this is? It-it'd change everything about what we know. Think of the implications for physics. N-neuroscience. A-anthropology." Truly, the mind boggles. Not this man's though. Not if he keeps going down this track.
If he were a second Ph.D smarter he would, perhaps, consider lying to Meridith about his silence. But no, instead, he continues to logic around her. "T-think about how we'd reconceive our understanding of cultural artifacts. W-what if being a ghost is a b-biological predisposition?"
Meridith thinks he might be smart, she'd probably read it in his thoughts. He'd know the truth. She sighs wearily. "You aren't really listening, are you?" She offers a slight frown. Wearied. "That's option one. Or maybe it's option three. I don't know, honestly, this isn't really my forte. It doesn't work that way. The world doesn't get to know,"
The display, afterward, shows a bunch of medical jargon. He's truly not interested in causing trouble. Now that someone has affirmed his findings, he's raced onward into thinking about all the exploration to be done. To his credit, not once has there been consideration toward winning awards, or having his name in the paper.
This is a good man. They're rare, out there. Even rarer, here in Haven. Up to Meridith, what she does -- maybe there's an underground research facility, for the supernatural, that she can direct him to. Maybe she can work around whatever's in his head to just remove the impulse to publicize his findings. Maybe she should wipe him altogether.
The limit's her imagination - and her patience.
Meridith stares down. And she thinks of him and nods. "You're going to help the world," she says softly. And she means it. A rare moment with an opportunity for good, she seizes it with both hands. "You can't speak on this, anyone you tell is in danger, you'll die, and then they'll kill me for exposing us...you've got options. Consider the Order as a start, they'll...show you the ropes. You can do good with this, even in their weird rules," and she sounds like she might even believe it. "I'll do what I can, but play along. You're calm now, you're okay, you understand what happened and you're rationalizing it. The stress of wanting to help a patient got to you, you lost objectivity. Then, you can do the real work, and really help them, right?" That, she does believe. The real work, really helping people.
Dr. Miller barely even hears Meridith. The screen's rolling with images and text. There's going to be a new branch of science - parapsychology. Is what people call 'hearing voices' not a disorder, but a sensory sensitivity? He can do so mu--
The screen comes to a jarring halt. Meridith's offer registers.
"I won't." Nothing she can see contradicts what he's saying. "If you put me in touch with -- who was that? Some Order? Y-yes. I-I'll work with them." It wouldn't be surprising if, at some point, this man yelled 'Eureka!' He looks so excited.
"T-thank you. Wh-what did you say your name was? I'll r-remember you. T-thank you."
"Meridith, but I mean it....ugh," Meridith groans. That dorky man. Sweet and kind. She hates him. Trouble, top to bottom. She flicks a hand and moves to take care of the business part of it. She has a little pull in the clinic, a little pull in the order. Not enough but she tries to make the arrangements to get him loose and into the care of...well an adult. Meridith is a capable fighter, but this kind of cloak and daggers stuff was well over her head. She just wanted to take care of him.
Dr. Miller might have shook Meridith's hand if he weren't in a straitjacket. Eventually, an orderly comes in and after questioning her - "are you sure you want to release him? On you, if he causes trouble" - shakes her head and takes the good doctor away. The whole time, he's chattering to himself, to the orderly, back toward Meridith. My God. She might have been wise to order his silence, in totality.
Goodbye, Dr. Miller. For now.
Meridith is definitely going to regret this decision at some point. If perhaps only because he'll get her number and talk. Can a person be talked to death? She's certain he'd know if that was the case. On a watch list for it, and everything
Meridith's confrontation with Dr. Miller unveils a noble but naïve man caught in the throes of a discovery far beyond his comprehension or control. His insistence on the existence of the supernatural, driven by his observations and a distressing conversation with a scared student, pushes Meridith into a precarious position. Instead of enforcing silence through fear or manipulation, she chooses to guide him towards a path where his discoveries could be nurtured but contained within the secretive Order, suggesting a possibility for him to do good without endangering the precarious balance between the known and the unknown worlds. Her decision to protect him rather than suppress his findings comes from a place of empathy, understanding the potential Dr. Miller holds in revolutionizing the understanding of the supernatural. In the end, Meridith's actions, influenced by her connection to the mysterious Order and her own moral compass, suggest a future where Dr. Miller might pursue his groundbreaking work under the protective and watchful eye of those who navigate the fine line between the visible and invisible realms.
