FIC: Spin Recovery, Part Twenty-Five
Feb. 20th, 2008 10:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalNote: The scene after this one is going to have some badly needed humor in it, which is good because after that things are going to get Serious.
“Good morning, Mr. Shorttail,” Dr. Redfur greeted him in her office, the following week. He had just gone through another round of physical examination, being poked and prodded and scanned for purposes arcane except to the technicians who did the work.
Rufus raised an eyebrow at her, as he settled down gingerly in his usual chair. “Any particular reason you’re keeping up the pretense of not knowing who I am? I presume you do follow the news.”
“I don’t break the anonymity of a patient’s treatment unless they choose to do so themselves, sir,” she answered primly.
“I admire your medical ethics, but I think we’re pretty much done with that.” He offered his left hand to her. “Hello, I’m the Viscount Ru Ofanius Brushtail, at you service, Madame Physician.”
“Hello, milord. I’m Dr. Redfur and I’m at yours,” she returned with a slight smile, taking his hand and shaking it.
“So exactly how long have you known?”
“About three days after your first visit, when your lady mother attempted to have the clinic open your medical records to her. We refused her request of course.”
He winced. “That’s my mother. I apologize for any flak you might have taken over the incident.”
“She’s hardly the first parent to call to the clinic about their adult offspring. We handled it, milord.” She picked up her notepad. “Now, at this point I’d normally ask how your previous week was, but I’m going to guess things did not go well.”
“Indeed.” The whispers he’d heard behind his back as he signed in for his appointment from the other patients in the waiting room had nearly made him decide to turn around and go back his Aunt Dottie’s flat. News cycles being what they were, if they didn’t latch onto the Blue Horizon incident, there was a fair chance it might blow over in a couple of weeks if he was smart and didn’t do anything else noteworthy. Still, it was a bother and an embarrassment. “As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been in conflict with my lady mother and my sister Bethany. As you can imagine, this little setback didn’t exactly help mend fences.”
“How bad are things?”
“I’ve moved out of the manor and I’m staying with my Aunt Dorathea from my father’s side of the family.”
“How did that go?”
“Mother was displeased.”
“Did you speak in person?”
“No,” he admitted. “Actually I just bought myself some new clothes and toiletries and moved straight in with Aunt Dottie.”
“So you’re just assuming?”
“Well, yes.”
“Have you considered trying to contact them?”
He rubbed his forehead, trying to figure out how to explain things to her. “Look, this isn’t just about my drug addiction. There are… higher levels to the whole affair. Political levels. Things that might have a profound effect on the future of the Vulpine, no, not just the Vulpine but all of the GSA governments. My mother is operating on assumptions that I know are wrong, but my attempts to convince her and my sister of this have just proven to them that I’m either erratic and unreliable or a liar. Talking isn’t doing me any good, I have no currency with them right now.”
Dr. Redfur looked at him very carefully, then set her notepad and pen down on the table beside her. “Would you care to explain this further?”
“I… Doctor, you’re a psychiatrist. If I tell you this, your most logical move would be to have me committed.”
“Lord Brushtail, you’re a Farmer Lord. I can’t have you committed against your will, only the Council of Farmer Lords could do that. Furthermore, I am your physician. Whatever you say in this room to me is done in confidence, which I will not break, may the Holy Den Mother cast me out in the Cold and Dark if I did.”
Still wondering if it was a good idea, Rufus took a deep breath. “Very well then. I suppose this all began seven years ago, with the Blue Horizon incident…”
He talked. He talked until he grew hoarse and had to ask for water, only pausing briefly while Dr. Redfur contacted her secretary to cancel her other afternoon appointments. He talked of the Blue Horizon, of his cowardice, of his growing addictions. He talked of being found by a brother he did not know he had. He talked of the extraordinary alien boys he had met. He talked of the Varn Dominion and its dying master and of the successor race the Gene Mage had created. Then he talked of returning home, maimed and lost, to find himself a stranger among his own family.
It was dark outside the clinic’s windows by the time he wound down with a final, “And so Aunt Dorathea took me in. I think she’s the only person left who is willing to accept me as I am, and not as what they assume I am.”
“I see,” Dr. Redfur said.
“Do you, truly?” He slumped back into his seat, drained. He was exhausted, his lips cracked and his throat scratchy from hours of talking, yet it felt like a heavy had been taken off his shoulders.
