Shut Up and Write Meetup Today
Feb. 10th, 2013 02:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
breezeshadow1) The patients were easy to distinguish -- they were wore similar neutral-toned clothing, not a single item that they could swallow or hurt themselves with. One man paused upon seeing her, grasping a stuffed ostrich that she thought may have been sewn together in the medieval era.
"They say I'll see the sea some day." His voice was high and tired, and she paused on the landing while everyone else seemed to give him extra space.
"Who does, sir?"
"Them." And from the way he said it, she knew these people were not real, at least not in the physical sense. "Some day."
"Come along, Ben." A nurse placed a gentle hand on the man's shoulder, smiling in a way Rose May could only hope looked genuine to the patients. "You can't see the sea today. Today you see Dr. Albert."
"Albert. They don't like Albert." Yet the man followed her, muttering about the evil deeds Albert had done as they vanished down the stairs.
Rose May sighed as she continued up the creaking wooden stairs. She was not sure whether Dr. Albert had done anything so awful as the patient claimed, but knowing most asylums, it was certainly probable. It was one of the many reasons she would never live in one of these places -- she did not see any indication that strict schedules and diets and treatments did anything to improve one's life. Ben certainly did not seem like he was in any better of a state; certainly the people in his mind were still there, whispering of the sea.
They were not her responsibility, though; she would work with the temporary patients, the one sent to the asylum for a brief period. It was an odd concept that most of the rest of the world did not use -- the idea that someone with a mental illness could leave the hospital at some point, instead of being locked in forever. Yet Welen had too many ill people and not enough hospitals, doctors, or care; the idea of temporary housing was less to spare the less severe such a life, and more to spare the government from having to build more hospitals.
By the time she reached the fourth floor, she was wheezing a bit too much to think too clearly about it anymore; somehow the outside of the building hid how steep the stairs were, and she leaned against the wall, willing her lungs to breathe. They decided trying to hack themselves up was a much better idea.
2) The sheep were all in their pen now, though, and Sheep had even closed and locked it before trotting over, panting as if she were a real dog. He looked down at her, and thought that form was far too fluffy to be intimidating.
"You're a sheepdog who set a guy's hair on fire," Adam commented wryly. "I'm not sure whether that should be scary enough or not."
Sheep laughed. "I can be a sheepdog on fire!" And then her fur burst into wild flames, causing him to step back from the heat, waving the smoke from his face.
"No, cut that out. I don't want to die of black lung." He coughed. "Sheepdog who sets people on fire is good enough. Hell knows he's too desperate to care."
And so they watched, a man and his magic dog, as the Trader gave not the slightest damn about anything and continued his journey. Apparently the adrenaline rush had given him a good sobering, as he was way more skilled at walking now. Adam couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"Hello there, good sir!" The Trader grinned with the few teeth he had left.
Definitely a bad thing.
"What do you want?" Adam crossed his arms, lifting an eyebrow. "I have no need for your services."
"But I have need for yours!" the Trader shouted gleefully, then pointed to Sheep. "I want your magic dog!"
"No you don't." Adam shifted from foot to foot. "Magic is illegal. Why would you want her?"
"Who cares about legality? This shit ain't legal either, but it's got the taste of a goddess's milk." The Trader took a swig for good measure.
"I don't want to know how you know what that tastes like." Or which milk the man meant, for that matter. "And anyway, she's not for sale."
"Why not, my boy? You said yourself she's illegal. Wouldn't you rather rather get rid of her?" The Trader grinned, beyond proud of his logic.
Unfortunately for him, Adam was not impressed, and also had dreamed of becoming a lawyer. "I'll get into just as much trouble selling her to you, knowing she's magic, as I would keeping her. So I'll just keep her, thanks."
"How about if I tell the officials about her unless you give her to me?"
Had the Trader been a soldier, a real merchant, or even a seven-year-old, Adam may have been concerned. As it was, he rolled his eyes. "Because the officials will definitely believe a drunk, half-crazed Trader."
"Hey, I'm no Trader!" The man puffed up defensively. "I'm a nobleman's son!"
"And I'm the King of Shepar. Leave before I sick my magic dog on you."
"You wouldn't like it," Sheep spoke up, leaving the Trader's eyes as wide as saucers. "Carbon never likes fire."
"Shit, and she talks too?" the Trader sounded more impressed than afraid. "Though what's 'carbon'?"
"She means you." Technically, Adam had noticed that Sheep called almost everything carbon, from humans to animals to the grass. The Trader didn't need to know that, though. "Leave."
And then, without warning, Sheep morphed. In an instant his magic "dog" had been replaced with a wveryn, smoke pouring from her nostrils. The Trader shrieked and scrambled backward as Sheep scampered toward him, opening her maw to reveal many sharp teeth and fire deep in the back of her throat. That did it; she did not even need to begin to set the air aflame before the man had gotten to his feet and ran away as fast his drunk legs could take him.
"Well he knows you're not a dog anymore." Adam sighed heavily.
"But you wanted him to leave and he has!" Sheep grinned cluelessly at him.
