The Cold: Excerpts
Sep. 10th, 2012 12:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
breezeshadowOriginally posted here over a year ago. I usually don't go back to short stories, but I <3 these two, so yeah.
It's gotten pretty long (about 6.2K words), so have some excerpts.
Perhaps it was a good thing that she did not write that note, because a block from the inn she knew it would have been a lie.
She knew the best clinic was in the rich district, and she knew it was a ten-minute trolley away. So first she ducked into a public bath, despite knowing it would be crowded, full of people to stare at her and the neat, perfect lines of scars that started at her hip and traveled down her thighs. But if she was going to make it into the rich district without being arrested or assaulted, she would need to be clean.
For a while Kader just stood with her towel, fighting the urge to pay extra to get to one of the smaller, more private baths; but guilt would not let her squander her money on her comfort, and instead she went to the main bath and barely lingered ten minutes in the water, scrubbing so fast with the soap it left her skin red and a few of the women staring. Then she leapt out to confused whispering that she silenced with a glare as she wrapped the too-small, too-rough towel around her torso. She was barely four inches over five feet, and wondered who the towels were supposed to fit; demons?
She toweled her hair as best she could in the house but did not bother to start combing it until she got to the tram; she kept it short enough that it did not take her more than five minutes before she had it pulled back into flowery pins, away from her face and thus unable to interfere with her work. She had long gotten used to the stares from that -- keeping hair long and intricately done was the style, but she did not have the money to maintain it, and it would reduce her from a useful doctor to an interesting centerpiece.
Of course, she had a funny feeling that was how the clinic would see her, as she stepped off of the tram and into the ritzy streets of the upper class. There the women were decorations, it seemed, walking around in ridiculous flowing gowns with curled, flowered hair, hanging off of the arm of a man with a tailored suit and a hat that she suspected may be taller than some dogs. A few of them looked at her, but mostly with curiosity, like a wild animal let loose into the streets. Otherwise, they did not notice her; why notice the poor?
---
The man that walked over made Kader want to punch him and walk out, forgetting this whole plan as lunacy. He peered down at her, wiping the blood on his hands with his smock, apparently having decided major surgery could wait while he dealt with a stupid girl. She did not wait for him to speak before shoving her license up at his nose.
He snatched it from her, frowning. "Rezten Medical College. Very impressive." He did not sound that amazed. "Just graduated?"
She always did wonder about the rich's inability to read. "Five years ago. It'd help if you read the whole thing."
The surgeon's eyes narrowed as he politely handed the license back to her. "That is no way to speak to a superior."
"That's fine, since you are not my superior." She met his glare with her own. "Shall I explain or do you want me to just kick my own ass out the door?"
She expected him to ask for neither, and do the honors of leading her out himself. Instead, he crossed his arms. "What does a physician in morbid anatomy want from here? Your little microscopes aren't going to help save any fucking lives here."
So it came down to her degree. She wondered about how he was more offended by her specialty than her gender or class. "I am perfectly capable of treating ailments, assisting in surgery, or even basic nurse duties. I haven't spent five fucking years ripping skin off of patients to ogle at under a microscope. If you'd pay me for it, I'd like to offer my services."
"Do we look like a charity foundation?"
"Kind of, yes." She hated herself for backing up when he stiffened, nostrils flaring, and stood a bit straighter, all but digging her feet in. "Your nurses are running fucking ragged, I can tell you just came running over from surgery at the prospect of some help . Are you really going to turn me away because I study germ theory?"
"If you're hear to study that theory on my patients, fuck yes I will, and good riddance to you." Someone shouted a name that made the surgeon turn his head. He sighed. "Look, little bitch. You're right, we could use an extra set of hands. But I am in no fucking way going to let you do anything but change bandages, apply leeches, maybe give medicines as long as you don't fucking experiment. If you don't like it, go fuck someone, maybe you can get a coin for it."
it took all of her self-control not to punch him then or knee him in the crotch. Black specks spun through her vision and she began to breathe deeply, using the same techniques she had to use on Tegre when he got into one of his "I am worth less than a speck of dirt" moods. if she punched out a doctor she would lose her license, and her freedom, and also Tegre, who would be left alone and probably find some reason to kill himself within a few months.
Her going to jail, that did not matter much. But Tegre dying? She would not allow that to happen, and especially not over something she did.
All of the other clinics would be just like this, she told herself. And they would pay less.
"I better get at least a fucking two-silver for this." She forced herself to meet the doctor's eyes while keeping her hands out of fists.
