77 Ashan, 724
.
There was an unreal situation happening at the clinic, and it was one Kotton wasn’t fully aware of. He had received nothing in the way of announcement other than an insistence on him being in the diagnosis hall at a specific time. All he knew was that his friend and coworker Worick would be there as prompt as he should be, in the semi-creepy room used to examine postmortem subjects.
“What's going on?” the young man asked another nurse as he entered the room. He leant to the wayside to get a better look at what or who was lying on the examination table.
The nurse must have been a secret agent or something, because they didn’t give a thicket of information to him. What, was he just supposed to understand what was going on and learn as he went? Where was the proper documentation for this meeting? Why were there so many nurses including Kotton (who was yet to become one) compiled into such a cramped space? Who was the attending surgeon? What the actual hell was going on here?
“Face-blindness,” boomed a voice. Kotton could only make from the repeated whispers what had been announced. A well-known surgeon stood in the corner of the room where a veil of shadow hid his body. It was only when he strode from out of the darkness that Kotton was able to make out who had been speaking. Aside from a lab coat, he wore nothing but a mask and a pair of gloves that adorned his undoubtedly sweaty hands. They did not tremour like Kotton’s would have had he been up on the stand and observed by a large mass of onlookers.
The young man scooted and pushed, slipped by and passed everyone and all he could until he claimed a vantage point that allowed him a better look at the surgeon. But all be damned, that stupid mask. He couldn't 'hear' if he could not see and what he could see was only a piece of fabric shielding the only thing he could 'hear'. Frustration crept, along with a subtle vagary of dread and it wriggled up the young man’s spine like the tiny legs of an arachnid. How was he supposed to learn about this new term if he couldn’t read the poor man’s lips?
Someone bumped into his shoulder from behind just then and forced Kotton to elicit a grumble in protest. How dare they- But it was Worick who had snuck up from behind him and positioned himself diagonally in front of the deaf man. He began to repeat every word the surgeon said with immaculate enunciation. What a guy, Kotton gushed, knowing that he had done what he did just for his sake.
The surgeon spent no time expending the energy it took for him to share his wisdom. Face-blindness was apparently a neurological condition characterized by the inability to recognize familiar faces. It had been discovered using life patients and concluded by their dissection after death Even though Worick had made himself useful by being the mouth he needed to read, Kotton was still a bit irked that no one had considered his need for accommodations, especially if he had personally been invited. He was ready to pick a fight with whoever was in charge but his lips latched together with proverbial barbed wire as he noticed his friend give him a deadly glare. He would remain silent and learn via translator.
Worick’s father stood in the far right corner of the examination room, just behind the surgeon giving the lecture. Kotton hadn’t noticed him until he took a step towards the examination table. What was with these people lurking in the dark? He, too, was decked in sterile attire- mask and lab coat, only his gloves were a little more aseptic than that of the other doctors’. He appointed himself expertly, awaiting what Kotton assumed was his mentee’s final explanation of the topic, but he continued on. Worick’s mouth moved almost too fast for the deaf man to grasp any form of understanding, but he tried his best, with due diligence to comprehend the speed of the lip movements.
Coronal slices, transverse, longitudinal, sagittal and other: these were all divisions of the body medical practitioners used to diagnose various illnesses. It was a working game, a sort of experiment of trial and error to filter out excess noise and centre in on the most relevant issues. Kotton couldn’t read fast enough, and he kicked himself for not bringing his notebook with him. Yet, as he spared a second to observe the length of the room, it appeared that no one else was jotting anything down. These people were either stupid or unsullied from the errors that accrue through memorization.
Kotton felt an inkling of an experience of something that seemed recognizable but felt utterly unfamiliar in nature. He couldn't help but think he had been here before, in another time, during a different trial, at a different time. Everything that was going on, it seemed oddly scrutable but vastly foreign to him. It wasn’t odd that he pondered the concept of living in a simulation. He spent more hours than he liked to admit discerning reality as a carefully constructed world by the immortals who desired to remain a constable of worship. He, too, was consistent in praying to the immortals he believed in. Pier and Pre were out there somewhere and they probably listened to his nightly pleas for sanctity. And maybe it was this phenomena or something entirely different that made him want to embrace his true idolatry of those beings who reigned true in his heart.
