Doug and Clarice - the phone case
Apr. 11th, 2021 09:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsDoug wakes up, and discovers an oh-so-thoughtful gift courtesy of Clarice.
Doug's eyelids cracked open and saw the sterile lights and ceiling of the Medlab. For a moment he thought he was still back on the table with Marie-Ange jamming a syringe in his spinal cord.
~system resume from sleep~
But then the quiet hum in the back of his head reminded him of what had happened. For the most part it was like white noise, the nanites working away at whatever tasks they had assigned themselves. They were certainly still talkative, but nothing quite so urgent as the past...god, how long had he been asleep?
He looked down at his chest and blinked heavily to clear his vision. There was...something laying on his chest. A medium sized, plastic something. He went to pick it up, wondering why it hadn't happened already until the stump of his right elbow came into his field of view. Then, brain finally catching up, he moved his left hand awkwardly and grasped the package, getting it flipped over enough to read its label.
"Hello...Kitty."
"Oh good, you're awake," Clarice came into his field of view, her hair in a messy top knot on her head, held back with a sequined scrunchie. The scrunchie matched her scrubs, because that was how she rolled. She also looked like she'd pulled back to back 24's over the past however-many days. That was only partially true, but she and the rest of the medlab staff were all many hours negative on how much sleep they needed due to their patients and medlab requirements to put things back together. "Pain levels?"
A slight shift to try and get more comfortable was a very bad idea. Even with whatever pain meds he was still on, Doug definitely felt it and he hissed a drawn out breath. "Somewhere north of 'my pain is not fucking around' but not quite to 'why is this happening to me'. It's definitely getting there, though."
"Let me know if you reach the point where I need to 'give your wife your regards as the plane goes down,'" she retorted, though really, his pain should never reach that level. "As for 'why this is happening to you,' it's because you did the stupid," not the bad or the wrong per se, but the stupid. Stupid was practically its own pandemic around there though, including the med staff, so really, that wasn't too bad. Not that he had actually asked that question. "Any real questions for me though?"
"I mean, from a medical standpoint?" Doug had plenty of questions, but most of them weren't likely to be the sort Clarice could answer. He shifted again and winced. "How about we start with how long I should expect to be in here?"
"A few more days. Not more than a week," Clarice answered matter-of-factly. It helped that he lived a few floors up, but they needed to make more repairs before releasing him into the wild. "We'll wean you off the good drugs and get you up and moving. But you'll be so full of regret by that point, you won't try any shenanigans for a while. And of course, you'll have to start OT and PT. We're getting that arranged." By necessity, it would be in town.
Oh goody, now to add 'medically recommended torture' for his body on top of the massive amounts of talking he was going to likely be doing with Dr Grim. Doug grunted in acknowledgement. "Okay, second question. What are the odds of getting a really enormous plate of food in here?" He was famished.
"I can send someone. You get a choice. Oatmeal or soft soup. Be nice to your body," she wasn't heartless though, they would be flavoured. Just not a lot of hard stuff. Between the amputation and the meds, his stomach was likely to be sensitive for a couple days, "And you gotta poop later."
"Uggggggggggh fuck my life," Doug whined. He'd been saying that a lot lately, but it felt deserved. "Definitely not oatmeal, meh." There was only so much that could be done to flavor oatmeal and make it even semi-palatable. "Can it at least be egg drop soup?" he asked. "And maybe some mashed potatoes?"
Shrugging, Clarice agreed. "You just need things that are nice for your stomach for a day or so. Nothing major you'll survive,: she patted his leg reassuringly. Doug was actually in really good health minus the arm and everything that went with that. "At least I'm not offering Jello. That's the worst."
An overwrought gagging noise was the response to that last suggestion. "That is definitely a mood." Was there really anyone that liked Jello? Doug doubted it. He was pretty sure that company was either an elaborate money laundering front, or completely kept afloat by pudding cup sales. He picked at the phone case packaging with his hand, then sighed. "If I'm going to put my phone in this, I'm going to need help opening the package," he told Clarice.
Jello was for children and maybe old people with their jello moulds. And if it was mixed with fruit it was....tolerable. Not good. Smirking, she took the package and opened it, then handed it back, "Think of it as incentive," she suggested, "you can pass it on to the next idiot."
