Joan
PRAVUS
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Posts: 56
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Post by Joan on Jan 31, 2014 14:26:05 GMT -5
Unlike the Pokecenter, Nada General Hospital was always a busy place.
Comes with being the only medical establishment in the city. The influx of sick, maimed and injured never ceases to flow around here, and the place was forced to grow larger and larger in order to accommodate them all. It was like a mini-city on its own, with corridors replacing streets, and equaling them in crowdedness, humans, morphs and pokemon alike patiently waiting their turn to see the doctor...
Today, it was Joan's turn to conduct healing procedures. Heck, practically every day was her turn - the doctors like her were few and far between, able to use pokemon abilities to heal actual humans. It was always in high demand, so, naturally, the morph's main duty had been here. At the beginning of the day she was given a list of chambers to visit, and she had to go about it. At least 20 different names per day too... No time to lose!
Right now, it passed 3 PM, and Joan was off of her dinner break. Doors upon doors upon doors to hospital chambers, she passed them by, her walk so fluid that it looked like she almost floated. The white labcoat on her shoulders not restricting her natural elegance. Her eyes buried within her long list of names and numbers. It was turn of a certain patient right now, the morph's eyes fixated on one line in the list, breathing out:
- Madeline McKenna...
Joan never knew the girl in question, but she did overhear talk about some biker girl falling off a bike and breaking a leg. Bikers... Sheesh. I hate dealing with this type... Potty-mouth... Stubborn... Acting all rough and tough... Slapping me where they shouldn't...
The morph sighed and tried to suppress the unpleasant memories. She was supposed to be kind and compassionate to all things hurt, no matter their background or behavior. It wasn't that hard for Joan to fish out that compassion. Bringing a lighter smile to her face, as she reached chamber #419, she knocked at the door a few times, as a courtecy, before opening the door herself.
- Ms. McKenna?
She thought she heard that last name too, somewhere...
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Post by Madeline "Madd" McKenna on Feb 1, 2014 5:20:52 GMT -5
It had been a great morning. Her bike, which was old and a bit rusty, had been pulled from its little hole in the basement. In truth, while it had power, it would barely qualify as a ‘moped’ to most bikers. Found at a little garage, with a little ‘For Sale’ on it, Madeline had fallen in love. She doubted anyone she knew would appreciate her riding on a bike—even if it was a bit tame. It purred like a kitten when started though. The little thing, repainted the past summer in a fire-engine red, was now trashed. All of the aching hands, red bathtub, and scrubbing was now wasted.
It had been going well. Madeline had been nudging the accelerator; she mostly rode in the alleys around her home and to work. She had taken it a bit too far. About ten minutes into her ride, turning a corner, she had shouted with surprise. One of the old party stores, clearly not reading the ‘no parking signs’, had a delivery truck jutting out of its dock. A Machamp stared in surprise as he saw the rather bulky girl hurtling towards him. She pulled back the throttle as much as she could. “Shit!”, this time, unlike others, the profanity came from inside. Realizing she was going to end up against the side of the truck, unless she acted, the woman jerked the handlebars. For a moment, just one, it seemed like things would be alright. Then, whether it was the age of the bike or the slippery alley, it went badly.
The bike twisted out from under her. She found herself flying off. Her helmet, which she wore out of sheer common sense, protected her head. Her left leg on the other hand, slamming into a trash receptacle, was not so lucky. Snap! The sound foreign. The pain that flooded her mind, once the shock had worn off, was worse.
The hospital had been called. Her Linoone called out for company—Madeline was rather desperate. She was really desperate. Crying had come soon enough; the tough-girl act only went so far.
It was lonely.
Someone had prodded her in the arm. An IV bag swung above her head. Her clothes had been replaced with a gown. A variety of other scrapes, including a bruise on her torso from errant steering, had given her time in here. She may have suffered a mild concussion. The room for x-rays was currently occupied.
