The Missionary Wakes (closed ATTN: Theao)
Cold - white - light - white light - cold white light - softness underneath, light - light above, and coldness all around.
S-1171 twists, feeling the resisting tension of fabric sheets. Through the crack of his eyelids, he can only make out white walls, white ceiling, white lights. For a moment, he thinks he is home, in his bed, but this thought does not sit well with him. It is like a splinter in his mind, causing discomfort when touched upon. He is not home. He tries to sit up, struggling against the tight fabric and finally prevailing until a wallop of unseen pain knocks him back.
Plane - book - Theao - Axioms - mission...
He remembers striking the plane's panel with his forehead - the pain of the blow has not yet dissipated: it still rings loudly in his skull. The whiteness... the whiteness... a hospital bed. He remembers now, the ride here, the men in white... everywhere: white.
Plane - Theao - Axioms - book - mission
Black.
A nurse at her station seeing the moniter go wild
"Docter, the reading for the patient in room 107 has been fluctating far more than normal."
"I'll go check it out. It wouldn't do for a foreign national to die on my watch."
Room 107
"Now what seems to be ... he passed out again. He must have gotten seriously pounded."
Nursing station
"Nurse up the patients dosage of (1) by 15 cc's for the a few days, then see if you can wake him."
ooc:
1:insert medical sounding drug name here, drug is sedative
Eyes snap open. The room swims before S-1171, wavering on an ocean of shifting consciousness. The white is more defined now into grays - blacks - even a fleck of green. He dares not raise his head above his pillow, for fear it will send him drowning in that raging ocean around him. Through the corner of the corner of his eyes, S can make out the tube of the IV, drip-drip-dripping some serum of strength into his thirsty veins.
A hospital! That's right, a foreign hospital... Theao... the word floats about in him, connecting itself to hospital - to foreign.
I am in Theao. The sentence declares itself to him with full pomp and splendor, obliterating the splinter that stood between himself and his surroundings. I am in Theao, I am in a hospital in Theao, I am S-1171, in a hospital, in Theao. He works on slowly expanding himself, sending his thoughts further outward - pressing out against the sides of his skull, refilling the spaces left vacant by the force of the self-inflicted blows.
I am S-1171 in a hospital, in Theao, and I must get out.
"Docter, I belive that the patient in 107 is waking up."
"Excellent."
As the Docter walked into the 107
"Ah it appears you are feeling better. Your stuff has been put into hospital storage. If you want we can get you any or all of your stuff for you. Is there anything we could get to make your stay more pleasent?"
His lips crack open, and he strains to speak against the dryness and exhaustion of his mouth. To him, it feels as though he is speaking through a pack of cotton swabs.
"I had a book," he whispers, "could I please have my book?" He winces, the effort of speaking is still too much pain. Whether the doctor brings it or not is no immediate consequence, he is still too weak to pick up something so ponderous as a book, too exhausted to read such a thing. All that matters is regaining strength and returning to optimal operating capacity. The mattress has become like a sponge, soaking up the pain and drawing it away from him, and he surrenders to it again, and the peaceful and temporary extinction of sleep.
"I had a book," he whispers, "could I please have my book?"
Hearing the patient asking for his book, "That's acceptable." the docter says to himself.
"Nurse please fetch patient R107's book. I belive it is called the Axiom something. Also turn the camera in room 107 on. We need to make sure the patient doesn't hurt himself, or if he does then we can deal with it."
"Yes sir"
After fetching the book and bringing it to room 107 the nures knocked, reciving no answer opened the door and finding the patient asleep/unconsious place the book on the bedside table.
S hears the nurse enter: the noise of footsteps approaching his bedside, the thump of the book being placed not-too-carefully on the table, the gentle clopping as she leaves again.
His eyes hurt yet, but slowly, with a crawling motion, he brings his hand to the cover. The tips of his fingers brush the red leather binding, trace the forms of the gold lettering: Archus Axioms. The book.
He drags it to his chest and grasps it there desperately as a man clinging to a life raft in a violent storm. Curling himself into a fetal ball, he cracks the cover and begins to read the poems to himself - their soothing metrics and immaculate rhymes far more strengthening than any medication.
One more night, he promises himself, [/i]only one more night.[/i]
"Doc the patient is reading/leafing through his book."
"I wonder why he wanted it so badly, I guess it's his religious book or something. I hope it helps him feel better." The doctor said as he went to check on another patient.