“I think so.”
“You don’t think I’m lying, or mad?”
“Lying? No, you aren’t a liar, milord. As for mad, well, I don’t know about that, but you are off balance.”
“It’s like… When I was younger, just after I’d gotten the flying bug, I received instruction in how to fly old-style atmospheric aircraft, the sort without any kind of contra-gravity assist.” He held his hand out to her, palm flat, facing down. “The most dangerous situation you could get into with them was to be caught in a flat spin, instruments useless, disoriented, rotating around your Z-axis and dropping straight down, without enough air passing over your wings to regain control before you smacked into the ground.” He swatted his thigh with his palm. “That’s how I feel right now. I know if I can get my controls lined up properly I can pull out, but I don’t know how.”
“And even if you don’t crash, there’s a very large cargo lifter over your head that’s ready to drop down on top of you,” Dr. Redfur concluded. “Milord, you mean you have been carrying around the knowledge that the Varn, or at least their allies, are ready to return for nearly three months and you haven’t told anyone else until now?”
“Who do imagine I could speak to about this and be believed? I’m not even sure if you believe me.”
Dr. Redfur sighed wearily. “Oh, I believe you, milord. I can’t imagine I’m going to be sleeping terribly well for some time after hearing your tale, but I believe you.”
“So what should I do?”
“You’re asking me? I’m a psychiatrist, not a political analyst! That’s information that needs to go before the Council of Farmer Lords.”
“An audience with whom I’m unlikely to be granted,” Rufus concluded. “So I suppose my knowledge will have to remain secret a while longer, until I’m able to repair my reputation. If I’m ever able to repair it.”
“Well, I can’t help you with that,” she said, picking up her notepad again and tapping something onto its screen. “But I can at least help you repair something more tangible. Your latest physical exam looked very good, compared to the baseline information that was taken at your first appointment. I’m clearing you to go to surgery to have the baseplate installed for your new arm.”
“Really?” Rufus unconsciously touched his empty shoulder socket and smiled. “That’s good. I was getting tired of having my food cut for me.”
She nodded. “Would that I could solve all of your problems so easily, milord.”
TBC
“Good morning, Mr. Shorttail,” Dr. Redfur greeted him in her office, the following week. He had just gone through another round of physical examination, being poked and prodded and scanned for purposes arcane except to the technicians who did the work.
Rufus raised an eyebrow at her, as he settled down gingerly in his usual chair. “Any particular reason you’re keeping up the pretense of not knowing who I am? I presume you do follow the news.”
“I don’t break the anonymity of a patient’s treatment unless they choose to do so themselves, sir,” she answered primly.
“I admire your medical ethics, but I think we’re pretty much done with that.” He offered his left hand to her. “Hello, I’m the Viscount Ru Ofanius Brushtail, at you service, Madame Physician.”
“Hello, milord. I’m Dr. Redfur and I’m at yours,” she returned with a slight smile, taking his hand and shaking it.
“So exactly how long have you known?”
“About three days after your first visit, when your lady mother attempted to have the clinic open your medical records to her. We refused her request of course.”
He winced. “That’s my mother. I apologize for any flak you might have taken over the incident.”
“She’s hardly the first parent to call to the clinic about their adult offspring. We handled it, milord.” She picked up her notepad. “Now, at this point I’d normally ask how your previous week was, but I’m going to guess things did not go well.”
“Indeed.” The whispers he’d heard behind his back as he signed in for his appointment from the other patients in the waiting room had nearly made him decide to turn around and go back his Aunt Dottie’s flat. News cycles being what they were, if they didn’t latch onto the Blue Horizon incident, there was a fair chance it might blow over in a couple of weeks if he was smart and didn’t do anything else noteworthy. Still, it was a bother and an embarrassment. “As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been in conflict with my lady mother and my sister Bethany. As you can imagine, this little setback didn’t exactly help mend fences.”
“How bad are things?”
“I’ve moved out of the manor and I’m staying with my Aunt Dorathea from my father’s side of the family.”
“How did that go?”
“Mother was displeased.”
“Did you speak in person?”
“No,” he admitted. “Actually I just bought myself some new clothes and toiletries and moved straight in with Aunt Dottie.”