"If I feel like it." And with that he turned around and disappeared toward the back of the hospital.
---
"Where did you go?" He looked up and frowned, taking in her dirty clothes, dishevelled hair, and look of murder. "Is everything okay? Were you attacked?"
"Well I may have tuberculosis, so if I kill us both, sorry in advance." She heaved her bag onto her bed and picked a tiny container from it, handing it to Tegre. "But here."
He walked over cautiously and plucked it delicately from her fingers. As she sat down on the bed with a heavy sigh, she watched as his eyes widened. "Where did you go?"
She gave him a pointed look, but realized at his horrified look that he would just keep asking, or start to think she had mugged a store. "I worked at a clinic."
"You..." He carefully pushed her bag aside and sat down next to her, making sure they did not touch. "Why did you do that?"
Tegre knew well her hatred of hospitals and clinics; she ranted about them roughly once a day, especially after a hard day's work visiting patients, yelling at children, and being ripped off by unappreciative idiots. The rant always involved talking about how they paid more consistently, but not better, and also the conditions were atrocious, the doctors were idiots, and it was a death trap. Her little trip had proven all of the above, and also let her add "surgeons are sexist" to the list.
"To get supplies. Like honey." She pulled the clips from her hair, and gave them to Tegre when he held out his hand immediately. He quietly put them on the nightstand. "I was running low, and you kept on coughing, and were whining so much about that stupid drink--"
He gave her a confused frown. "I drank it."
"Yeah, no shit, but I could tell you hated it." She sighed, pulling off her boots and chucking them at the wall. "I'll force some spoiled brat to take a garlic tonic, but I'd rather not make you do the same more than once. Maybe twice."
"Why?" He tugged at her jacket, gently, but still enough to help her take it off. "I would have drank whatever you gave me. I know it'll help."
The words were such a welcome change from the surgeon that she almost wanted to hug him, and she smiled tiredly at him. "Because I care for you, you dumbass. You've tolerated my ass for this long, I have to do something in return."
---
"I think you are not going to get me sick. You have that inoculation you told me about. Maybe it gave you treatment for other diseases too." The soldier shrugged as he pulled a huge wool blanket out of his pack. He walked over and dumped it unceremoniously over her head. While she swore angrily and tried to drag the heavy thing back, she felt him sit down beside her. He was smiling softly when she finally got the damn fabric off of her head and over her shoulders.
"So your final answer is 'Fuck you and your worries, here have a blanket over your head'?" She glared at him until his smile faltered, then laughed, reaching over and giving him a fast past on the shoulder. "You are so fucking weird."
"Yes. Should I make tea?" He stood up as he said it, visibly relieved; Kader felt a pang of guilt, wondering if the look had been too much, or if perhaps he had taken the statement seriously.
She swallowed the worries as she collapsed backward on the bed. "Fuck, yes. And someone to beat the shit out of the asshole surgeon at that clinic. He had a bigger stick up his ass than the patient who came in with a gashed thigh."
"I can make tea, but..." The soldier frowned as he fed the low-burning fire in the room; Kader suspected he had completely forgotten about it in his worry. "He didn't touch you, did he?"
Kader sighed. "No, though he did tell me I should go whore myself out if the payment wasn't good enough." She paused, then looked up at Tegre, who had stiffened, eyes narrowing, very clearly reverting into that soldier mode that Kader both admired and feared. "Oh for fuck's sake, no."
The soldier stiffly put the kettle on the fire, a very deliberate motion. He then rose and looked out the window, toward the rich district, eyes cold. She knew that walk and look; when she had first seen it, nearly a year ago when a drunkard had been stupid enough to try and drag her into an alley, it had chilled her blood.
It still did, but not enough for her to argue with it. "I said no, Tegre. No beating people up in my honour. Or threatening them. He didn't touch me, he didn't threaten me, he was just a fucking asshole."
"He told you to go out and be a prostitute when--" Tegre cut himself off, digging his hands into his pockets as he glowered out the window. Kader then realized that it was not quite the soldier she was dealing with; no, this was just Tegre when he was mad.
She could not recall the last time she had seen it; when she had told him about the rape, perhaps, and that was still half a year ago. It was also the only time he had said he would shoot someone, willingly; three people, even, and she knew from his voice and posture then that he had meant it. Considering the one person he had killed with his gun, she knew what that had meant, and had been doing what she could to repay that sort of love since.
---
"Next time, I help."
"What?" She glared at him over her tea cup, but he was too busy staring into his own to notice. "Fuck no, you are sick, I'm not going to drag you out to help me make money."