“It doesn’t hurt so much now, Yakuza.” The Linoone, who was draped across a chair beside her bed, just sneered. His fur, highlighted toxic green and pink today, ruffled in the breeze from a slightly ajar window. Icy blue eyes turned to face his trainer. He snorted and insulted in the same breath. “You’re just a pussy—simple.” Madeline, not in the mood to argue, just gave a small smile. “You can thank my parents for that. Genetics too.” This place was driving her insane—how long would she be here? How had Aubre spent six months in this sort of place?
Her father’s thumb had given one benefit at least: safety. Madeline had grown up in a home without hunger, risk, or apparent dangers. It had also slowly suffocated the teenage-version of herself. Her father had likely been the one slowly crushing her lungs; those eyes, wicked and powerful as could be, had been the catalyst for that. For the three years she had been away from home, journeying from Kanto to Remoor, one adjective described that middle-class home: boring. At the moment, laid up in the hospital bed, it no longer seemed quite so bad.
The orange eyes drifted closed for a minute. Uncle Ethan, or at least his secretary, had decided not to pick up at her phone call. She had no idea how paying for this worked. Was it covered? Would she end up with a 20 thousand dollar bill? The pillow at least was comfortable. “Maybe they will leave me alone for a little while—“ She sounded so strange without her forced air of gruffness. Trying to shift into a more comfortable position, which involved moving her leg, the girl bit her tongue. “…hngh.”
Her fuzzy friend decided to bitch now ; Yakuza had listened to her whine about her poor-little leg for over two hours now. “We better be home soon. I have food waiting—Chinese. “ Snorting, allowing his human to briefly pet his nose, the weasel muttered angrily. “—humans heal too fucking slow.” Turning his head, just as Joan entered, he frowned. What was it? A Gardevoir with a bad dye-job? The Linoone spoke. “Hey, Maddie, we got us a visitor.” The girl, who had thought asleep, opened her eyes with a frown. The sinuous thing jumped onto the bed, gently. Icy blue eyes were suspicious.
Then she shivered—these things were psychic-types. Could she request another nurse? She didn’t want any bitch poking around her skull. Her fingers curled into fists. The temporary fragility, visible in her face moments before, had vanished. Steeling herself, reminding herself that she wasn’t her father’s little doll, Madeline threw out a question. “Yes?” Then she sighed. While her body was tense, her eyes were terrified. “I wager you’re here to poke me with needles—I’d prefer if someone else did it.” It had nothing to do with Pokemorph or human—Madeline didn’t care. It was the fact that this thing could leave her flayed, naked, and broken. That feeling was far worse than a car accident. “It’s nothing personal, ma’am.” It was her father that had did this—bill him for that too.
The cream creature lifted his head, briefly. Was she afraid? Wasn’t that just new and interesting? Of what? Noodle-arms? “Hey, if this is about payment, just charge her dad—she still qualifies and all that.” His earrings shook as he began to groom himself. There we go, the redhead had finally smirked for him.
(Try not to reply too fast.)
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Joan
PRAVUS
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Posts: 56
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Post by Joan on Feb 2, 2014 4:09:02 GMT -5
I’d prefer if someone else did it.
That hit a nerve, alright. For a brief moment, Joan's icy blue eyes met McKenna's, a purple flash at the very bottom of them, a spark of psychic energy behind the suppressed bout of emotion. Deep down, the morph remembered her duty as a nurse, and that she had to be kind and supportive to whoever the patient is, despite their flaws. But ... sometimes, she wished to have the right to just smack the ungrateful human filth across their faces. Nothing personal, huh?
That only added to the insult. Like saying harsh words, and then trying to weasel out with the 'just kidding!' line. Joan could see fear in the punk's eyes, something she was not accustomed to see among their breed. Was being treated by a morph such a haunting prospect? Humans... tch. That was the nurse's reward, instead of gratitude and appreciation. Joan rubbed her sinuses - it wasn't good for an emotion pokemon... or morph to be immersed in so many negative emotions at the very same time. She practically ignored the mangy mutt trying to butt in, too.