“So you’re just assuming?”
“Well, yes.”
“Have you considered trying to contact them?”
He rubbed his forehead, trying to figure out how to explain things to her. “Look, this isn’t just about my drug addiction. There are… higher levels to the whole affair. Political levels. Things that might have a profound effect on the future of the Vulpine, no, not just the Vulpine but all of the GSA governments. My mother is operating on assumptions that I know are wrong, but my attempts to convince her and my sister of this have just proven to them that I’m either erratic and unreliable or a liar. Talking isn’t doing me any good, I have no currency with them right now.”
Dr. Redfur looked at him very carefully, then set her notepad and pen down on the table beside her. “Would you care to explain this further?”
“I… Doctor, you’re a psychiatrist. If I tell you this, your most logical move would be to have me committed.”
“Lord Brushtail, you’re a Farmer Lord. I can’t have you committed against your will, only the Council of Farmer Lords could do that. Furthermore, I am your physician. Whatever you say in this room to me is done in confidence, which I will not break, may the Holy Den Mother cast me out in the Cold and Dark if I did.”
Still wondering if it was a good idea, Rufus took a deep breath. “Very well then. I suppose this all began seven years ago, with the Blue Horizon incident…”
He talked. He talked until he grew hoarse and had to ask for water, only pausing briefly while Dr. Redfur contacted her secretary to cancel her other afternoon appointments. He talked of the Blue Horizon, of his cowardice, of his growing addictions. He talked of being found by a brother he did not know he had. He talked of the extraordinary alien boys he had met. He talked of the Varn Dominion and its dying master and of the successor race the Gene Mage had created. Then he talked of returning home, maimed and lost, to find himself a stranger among his own family.
It was dark outside the clinic’s windows by the time he wound down with a final, “And so Aunt Dorathea took me in. I think she’s the only person left who is willing to accept me as I am, and not as what they assume I am.”
“I see,” Dr. Redfur said.
“Do you, truly?” He slumped back into his seat, drained. He was exhausted, his lips cracked and his throat scratchy from hours of talking, yet it felt like a heavy had been taken off his shoulders.
“I think so.”
“You don’t think I’m lying, or mad?”
“Lying? No, you aren’t a liar, milord. As for mad, well, I don’t know about that, but you are off balance.”
“It’s like… When I was younger, just after I’d gotten the flying bug, I received instruction in how to fly old-style atmospheric aircraft, the sort without any kind of contra-gravity assist.” He held his hand out to her, palm flat, facing down. “The most dangerous situation you could get into with them was to be caught in a flat spin, instruments useless, disoriented, rotating around your Z-axis and dropping straight down, without enough air passing over your wings to regain control before you smacked into the ground.” He swatted his thigh with his palm. “That’s how I feel right now. I know if I can get my controls lined up properly I can pull out, but I don’t know how.”
“And even if you don’t crash, there’s a very large cargo lifter over your head that’s ready to drop down on top of you,” Dr. Redfur concluded. “Milord, you mean you have been carrying around the knowledge that the Varn, or at least their allies, are ready to return for nearly three months and you haven’t told anyone else until now?”
“Who do imagine I could speak to about this and be believed? I’m not even sure if you believe me.”
Dr. Redfur sighed wearily. “Oh, I believe you, milord. I can’t imagine I’m going to be sleeping terribly well for some time after hearing your tale, but I believe you.”
“So what should I do?”
“You’re asking me? I’m a psychiatrist, not a political analyst! That’s information that needs to go before the Council of Farmer Lords.”
“An audience with whom I’m unlikely to be granted,” Rufus concluded. “So I suppose my knowledge will have to remain secret a while longer, until I’m able to repair my reputation. If I’m ever able to repair it.”
“Well, I can’t help you with that,” she said, picking up her notepad again and tapping something onto its screen. “But I can at least help you repair something more tangible. Your latest physical exam looked very good, compared to the baseline information that was taken at your first appointment. I’m clearing you to go to surgery to have the baseplate installed for your new arm.”
“Really?” Rufus unconsciously touched his empty shoulder socket and smiled. “That’s good. I was getting tired of having my food cut for me.”
She nodded. “Would that I could solve all of your problems so easily, milord.”
TBC
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Date: 2008-02-20 03:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-20 04:04 pm (UTC)