I am starting to wonder, based on your last few prompts, if the weather is as mild as you claimed in an earlier post :) It's starting to feel like you're getting a lot of wind and rain! In brighter news though, my friend in Kyiv tells me that they're going to reach -14 later this week :)
A force of nature "Paging Dr Congo. Paging Dr Congo. Dr Congo, please report to the reception desk." The voice over the tannoy was tinny and robotic and echoed around the silent corridors of MutaCare Hospital. In a small room on the second floor of one of the nearly-undamaged buildings, D.R. Congo rolled over on the thin mattress of the single bed and considered screaming. It felt like he'd lain down to go to sleep only five minutes ago, but as he sleepily groped for the bedside clock and looked at its radium-painted dial, he found that he'd been asleep for five hours. "Paging Dr Congo. Paging Dr Congo..." The announcement was clearly on repeat so it was either an emergency or the receptionist had turned it on and gone home. He decided on a small scream entirely inside his own head, and then rolled off the mattress and onto the floor with a thump. The bed was so low -- essentially a camp bed, that the jolt only woke him up a little and probably wouldn't even bruise him. He sat up slowly, listening to the tannoy echoes die away, and then made himself stand up and find his trousers. The pager was in the pocket, and he clicked on the button as he pulled his trousers on and then put his white-ish doctor's coat on over the top, cutting the wretched announcement off in the middle of his name. The corridor outside the doctor's rest-room smelled of disinfectant, a harsh acrid smell like rubber burning. He vaguely remembered when they'd still perfumed the industrial chemicals with scents like lemon and pine and a part of him wished they still did. Another part of him preferred the security of knowing that this smell meant the disinfectant and real and doing its job. He walked through the building, taking the stairs up as the connecting corridor to the main building was on the third floor. He walked past the radiology ward, which glowed even in daylight, and then past the gerontology ward where they treated the ghouls. When they could be treated; he'd had his fair share of calls when one turned feral and needed to be put down. Then he reached the grand staircase, where the steps were still painted and the holes that appeared in the walls from concrete cancer were still patched up regularly, and descended to reception.
"D.R.," said a familiar voice, and he stopped on the last stair, gazing out at an empty reception hall -- a familiar sight these days -- and his sister, Cincinatti, standing with her hands on her hips and a look of... anger? on her face. "Cin," he said evenly, wondering why she was here. She lived up in the north, where the fallout was mildest and many services still operated. There was little -- there was no -- reason for her to come southwest to MutaCare. "You look... unchanged." "You look like you spend too little time sleeping," said his sister. She frowned. "In fact, you look like someone just dragged you out of bed and pushed you out of the door." "You did," he said, coming down the final step and remembering that she was just a little taller than him. "When you paged me. Where's the receptionist?" "She was rude about my name." D.R. nodded. Cin was sensitive about her name. He would be too if he hadn't ended up with this job because people assumed that DR was Doctor and Democratic Republic. Because who would name their kids from an atlas, really? "We don't have any replacements for her," he said. "Were you... nice about correcting her?" Cin was like a force of nature. She was mostly unstoppable, happened wherever she felt like it, and sometimes surprised you utterly with what she did. "She'll wake up and there'll be bruising," said Cin. "But she looks like she's used to that."
Greg - brr. No, we're still good here. Can't remember... oh, I think it was loosely inspired by going showshoeing in the mountains with Kat on Sunday afternoon.
Cincinatti! I had quite forgotten about her, sadly, so this is especially nice to have a visit with her (and her brother too, I suppose). She is exactly as I remember her, now that I do remember her :D
3 comments:
I am starting to wonder, based on your last few prompts, if the weather is as mild as you claimed in an earlier post :) It's starting to feel like you're getting a lot of wind and rain! In brighter news though, my friend in Kyiv tells me that they're going to reach -14 later this week :)
A force of nature
"Paging Dr Congo. Paging Dr Congo. Dr Congo, please report to the reception desk." The voice over the tannoy was tinny and robotic and echoed around the silent corridors of MutaCare Hospital. In a small room on the second floor of one of the nearly-undamaged buildings, D.R. Congo rolled over on the thin mattress of the single bed and considered screaming. It felt like he'd lain down to go to sleep only five minutes ago, but as he sleepily groped for the bedside clock and looked at its radium-painted dial, he found that he'd been asleep for five hours.
"Paging Dr Congo. Paging Dr Congo..." The announcement was clearly on repeat so it was either an emergency or the receptionist had turned it on and gone home. He decided on a small scream entirely inside his own head, and then rolled off the mattress and onto the floor with a thump. The bed was so low -- essentially a camp bed, that the jolt only woke him up a little and probably wouldn't even bruise him. He sat up slowly, listening to the tannoy echoes die away, and then made himself stand up and find his trousers. The pager was in the pocket, and he clicked on the button as he pulled his trousers on and then put his white-ish doctor's coat on over the top, cutting the wretched announcement off in the middle of his name.
The corridor outside the doctor's rest-room smelled of disinfectant, a harsh acrid smell like rubber burning. He vaguely remembered when they'd still perfumed the industrial chemicals with scents like lemon and pine and a part of him wished they still did. Another part of him preferred the security of knowing that this smell meant the disinfectant and real and doing its job. He walked through the building, taking the stairs up as the connecting corridor to the main building was on the third floor. He walked past the radiology ward, which glowed even in daylight, and then past the gerontology ward where they treated the ghouls. When they could be treated; he'd had his fair share of calls when one turned feral and needed to be put down. Then he reached the grand staircase, where the steps were still painted and the holes that appeared in the walls from concrete cancer were still patched up regularly, and descended to reception.
"D.R.," said a familiar voice, and he stopped on the last stair, gazing out at an empty reception hall -- a familiar sight these days -- and his sister, Cincinatti, standing with her hands on her hips and a look of... anger? on her face.
"Cin," he said evenly, wondering why she was here. She lived up in the north, where the fallout was mildest and many services still operated. There was little -- there was no -- reason for her to come southwest to MutaCare. "You look... unchanged."
"You look like you spend too little time sleeping," said his sister. She frowned. "In fact, you look like someone just dragged you out of bed and pushed you out of the door."
"You did," he said, coming down the final step and remembering that she was just a little taller than him. "When you paged me. Where's the receptionist?"
"She was rude about my name."
D.R. nodded. Cin was sensitive about her name. He would be too if he hadn't ended up with this job because people assumed that DR was Doctor and Democratic Republic. Because who would name their kids from an atlas, really?
"We don't have any replacements for her," he said. "Were you... nice about correcting her?"
Cin was like a force of nature. She was mostly unstoppable, happened wherever she felt like it, and sometimes surprised you utterly with what she did.
"She'll wake up and there'll be bruising," said Cin. "But she looks like she's used to that."
Greg - brr. No, we're still good here. Can't remember... oh, I think it was loosely inspired by going showshoeing in the mountains with Kat on Sunday afternoon.
Cincinatti! I had quite forgotten about her, sadly, so this is especially nice to have a visit with her (and her brother too, I suppose). She is exactly as I remember her, now that I do remember her :D
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