workthroughit | Follow-Up Appointment [For Harrowheart, Viatorus, Steve]

The office is just where it's always been, and thankfully, there's no mind tricks that hide it from view this time. There between the glassware shop and the pharmacy is a sturdy polished door with an embossed brass nameplate bolted to the wall next to it: DR. ALAN J. HILL, MD, MPH.

Stepping inside leads to a nicely-furnished waiting room; handsome dark wooden furniture, comfy red upholstered sofas, a decent selection of Nexus magazines laid out for those looking to kill some time before their appointment. (Titles include CHOWDOWN, the leading reviews of Nexus restaurants and bars, SERVOS, a periodical for the robotic denizens of the Nexus, and WHOOPS!, a guide and advice publication focusing on LOLs, curses and similiar.) Soothing classical music is piped in by a speaker resting up on top of a bookshelf. There's no receptionist or desk designated for such. The door to the doctor's office is closed.

But after a certain point, the door opens and one of the poor mixed-up boys is called in. Looks like we're going about this one by one.

The office space is a warmly lit by streaming sunlight through a window opposite of the door. Despite the office being ground level in the Nexus, the window is clearly looking down from second floor vantage, overlooking a park and busy thoroughfare. The weather is sunny with a bit of cloud cover with no sign of snow. It looks to be a nice spring day, honestly. Out of place and strange with the cold and wintery look of the Nexus as of late.

Floor to ceiling bookshelves, an old fashioned victrola softly playing Bach, stained wood filing cabinets, a three-sectioned painting of a distinctly religious (rather demonic) nature, the familiar desk that often shows up along with the doctor in the Nexus. The banker's light, the metronome, the nameplate. The doctor himself is seated there, hands folded on the desk and wearing a smile.

After a gesture towards the open chair opposite of him, he asks, "So! Where shall we begin?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"You don't appreciate the good parts of it at all? The size, for instance. The strength. The imposing figure he cuts." Wait, what is he saying about Steve's usual shape? Well, the obvious, really. Shrimpy little guy.

"I mean. Yeah he's imposing. But..." Steve wraps his arms around himself as though trying to make himself smaller. "There's more to strength than size. Harrow's strong and sturdy and reliable. I never doubted that before the swap. What I can't imagine is how he can function with those...those things. Invading his head. And Viatorus's world is so different from mine it's laughable. If he'd had to live a day truly as me, back home? I think he'd never forgive me."

"I got so swept up by them, I wasn't ready...I just knew I had to protect Harrow as best as I could..."

"You're a protector to a fault, Mr. Rogers. Noble. Foolish, perhaps, but noble." He taps the end of his pen against his lower lip in thought for a moment or two.

"But protect Harrowheart from what?"

"...Himself. The Necromancer. It was difficult to tell which was the greater threat the more it escalated." Steve rubs at the back of his neck, shakes his head.

"They backed Harrow into a corner and he panicked. Threatened to kill himself--and Viatorus by proxy, if the Necromancer did anything to his body." Steve gestures to himself. "I couldn't let him get hurt. Wasn't going to just sit there. And I'd have done the same in my own body."

"And what did you do to save him? And I must wonder why, in your attempts to fix things, you consulted a Necromancer of all things. Unless this had something to do with Harrowheart's status as a member of the undead? Seems a little meddlesome, but." A shrug.

"I can't imagine Viatorus is happy with that threat being leveled at his body."

"That wasn't my idea. He's a relative of Viatorus's. Isidor and he thought that he'd be able to swap us back." Steve shakes his head quickly. No, no. He had known they were going to consult a relative of Viatorus. He had no idea it would be like this. And he still doesn't even know what a necromancer even is exactly.

Bad. Is what he's surmised.

"No one's happy with what happened. I picked him up and ran. I thought Isidor was gonna kill me. But I was trying to save him, not hurt him. I didn't want to..well. That's not true. I did want to hurt the necromancer when he started singling out Harrowheart. His comments about me, I could ignore, but..." Steve sighs.

"I let whatever else was in my head get me carried away. I wanted to do something. Stand up for him. It's my fault..."

"When you say whatever is in your head, what do you mean precisely? Does Harrowheart experience voices and you're now privy to them? Or is it some other emotion or sensation worming into your perception?"

He seems interested, threading his fingers together in his lap, his head canted to one side.

"Not voices exactly." Steve looks up form his hunched position to meet the doctor's gaze. "That's why I thought they were mine, at first. Ideas. Thoughts. Something wanted me to kill the Necromancer and to hurt anyone who threatened me. I've never....I've never thought about killing someone else before. But it would be so easy, is the thought that kept crossing my mind. It scared me. Made me feel...invaded. Violated."

He shudders.

"It's still there, too. Just less persistent. It makes my head hurt."

"Didn't you want to be a soldier at some point? That's a job where you're going to have to at least consider killing another." Just saying. "Don't tell me that didn't cross your mind at least once."

Back on track, the doctor leans his elbows onto his desk, peering closer at Harrowsteve. "Does this change how you see Harrowheart? Him presumably always hearing these things?" Whether Steve feels horror or pity, he's not going to assume. Let's hear it from the kid himself.

"Well, yes. But...I wanted to protect people. To look after those I cared about. I wasn't trying to join to fire a gun." He knows that's what he'd have ended up doing but it just....it wasn't what drew him into the service.

It still isn't what he respects about it.

"I'm amazed that he's always so happy. So friendly." Steve sounds...awed, in many ways. "He has to live with this all the time...and he's still so kind."

He lets the soldier line of thought drop off for now. Content he just put the notion in the boy's head. Maybe think a little harder about that aspiration if he's above the notion of ending another's life.

"That's the core of this exercise, I think. Realizing all of us have our struggles. No matter how happy, how rich, how loved, how healthy. All of us are grappling with terrible issues, fears, problems and demons. And seeing how they act on the outside in spite of it shows the measure of their strength. I think your friends see you that way. How you're so selfless and kind despite your tenuous health."

"It's not a big deal." Steve says, but he wonders if that's really true. His health is a big deal but Steve is used to it. Used to the risks. Used to his scoliosis and asthma and hearing problems.

Used to the fatigue and the need to rest.

There's a lot that Steve just deals with that others might find frightening. He hasn't really thought too hard about it before. It's always been his problem.

"I'm nothing special."

Dr. Hill huffs a laugh. "Don't be so sure about that. I'm certain your friends in this exercise would readily say otherwise as well! Harrowheart doesn't know the feeling of fatigue and Viatorus doesn't know the struggles of poverty. I think they'll view you differently at the conclusion of this all."

As if that reminded him, Dr. Hill looks briefly surprised. "Ah! And...are you ready for this to conclude, Mr. Rogers?"

"Sure he does. He used to be alive. And well, Viatorus never had to deal with my poverty. It's not part of my body, not really." Steve shrugs weakly but looks up at the doctor.

"Quite ready to be done with this, in fact."

"Then let's get the unpleasant part over with."

It's hard to say how Steve will perceive the chill that the swap causes; it's more than just a sensation, something that might go right past Harrowheart's natural (and unnatural) affinity for the cold. Along with that, there's the darkening and swimming of vision, the lightheadedness...

"Oh no..." This part never gets any easier, though the idea that everything will be right. Will be normal...will be..

Where is he?

"...What." Oh, back in the waiting room. Where his body was. Whups. He gets up meekly and knocks on the door to the office. "...So..we're done then?" He's hopeful, so hopeful. Back in his body where he belongs.

There's no answer. If the doorknob is given a try, turns out that it's locked. Guess that's that!

Follow-Up Appointment [For Harrowheart, Viatorus, Steve]

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