- It sounded personal. - the short answer was laced with coldness, as the morph did her best to recompose herself, while putting her medical bag at the table, and opening it. The first one, conveniently, was a syringe. It held a painkiller, not a strong one, but enough to sedate the pain.
- Unfortunately, you will not be able to ask for another nurse. - she said, making an effort to soothe her own voice to sound neutral at least; - The hospital tends to thousands of people daily, and we are understaffed.
With that, she approached the bedside, with the syringe, and a piece of gauze drenched in an alcoholic solution, to sterilize the point of entry before the injection. - My name is Joan, and I am in charge of overseeing your healing process, for the duration of your recovery. The money is an issue you will have to deal with, later. The government covers 90% of the medical expense. I will inject you with a painkilling solution now, it will make the pain more endurable.
With that, she pulled the sleeve on the girl's shirt upwards, to open the place up for an injection, and would moisten the place with the alcoholic solution. It had a very ... distinctive smell, too.
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Post by Madeline "Madd" McKenna on Feb 3, 2014 5:41:09 GMT -5
(Please do not respond for at least 24 hours)
The words had just spilled from her mouth. It felt like, the second one of these things showed up, that some of her control went out the window. Her self-determination, with her strong backbone, was a recent creation. It had not existed five years ago and sometimes bent to her former self—which seemed woefully dependent on some asshole’s tugging.
This thing was not allowed to touch her. Joan shouldn’t touch her.
Someone who won’t turn me into a human meat-puppet should be in this room. Is it easier to subdue patients with something like this nurse, instead of medicine and diplomacy? Her rebellion allowed her hackles to raise. Madeline wouldn’t apologize—she had the right to say whatever the fuck she wished
The words were cool. They were spoken with her recently discovered, and truly adored, rebellion and flippancy. Her chin was lifted slightly; the woman’s neck was exposed to any blows that might come her way. The orange eyes were narrowed slightly in what seemed a juvenile attempt at intimidating. The scrape beneath her left eye, the result of gravel and asphalt, added a fragile look to her somewhat bulky features. Purple sparked in those eyes. For just a moment, the expression freezing like a terrified deer, Madeline was reminded how it felt to be a rat. She was not one anymore! “What? Mad about that?That’s my name you know—Madd.“ It felt good to say things like that—to spit in the face of authority. The smirk on her lips, tremulous or not, felt homely.
It had nothing to do with Joan herself. Pokemorphs were just fine in the redhead’s book. Nurses did a lot fo society. They were people to be admired. She was rather open to other people and far from quick to judge. Some of her best friends had been addicted to heavy drugs, alcohol, or battling—that did not make them any less cool. It really didn’t matter that she had a Pokemon’s DNA. Pokemorphs were people, in a sense, just like everyone else. Peering up at the Gardevoir with ice blue eyes, noting the sudden change, the normal-type just had to comment. “She nearly gave you a headache, be careful Madeline.” The Linoone ended his words with a snicker.
The Linoone, while he seemed rather at ease, actually did not like Pokemorphs. Then again, being uneducated for the most part, he just assumed they resulted from some nasty things in the bedroom. What he truly didn’t like, in any way, was being ignored. Just because he was a Pokemon didn’t mean he deserved to be ignored! With an irritated huff, flashing needle like teeth, he shifted. Draping his torso across his trainer’s middle, claws hanging off the bed, the weasel was a bit of an obstacle. The eyes quickly shot open again as rough fingers began to caress his neon-colored fur. “What the hell are you doing? I ain't your teddy bear, Madd. “ the beast barked angrily.
