Thursday, 23 June 2011

-Doc- Getting This Out of the Way

I’m writing this blog post because Boss threatened to hide my favorite scalpel if I didn’t introduce myself. So I suppose I’ll get this over with, get my tool back, and resist the temptation to let him bleed out the next time he comes to me with a knife sticking out of his back. I’d forgive him for being drunk when he said that, but he’s drunk when he says anything. Especially when it’s about my tits.

But, enough about Boss’s shitty problems; I suppose I should introduce myself. Call me Doc. Don’t get me wrong, I’m by no means a real doctor. Had a few issues during my residency, one thing after the other, and I’ve ended up running packages and patching up these sorry sons of bitches when they don’t have the time or the cash to see a real doctor. It’s a bummer, but I still have my fancy degree papers to use as kindling the next time the power goes out, and fuzzy college memories to keep me warm when that doesn’t suit me.

Speaking of warm and fuzzy college memories, that’s about the time I started seeing the Tall Guy. Sophomore year, middle of winter, right after a big party: I was stumbling home drunk, alone like an idiot. I’m usually a big girl, I can take care of myself. Didn’t really prove my worth that night when I decided to wander home boozed up and wearing…well, let’s not be too graphic here and leave it at, “not nearly fucking enough to be wandering back to your apartment on a winter night.” If I remember, it started to snow while I was weaving between the lawns of the frat houses, trying to find a shortcut. God, it was cold. I eventually found my way to the city park, which was pretty far out of the way. I stopped to catch a breath, though it wasn’t a pleasant one. I was tired, and the icy air pierced straight through to my lungs, prickling and gouging every inch of my mouth and throat along the way. Hell, to be honest, I wonder if it actually was. I shuddered and coughed into the back of my hand, and to my shock, there was a bit of blood. The wind picked up a bit, and I looked back up again into the maze of trees on the outskirts of the park. For an instant, I saw a sickly white face gleaming in the moonlight: it sat on high shoulders, its eyeless gaze judging, seeming to pierce my mind. I screamed and ran back blindly between the frat houses, across the lawns, into the street, in front of a pair of blinding headlights.

That was a nice few weeks in the hospital. The doctors and nurses were all so kind, I felt inspired. I started studying to take my MCAT soon after. In a way, I guess I owe one to the Tall Guy for helping me figure out my career path, but that doesn’t make up for the rest of the shit he’s done.

I’ve made a long damn post for somebody who didn’t really want to say anything, but I guess once you start, you can’t stop. Not much else for me to say, but just to get the business notes out of the way here: if you need something delivered, fine, just pay up like the rest. But be aware that I don’t offer my medical services to anybody but these loons. Nobody else is (or at least, should be) crazy enough to let one of the Stalked anywhere near them with a goddamn knife.


  1. You know, there was this one time where this Proxy bitch was really cute and it got kinda-

    You know what? I'm going to stop now. Okay? Okay. Knife is in the kitchen. May or may not have "accidentally" shanked a proxy that was lurking with it.

    Incidents unrelated. Promise.

  2. Oh, fantastic, now I'm going to have to sterilize it three times. Once for the blood, twice more for your stupid ass touching it.

  3. Well someone had to get you to post! And Steele is too busy stealing from your medical supplies to-


  4. He'll be disappointed if he tries to go for the morphine again, unless he manages to get high off of saline solution. Actually, I'm going to wait and see if he ends up getting high anyway, that'd be hilarious. I love placebo effects.

    Next time he actually manages to nab it, though, I'm having him pay for it himself out of his own damn paycheck. That stuff doesn't come cheap.

    At least I know what I can get him for his birthday. Some fucking methadone.

  5. Don't bother. His wage is the only thing keeping him off residence at cloud nine and I need him NOT high sometimes. Good to see team members looking out for each other.

  6. Well, then he can learn to wait until he breaks a bone or gets stabbed in the eyes to get his morphine.

    And of course we all look out for each other. What are we all but the best of buddies? The closest of comrades? The...yeah, who the fuck am I kidding.

  7. I like to consider us sort of vitriolic best buds.

    If by 'best' you mean 'murderous,' by 'buds' you mean 'we all happen to share the same two-story shack in the middle of nowhere,' and by 'vitriolic' you mean ... well, vitriolic

  8. Two story shack? I shelled out good money for this place, y'might as well give it justice. Sure, it's run down and abandoned and most of the windows are broken, BUT HEY, IT'S FUCKIN' HUGE, YEAH? ;D

  9. So we're the vitriolic murderous we all happen to share the same two-story shack in the middle of nowhere?

    Awesome, because that just makes sense.

    Also, for all its hugeness, it should honestly be condemned. I mean, half of the boards have rusty nails sticking out of them. Rust. On sharp nails. Tetanus ho!

  10. Hardly a good placebo if you say it's a placebo on a public forum, my dear. But relax, I can get my medicine from people with considerably more liberal points of view about the intended availability of opiates.

    Plus, you need them so you can feel like a real doctor. We should trade names of our dealers sometime, I very much doubt you would be able to obtain that legally without an MD.

    And people look down on me for my self-medication, at least I'm honest to myself about my inherent illegality.

  11. Of course it isn't, but I assumed you wouldn't be able to handle the syringes for more than a moment or two before indulging yourself. Not to mention, I saw no harm in coming out and saying it at this point: the joke's gotten a little old.

    As for my supposedly less than liberal views, it's your body and your business. However, you can't exactly come to me crying with actual pain if you've already used up all of my supplies to feed your habit. Self-medication is one thing, but lack of foresight is another.

    I may not be a real physician, but I'm real enough that I can keep us all from having to explain a lot of shit to the authorities. That's real enough for me, and real enough for our purposes.

    Lastly, I'm perfectly comfortable with how I do things. It's not noble, and it's definitely not legal, but it's necessary.

  12. "Real enough"? Glowing reccomendation indeed, my dear! You should put that on your wall, next to that doctorate you don't have. "Real enough."

  13. You're perfectly welcome to pass up treatment the next time you have a bad run-in with Tall Guy. Hell, you'll probably already be too stoned to notice, you won't even feel yourself bleeding out!

  14. What is with all the threats of stabbity? I swear, it's like the slogan of the mythos. "Can I stab you? Please?" -sigh- I'm crazy enough to be patched up by a Haunted, but honestly.. I hope I never need it.