"Next time, I help." He looked away. "You don't need to do this again."
"Even if we have no money at all? Even if you are dying of tuberculosis?" The words spilled out of her mouth without care for whether they made sense or not.
Luckily, Tegre was used to it, and just sighed. "Yes. I can take guarding jobs. Rich people pay well."
"You hate guarding. I've seen how on edge it makes you."
"I hate you being like this more." He frowned at her, met her dumbfounded gaze briefly. Then she knew he realized what her first thought process would be, and shook his head. "What it does to you. I can handle guarding. But this clinic, this surgeon..." He looked back at his tea.
His words registered slowly, amidst the deprecating chatter in her mind. Her first reaction was to take it as him saying she could not handle it, that she was weak, but she bit that back immediately, knowing it was nonsense, that Tegre had almost never insulted her, and if he planned to, it would come out in a tumbling, embarrassed accident. Perhaps he had a right to call her weak; she should be able to handle the insults, the stress, the dead and the dying. That was her job as a doctor.
"I can handle it, and will do it again if I have to." She wished her voice sounded stronger.
"You won't have to." And he put his arm around her; the blanket was so thick she could barely feel it, and she wondered if that was the point of the fabric. He put his tea cup on the nightstand and then inched carefully toward her, until finally he wrapped his other arm around her in a light hug.
"You are so bad at this affection thing." It was all she could think of to say, as she sipped her tea, wondering where the pins and needles were.
"So are you."
At that, she laughed, almost spilling her tea. She put it down on the bed post. "This isn't me being bad at it, and you know it." And then she turned and hugged him tightly, despite the crawling on her skin and the frantic chatter in her mind that he would trap her. She was fairly certain she still outweighed him.
Then she released him and jerked away, then laughed again, rubbing at her forehead. "See, that was me being bad at it. Orphanages are bad at teaching people how to hug, don't you know?"
So yeah. I need to make a lot of edits here and there, but otherwise, completed a short story, yay.
Now to sleep. If you want the whole thing to read and/or critique, let me know and I'll send it over.
It's gotten pretty long (about 6.2K words), so have some excerpts.
Perhaps it was a good thing that she did not write that note, because a block from the inn she knew it would have been a lie.
She knew the best clinic was in the rich district, and she knew it was a ten-minute trolley away. So first she ducked into a public bath, despite knowing it would be crowded, full of people to stare at her and the neat, perfect lines of scars that started at her hip and traveled down her thighs. But if she was going to make it into the rich district without being arrested or assaulted, she would need to be clean.
For a while Kader just stood with her towel, fighting the urge to pay extra to get to one of the smaller, more private baths; but guilt would not let her squander her money on her comfort, and instead she went to the main bath and barely lingered ten minutes in the water, scrubbing so fast with the soap it left her skin red and a few of the women staring. Then she leapt out to confused whispering that she silenced with a glare as she wrapped the too-small, too-rough towel around her torso. She was barely four inches over five feet, and wondered who the towels were supposed to fit; demons?
She toweled her hair as best she could in the house but did not bother to start combing it until she got to the tram; she kept it short enough that it did not take her more than five minutes before she had it pulled back into flowery pins, away from her face and thus unable to interfere with her work. She had long gotten used to the stares from that -- keeping hair long and intricately done was the style, but she did not have the money to maintain it, and it would reduce her from a useful doctor to an interesting centerpiece.
Of course, she had a funny feeling that was how the clinic would see her, as she stepped off of the tram and into the ritzy streets of the upper class. There the women were decorations, it seemed, walking around in ridiculous flowing gowns with curled, flowered hair, hanging off of the arm of a man with a tailored suit and a hat that she suspected may be taller than some dogs. A few of them looked at her, but mostly with curiosity, like a wild animal let loose into the streets. Otherwise, they did not notice her; why notice the poor?
---
The man that walked over made Kader want to punch him and walk out, forgetting this whole plan as lunacy. He peered down at her, wiping the blood on his hands with his smock, apparently having decided major surgery could wait while he dealt with a stupid girl. She did not wait for him to speak before shoving her license up at his nose.
He snatched it from her, frowning. "Rezten Medical College. Very impressive." He did not sound that amazed. "Just graduated?"
She always did wonder about the rich's inability to read. "Five years ago. It'd help if you read the whole thing."
The surgeon's eyes narrowed as he politely handed the license back to her. "That is no way to speak to a superior."
"That's fine, since you are not my superior." She met his glare with her own. "Shall I explain or do you want me to just kick my own ass out the door?"