Pier and Pre, he prayed, taking a small break from interpreting Worick’s translations. His eyes flickered to the tops of his eyelids until he met the skylight above. I am ready for more. He didn’t demand, he didn’t beg, and he surely didn’t manipulate the pity that may or may not have preexisted given his pathetic status as a mortal. No, he simply proclaimed that he had become stronger, and more capable and willing after the last few seasons.
I have listened to, accepted and favoured your blessings like they were the scarpers and tools to an inevitable existence: ‘This is The Truth’ and ‘Hear No Evil’. I can supply evidence toward using both of your blessings in appropriate ways. I just want you to know that I am here and I am meritorious. I will fight for the domains you feel strongly for and fight against those you do not. I pray you acknowledge my exposition as something more than a simple petition for mercy. As an immortal, I am certain you have other manners to divulge outside the mediocre range of mortal implication, but I heed your wishes as a plebian.
Once he had finished his prayer, he intoned a soft sigh. The medical world sometimes didn’t care a half-pint about goddesses or gods, immortals or anything in between. Now and then, science occasionally detached itself from magic as if trying to prove itself as something better. He didn’t know if the clinic he worked for was that way, but he also wouldn't put it past him to feel that some people thought that way. He would have asked, but chose to reign in his concentration and realign his focus to that of the demonstration performing before his very eyes.
Worick was still mouthing what was being said. “From several transverse slices of the brain we have found a disconnect between a structure inside the temporal lobe and the occipital lobe.”
This was unexpected, but nevertheless provocative news! The clinic had found something inside the temporal lobe that was in communication with the occipital lobe. Albeit, they found this connection through the autopsy of a deceased individual who had experienced a disorder, but still. Research could not be conducted without first learning from irregularity and the uncommon.
Briefly, the young man regaled his mental map of the segments of the brain. Temporal, occipital, frontal and… he had to scratch his brain for the last one (pun included), but eventually found it to be the parietal lobe. Using his mental map, he took the last announcement and followed the line between the temporal lobe to the occipital lobe and noticed the sense of making such an inference. They were right next to each other, so it was more than likely there was a form of systematic communication occurring between them.
Kotton couldn’t help but smile. His mind blossomed with both stimulation and lustful intrigue. He was so ecstatic that he even struggled to draw himself nearer to Worick so as to claim a more frontal seat to this show and tell.
“Upon further examination by not only myself but other nurses, alongside the fair Dr. Zhure, we have configured a cranial schematic that includes more structures of the brain than first realised.”
The group of nurses cheered, which initiated Kotton (a little slow to the get-go) into raising his hands in celebration. This was definitely astonishing news. He wondered if other medical organizations had come to the same conclusion, or if the clinic was just behind in study. Regardless, this finding was a huge win for the company. He was sure there would be parties after the seminar that lasted long into the next morning. He hoped he could be apart of some.
However, the voice of the seminar, still adorned in gloves and a silly mask, continued, or at least he would have had Dr. Zhure not stepped into the limelight. He curiously (or anxiously?) plucked at the rolling ends of his gloves as he made his way centre-stage, directly in front of the examination table. His eyebrows moved slightly, casting themselves upward in a subtle display of... concern? Elation? Judgement? They might have signalled something else entirely, or simply been a mild gesture akin to a nervous tick, but Kotton was not skilled enough to detect its reason.
The young, deaf man threw his neck toward Worick's position amongst the sizable crowd of medical personal. He dared watch the rest of the seminar play out via his physical cues. “We want no one to express interest in this new diagnosis, especially toward competitors. This is still a work of progress and we need full alliance with our staff to keep it that way.”
Kotton had read enough. He looked away and into the crowd that surrounded him. He saw every head bob in unison, understanding becoming the major takeaway, and before he knew it, his own head was moving in the same way, against or contra his own accord, he couldn't tell. It wasn’t like he was going to spill this information to anyone, but he felt a little unnerved by the way this information had been addressed. It was like he had been sanctioned by a cult who couldn’t speak their mind to anything or anyone without the penalty of extreme, undetermined repercussions.
“Thank you for your time,” the attending surgeon announced in resolute before falling back into the shadows.
Worick approached Kotton then. “What did you think?” he asked with fierce jubilation.
