30 Cylus, 724
.
“You’re that new kid, ain't you?”
The words couldn’t be heard, but the body language was indefinitely understood.
Stuttering ever so slightly and feeling out of place, with the walls seeming to close in around him, Kotton replied with the most basic transaction humanly possible. And it was one that he had been working on for while, as overthinkers usually did.
“I'm not that ne-"
The taller one, the one who had caught Kotton snooping about with the desire to find extra work to fill the rest of his day, chuckled darkly. “Whatever," he drawled, throwing his head around with a painful looking technique to stretch his neck. "I hear you're pretty smart.”
“With a smart mouth,” added the other guy who stood directly beside him. Kotton had almost missed what he said, his focus still mesmerised by the uncomfortable neck cracking of his peer. This one had dark hair. He was most definitely shorter than the other one; not as short as Kotton, but not much taller than him either. His face was rugged like it had seen far too many deaths or near-death experiences. Maybe he had been witness to a battle, his journey never to be known. Or his destination- especially with how this conversation was going. Some people really should put a sock in it.
The young man didn’t know what to say, so he simply stood awkwardly and let the two men discourage him with disrespectful comments. Being as passive as he was took tolls on both his mental and emotional wellbeing and although he never made any attempt to break such an atrocious habit, he dealt with these things as best he could.
The tall man walked up to him then and knocked the folder he had been holding right out of his hands. The papers held within scattered every which way across the floor. They decorated the linoleum with careless direction, like snowflakes, all in the wake of chaos.
“Oops,” the tall man muttered because why fess up with an apology when you're trying to make someone feel insignificant? Would any other professional coworker behave this way? “It looks like you dropped something.”
Kotton dropped to the floor to pick up the papers, but only after eyeing the man through slits. He could bear no addition details other than the colour of his hair- that's how narrow they were. His cheeks warmed with mild embarrassment. He hated it, wished he could keep up the facade of being a stoic badass just as he wished he could keep his eyes locked onto his bullies. Instead, he chose to gather the pamphlets and place them back in the folder, restraining himself from making matters worse.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he finally blabbered with a stifled snarl. Then he rushed off to a place he didn't need to be but very much wanted to. Mock calls were unheard, but certainly not ignored as they continued from his posterior. Swallowing a large lump in his throat, Kotton kept back the rageful tears that threatened to dampen his flushed cheeks. He still felt the measure of indecency from those who had tired to make a fool of himself long after it happened, but would choose to let it go later. He would be the bigger man.
He found his trajectory towards his superior's desk, where he very well dropped the folder and its contents with carelessness. What had just happened was not acceptable. During elementary or secondary school perhaps, but not in the professional working world where everyone was an adult and took part in abject adult conversations and resolved conflicts in mature ways. Still working on the whole 'letting it go' thing, he was mired in the playback loop in his head and didn't notice his superior trying to get his attention.
“Kotton,” his superior abruptly spoke, voice husky like the growl from a predator.
“Y-yes, siw," Kotton stumbled, retreating from his spot within the clouds.
“I have another patient in the next room-“ he pointed "-who is complaining of a very bad headache. Do you think you can handle it? Worick has been requested to be the attending practitioner.”
“Yes siw.”
“How did the last patient go?”
“She had a minow wash, siw,” he explained, reaching for the folder with the purpose of showing what its contents contained.
“No need for that, son. I trust you. But I will take that off your hands.” The transaction was sudden- swiftly was the folder taken from his grasp or the space he had dropped it- he couldn't recall and in his empty grasp another folder was placed.
“This way,” Worick declared. He had just magically appeared behind the young medic.
“O-okay,” Kotton stuttered with a nervous smile. “Show me the way.”
As they entered the examination room, Worick began greeting the patient. “Hello, young man,” Worick said as Kotton took a seat in an empty chair. He tucked the folder under his right arm, making no effort in looking at its contents. He would do what he did best and survey the situation with his own eyes.
The patient had long blonde hair- ruffled and wavy. His eyes were a vibrant green and his skin was tanned to a caramel colour that could make even the Biqaj appear pale. They fidgeted in their seat before grumbling something unintelligible, then pointed to the side of his head.
Worick inquired of the plausibility of him having a headache.
The patient responded rather harshly. His words slashed against his practitioner with the sharpness of a scalpel. Agitation filled his voice as he spat, “Well, duh,” with excessive emphasis. Kotton's immediate response was to retreat and situate himself a little closer to the haven that was the far wall. Alternatively, he back peddled, but kept strong as a scribe and beginner nurse was supposed to be.