She expected him to ask for neither, and do the honors of leading her out himself. Instead, he crossed his arms. "What does a physician in morbid anatomy want from here? Your little microscopes aren't going to help save any fucking lives here."
So it came down to her degree. She wondered about how he was more offended by her specialty than her gender or class. "I am perfectly capable of treating ailments, assisting in surgery, or even basic nurse duties. I haven't spent five fucking years ripping skin off of patients to ogle at under a microscope. If you'd pay me for it, I'd like to offer my services."
"Do we look like a charity foundation?"
"Kind of, yes." She hated herself for backing up when he stiffened, nostrils flaring, and stood a bit straighter, all but digging her feet in. "Your nurses are running fucking ragged, I can tell you just came running over from surgery at the prospect of some help . Are you really going to turn me away because I study germ theory?"
"If you're hear to study that theory on my patients, fuck yes I will, and good riddance to you." Someone shouted a name that made the surgeon turn his head. He sighed. "Look, little bitch. You're right, we could use an extra set of hands. But I am in no fucking way going to let you do anything but change bandages, apply leeches, maybe give medicines as long as you don't fucking experiment. If you don't like it, go fuck someone, maybe you can get a coin for it."
it took all of her self-control not to punch him then or knee him in the crotch. Black specks spun through her vision and she began to breathe deeply, using the same techniques she had to use on Tegre when he got into one of his "I am worth less than a speck of dirt" moods. if she punched out a doctor she would lose her license, and her freedom, and also Tegre, who would be left alone and probably find some reason to kill himself within a few months.
Her going to jail, that did not matter much. But Tegre dying? She would not allow that to happen, and especially not over something she did.
All of the other clinics would be just like this, she told herself. And they would pay less.
"I better get at least a fucking two-silver for this." She forced herself to meet the doctor's eyes while keeping her hands out of fists.
"If I feel like it." And with that he turned around and disappeared toward the back of the hospital.
---
"Where did you go?" He looked up and frowned, taking in her dirty clothes, dishevelled hair, and look of murder. "Is everything okay? Were you attacked?"
"Well I may have tuberculosis, so if I kill us both, sorry in advance." She heaved her bag onto her bed and picked a tiny container from it, handing it to Tegre. "But here."
He walked over cautiously and plucked it delicately from her fingers. As she sat down on the bed with a heavy sigh, she watched as his eyes widened. "Where did you go?"
She gave him a pointed look, but realized at his horrified look that he would just keep asking, or start to think she had mugged a store. "I worked at a clinic."
"You..." He carefully pushed her bag aside and sat down next to her, making sure they did not touch. "Why did you do that?"
Tegre knew well her hatred of hospitals and clinics; she ranted about them roughly once a day, especially after a hard day's work visiting patients, yelling at children, and being ripped off by unappreciative idiots. The rant always involved talking about how they paid more consistently, but not better, and also the conditions were atrocious, the doctors were idiots, and it was a death trap. Her little trip had proven all of the above, and also let her add "surgeons are sexist" to the list.
"To get supplies. Like honey." She pulled the clips from her hair, and gave them to Tegre when he held out his hand immediately. He quietly put them on the nightstand. "I was running low, and you kept on coughing, and were whining so much about that stupid drink--"
He gave her a confused frown. "I drank it."
"Yeah, no shit, but I could tell you hated it." She sighed, pulling off her boots and chucking them at the wall. "I'll force some spoiled brat to take a garlic tonic, but I'd rather not make you do the same more than once. Maybe twice."
"Why?" He tugged at her jacket, gently, but still enough to help her take it off. "I would have drank whatever you gave me. I know it'll help."
The words were such a welcome change from the surgeon that she almost wanted to hug him, and she smiled tiredly at him. "Because I care for you, you dumbass. You've tolerated my ass for this long, I have to do something in return."
---
"I think you are not going to get me sick. You have that inoculation you told me about. Maybe it gave you treatment for other diseases too." The soldier shrugged as he pulled a huge wool blanket out of his pack. He walked over and dumped it unceremoniously over her head. While she swore angrily and tried to drag the heavy thing back, she felt him sit down beside her. He was smiling softly when she finally got the damn fabric off of her head and over her shoulders.
"So your final answer is 'Fuck you and your worries, here have a blanket over your head'?" She glared at him until his smile faltered, then laughed, reaching over and giving him a fast past on the shoulder. "You are so fucking weird."
