lucetilogs | EVERYBODY! EVERYBODY!

Entry tags:

EVERYBODY! EVERYBODY!

Who: Everybody! Everybody!
What: It's a beach! There's fruit! Love in the air! Classy private rooms in the mountains!
When: From sunrise to midnight! (AND IT'S TODAY! FEBRUARY 18th!)
Where: Out on the beach, centered around the teleporter/tunnel exit area. But it feels like July out there! Ain't that just the shit?
Summary: Summary? Why does this need a summary. I said everything up there. And then I'm gonna say even more after this. Why do we need this field? Seriously, anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
Rating: KEEP IT CLEAN, KIDS. Take your dirty smut to an appointments post!

Long Ago In A Distant Land, Akai, the fully functional fonbot, unleashed a fairly standard mod post. But a foolish player kept asking questions and come on, do you really need to know that much? Now everyone wants to play out their ships and get into fruit shenanigans and undo to evil that is AKAI.

((No, but seriously guys, look at the mod post, you know what to do. Everything you need is there. Mass log post, remember to tag your characters name here, and do your thing.))

OH YEAH! So like, assume there is stands (or you know, beach-appropriate huts) here and there that are stocked up on bathing suits (and curtains you can change behind), stands with beverages, and snacks. Nobody's really operating them, new stuff just gets Shifted there (BUT ONLY IF YOU'RE NOT WATCHING). The Malnosso are the most considerate bro-ginization ever.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[After all that build up Adele was, to be honest, gripping the knife she'd never quite put away tight in one hand, ready for-

...

Well. Anything but that. She's standing, staring over at Willock, utterly bewildered. The cheek. He's drugged on an aphrodisiac and kisses her on the cheek. And apologizes for it.]

There is...nothing to forgive, Will. The French greet each other with such a gesture. So. You are, at worst, a little behind on greeting me.

[He has to facepalm at himself all the same. And he finds himself trembling a little, in a way that has far more to do with anxiety than lust. He takes some slow, deep breaths, forcing that familiar reaction back under control--this is a bad enough state for her to see him in. He doesn't want to make it worse.]

Rett? Rett. [Adele closes the distance, frowning. She reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.]

What's wrong?

[This...reminds him far too much of Lena. She'd reacted similarly when he'd first had a panic attack in front of her. He recalled the relief he'd felt after he'd explained and she hadn't been disturbed, frightened or convinced he needed to be institutionalized. Someday he'd probably have to tell Adele--but not now.]

...N-Nothing.

Rett, I'm a physician. I know the beginnings of an anxiety attack when I see one. [She's also more than a little aware for personal reasons, but they need not get into that.] Let's find somewhere to sit, yes?

[Great. He's much too obvious for his own good. He can hope, at least, that she'll think this is an isolated occurrence, or a side effect of whatever chemical is in the fruit. He takes her hand again, deciding to go along with her.]

[Adele squeezes Will's hand in her own and leads him off to a more private copse of trees, sitting and tugging him down to sit next to her.] Deep even breaths, yes?

[He just nods--the fact that she's seated beside him actually helps, because of how much of a distraction it is. After a little while, he leans over and rests his head on her shoulder, feeling the impending panic ebb away, but still thoroughly annoyed at himself.]

...This is so irritating.

[More than a little surprised by the sudden contact, but not entirely against it, Adele reaches over to rub Willock's back. This was uncomfortable for him, distressing if it would induce even a mild anxiety attack, so this was the least she could do for him.]

The arousal, or the anxiety attack?

Everything. [Please, please, believe the anxiety attack has to do with the fruit. If he can just blame all of this on that...and dang, he's getting even more aroused by the rubbing. Awkward.]

Should I leave? If it will make you more comfortable to be alone...[She pulls her hand back and starts to stand, dusting the sand from her dress.]

[He catches her arm.] No, stay with me. Just...talk to me for a while. Intelligently.

[Because honestly, he'd rather have her nearby than someone that would misinterpret the way his body is reacting. He's still going to definitely pretend that this never happened after it wears off, but at least he's going through it with a fellow physician.]