Worick was not phased. He nodded his head and lifted his eyebrows with amicable concern. “Well, not to worry, sir. I believe I have something to help you.”
Worick’s lips hadn’t curved into a place of conjecture. They had instead resolved themselves into something of statement. There was no question to be had here. No patient could talk back against a practitioner so rational and level-headed as he was. Prediction, placement, ingenuity, and closure. These were all values held by the doctoral code of conduct, at least at this particular clinic.
“You better,” the boy remarked with a sneer.
Kotton straightened his posture, readying himself to come to his friend’s aid if he needed it. But he saw with the flick of his friend's wrist, a signal that announced he was just fine. The young man puffed a plume of incredulity and performed an inward rolling of the eyes.
“Is anything besides your aching head bothering you?” Worick continued.
“What? Yeah.”
“Such as…?”
“I’m so thirsty.” The ailing boy sighed and rubbed at his temples with both index fingers.
“Anything else?”
“Like what?” the boy snapped. Kotton could have sworn he felt beams radiation hit him from this kid's feral stare. What was his problem? Did he not come to the clinic to seek help? Or did his parents force him to? Whatever it was that was jammed so tightly up his anus, Kotton had to practice his keeping of cool.
“Did you or do you feel nauseous? Are the lights in this room hurting your eyes? Does your stomach ache?”
The patient tilted his head back in a motion feigning either boredom or fatigue, and sighed before speaking an affirmation. Yes, he was feeling those very symptoms.
“May I take a look?”
The boy shrugged and allowed Worick to rest his hands on either side of the kid's head. One finger gently raised an eyelid. Kotton scooted his chair closer to procure a better look.
“What is it?” the boy asked through gritted teeth.
Kotton saw the red veins decorating the otherwise whiteness of his scleras. “Your eyes are bloodshot,” Worick replied, backing away and replacing his gloves with more gloves.
“So?”
“So,” Kotton retorted rather sternly, no longer at peace with merely accepting the closed off body language and disgusted facial expressions of an entitled child. “You need to tell us the twuth.”
The boy paused for a second, provident of this interruption. Worick did nothing other than sit idle beside his aspiring nurse. He did however add to the conversation: “Did you have a wild night last night?”
Confusion marred the young patient's face. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Kotton soughed, still feeling the adrenaline that overcame him during his impulsive decision to take charge. “He's asking you if you consumed a lot of alcohol last night.”
The response? A shrug. It wasn’t enough to give reason for prescription of any kind.
“That’s not an answer,” Worick stated from behind the counter of objectivity.
“Okay, fine. I did. Alright? I was wasted last night with some friends. Are you happy now? Are you happy?"
Smirks were exchanged between practitioner and scribe. Kotton even took the time to write down this interaction, appreciating the trust his friend held in him to attend the helm of the evaluation.
“Yes, thank you very much,” Worick aforesaid, grin still valiantly pasted on his face.
“So… Can you help me or not?"
“Yes, siw,” Kotton announced in stead of his practitioner. He played on the many times he had had to say the same thing, only this time wasn't out of submissive habit.
Rushing over to the cabinetry against the far wall, Worick scoured a many drawers, opened a few doors and sifted through several cabinets all before extracting his prize.
“A tonic for hangovews. That’s nice,” Kotton remarked as he caught note of the object in his coworker's hand. He continued his observational analysis and added this moment to his notes.
Worick was about to instill some doctoral insight in the boy, but Kotton interrupted him before he could. “Don’t waste youw life by dwinking away youw pwoblems, okay?”
Hypocritical, he knew, but it was better to try to save someone else if he couldn’t save himself. The reply was more than he could have anticipated given the course of interactions that had accrued. The patient nodded his head, took a swig of the tonic and handed it back to his practitioner with an appreciative smile.
Kotton made a glance to his partner who held an indecipherable expression. What was he thinking? The features that glanced off his face were practically unreadable, and Kotton was extremely good at reading facial features. Perhaps he would have to ask him during break, otherwise, the picture of his face would fester in his mind like an itch from a bug bite left untreated.
Pride quickly swooped in; he had helped solve another medical case, thereby adding to his experiences as a future doctor. He smiled. But he couldn't dwell on it very long. He had information to give to his superior. Long lost was the harassment that occurred only an hour or so before.