The young man administered a forced grin and adhered an expression akin to what he though his interpretation of the whole scenario should be. “Sounds good,” he voiced with a thumbs up. But was it really?
“What's going on?” the young man asked another nurse as he entered the room. He leant to the wayside to get a better look at what or who was lying on the examination table.
The nurse must have been a secret agent or something, because they didn’t give a thicket of information to him. What, was he just supposed to understand what was going on and learn as he went? Where was the proper documentation for this meeting? Why were there so many nurses including Kotton (who was yet to become one) compiled into such a cramped space? Who was the attending surgeon? What the actual hell was going on here?
“Face-blindness,” boomed a voice. Kotton could only make from the repeated whispers what had been announced. A well-known surgeon stood in the corner of the room where a veil of shadow hid his body. It was only when he strode from out of the darkness that Kotton was able to make out who had been speaking. Aside from a lab coat, he wore nothing but a mask and a pair of gloves that adorned his undoubtedly sweaty hands. They did not tremour like Kotton’s would have had he been up on the stand and observed by a large mass of onlookers.
The young man scooted and pushed, slipped by and passed everyone and all he could until he claimed a vantage point that allowed him a better look at the surgeon. But all be damned, that stupid mask. He couldn't 'hear' if he could not see and what he could see was only a piece of fabric shielding the only thing he could 'hear'. Frustration crept, along with a subtle vagary of dread and it wriggled up the young man’s spine like the tiny legs of an arachnid. How was he supposed to learn about this new term if he couldn’t read the poor man’s lips?
Someone bumped into his shoulder from behind just then and forced Kotton to elicit a grumble in protest. How dare they- But it was Worick who had snuck up from behind him and positioned himself diagonally in front of the deaf man. He began to repeat every word the surgeon said with immaculate enunciation. What a guy, Kotton gushed, knowing that he had done what he did just for his sake.
The surgeon spent no time expending the energy it took for him to share his wisdom. Face-blindness was apparently a neurological condition characterized by the inability to recognize familiar faces. It had been discovered using life patients and concluded by their dissection after death Even though Worick had made himself useful by being the mouth he needed to read, Kotton was still a bit irked that no one had considered his need for accommodations, especially if he had personally been invited. He was ready to pick a fight with whoever was in charge but his lips latched together with proverbial barbed wire as he noticed his friend give him a deadly glare. He would remain silent and learn via translator.
Worick’s father stood in the far right corner of the examination room, just behind the surgeon giving the lecture. Kotton hadn’t noticed him until he took a step towards the examination table. What was with these people lurking in the dark? He, too, was decked in sterile attire- mask and lab coat, only his gloves were a little more aseptic than that of the other doctors’. He appointed himself expertly, awaiting what Kotton assumed was his mentee’s final explanation of the topic, but he continued on. Worick’s mouth moved almost too fast for the deaf man to grasp any form of understanding, but he tried his best, with due diligence to comprehend the speed of the lip movements.
Coronal slices, transverse, longitudinal, sagittal and other: these were all divisions of the body medical practitioners used to diagnose various illnesses. It was a working game, a sort of experiment of trial and error to filter out excess noise and centre in on the most relevant issues. Kotton couldn’t read fast enough, and he kicked himself for not bringing his notebook with him. Yet, as he spared a second to observe the length of the room, it appeared that no one else was jotting anything down. These people were either stupid or unsullied from the errors that accrue through memorization.
Kotton felt an inkling of an experience of something that seemed recognizable but felt utterly unfamiliar in nature. He couldn't help but think he had been here before, in another time, during a different trial, at a different time. Everything that was going on, it seemed oddly scrutable but vastly foreign to him. It wasn’t odd that he pondered the concept of living in a simulation. He spent more hours than he liked to admit discerning reality as a carefully constructed world by the immortals who desired to remain a constable of worship. He, too, was consistent in praying to the immortals he believed in. Pier and Pre were out there somewhere and they probably listened to his nightly pleas for sanctity. And maybe it was this phenomena or something entirely different that made him want to embrace his true idolatry of those beings who reigned true in his heart.
