I'm Mad Again

[green-shield.livejournal.com]

The arrow wizzes by and the blackout bomb on the end explodes into a fit of pure inky blackness. 126 second later, there's two more idiots for the night's tally. It's too long and there's a lot more idiots where that came from. If you can't sleep, have nothing to do except let the latest batch of experimental medical cocktail settle in and do it's job, and an actual alchemist is seeing to your demon patient, there's only open thing Green Shield can think of doing - more work. the work would be kicking some ass. Tonight, she programmed the teleporter for Boston.

Thus far, 56 people trussed up like Christmas dinner. She's not slowed. There's a domestic call 5 blocks away. If this one has another kid...Don't think. Run.

She's bad at that whole, "stop," thing. Travis could get her to do it. He could get her to laugh...see beyond the numbers. Remind her that she's not God. She's a hero and a healer, but not God. It never felt like "enough," and since he left...Well, there's no distractions. It's great. All this focus. All this power. All this neverending work. No better way to spend the sleepless night. Healing the sick in body. Rounding up the sick in mind.

A happy couple walks under a streetlight. How dare they be happy with all this crap around them anyway? When there's a couple about to kill one another 5 stories up? They'll just have to be taken care of later. Don't they all?

No more crying. No more extra emotion. She's tapped out, there's a job to do, and the job is pretty much what's left.

On the ward

[amelia-z.livejournal.com]

Past the various check-in points, past the social room, at the edge of the ward surrounded by rooms that stand empty of inhabitance, there's a room in the back where a blue light falls into the hallway. At this end of the ward, the goings-on of the rest of the floor are barely even audible.

The other patients didn't want to be near her.

They said they were only putting Amelia back here for a "short time", while they "considered their options". She's perfectly okay with this, and knows it's more like waiting until they get their heads out of their asses. The idiots somehow didn't understand the words 'mystical ailment'.

It was funny, for a time, though, to cough close to the other patients. Maybe get a little blood on their sleeve with a nosebleed. 'Get right down in the crevices of people's nerves and just... unlatch.'

Yeah. So that's what she felt like today.

At least she's got some semblance of her own room. It's less embarrassing when she forgets, like the book sitting open on her lap. But something's happened. Braat is coming... with a guest.