Dr. Alan J. Hill (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
workthroughit) wrote2016-02-27 07:41 pm
workthroughit) wrote2016-02-27 07:41 pm
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?"
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?"
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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.
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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."
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"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."
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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."
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As if that reminded him, Dr. Hill looks briefly surprised. "Ah! And...are you ready for this to conclude, Mr. Rogers?"
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"Quite ready to be done with this, in fact."
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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...
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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.
no subject