Pier and Pre, he prayed, taking a small break from interpreting Worick’s translations. His eyes flickered to the tops of his eyelids until he met the skylight above. I am ready for more. He didn’t demand, he didn’t beg, and he surely didn’t manipulate the pity that may or may not have preexisted given his pathetic status as a mortal. No, he simply proclaimed that he had become stronger, and more capable and willing after the last few seasons.
I have listened to, accepted and favoured your blessings like they were the scarpers and tools to an inevitable existence: ‘This is The Truth’ and ‘Hear No Evil’. I can supply evidence toward using both of your blessings in appropriate ways. I just want you to know that I am here and I am meritorious. I will fight for the domains you feel strongly for and fight against those you do not. I pray you acknowledge my exposition as something more than a simple petition for mercy. As an immortal, I am certain you have other manners to divulge outside the mediocre range of mortal implication, but I heed your wishes as a plebian.
Once he had finished his prayer, he intoned a soft sigh. The medical world sometimes didn’t care a half-pint about goddesses or gods, immortals or anything in between. Now and then, science occasionally detached itself from magic as if trying to prove itself as something better. He didn’t know if the clinic he worked for was that way, but he also wouldn't put it past him to feel that some people thought that way. He would have asked, but chose to reign in his concentration and realign his focus to that of the demonstration performing before his very eyes.
Worick was still mouthing what was being said. “From several transverse slices of the brain we have found a disconnect between a structure inside the temporal lobe and the occipital lobe.”
This was unexpected, but nevertheless provocative news! The clinic had found something inside the temporal lobe that was in communication with the occipital lobe. Albeit, they found this connection through the autopsy of a deceased individual who had experienced a disorder, but still. Research could not be conducted without first learning from irregularity and the uncommon.
Briefly, the young man regaled his mental map of the segments of the brain. Temporal, occipital, frontal and… he had to scratch his brain for the last one (pun included), but eventually found it to be the parietal lobe. Using his mental map, he took the last announcement and followed the line between the temporal lobe to the occipital lobe and noticed the sense of making such an inference. They were right next to each other, so it was more than likely there was a form of systematic communication occurring between them.
Kotton couldn’t help but smile. His mind blossomed with both stimulation and lustful intrigue. He was so ecstatic that he even struggled to draw himself nearer to Worick so as to claim a more frontal seat to this show and tell.
“Upon further examination by not only myself but other nurses, alongside the fair Dr. Zhure, we have configured a cranial schematic that includes more structures of the brain than first realised.”
The group of nurses cheered, which initiated Kotton (a little slow to the get-go) into raising his hands in celebration. This was definitely astonishing news. He wondered if other medical organizations had come to the same conclusion, or if the clinic was just behind in study. Regardless, this finding was a huge win for the company. He was sure there would be parties after the seminar that lasted long into the next morning. He hoped he could be apart of some.
However, the voice of the seminar, still adorned in gloves and a silly mask, continued, or at least he would have had Dr. Zhure not stepped into the limelight. He curiously (or anxiously?) plucked at the rolling ends of his gloves as he made his way centre-stage, directly in front of the examination table. His eyebrows moved slightly, casting themselves upward in a subtle display of... concern? Elation? Judgement? They might have signalled something else entirely, or simply been a mild gesture akin to a nervous tick, but Kotton was not skilled enough to detect its reason.
The young, deaf man threw his neck toward Worick's position amongst the sizable crowd of medical personal. He dared watch the rest of the seminar play out via his physical cues. “We want no one to express interest in this new diagnosis, especially toward competitors. This is still a work of progress and we need full alliance with our staff to keep it that way.”
Kotton had read enough. He looked away and into the crowd that surrounded him. He saw every head bob in unison, understanding becoming the major takeaway, and before he knew it, his own head was moving in the same way, against or contra his own accord, he couldn't tell. It wasn’t like he was going to spill this information to anyone, but he felt a little unnerved by the way this information had been addressed. It was like he had been sanctioned by a cult who couldn’t speak their mind to anything or anyone without the penalty of extreme, undetermined repercussions.
“Thank you for your time,” the attending surgeon announced in resolute before falling back into the shadows.
Worick approached Kotton then. “What did you think?” he asked with fierce jubilation.
The young man administered a forced grin and adhered an expression akin to what he though his interpretation of the whole scenario should be. “Sounds good,” he voiced with a thumbs up. But was it really?