[She hesitates a moment before she nods, settling back down next to Will, very carefully not touching him other than his hand on her arm.]

What is it you would like to discuss?

I don't know. Something. [He forces his thoughts to settle enough to formulate a question.] ...Do you have a favorite disease?

...A favorite disease? I'm a trauma surgeon Rett, I do not typically deal with diseases so much as I do abscesses, gangrene, and injuries earned through idiocy. Though I did deal with fibromyalgia quite a bit in the past year, if only because general practitioners would just diagnose their hypochondriac patients with it so they'd let them alone. That and gluten allergies. Telling an obese American tourist that yes, it was their precious burgers and beer that caused them to be so ill is more than a little amusing to me.

[He gives a little sniff of laughter--he's had a couple patients like that before. But as for that diagnosis...] To be honest, I don't actually know what fibromyalgia is.

I do not think the term was used until somewhere around the eighties, so it would be quite awhile before you would have to worry about it. It's typically a very vague, chronic pain. All most physicians can do is say what it isn't, and at the end they've got patients that are uncomfortable to suffering from crippling pain without a discernible cause. Treatment is spotty at best, because we still aren't entirely certain what's causing the pain.

So sort of like psychogenic rheumatism. [Which technically involves inflammation, but of the same kind of idiopathic origin.] I haven't really chanced to come upon that, personally, though I've read documented cases.

One of my favorite diseases is probably botulism. I've only treated one case of it, but it was one of those very dramatic illnesses--I could actually see the paralysis advancing during the minute I tried talking to the patient. I was the first to identify it for what it was, too. I was proud of myself for that. [He smiles faintly.] Syphilis is interesting as well. I've had a few secondary stage cases that were satisfying to watch clear up. Though there was the one man that contracted an additional infection through the lesions on his genitals that wouldn't respond to antibiotics, and a third of his penis had to be surgically removed...

[Well, damn. That memory pulls him out of his medical detachment, directing his attention back to the state of his own genitals. Um. He draws his legs up to his chest, unable to keep from wincing at the thought of anything sharp coming in contact with them, especially in his current state.]

Perhaps. There are various treatments and theories, most studies on the matter have proven to be inconclusive. It's all the more frustrating due to the fact that some patients truly do not experience any pain at all, but wish the diagnosis to gain benefits from their employers. They throw all the values off for any data to be useful.

[Adele listens, brow quirked, shaking her head a bit at the syphilis. That is not so difficult to treat in her time, but she has had more than one brush with invasive surgery to deal with lesions and their related infections.] I've yet to have to perform such an operation, but then we've more antibiotics available in my time than you ad in yours.

You always have to factor human idiocy into these things. It's truly unfortunate.

Well, I still wouldn't call it common. I had to order a minor operation for a man with genital warts, but that's the only other case that called for penile surgery. ...Well, no. There was the gangrenous priapism patient...

[And he is cringing very obviously now. GOSH, WHY IS HE STILL THINKING ABOUT THIS.]

As much as I know you wish to be distracted Rett, I think it might be best if we cease discussing male genitalia and the inherent diseases that affect them. If only for your own sake.

...Yeah. [Maybe it would be better if he tried recalling conditions of the female genitalia instead. He'd seen some pretty horrible cases of vaginitis in his time--those might be nasty enough to help combat his arousal.

Unfortunately, the glance he'd made at Adele somehow managed to wrest his thoughts from memories of whitish, cottage-cheese-like discharge and get him imagining what certain parts of her might look like. He hastily buried his face in his hand again.]

...pondering the various ailments of female genitalia may also be a good subject to avoid. [She is not laughing at him. She's not. She's biting the inside of her cheek and staring resolutely out to the ocean because she. Is. Not. Laughing.]

[That had better not be a note of humor in her voice. He won't dare look up, though, and gives a muffled reply.]

...It'd be nice if you could stop looking so attractive.

It is the fruit, Rett, not anything I have done. Though if you wish I will gladly take a knife to my face. Anything for your comfort.

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