"And now he knows you're more than just an enchanted animal. Let's hope being drunk keeps belief down."
And with a sigh, Adam went back to work.
"They say I'll see the sea some day." His voice was high and tired, and she paused on the landing while everyone else seemed to give him extra space.
"Who does, sir?"
"Them." And from the way he said it, she knew these people were not real, at least not in the physical sense. "Some day."
"Come along, Ben." A nurse placed a gentle hand on the man's shoulder, smiling in a way Rose May could only hope looked genuine to the patients. "You can't see the sea today. Today you see Dr. Albert."
"Albert. They don't like Albert." Yet the man followed her, muttering about the evil deeds Albert had done as they vanished down the stairs.
Rose May sighed as she continued up the creaking wooden stairs. She was not sure whether Dr. Albert had done anything so awful as the patient claimed, but knowing most asylums, it was certainly probable. It was one of the many reasons she would never live in one of these places -- she did not see any indication that strict schedules and diets and treatments did anything to improve one's life. Ben certainly did not seem like he was in any better of a state; certainly the people in his mind were still there, whispering of the sea.
They were not her responsibility, though; she would work with the temporary patients, the one sent to the asylum for a brief period. It was an odd concept that most of the rest of the world did not use -- the idea that someone with a mental illness could leave the hospital at some point, instead of being locked in forever. Yet Welen had too many ill people and not enough hospitals, doctors, or care; the idea of temporary housing was less to spare the less severe such a life, and more to spare the government from having to build more hospitals.
By the time she reached the fourth floor, she was wheezing a bit too much to think too clearly about it anymore; somehow the outside of the building hid how steep the stairs were, and she leaned against the wall, willing her lungs to breathe. They decided trying to hack themselves up was a much better idea.
2) The sheep were all in their pen now, though, and Sheep had even closed and locked it before trotting over, panting as if she were a real dog. He looked down at her, and thought that form was far too fluffy to be intimidating.
"You're a sheepdog who set a guy's hair on fire," Adam commented wryly. "I'm not sure whether that should be scary enough or not."
Sheep laughed. "I can be a sheepdog on fire!" And then her fur burst into wild flames, causing him to step back from the heat, waving the smoke from his face.
"No, cut that out. I don't want to die of black lung." He coughed. "Sheepdog who sets people on fire is good enough. Hell knows he's too desperate to care."
And so they watched, a man and his magic dog, as the Trader gave not the slightest damn about anything and continued his journey. Apparently the adrenaline rush had given him a good sobering, as he was way more skilled at walking now. Adam couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"Hello there, good sir!" The Trader grinned with the few teeth he had left.
Definitely a bad thing.
"What do you want?" Adam crossed his arms, lifting an eyebrow. "I have no need for your services."
"But I have need for yours!" the Trader shouted gleefully, then pointed to Sheep. "I want your magic dog!"
"No you don't." Adam shifted from foot to foot. "Magic is illegal. Why would you want her?"
"Who cares about legality? This shit ain't legal either, but it's got the taste of a goddess's milk." The Trader took a swig for good measure.
"I don't want to know how you know what that tastes like." Or which milk the man meant, for that matter. "And anyway, she's not for sale."
"Why not, my boy? You said yourself she's illegal. Wouldn't you rather rather get rid of her?" The Trader grinned, beyond proud of his logic.
Unfortunately for him, Adam was not impressed, and also had dreamed of becoming a lawyer. "I'll get into just as much trouble selling her to you, knowing she's magic, as I would keeping her. So I'll just keep her, thanks."
"How about if I tell the officials about her unless you give her to me?"
Had the Trader been a soldier, a real merchant, or even a seven-year-old, Adam may have been concerned. As it was, he rolled his eyes. "Because the officials will definitely believe a drunk, half-crazed Trader."
"Hey, I'm no Trader!" The man puffed up defensively. "I'm a nobleman's son!"
"And I'm the King of Shepar. Leave before I sick my magic dog on you."
"You wouldn't like it," Sheep spoke up, leaving the Trader's eyes as wide as saucers. "Carbon never likes fire."
"Shit, and she talks too?" the Trader sounded more impressed than afraid. "Though what's 'carbon'?"
"She means you." Technically, Adam had noticed that Sheep called almost everything carbon, from humans to animals to the grass. The Trader didn't need to know that, though. "Leave."
And then, without warning, Sheep morphed. In an instant his magic "dog" had been replaced with a wveryn, smoke pouring from her nostrils. The Trader shrieked and scrambled backward as Sheep scampered toward him, opening her maw to reveal many sharp teeth and fire deep in the back of her throat. That did it; she did not even need to begin to set the air aflame before the man had gotten to his feet and ran away as fast his drunk legs could take him.
"Well he knows you're not a dog anymore." Adam sighed heavily.
"But you wanted him to leave and he has!" Sheep grinned cluelessly at him.
"And now he knows you're more than just an enchanted animal. Let's hope being drunk keeps belief down."
And with a sigh, Adam went back to work.