Madeline just smirked at Yakuza’s reaction. Turning toward the Pokemorph, orange eyes narrowing slightly, the former socialite spoke in an angry whisper. “It’s not. Do not implicate me as a liar. I don't care about what you are--or who you are.” It was her abilities that bothered Madeline . Tightening her fingers in her sheets, bunching the white fabric, a few more words ground their way out.“I just have reasons to dislike people who can dig in my skull—“ That would be the extent of their chatter about the matter, unless the Pokemorph insisted on therapy sessions. Orange eyes widened at the needle.
”This won’t hurt a bit.” The memories of childhood doctors surged to the front of her mind. Oddly enough, when compared to most kids, Madeline didn’t remember pain. The redhead just shuddered at the emergence of a needle. She could take it—just not in a pair of irritated hands. “I thought Pravus had enough money to purchase the world at this point.” Her words weren’t overly critical—it was just an observation. “It’s good that you’re all willing to overwork yourselves then--charitable even.” While the words were a bit sarcastic, likely a show of fear, the nod of admiration was genuine.
The second the Pokemorph moved closer, the human tensed. Her entire arm turned rigid. Being over six-foot tall, far from a ‘child’, the look of apparent trepidation was apparent. “—like Joan of Arc?” She remembered those history lessons. Madeline had once wished to be a woman of poise and power. Her father seemed against those sorts of things—no doubt he would have helped string the poor peasant girl on her stake. “ The second the hands touched hers, with water, Madeline hissed.
The Linoone on the other hand, seeing the tough girl acting like a big baby, began to laugh. He was not the least bit subtle about. “You’re just a goddamned big fucking baby. ‘Oh, I’m a gangster! I’m a biker!’ “ He then continued: “Oh no, doctor, no, not the smiley-faced needle!” In truth, if the positions had been reversed, Yakuza might have wailed and attacked.
Her arm jerked away from the slim hands. “You can ask first.” There was the slightest of pauses. “It’s polite to inquire about permission before poking people--” Madeline had little intention of letting a stranger inject chemicals into her body. It was a form of losing control. “Besides, I’m a redhead, it would take a lot of that nonsense—wouldn’t it?” The smile appeared again—it was tense this time. It was scared. “What is it—not with the medical jargon. Is it a plant derivative?” The laughter drew her gaze to the Linoone for a moment. Her arm relaxed. “Oh will you shut it, for Arceus’ sake!” It was an opening—a brief one.
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Joan
PRAVUS
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Posts: 56
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Post by Joan on Feb 7, 2014 4:03:46 GMT -5
Joan sighed and closed her eyes, taking a moment to recompose herself yet again.
This ... brat was getting on her nerves more and more by the minute. It seemed like the punk was intentionally trolling her nurse, knowing full well that in her position the doctor would not be able to retaliate in any way. Not being allowed to make an injection, Joan backed away, and simply waited till the brat would be done with her pet. It should be away anyway... But among the irritating manner of behavior and equally annoying words, the morph picked out one phrase:
"I just have reasons to dislike people who can dig in my skull."
Joan opened her eyes again, the purple fire vanishing from her gaze, instead being replaced with cold, analytic look. So that was the case behind the reaction. Coupled with signs of pure fear from time to time, it all made sense. The female was afraid of the morph, and of her powers. And, probably, of her being a morph wielding such. It was not a product of personal prejudices... at least, ones that are born out of ignorance.
- I am a doctor, Madeline. - she said, making an effort to soften her voice, and sound friendly enough; - And we make an oath, 'Not to cause harm'. I cannot harm you physically, nor can I touch your mind.
She doubted that the bratty child would believe it anyway, but it was worth a shot to try. And although an opening for an injection had been made, the nurse didn't dare to exploit it - doing so would undermine any attempts of gaining trust... and was dangerous as well - one twitch would cause the point of injection to rupture, and cause danger too.
- And the medicine is made of ibuprofen, for the most part, plus several small catalysts. It is healthier than most things you drank or smoke in your life. - really, it was hilarious for a punk to suddenly get all concerned about health; - So... please, can you let me do my job?