(Meridith's odd encounter(SRRachel):SRRachel)
[Sun Apr 28 2024]
In A Small Cabin
In this small but well-designed living space the walls are adorned with wooden panels, giving a sense of nature indoors. To your left, there's a black sofa with plush cushions, and warious throw pillows. The sofa is strategically placed near a large window that allows natural light to fill the room during the day. The window also provides picturesque views of the surrounding wilderness.
On the opposite side, there's a neatly arranged bed with green linens and various mix-matched pillows. The bed is framed by a wooden headboard, adding to the rustic feel of the cabin. Overhead, a warm and subtle lighting fixture casts a soft glow, creating a tranquil ambiance in the sleeping area.
Adjacent to the bed, a built-in closet is seamlessly integrated into the wooden wall. The closet features sliding or folding doors, maximizing space efficiency. Inside, there are shelves, drawers, and hanging rods for organizing clothes and personal items, keeping the cabin clutter-free.
Overall, this one-bedroom cabin combines the comforts of modern living with the tranquility of nature, providing a serene retreat for those seeking a peaceful escape.
It is night, about 49F(9C) degrees, and the sky is covered by thin white clouds. There is a waning gibbous moon.
(Someone in Haven has found out about the supernatural and is freaking out about it. They're at risk of exposing the secret, hurting themselves, or hurting others. Your target and their allies are tasked with containing the situation.
)
There's some hullabaloo going around on social networks -- in the groups that Oak students frequent. Notifications pop on Meridith's phone. She might have an older model, not made for browsing, but notifications are coming in via text message. There's not much information - just 'so-and-so has commented on so-and-so's post' and 'so-and-so liked so-and-so's post.' Still, it's unusual. There's rarely anything quite this viral in a town so small.
Meridith might further notice that all the people being named are other pre-med students. Doctors. People she's met, or at least seen the names of, on the clinic roster. Something is not quite right on Institute grounds, and it isn't just its shaking.
Meridith is a pretty dialed in person. She keeps her eyes and ears open, she keeps her head on a swivel. She's a hunter, and she knows how her prey operates. It isn't always spooky shapes in the mist, it's often people, often in the news, hidden and so forth. She hesitates at the names and exhales softly. It's a quick movement. She goes without weapons, already in too much shit for shooting the Father to want to make it worse. On too her bike and zooom, she's off down through the town to school.
It's a nice night, hallucinatory apocalypse aside. The sky's clear, the stars twinkle, the power lines fall -- all's normal in Haven, as far as Haven goes. As Meridith zooms through streets, buildings swell and descend around her until, at last, there is the familiar parking, and the Institute looming austerely ahead.
There's some kind of conversation happening in Reception, with a gaggle of students and, yes - Father Jack, but Meridith doesn't have time for that. The trouble isn't with them, if Meridith's phone is to be believed.
Soon, familiar lines emerge underfoot, red and green and yellow. They mark out where Meridith's meant to travel. Hushed whispers fill the corridors. It's more ominous than the screaming not atypical to clinic grounds.
She'd catch a few words. 'Visiting doctor,' are two of them. They're followed by 'don't know what to do with him,' and 'such a shame' and 'what a waste of a tremendous researcher.'
The roster now reads: "Doctor James Miller - specialist in dissociative disorders and PTSD among adolescents.' Oh, the irony."
Meridith enjoys the sights and sounds of the city. Despite the apocalypse which she doesn't have any part in. No siree. Never heard of any dragons before. She pulls into the parking lot and slips off. She slips by as quietly as she can past the student, sticking to the shadows. Jack's as likely to toss her in the clinic and greet her and she doesn't have time for that.
Her hairs are on end the moment she enters and she winces upon seeing the name. Doctors make her itchy now. She looks for signs of where she might find his office, trying to trace the location to find her quarry.
Not his office. Meridith's misread - this is an unusual circumstance. The doctor's become the patient.
