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| Scalpels down, Scalpels up [Complete]; -- Medical Pavillion | |
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| Topic Started: Apr 6 2008, 01:32 PM (213 Views) | |
| . Dr. Gareth Orloc | Apr 6 2008, 01:32 PM Post #1 |
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Dr. Gareth Orloc stretched out his legs, sitting on a sofa in the medical pavilion lounge next to surgery, a cup of coffee in his hands and a pack of Nico Time, unsmoked, at his elbow. he was not entirely sure that Rapture, in any real sense, had the facilities to grow and smoke tobacco properly. There might be a tobacco field of sorts somewhere in Arcadia, but it occurred to him that the main of the cigarette was probably some sort of sea-based filler... the idea put him off of actually smoking them, though he was curious about the effects of long-term use on the body in general. It bore thinking about. He tried to keep regular business hours, but research and personal projects tended to keep him later and later, these days. Although the artificial dimming and lightening of the areas simulated night and day, and 24-hour time was kept with the stubbornness that thousands of years had bred into the human bio-mechanism, he personally found it difficult to remember what time ruled by the arbitrary rising and setting of the sun to be like. But then, he had never been a creature of normal habits. A point of which he was slightly proud. Meeting Dr. Steinman had been for him a revelation, a golden opportunity which he had seized with both hands and a glad heart. Tall, blond, slim, and green-eyed, to Steinman as well as to himself, Orloc represented a kind of aesthetic ideal, an excellent model on which to base a certain selection of their catalogue of options. The conventional wisdom so refreshing here-- the best that God could do was create a race of faltering, imperfect men. It is the imperative of the best of these to rise above their faulty Creator and create a race of Perfect Gods. Though he handled a fair number of the outre plastic surgeries so popular here, his real love and fascination were the anomalies... the accidents and injuries either typical or peculiar to their particular environment. Death, of course, was a part of every society, perfect or not. It was his fascination with the causes and the effects thereof which, like the autopsy-takers of old, had caused Dr. Orloc to need and require a more... permissive environment in which to work. And Rapture was perfect. An enclosed society such as this one could do all the cremating it desired, but the concept of recycling waste-- or all kinds-- was more than a dim ethical notion, as it was just beginning to be on the surface. It was a real, practical necessity. And let's face it, when it came to bodies, everyone wanted what somebody else had. It was only here, unique of every place on earth, where no one would so much as blink if he found it in his power to give it to him. Thou shalt not covet? A naive admonition by civilisation's greatest protracted infants, spoiled little brats fixated on some idea of innocence that never had, and never would exist in any real way. Could Eden have been truly ignorant? Never. Could Eden, real Eden, have denied life to mankind? Ha! In this Eden, the fruits of every tree, in the center of the garden or otherwise hung ripe and ready for any he who made the simple effort to reach up and pluck the fruit. The watch on his wrist read 4 am. The offices would formally open in three hours, give or take, but Orloc was neither tired, nor did he expect to be so, anytime soon. And he still had some... patients to see, the most patient kind possible, before his regular clients began to appear after the bell. He hove himself to his feet and inhaled another deep breath of the coffee. Were there coffee plants in Arcadia? He made a mental note to inquire. Nutrition was the cornerstone of health. He stretched himself hugely and began his trek back to Surgery. To not be tired, so late into the night, that was a blessing, yes. Though if only someone would invent something to prevent his feet from hurting, that would be a true... heh... godsend. |
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| . Max Falkenstein | Apr 6 2008, 01:46 PM Post #2 |
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Max was uncomfortable in his hospital bed, even though it was a more comfortable bed than the sort you found above the sea, if you could afford one of the nicer ones and Max was the sort of man who could. Tank money, rocket money, shell money... it all went to getting comfortable beds since you supposedly needed all the help sleeping you could get with all the black stuck to your soul from how you had gotten the money in the first place. He tried not to chuckle at this reflection. That would hurt. His whole world was made of bandages and the few pinpoints of light that worked their way through them. Those were a good sigh, he decided, and Dr. Orloc seemed to agree. Half-awake he rang for the nurse. The button was easy to find. She would show up quickly. He could tell her by the tapping of her white pumps against the sterile floor. He assumed they were white, all nurses wore white everything, caps, and gowns, and shoes. She would take his arm and stick a needle full of morphine into it. Perhaps he would take another nap after that or listen to Rapture Radio and hope it played something new. Reading was out of the question for obvious reasons and that was beginning to gnaw on him a little. At least Dr. Orloc was good for conversation and he was around often enough. What was taking the nurse? His whole face was starting to hurt. Edited by . Max Falkenstein, Apr 6 2008, 01:51 PM.