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Post by Madeline "Madd" McKenna on Feb 9, 2014 5:17:09 GMT -5
She hated needles.
This Pokemorph , with its cool attitude and haughtiness, seemed to typify the stereotypes for all psychic-types. Madeline would pretend to hurt her too. Acting like a hedgehog made a lot of things away. It worked better than the mousy cousin’s approach: roll over and let them win. She had did that for nearly all of her life. She wouldn’t—no, she couldn’t—do that bullshit any longer.
People needed to leave her alone. Invading her life, body, or mind, was where she drew the line. She would take a punch; she might even have once reveled in the opportunity to lose her composure. Her fist would not raise toward the nurse. The large girl just looked violent. She had never been the one to throw the first punch or send the first kick. Only her eyes, a fiery orange, were ready to attack. Doctors could get you committed. Besides, while she would deny it and just call Joan a bitch, the young woman was aware what guided her reaction: fear.
“…..really? “ This would not be her usual image of a doctor. Then again, growing up with her father, it wasn’t encouraged to push gender-stereotypes too hard. Rolling her broad shoulders, clutching her fingers to stop their trembling, Madeline shifted her good leg. “Usually you see the doctor last—guess they’re busy.” She remembered when her mother had given birth to her sibling. It had been person after person strolling through that room; the doctor had been the last one. In fact, when they had needed one , it was as if some meteor had cast them all into extinction. “Lots of people make oaths—I wager quite a few doctors have hurt their patients anyway.” She had watched the nighttime reality shows about problems in the emergency room.
Madeline tried to reassure herself. The trainer gently stroked the Linoone laying upon her bed. It was funny, looking back, how many times she had poked fun at her cousin for what she was doing in that moment.She won’t touch your head. The words sounded flat. The implication that cowardice and refusing were the same thing, which might be true, helped steel her resolve. Besides, if this thing wanted in her head, what could she do? Her father had allowed her to build a wall against his commands. “Tch. You can—you’re choosing not to, Doctor.” This woman was likely stronger than the middle-aged mutant. It couldn’t be too hard, if something happened, to find a lawyer. The things, with no other towns to occupy themselves, were common in town.
It was hard to trust this Gardevoir-hybrid. Was she agreeing to it because Joan was making her, or because she truly agreed? Psychic-manipulations were subtle. Suggestions seemed as natural as breathing. Pushing forth thoughts of resistance, feeling nothing but her own ideas, Madeline decided to get this bullshit over with. It would take a long-ass time to limp home. Staring at the needle, swallowing a bit, she slowly unfurled her arms. The muscles remained tense. “So, a pain-killer—“ She knew what the word catalyst meant; her chemistry tutors had made certain of that. The next words shattered that trust. “You do not know anything about me Doctor; I would hope you don’t make assumptions—“ If she had come in here ill, after riding a bike, would she have been put in rehabilation? Stereotypes were a type of mental influence; Madeline did a good job avoiding them, as long as psychic-types weren’t involved.
With her scolding out of the way, her arm now on her chest, Madeline offered it to the Gardevoir. Orange eyes continued to stare at the Pokemorph suspiciously. Her mental wall, which was about as secure as a sponge, flipped into place. “Fine, fine, go ahead.” Her muscles were still tightened into rods of solid sinew. It would hurt. It might just be a little bit, barely a poke, but it was still harm. She had to smirk at that—wasn’t that breaking their oath?
The Linoone just frowned up at her. Was that it? She disliked psychic-types? Did she think, like he did, that they were haughty little assholes? It certainly wasn’t the juicy tidbit he was hoping for.
Moving a bit, as he did want to go home and eat, he draped himself over her upper arm. His lithe body, packed with deadly muscle, managed to trap her arm against the rubber-covered matress. “Just hold still, Maddie-Bitch.” He would pester her with questions later. No doubt, unless he did research, she would just lie.