"You're all heart, Ferguson," Doug muttered.
Doug's eyelids cracked open and saw the sterile lights and ceiling of the Medlab. For a moment he thought he was still back on the table with Marie-Ange jamming a syringe in his spinal cord.
~system resume from sleep~
But then the quiet hum in the back of his head reminded him of what had happened. For the most part it was like white noise, the nanites working away at whatever tasks they had assigned themselves. They were certainly still talkative, but nothing quite so urgent as the past...god, how long had he been asleep?
He looked down at his chest and blinked heavily to clear his vision. There was...something laying on his chest. A medium sized, plastic something. He went to pick it up, wondering why it hadn't happened already until the stump of his right elbow came into his field of view. Then, brain finally catching up, he moved his left hand awkwardly and grasped the package, getting it flipped over enough to read its label.
"Hello...Kitty."
"Oh good, you're awake," Clarice came into his field of view, her hair in a messy top knot on her head, held back with a sequined scrunchie. The scrunchie matched her scrubs, because that was how she rolled. She also looked like she'd pulled back to back 24's over the past however-many days. That was only partially true, but she and the rest of the medlab staff were all many hours negative on how much sleep they needed due to their patients and medlab requirements to put things back together. "Pain levels?"
A slight shift to try and get more comfortable was a very bad idea. Even with whatever pain meds he was still on, Doug definitely felt it and he hissed a drawn out breath. "Somewhere north of 'my pain is not fucking around' but not quite to 'why is this happening to me'. It's definitely getting there, though."
"Let me know if you reach the point where I need to 'give your wife your regards as the plane goes down,'" she retorted, though really, his pain should never reach that level. "As for 'why this is happening to you,' it's because you did the stupid," not the bad or the wrong per se, but the stupid. Stupid was practically its own pandemic around there though, including the med staff, so really, that wasn't too bad. Not that he had actually asked that question. "Any real questions for me though?"
"I mean, from a medical standpoint?" Doug had plenty of questions, but most of them weren't likely to be the sort Clarice could answer. He shifted again and winced. "How about we start with how long I should expect to be in here?"
"A few more days. Not more than a week," Clarice answered matter-of-factly. It helped that he lived a few floors up, but they needed to make more repairs before releasing him into the wild. "We'll wean you off the good drugs and get you up and moving. But you'll be so full of regret by that point, you won't try any shenanigans for a while. And of course, you'll have to start OT and PT. We're getting that arranged." By necessity, it would be in town.
Oh goody, now to add 'medically recommended torture' for his body on top of the massive amounts of talking he was going to likely be doing with Dr Grim. Doug grunted in acknowledgement. "Okay, second question. What are the odds of getting a really enormous plate of food in here?" He was famished.
"I can send someone. You get a choice. Oatmeal or soft soup. Be nice to your body," she wasn't heartless though, they would be flavoured. Just not a lot of hard stuff. Between the amputation and the meds, his stomach was likely to be sensitive for a couple days, "And you gotta poop later."
"Uggggggggggh fuck my life," Doug whined. He'd been saying that a lot lately, but it felt deserved. "Definitely not oatmeal, meh." There was only so much that could be done to flavor oatmeal and make it even semi-palatable. "Can it at least be egg drop soup?" he asked. "And maybe some mashed potatoes?"
Shrugging, Clarice agreed. "You just need things that are nice for your stomach for a day or so. Nothing major you'll survive,: she patted his leg reassuringly. Doug was actually in really good health minus the arm and everything that went with that. "At least I'm not offering Jello. That's the worst."
An overwrought gagging noise was the response to that last suggestion. "That is definitely a mood." Was there really anyone that liked Jello? Doug doubted it. He was pretty sure that company was either an elaborate money laundering front, or completely kept afloat by pudding cup sales. He picked at the phone case packaging with his hand, then sighed. "If I'm going to put my phone in this, I'm going to need help opening the package," he told Clarice.
Jello was for children and maybe old people with their jello moulds. And if it was mixed with fruit it was....tolerable. Not good. Smirking, she took the package and opened it, then handed it back, "Think of it as incentive," she suggested, "you can pass it on to the next idiot."
"You're all heart, Ferguson," Doug muttered.