She finds out when a receptionist almost slips on the floor, rushing past her. "You're *late*!" she says, waving frantically behind her. "You were meant to be helping with Dr. Miller fifteen minutes ago. He's in Examination Room #1." Meridith's been mistaken for someone else -- but it's too late to correct anyone now. The receptionist's rushed off, and one way or the other, someone needs to be on the job. Whatever the job may be.
Time to see just how good the American pre-med education can be.
There's yelling coming from where she's meant to be. Whispers might be better, after all. A male voice bellows: "LET ME OUT OF HERE!" He's insisting on calling the APA. Sweet summer child -- they wouldn't know what to do with a fraction of what happens here.
Meridith turns her gaze toward the woman, she's interned here briefly, but she has no authority. Still this will be...good enough. She nods and plays along, striding with great purpose. When she hears the bellowing she exhales. She hates this role, every time she's called to do it. It's never fun. She lets herself into the room. "Doctor Miller," she adopts a sharp tone, chiding. "Have you ever known a patient in psych who get let go by yelling?" she asks quite seriously.
At least Dr. Miller's already in a strait jacket. He can't do Meridith much harm, where he is, strapped to a familiar machine. He couldn't anyway. He's thin and reedy, with wire frame glasses that make him look owlish. Dr. Miller's the bookish type - go figure - with a nervous, fast-paced stammer. "I-I- no. But th-this is important." What a loud voice, from what an ultimately unthreatening man. "D-do you even know what's going on around here?"
He's steeling himself. He can deliver the news with the gravity he needs to. He can be commanding. A deep breath: "Ghosts are real. I've seen it."
He's so serious. He's waiting, wide-eyed, for the gravity of his statement to hit Meridith.
Meridith nods to Miller, he's cute, the kind of guy that makes her gnaw on her cheek a little, but the tied up thing and the whole panic and sadness doesn't work for her. She bows her head politely. "Of course Ghosts are real you dumbass," she scowls at him. "You think you're the first person to figure that out?" She exhales harsh and moves over around to him.
Now the display reads: "Confused." Meridith didn't exactly need the help; it's pretty obvious Dr. Miller's confused, from the way his thick eyebrows scrunch.
"Y-you don't understand. I'm not crazy." Ah, he thinks that Meridith's humoring him.
A memory's playing now. It's from his perspective, of course. He's behind a desk, with reams of paper up to his chin. A student comes in. She's a little, dark-haired thing with big, bright eyes -- the kind of eyes that are spectacularly emotive. Right now, they read scared.
"It's happening again. It's Caleb. I know it."
Dr. Miller had thought, up until now, that she'd been suffering trauma from her brother's death. In a way, he wasn't wrong; she was, in fact, suffering from his death. It'd just have been quite a bit more convenient if he'd stayed definitively, irrevocably dead.
When it'd become clear that he couldn't help her, he'd spoken to a network of doctors and researchers, some of them useless, some of them hackjobs, and only one of them in the know. That one had directed him here, to Haven.
Meridith leans back against the wall some, watching it play out. She watches with deep interest. She lets it play for a time and let's him speak. "Doctor. Take a moment and breath deep. Collect yourself and explore this with me logically, yes?" She gestures once. "Do you think there was one ghost and you're the one who saw it?" She gestures again, "Of course not. There have been a lot of ghosts, and a lot of people have seen them. Isn't that miraculous?" She raises her brows. Then she points outside. "Weird, how nobody seems to talk about it, or know. Except it's not weird at all, tell me why?"
"Y-you believe me." Call him Dr. Dumbfounded. Of all the possibilities - and oh, there had been plenty. The screen shows it. He'd pictured getting arrested, having his license revoked, getting locked in an asylum (that one's actually accurate) - he hadn't thought of this.
"N-no one talks about it because..." All that academic rigor kicks in. "I-it's traumatic to see ghosts. P-P-P-TSD alters perceptions and, and, cognitive processes. M-maybe the manifestation of supernatural phenomena - o-of ghosts - i-is personal. Subjective. And... and so some people d-don't want to talk about it b-because it manifests in a way that's s-stigmatized. Or, or maybe they're locked up too soon to say."