He was being a nice guy though! He would make her face her fears!
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Joan
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Post by Joan on Feb 12, 2014 14:01:42 GMT -5
- It is a hard oath to hold to. But we are doing our best.
Joan was not going to argue semantics. She did not find any pleasure in holding a conversation with this frightened, hostile woman. She obviously had some run-in with psychics in the past, which resulted in such a reaction. Still, the morph thought it would not be wise to press the issue, at least, at the current state the subject is in. But it did give food for thought ... for another time.
At least, the punk girl tried to cooperate now.
And Joan reached out for the arm given to her, to prepare for the injection. Her fingers touched the strong, tense arm, prodding it a little bit, before a frown appeared on the nurse's face. This was not good at all - the muscle was so tense it was practically like a rock. Trying to make a proper injection would, no doubt, be hard. Sighing, she shook her head.
- Please, try relaxing your arm, before I would administer the medicine. It would only hurt more if you keep it that way.
Joan tried to make her voice as soothing and calming as possible, but she did not result to psychic suggestions as of yet. Normally it was helping to make a patient comply and be docile, but with such a person at her hands, the effect would only an opposite one. It was at that very moment, when Joan was preparing to do it, a foreign sound eased the tension.
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!*
And the brief moment of distraction was all Joan would need. Suddenly, her soft grip would become hard like steel, and the needle would pierce into the vein, the syringe releasing everything it had into the blood stream, and pulling out, the point of entry covered with a gauze. The movement would take less than a moment, so fast the patient won't have time to realize, or get scared, until it was over. Breathing out, Joan put away the used syringe.
But who was knocking?
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Post by Madeline "Madd" McKenna on Feb 13, 2014 3:20:51 GMT -5
Madeline frowned for just a moment. Then again, unlike some, this doctor was honest. While she might have been a mind-controlling bitch, at least to the young woman, the redhead had to admire the truth in her words. Joan had not shouted about her adherence to code; if the Pokemorph had, claiming that she had made it this far without hurting someone, the reaction might have been different. The patient would have sneered and called the lie out right then. People died when you were a doctor. Instead, as the Gardevoir had admitted the truth, that her oath was hard to keep, lips turned in a different way.
The very tips, barely even a noticeable amount, twitched upward. “Just want to punch someone’s lights out sometimes?” Her hands, parts of which had been scraped by gravel, tightened into a fist. “I get it.” Madeline truly empathized. Her father found himself the focal point of her dart board. This brief moment of common ground, an island in a sea of fear, quickly slipped away. It was hard to trust a creature with powers like that. Who wouldn’t abuse them? The younger girl wished she could tell. Control was slipping out of her grasp—it frightened her more than the accident itself.
The Linoone watched the exchange with heavily-lidded eyes. Finally, giving his tail a languid swing, he bared needle-like teeth. Poking his trainer in the chest, drawing a wince from bruised ribs, Yakuza teased: “I wager it starts with you—goddamned pussy.” The girl couldn’t even sit still long enough to get poked. For her ass, usually for no reason, the Pokemon had been set-on-fire. A giant Rhyhorn had been allowed to sit on him. The human wouldn’t let someone prod her with a needle, for him. The little rodent felt justified in his constant prodding.
Again, just like before, the arm jerked away. Steeling herself, in response to her Linoone’s words, she forced it back into place. Orange eyes stared everywhere but the doctor. Why was it, after all these years, that her father still determined her life? His little girl would be afraid of syringes and doctors—well-behaved children had little need for either. You’re not a baby. Hold still. It won’t hurt that damn bad. The fingers brushed the freckled skin. Gritting her teeth, and making her hand into a determined ball, had turned Madeline into a statue. The words emerged in an angry bark. “I’m—!“ The urge to snap was overwhelming. She didn’t even hurt you. Quit growling at her. You’re better than some stupid fear. “Alright, alright..” The fingers, unfurled into a bloom. The muscles visibly relaxed.
