Post by Mikhail Orlov on Mar 13, 2019 18:26:15 GMT -4
If people’s lives were stories, hospitals would be the bookends: the ending and the beginning. Into the world surrounded by sterile white walls--and barring accident, out the very same way. The unfortunate part was how many times you ended up there in-between.
Barely months had passed since Mikhail Orlov’s most recent imprisonment from injury--the accident that had derailed him from burnt-out idol to would-be hero. When he’d slithered out of Toyko General’s door into his car, he’d been ready to be done with the place for years. And yet...here he was. Again.
He sighed, going through the motions by rote. Go inside. Talk to the receptionist. Answer questions about Tokyo5. Get Tsutsuji-chan’s room number. Turn to go. Pause. Sign a hat for the reception’s daughter. Continue to the elevator.
Perhaps bookends was a bad metaphor. Bookends weren’t quite the same--they were something outside the book, distinct, and added later. Maybe credits? The old fashioned-style, that appeared at the beginning and end of a movie or tv episode: “Starring, Mikhail Orlov’s birth, featuring, his parents.”
Yes. That sounded better. Hospitals were credits. You might feature, but you were never quite alone. Characters phased in and out, people starred in their first or final episode, and there was a constant recurring cast of techs--surgeons and nurses--that were invisible, but everywhere.
The rote continued. Wait for the elevator. Let people out. Smile at the people clogged in the door starting at you, nod, and confirm that you are, in fact, the Mikhail Orlov. Why yes, I am about to visit Yellowjacket herself, why do you ask? Give your autograph, and promise to ask for hers if you get the chance. Board. Press a button. Smile and wink at the other people pretending not to stare.
Mikhail had memories for nearly ever floor by now. Pediatrics--he’d spend a lot of time there as a child, while his parents tried to figure out how a snakeboy worked. Dentistry. Perfect teeth were never natural. Surgery. Had to get the metal from the crash out somehow. Physical therapy. On and on.
The door clicked opened, another small group of people on board. Smile and nod. Answer questions. No, he hadn’t gotten badly hurt in the battle, thank you for asking. Yes, Yellowjacket would probably recover. Sorry, I can’t answer if a UA student was involved.
The elevator door dinged, and Mikhail slithered off, glad to leave it behind. Floor: Recovery. Another favorite of Mikhail’s. He knew this one by the smell--ever so slightly different than each other floor, drier, maybe.
He went to Tsutsuji’s door without asking for permission, rapping on the door, a bouquet of flowers, and themos of honey tea in his hand. He hadn’t heard properly from her since the hostage standoff.
Credits wasn’t right either. That implies a sense of closure. Hospitals didn’t have that, and they weren’t always...predictable. Nor were they always pleasant.
What, then?
Commercials. That was it. Hospitals were the commercial breaks of life. No one was happy to see them, they surrounded every episode, and someone kept shoving more and more of them into plots until it felt like there was more advertisement than actual content.
Mikhail Orlov opened the door, entering without invitation. It was time to pull Tsutsuji-chan out of life’s little commercial break.
Barely months had passed since Mikhail Orlov’s most recent imprisonment from injury--the accident that had derailed him from burnt-out idol to would-be hero. When he’d slithered out of Toyko General’s door into his car, he’d been ready to be done with the place for years. And yet...here he was. Again.
He sighed, going through the motions by rote. Go inside. Talk to the receptionist. Answer questions about Tokyo5. Get Tsutsuji-chan’s room number. Turn to go. Pause. Sign a hat for the reception’s daughter. Continue to the elevator.
Perhaps bookends was a bad metaphor. Bookends weren’t quite the same--they were something outside the book, distinct, and added later. Maybe credits? The old fashioned-style, that appeared at the beginning and end of a movie or tv episode: “Starring, Mikhail Orlov’s birth, featuring, his parents.”
Yes. That sounded better. Hospitals were credits. You might feature, but you were never quite alone. Characters phased in and out, people starred in their first or final episode, and there was a constant recurring cast of techs--surgeons and nurses--that were invisible, but everywhere.
The rote continued. Wait for the elevator. Let people out. Smile at the people clogged in the door starting at you, nod, and confirm that you are, in fact, the Mikhail Orlov. Why yes, I am about to visit Yellowjacket herself, why do you ask? Give your autograph, and promise to ask for hers if you get the chance. Board. Press a button. Smile and wink at the other people pretending not to stare.
Mikhail had memories for nearly ever floor by now. Pediatrics--he’d spend a lot of time there as a child, while his parents tried to figure out how a snakeboy worked. Dentistry. Perfect teeth were never natural. Surgery. Had to get the metal from the crash out somehow. Physical therapy. On and on.
The door clicked opened, another small group of people on board. Smile and nod. Answer questions. No, he hadn’t gotten badly hurt in the battle, thank you for asking. Yes, Yellowjacket would probably recover. Sorry, I can’t answer if a UA student was involved.
The elevator door dinged, and Mikhail slithered off, glad to leave it behind. Floor: Recovery. Another favorite of Mikhail’s. He knew this one by the smell--ever so slightly different than each other floor, drier, maybe.
He went to Tsutsuji’s door without asking for permission, rapping on the door, a bouquet of flowers, and themos of honey tea in his hand. He hadn’t heard properly from her since the hostage standoff.
Credits wasn’t right either. That implies a sense of closure. Hospitals didn’t have that, and they weren’t always...predictable. Nor were they always pleasant.
What, then?
Commercials. That was it. Hospitals were the commercial breaks of life. No one was happy to see them, they surrounded every episode, and someone kept shoving more and more of them into plots until it felt like there was more advertisement than actual content.
Mikhail Orlov opened the door, entering without invitation. It was time to pull Tsutsuji-chan out of life’s little commercial break.
☽LIA☾