"Yes. Should I make tea?" He stood up as he said it, visibly relieved; Kader felt a pang of guilt, wondering if the look had been too much, or if perhaps he had taken the statement seriously.
She swallowed the worries as she collapsed backward on the bed. "Fuck, yes. And someone to beat the shit out of the asshole surgeon at that clinic. He had a bigger stick up his ass than the patient who came in with a gashed thigh."
"I can make tea, but..." The soldier frowned as he fed the low-burning fire in the room; Kader suspected he had completely forgotten about it in his worry. "He didn't touch you, did he?"
Kader sighed. "No, though he did tell me I should go whore myself out if the payment wasn't good enough." She paused, then looked up at Tegre, who had stiffened, eyes narrowing, very clearly reverting into that soldier mode that Kader both admired and feared. "Oh for fuck's sake, no."
The soldier stiffly put the kettle on the fire, a very deliberate motion. He then rose and looked out the window, toward the rich district, eyes cold. She knew that walk and look; when she had first seen it, nearly a year ago when a drunkard had been stupid enough to try and drag her into an alley, it had chilled her blood.
It still did, but not enough for her to argue with it. "I said no, Tegre. No beating people up in my honour. Or threatening them. He didn't touch me, he didn't threaten me, he was just a fucking asshole."
"He told you to go out and be a prostitute when--" Tegre cut himself off, digging his hands into his pockets as he glowered out the window. Kader then realized that it was not quite the soldier she was dealing with; no, this was just Tegre when he was mad.
She could not recall the last time she had seen it; when she had told him about the rape, perhaps, and that was still half a year ago. It was also the only time he had said he would shoot someone, willingly; three people, even, and she knew from his voice and posture then that he had meant it. Considering the one person he had killed with his gun, she knew what that had meant, and had been doing what she could to repay that sort of love since.
---
"Next time, I help."
"What?" She glared at him over her tea cup, but he was too busy staring into his own to notice. "Fuck no, you are sick, I'm not going to drag you out to help me make money."
"Next time, I help." He looked away. "You don't need to do this again."
"Even if we have no money at all? Even if you are dying of tuberculosis?" The words spilled out of her mouth without care for whether they made sense or not.
Luckily, Tegre was used to it, and just sighed. "Yes. I can take guarding jobs. Rich people pay well."
"You hate guarding. I've seen how on edge it makes you."
"I hate you being like this more." He frowned at her, met her dumbfounded gaze briefly. Then she knew he realized what her first thought process would be, and shook his head. "What it does to you. I can handle guarding. But this clinic, this surgeon..." He looked back at his tea.
His words registered slowly, amidst the deprecating chatter in her mind. Her first reaction was to take it as him saying she could not handle it, that she was weak, but she bit that back immediately, knowing it was nonsense, that Tegre had almost never insulted her, and if he planned to, it would come out in a tumbling, embarrassed accident. Perhaps he had a right to call her weak; she should be able to handle the insults, the stress, the dead and the dying. That was her job as a doctor.
"I can handle it, and will do it again if I have to." She wished her voice sounded stronger.
"You won't have to." And he put his arm around her; the blanket was so thick she could barely feel it, and she wondered if that was the point of the fabric. He put his tea cup on the nightstand and then inched carefully toward her, until finally he wrapped his other arm around her in a light hug.
"You are so bad at this affection thing." It was all she could think of to say, as she sipped her tea, wondering where the pins and needles were.
"So are you."
At that, she laughed, almost spilling her tea. She put it down on the bed post. "This isn't me being bad at it, and you know it." And then she turned and hugged him tightly, despite the crawling on her skin and the frantic chatter in her mind that he would trap her. She was fairly certain she still outweighed him.
Then she released him and jerked away, then laughed again, rubbing at her forehead. "See, that was me being bad at it. Orphanages are bad at teaching people how to hug, don't you know?"
So yeah. I need to make a lot of edits here and there, but otherwise, completed a short story, yay.
Now to sleep. If you want the whole thing to read and/or critique, let me know and I'll send it over.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-10 10:57 am (UTC)I'm not sure what I think about the style of the dialogue, though. It reads as if punctuation is missing.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-10 04:28 pm (UTC)Also, what do you mean about the dialogue?
no subject
Date: 2012-09-14 12:07 am (UTC)And, taking this as an example:
"Well I may have tuberculosis, so if I kill us both, sorry in advance."
I see what you're trying to do, I think; are you going for a natural rhythm? In any case, I would revise it to:
"Well, I may have tuberculosis, so if I kill us both? Sorry in advance."