Something tapped at the door. Were they sending an army in here? What the hell did they want? In truth, as she hadn’t notified anyone yet, Madeline doubted it was anyone she cared about. Two pairs of eyes, one icy and one fiery pumpkin, snapped to the door. “Come i—“ There was a hiss, a glare, and a shift. The sudden movement, as the redhead twisted to look at the traitor, resulted in agony. Gritting her teeth, imagining she could hear them crack, Madeline ignored the pain shooting up her leg.
It hadn’t hurt that much. The accident, earlier this very morning, had hurt far worse than any little prick. The needle going in had went unnoticed. It had been the pulling out, snagging on skin, that had drawn the patient’s ire. “Hey! That wasn’t fair! I told you to ask—or at least count.” Relying on her new defense mechanism, the thing that made people think of her as a ‘punk’, Madeline growled out: “Or maybe you can’t do that.” It was childish. Petty. Cruel. The redhead hated being tricked though, more than anything. What was the difference in controlling someone’s head and strapping them down while you shoved knives in open wounds?
The Linoone had cared little about the door. He’d just tear the damn interloper to shreds if they pissed him off. Yakuza had watched the needles. He had felt the sudden upheaval as his trainer bucked like a rodeo sideshow. Congratulations were in order—for Joan. “Good job, lady.” They could go home right? Soon? Snickering at her kicked-puppy expression, the normal-type fixed his gaze on his trainer. “She got you good.”
Twisting away, the movement vicious and sudden, Madeline clapped her own hand onto the gauze. She could not really blame Joan. The redhead would have done the same. Her McKenna genes, which included a large amount of stubbornness, made that hard to admit to. Grumbling irritably, forcing her trembling to subside, the redhead gave a piece of advice.“ …….don’t do that again. I want all those stupid forms people whine and bitch about.” Besides, in this room at least, the paperwork would be a welcome break.
“You can come in—I guess. I’m not naked or anything.” The gown had actually slipped. Lumps were visible between the slumping collar and tiny silver buttons. Hands pulled it back into place. “You guys need to find something better made—this is fucking ridiculous.”
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Joan
PRAVUS
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Posts: 56
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Post by Joan on Feb 15, 2014 13:55:06 GMT -5
- Counting only makes things worse - the body tries avoiding harm on a reflex. Trust me.
Joan, once more, did not feel like explaining herself too much to a cranky child hidden underneath the punk-ish appearance. At any rate, the pain killer was administrated, and soon enough, the female would feel her body become number, the pain ebbing away, and ardent and strong emotions quelled. The shot contained a strong dose of the medicine, with a sedative side-effect. As for who was knocking ... Joan had a good hunch who it had been
The door creaked open the moment later, the person behind it peering through the crack between it and the doorway. It turned out to be ... a Bisharp. Wearing a poorly-fitted labcoat and a cap over his head. He looked like someone trying to blend in ... and failing horribly at it. The morph sighed, and shook her head - by that time she got used to the act.
- Ugh, again, James? What did I tell you the last time about the medical garb?
She wasn't happy to see the dark-type. The pokemon looked away, sheepishly, and pushed the rolling table inside.
- I just came to say that the X-ray room is now ready to receive mrs. McKenna. I brought the means of transporting her there!
- Right...
The morph looked over the rest of the body too - there was no serious damage dealt, aside from a few scratches and bumps, the ones she noticed first were the ones on the girl's hands. Scraped by gravel, they most likely caused discomfort when touching anything... She reached out, and took them in hers, holding them lightly, saying:
- I will now heal your minor wounds with my abilities. Don't get too startled. - Joan gave a warning. She didn't want to frighten the patient... too much. But after she said that, her hands started glowing with blue light, and would feel very ... warm to touch. The pleasant warmness would spread over the girl's hands, numbing the pain from the scratches. Soon, the scratches would close... and disappear, leaving, soft,unharmed skin in place. As if the injuries didn't happen.