Trust him to think of all the scientific reasons why not -- and not the human and organizational reasons why not.
Meridith leans forward toward him some. She stays silent for awhile, and nods slowly. "Nope, a lot of people know cuz there is a lot more shit going on than ghosts, and when people shout about it, they find ways of making them quieter," she scowls. "Why do you think I'm here? Twenty something young woman, I'm not a doctor."
Meridith takes a long moment to collect herself and then explains. "So the situation is two fold. One? You forget. Two? You shut the fuck up. Three? You disappear."
Option three is out; option three reads like a murder in the making.
"I c-can't just not talk about it. Do you know how r-revolutionary this is? It-it'd change everything about what we know. Think of the implications for physics. N-neuroscience. A-anthropology." Truly, the mind boggles. Not this man's though. Not if he keeps going down this track.
If he were a second Ph.D smarter he would, perhaps, consider lying to Meridith about his silence. But no, instead, he continues to logic around her. "T-think about how we'd reconceive our understanding of cultural artifacts. W-what if being a ghost is a b-biological predisposition?"
Meridith thinks he might be smart, she'd probably read it in his thoughts. He'd know the truth. She sighs wearily. "You aren't really listening, are you?" She offers a slight frown. Wearied. "That's option one. Or maybe it's option three. I don't know, honestly, this isn't really my forte. It doesn't work that way. The world doesn't get to know,"
The display, afterward, shows a bunch of medical jargon. He's truly not interested in causing trouble. Now that someone has affirmed his findings, he's raced onward into thinking about all the exploration to be done. To his credit, not once has there been consideration toward winning awards, or having his name in the paper.
This is a good man. They're rare, out there. Even rarer, here in Haven. Up to Meridith, what she does -- maybe there's an underground research facility, for the supernatural, that she can direct him to. Maybe she can work around whatever's in his head to just remove the impulse to publicize his findings. Maybe she should wipe him altogether.
The limit's her imagination - and her patience.
Meridith stares down. And she thinks of him and nods. "You're going to help the world," she says softly. And she means it. A rare moment with an opportunity for good, she seizes it with both hands. "You can't speak on this, anyone you tell is in danger, you'll die, and then they'll kill me for exposing us...you've got options. Consider the Order as a start, they'll...show you the ropes. You can do good with this, even in their weird rules," and she sounds like she might even believe it. "I'll do what I can, but play along. You're calm now, you're okay, you understand what happened and you're rationalizing it. The stress of wanting to help a patient got to you, you lost objectivity. Then, you can do the real work, and really help them, right?" That, she does believe. The real work, really helping people.
Dr. Miller barely even hears Meridith. The screen's rolling with images and text. There's going to be a new branch of science - parapsychology. Is what people call 'hearing voices' not a disorder, but a sensory sensitivity? He can do so mu--
The screen comes to a jarring halt. Meridith's offer registers.
"I won't." Nothing she can see contradicts what he's saying. "If you put me in touch with -- who was that? Some Order? Y-yes. I-I'll work with them." It wouldn't be surprising if, at some point, this man yelled 'Eureka!' He looks so excited.
"T-thank you. Wh-what did you say your name was? I'll r-remember you. T-thank you."
"Meridith, but I mean it....ugh," Meridith groans. That dorky man. Sweet and kind. She hates him. Trouble, top to bottom. She flicks a hand and moves to take care of the business part of it. She has a little pull in the clinic, a little pull in the order. Not enough but she tries to make the arrangements to get him loose and into the care of...well an adult. Meridith is a capable fighter, but this kind of cloak and daggers stuff was well over her head. She just wanted to take care of him.
Dr. Miller might have shook Meridith's hand if he weren't in a straitjacket. Eventually, an orderly comes in and after questioning her - "are you sure you want to release him? On you, if he causes trouble" - shakes her head and takes the good doctor away. The whole time, he's chattering to himself, to the orderly, back toward Meridith. My God. She might have been wise to order his silence, in totality.
Goodbye, Dr. Miller. For now.
Meridith is definitely going to regret this decision at some point. If perhaps only because he'll get her number and talk. Can a person be talked to death? She's certain he'd know if that was the case. On a watch list for it, and everything