ways_infirmary | (no subject)

(no subject)

Enzo has a few slices of piezoelectric pizza, and a folder of Flash EPROM comic bytes. Infirmary babysitting involves a lot of time-killing.

Leaning against his chair is a rather battered harp.

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Eventually, the patient he's there to babysit wakes up.
Not that he feels like saying much - he's got quite the headache. "Ugh."

At the noise, Enzo puts down his comic. "Hey. How you feeling?"

"I've got a blloody great headache." But he sounds much more like himself!
Then he tries to sit up, and winces. "My harp," he says, as he abandons the sitting-up plan. "Do you - know where it got to?"
After all, if that sort of thing's going to happen every time he misplaces it...

Enzo smiles, picks it up, and waggles it in the air before walking over to hand it to Imp.

That's a relief; he visibly relaxes the second he sees it. "Thank you."

"No problem. It was in the rafters, User knows why."

"Who can say. At lleast no one sat on it this time."
He sighs. "But reallly, if this sort of thing is going to happen every time I llose it..."

"Has this happened before?"

Imp nods. "At home."
He just didn't remember it until that stupid guitar got its claws in him.

"Ugh. If holding onto your harp keeps it from happening, I might cuff it to your wrist," Enzo threatens.

"Pllease don't. It'd get a bit awkward at work, see." He is smiling a little, though.
"What... what happened to the guitar?"

"Apollo's got it for now. The guy you were talking to before you passed out. He's a god of music, so he ought to be able to keep it under control. Then I'll see about giving to a girl who works in a place where they keep things like that contained."

Imp nods. "For the best, I think." The last thing he wants is to risk something like that happening again, and if someone's got the means to contain it, so much the better.
"Thank you."

"No problem. So can you tell me what that was all about?"

"I don't quite know mysellf," Imp admits. "I think it's something llike - it wanted out, see, and thought I was a good way to get there."
In the end, it comes down to the stupid shit you say when you fight with your parents.

"Out?"

"Music is meant to be heard," he points out (now with 100% less creepy undertones!). "The difference is, this stuff knows you're paying attention, knows you can't outllive it, and doesn't much care about that bit."

"Viruses never do," Enzo mutters.

"Viruses?"
It's not a term he's familiar with.

"Bad guys from my world. They're... well, I guess they're named after things that cause disease in humans. Only they're people in my world. They're programmed to conquer or to destroy, and even the ones who want to rule don't care if they leave anyone alive to rule."

"Ah." He... sort of gets it. And it's not a bad comparison to the music.
"I think I'lll be alll right once this headache goes away. And I rather suspect I need to eat something."
Last time, he remembers, there were people around who made sure he ate something - though he couldn't tell you what, or how it tasted. This time round, not so much.

"I bet. Work Experience? Backup?"

Two identical rats put down their card game and throw little rodent salutes.

He's a bit confused until he realises those aren't questions, they're waitrats' names.
"I don't much care what you bring me as llong as it's not soup." He'd ask for dwarf bread as well, but frankly, he's already got a headache; that much crunching would only make it worse.

"Pizza?"

"Worth a try."
It's not something Imp would call himself familiar with, but - he meant it. Long as it's not soup, he couldn't care less.

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