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| . Dr. Gareth Orloc | Apr 6 2008, 02:00 PM Post #3 |
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The footsteps did not belong to the nurse; they had a softer, leather-soled sound to the way they hit the tile. "Are you comfortable, Herr Falkenstein?" Orloc's soft, cheery voice hovered somewhere above, "Feeling pain?" There may have been a touch of the German accent in the way the surgeon said the words, but it was carefully obscured. It drowned itself in the sound of Orloc taking a large sip from a coffee cup. |
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| . Max Falkenstein | Apr 6 2008, 02:08 PM Post #4 |
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Falkenstein's accent was thicker. He spoke like a man who had been born and raised in Germany, who had lived there for more than thirty years but who had learned English early enough that his accent was not overpowering or, at worst, ridiculous. His skin was pale from the artificial light but it might have been an infuriating two shade too tan once. His face was a mass of bandages, tightly wound strips of cotton that hinted at the features beneath. There was a nose, there were ears, there might even have been hair. He sat up in the bed, assisted by the pair of thin hospital pillows. Even like this he carried himself like... like a German. The air in the room crackled with a thin undercurrent of military precision. "Ah, good morning, doctor. My face hurts, yes." Reshaped lips were swollen tight against the bandages, were stretched painfully into new shapes by new eyes. If he really concentrated on it he was sure he could feel the unhealed cuts in his new nose, the breaks in the cartilage that had not yet solidified once more. |
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| . Dr. Gareth Orloc | Apr 6 2008, 02:14 PM Post #5 |
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"Good, good. That means it is all healing well." Another sip, and Falkenstein could feel Orloc's scrutiny through the bandages, "and your eyes? How are they? Dry?" Even mellow, Orloc had a way of sounding both cheery and queerly eager about such things. |
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| . Max Falkenstein | Apr 6 2008, 02:21 PM Post #6 |
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At this inquiry Max had to control an urge to put his fingers to the bandages covering his eyes. It had been hard enough during the first few days to control the instinct to rub them. Forcing his hands under the pillows and finding small objects like forks and glasses and used needles had helped some but it had still been difficult. Eventually he had to sit on top of them and felt ridiculous as his grandmother's voice echoed through his head. She's used to make him do that when he couldn't stop biting his fingernails. He'd spent an entire Christmas dinner that way once, much to the delight of his cousins who not only got to poke fun at him but eat all the streudel. "A little. Sore, more than anything. I don't think my eyelids like them." |
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| . Dr. Gareth Orloc | Apr 6 2008, 02:26 PM Post #7 |
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"Any light penetrating those bandages at all?" A slight ceramic scrape of the coffee cup being set down. |
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| . Max Falkenstein | Apr 6 2008, 02:31 PM Post #8 |
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"Yes," Max replied, knowing this would please Dr. Orloc as much as it pleased himself. Those tiny little dots of Rapture's ever-glowing neon and ever-buzzing florescent were a source of greater excitement than they had been upon his arrival in the city. |
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| . Dr. Gareth Orloc | Apr 6 2008, 02:43 PM Post #9 |
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"Still better! You should be able to come out of the bandages this afternoon. What a pleasure it should be for you, to see your new face..." Orloc's grin was audible, "I guarantee you, it is everything you asked for, and more so. I am looking forward, very forward, to seeing the finished product. The hair and scalp, in particular... it may take some time to fully stop itching, but you musn't scratch, not for the first several weeks. the stitches are very small and delicate, the skin there very thin. It would be unwise to use a fine-tooth or metal comb, either." |
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| . Max Falkenstein | Apr 6 2008, 03:06 PM Post #10 |
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A large knot of excitement settled in Max's stomach. He had been waiting for that moment for weeks and the prospect of it being that afternoon was distinctly delicious. He had every possible confidence in Orloc's abilities. After all, he was a fellow German, and that put him immediately ahead of others. As a fellow German he had understood the specifics of the request. The question was not whether it would look good, but /how/ good would it look? Even half-healed and dotted with stitches it would surely look better than it had before. Those old photographs of a bald businessman in suits meant to draw as much attention away from his face as possible would be nothing more than a nightmarish memory. No more common brown eyes and mud-colored hair. No more chin with mere dreams of one day being a proper chin. No more nose that claimed to have come into contact with a fast-moving frying pan in order to gain sympathy. Somewhere under those bandages there was an ideal. "Oh, take them off now!" He might have blushed under all the cotton, embarrassed at sounding so eager. He was too old for that. |
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3:47 AM Nov 28