The words couldn’t be heard, but the body language was indefinitely understood.
Stuttering ever so slightly and feeling out of place, with the walls seeming to close in around him, Kotton replied with the most basic transaction humanly possible. And it was one that he had been working on for while, as overthinkers usually did.
“I'm not that ne-"
The taller one, the one who had caught Kotton snooping about with the desire to find extra work to fill the rest of his day, chuckled darkly. “Whatever," he drawled, throwing his head around with a painful looking technique to stretch his neck. "I hear you're pretty smart.”
“With a smart mouth,” added the other guy who stood directly beside him. Kotton had almost missed what he said, his focus still mesmerised by the uncomfortable neck cracking of his peer. This one had dark hair. He was most definitely shorter than the other one; not as short as Kotton, but not much taller than him either. His face was rugged like it had seen far too many deaths or near-death experiences. Maybe he had been witness to a battle, his journey never to be known. Or his destination- especially with how this conversation was going. Some people really should put a sock in it.
The young man didn’t know what to say, so he simply stood awkwardly and let the two men discourage him with disrespectful comments. Being as passive as he was took tolls on both his mental and emotional wellbeing and although he never made any attempt to break such an atrocious habit, he dealt with these things as best he could.
The tall man walked up to him then and knocked the folder he had been holding right out of his hands. The papers held within scattered every which way across the floor. They decorated the linoleum with careless direction, like snowflakes, all in the wake of chaos.
“Oops,” the tall man muttered because why fess up with an apology when you're trying to make someone feel insignificant? Would any other professional coworker behave this way? “It looks like you dropped something.”
Kotton dropped to the floor to pick up the papers, but only after eyeing the man through slits. He could bear no addition details other than the colour of his hair- that's how narrow they were. His cheeks warmed with mild embarrassment. He hated it, wished he could keep up the facade of being a stoic badass just as he wished he could keep his eyes locked onto his bullies. Instead, he chose to gather the pamphlets and place them back in the folder, restraining himself from making matters worse.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he finally blabbered with a stifled snarl. Then he rushed off to a place he didn't need to be but very much wanted to. Mock calls were unheard, but certainly not ignored as they continued from his posterior. Swallowing a large lump in his throat, Kotton kept back the rageful tears that threatened to dampen his flushed cheeks. He still felt the measure of indecency from those who had tired to make a fool of himself long after it happened, but would choose to let it go later. He would be the bigger man.
He found his trajectory towards his superior's desk, where he very well dropped the folder and its contents with carelessness. What had just happened was not acceptable. During elementary or secondary school perhaps, but not in the professional working world where everyone was an adult and took part in abject adult conversations and resolved conflicts in mature ways. Still working on the whole 'letting it go' thing, he was mired in the playback loop in his head and didn't notice his superior trying to get his attention.
“Kotton,” his superior abruptly spoke, voice husky like the growl from a predator.
“Y-yes, siw," Kotton stumbled, retreating from his spot within the clouds.
“I have another patient in the next room-“ he pointed "-who is complaining of a very bad headache. Do you think you can handle it? Worick has been requested to be the attending practitioner.”
“Yes siw.”
“How did the last patient go?”
“She had a minow wash, siw,” he explained, reaching for the folder with the purpose of showing what its contents contained.
“No need for that, son. I trust you. But I will take that off your hands.” The transaction was sudden- swiftly was the folder taken from his grasp or the space he had dropped it- he couldn't recall and in his empty grasp another folder was placed.
“This way,” Worick declared. He had just magically appeared behind the young medic.
“O-okay,” Kotton stuttered with a nervous smile. “Show me the way.”
As they entered the examination room, Worick began greeting the patient. “Hello, young man,” Worick said as Kotton took a seat in an empty chair. He tucked the folder under his right arm, making no effort in looking at its contents. He would do what he did best and survey the situation with his own eyes.
The patient had long blonde hair- ruffled and wavy. His eyes were a vibrant green and his skin was tanned to a caramel colour that could make even the Biqaj appear pale. They fidgeted in their seat before grumbling something unintelligible, then pointed to the side of his head.
Worick inquired of the plausibility of him having a headache.
The patient responded rather harshly. His words slashed against his practitioner with the sharpness of a scalpel. Agitation filled his voice as he spat, “Well, duh,” with excessive emphasis. Kotton's immediate response was to retreat and situate himself a little closer to the haven that was the far wall. Alternatively, he back peddled, but kept strong as a scribe and beginner nurse was supposed to be.