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Post by Madeline "Madd" McKenna on Feb 19, 2014 15:51:01 GMT -5
Counting made her feel better. What did it matter what her body did? The needle wasn’t the big issue. It was partially the expectation, but mostly the unknown and lack of control. Allowing some stranger to jab her with sharp objects, because they claimed it was better for her, was like giving someone her strings. She had spent too many years being someone else’s marionette. At least dictating when the point was pushed, by counting faster or slower, gave the illusion of control. Madeline stared at Joan incredulously before speaking. “Well, I’m glad my body does that—it’d be a fucking worthless piece of shit, if it didn’t.” She had to laugh in that moment, it sounded much more like her normal self. None of the forced façade was present during that second—except the needless swearing. “It would have made me feel better.” The words sounded as childish as they felt.
In truth, beneath her height and Team Rocket granted intimidation, Madeline was still a lost teenager. While she was slowly developing a sense of self, each and every day, it was gradual. Anger, which she seemed to display most often, had been the emotion her father had subdued the most. Just like all those mud puddles she had been towed away from, while trying not to cry, the dark emotion seemed fun to wallow in. When panicked though, she became lost in a forest, and the birds had eaten all the crumbs.
The medicine worked rather quickly. It reminded the young woman of her quick attempts at getting high; it had only been twice, honestly. Drinking and drugs were things that seemed idiotic . She did not need her father’s influence to figure that out. The pinprick seemed worth it. The tenseness in her muscles, half at the smell and half at the presence of a strange authority, relaxed. The pain ebbed away—it had been pretty bad, for all her bravado. “Not bad drugs, there. Doctors seem to get all the perks..”, she seemed pleased for a moment. Then her head began to feel a bit fuzzy. It was like grogginess in the morning. Her limbs felt a bit heavy. It was a familiar sensation. She didn’t like it.
The Linoone, sniffing at the injection site, wrinkled his nose. Whatever shit had been in that tube, clear or not, felt like a punch to the nose. “I wish those damn nurses at the center gave me shit like that—I just get stuffed in a ball.” He wanted to cry about Pokemon rights to anyone that would listen. Yakuza wanted the right to get feel-good things stuffed into his veins. He wouldn’t bitch about it either. Blue eyes, which now rested over exposed sharpened teeth, peered angrily at the door. “Who let the tin can in the hospital—with legs?” Nostrils wrinkled. It smelled like blood, or iron at least. Ugh.
Was this a comedy act meant to make her feel more at ease? Madeline watched the steel-type enter with a thoughtful frown. One orange eyebrow was lifted toward the ceiling. At least such a thing was likely sanitary—it didn’t have any organs to worry about, right? Shrugging at her silent thoughts, deciding that was best left to one of her training relatives, the large woman watched the interaction in silence. Then she saw the table on its rickety wheels. “That is not happening. My leg might end up on the ground—without my body attached.” It would be rather hard to transfer her without shifting that appendage. The tiny needle could only do so much.
James? Why would you call him James? Then again, who would name a Linoone after a gang? Turning from the Bisharp, toward the medical professional, Madeline chewed at her lip. The scabbed and bleeding hands, with tiny bandages, tightened. “I’m not frightened by some damn night light.” The feeling, coupled with warmth, was pleasant. The fear departed for a moment.
She yawned.
The Linoone wished he had his Chinese. The sign of sleepiness, which was supposedly contagious, moved. The rodent gave a cavernous yawn as well; his ended in a squeak.
Madeline fought the urge to let loose another protest against sleep. Her eyes still watered. The pain diminished and vanished on the backs of her hands. At least she could pick things up now, without[/i[ crying.
“Well, that’s useful—at least it’s not some puppeteering bullshit.” Madeline folded her arms around her rather substantial chest. With a sigh, as she did have manners, the red head grumbled a very simple: “Thank you.”
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