Worick was not phased. He nodded his head and lifted his eyebrows with amicable concern. “Well, not to worry, sir. I believe I have something to help you.”
Worick’s lips hadn’t curved into a place of conjecture. They had instead resolved themselves into something of statement. There was no question to be had here. No patient could talk back against a practitioner so rational and level-headed as he was. Prediction, placement, ingenuity, and closure. These were all values held by the doctoral code of conduct, at least at this particular clinic.
“You better,” the boy remarked with a sneer.
Kotton straightened his posture, readying himself to come to his friend’s aid if he needed it. But he saw with the flick of his friend's wrist, a signal that announced he was just fine. The young man puffed a plume of incredulity and performed an inward rolling of the eyes.
“Is anything besides your aching head bothering you?” Worick continued.
“What? Yeah.”
“Such as…?”
“I’m so thirsty.” The ailing boy sighed and rubbed at his temples with both index fingers.
“Anything else?”
“Like what?” the boy snapped. Kotton could have sworn he felt beams radiation hit him from this kid's feral stare. What was his problem? Did he not come to the clinic to seek help? Or did his parents force him to? Whatever it was that was jammed so tightly up his anus, Kotton had to practice his keeping of cool.
“Did you or do you feel nauseous? Are the lights in this room hurting your eyes? Does your stomach ache?”
The patient tilted his head back in a motion feigning either boredom or fatigue, and sighed before speaking an affirmation. Yes, he was feeling those very symptoms.
“May I take a look?”
The boy shrugged and allowed Worick to rest his hands on either side of the kid's head. One finger gently raised an eyelid. Kotton scooted his chair closer to procure a better look.
“What is it?” the boy asked through gritted teeth.
Kotton saw the red veins decorating the otherwise whiteness of his scleras. “Your eyes are bloodshot,” Worick replied, backing away and replacing his gloves with more gloves.
“So?”
“So,” Kotton retorted rather sternly, no longer at peace with merely accepting the closed off body language and disgusted facial expressions of an entitled child. “You need to tell us the twuth.”
The boy paused for a second, provident of this interruption. Worick did nothing other than sit idle beside his aspiring nurse. He did however add to the conversation: “Did you have a wild night last night?”
Confusion marred the young patient's face. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Kotton soughed, still feeling the adrenaline that overcame him during his impulsive decision to take charge. “He's asking you if you consumed a lot of alcohol last night.”
The response? A shrug. It wasn’t enough to give reason for prescription of any kind.
“That’s not an answer,” Worick stated from behind the counter of objectivity.
“Okay, fine. I did. Alright? I was wasted last night with some friends. Are you happy now? Are you happy?"
Smirks were exchanged between practitioner and scribe. Kotton even took the time to write down this interaction, appreciating the trust his friend held in him to attend the helm of the evaluation.
“Yes, thank you very much,” Worick aforesaid, grin still valiantly pasted on his face.
“So… Can you help me or not?"
“Yes, siw,” Kotton announced in stead of his practitioner. He played on the many times he had had to say the same thing, only this time wasn't out of submissive habit.
Rushing over to the cabinetry against the far wall, Worick scoured a many drawers, opened a few doors and sifted through several cabinets all before extracting his prize.
“A tonic for hangovews. That’s nice,” Kotton remarked as he caught note of the object in his coworker's hand. He continued his observational analysis and added this moment to his notes.
Worick was about to instill some doctoral insight in the boy, but Kotton interrupted him before he could. “Don’t waste youw life by dwinking away youw pwoblems, okay?”
Hypocritical, he knew, but it was better to try to save someone else if he couldn’t save himself. The reply was more than he could have anticipated given the course of interactions that had accrued. The patient nodded his head, took a swig of the tonic and handed it back to his practitioner with an appreciative smile.
Kotton made a glance to his partner who held an indecipherable expression. What was he thinking? The features that glanced off his face were practically unreadable, and Kotton was extremely good at reading facial features. Perhaps he would have to ask him during break, otherwise, the picture of his face would fester in his mind like an itch from a bug bite left untreated.
Pride quickly swooped in; he had helped solve another medical case, thereby adding to his experiences as a future doctor. He smiled. But he couldn't dwell on it very long. He had information to give to his superior. Long lost was the harassment that occurred only an hour or so before.