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archiveofarethusa) wrote2012-01-23 12:01 am
archiveofarethusa) wrote2012-01-23 12:01 am
White as Diamonds
The walls of the small room in which Jemesk was kept after his disastrous memory erasure were smoke-stained and graven with nail marks, like someone had been dragged from the room in the grip of a great distress. He'd asked a nurse about it, but the man's eyes merely widened and he'd excused himself to go deal with a patient he'd accidentally left on fire. At night, a faint sursurrus of chilled air whispered dark things in breathy, unintelligible dialects while passing his sleepless ears. It wasn't a terribly calming room, all things considered, but Jemesk had been exhausted enough that he might have slept easily in a bloody tub if he had to. All of this, that ominous room and the hospital itself, all the places in the world he knew, he would leave today for a flat that had been home to some man he couldn't remember being.
It was a start, at least, and a start he was eager to take. He had been robbed of twenty seven years of life no price could return to him; the soft, empathetic gazes he sometimes received always sought to salve the wrong blow. His loss of self was nothing, and easily returned in short time. As a common man, though, his life was nearly spent, and he'd have little of its gains. Jemesk frequently had to convince himself of the shared innocence of walls, if he dwelled on the loss too long.
"Mr. Graymarch," said Dr. Bailey as he glided into view. Jemesk considered telling him that his collar was stained red, but remained silent. Bailey had begun to speak, and whenever Bailey found his voice Jemesk's seemed to wither and die in his throat. Bailey spoke as if the act was an operation, extracting words from his mouth as a matter of unpleasant necessity and careful precision, and his eyes were as sharp as a scalpel. Even though he was a slight man with a bland face, the way he carried himself, the way he spoke brought him a height nothing physical could match exactly. "I am here to see you home. I thought it best you not return home by yourself. You may not be able to navigate the city well, and you have a look about you."
Jemesk frowned. "And why would a man of your stature want to spend more time in the company of another's failure?"
"I do not like incompetence, Mr. Graymarch," said Bailey, his eyes fit to draw blood. "I like doubt still less, and doubt colors my thoughts on my employees of late. It will be enlightening to see how this facility operates without me for a time. I hope for the sake of all that they paid attention in medical school. You, on the other hand. You may not be as capable, through no true fault of yours, and I take care of my own."
Jemesk felt himself blink, heavy and slow. He had worked in a hospital, this particular hospital, under the supervision of this particular efficient, man-shaped terror. He hadn't assumed that he languished in boredom all his days, but Jem was put off balance by it nonetheless. He nodded, satisfied with the new information, and gathered his coat around his shoulders. He spared the room no second glance as he left it.
Outside the hospital walls it was bright and loud and cramped. There was the sky, overhead as it had always been, and there was the road, paved in the precise type of cobble he'd seen in dreams but hadn't known from whence it came. And there were houses and shops and carts lining those streets, people milling about on their business and minding nothing but. Aside from that, the curve of the road, the choked smell of smoke, the buildings themselves were wholly new to Jemesk, but even still warmth flooded him just looking out at it all, as natural and reflexive as a heartbeat. This was his town, even if it was foreign territory to him now. Whatever else it was, it was also damned cold. The sky above was the same milky white of a blind man's eye, snow slithering and blowing about in the wind in thick clouds of tiny flakes. And the wind stung, invisible needles biting into Jem's face. Home didn't mean much yet, but he hoped it wasn't far. They walked past crowds of friends, past shiny shop windows, past the dark, frozen waters of the Faindown, and shortly they arrived at Jem's door, the most alienating sight of all.
"It's unseasonably miserable. A week more and it'll just be seasonably miserable, but much more clement than today. It's a shame this is your first sight of New Kaddar," Bailey said, a bitter twist of humor peeling his lips back in a close approximation of a toothsome grin. "The snow gives New Kaddar the appearance of her antithesis, but it shouldn't be long before our city's true face reveals itself. See to your health, and Miratech will take care of the rest. Your reeducation will begin within the week."
Jemesk, red-nosed and numb-faced, merely nodded and slipped inside. His apartment was immaculately clean, nothing out of place in a way that suggested that something was out of place. It wasn't a house as much as it was some abstract museum, but somehow it was the smell that his attention snagged on.
"Funny," he muttered, his voice a shout in the sheer quiet. "I don't seem like the type to keep flowers."
It was a start, at least, and a start he was eager to take. He had been robbed of twenty seven years of life no price could return to him; the soft, empathetic gazes he sometimes received always sought to salve the wrong blow. His loss of self was nothing, and easily returned in short time. As a common man, though, his life was nearly spent, and he'd have little of its gains. Jemesk frequently had to convince himself of the shared innocence of walls, if he dwelled on the loss too long.
"Mr. Graymarch," said Dr. Bailey as he glided into view. Jemesk considered telling him that his collar was stained red, but remained silent. Bailey had begun to speak, and whenever Bailey found his voice Jemesk's seemed to wither and die in his throat. Bailey spoke as if the act was an operation, extracting words from his mouth as a matter of unpleasant necessity and careful precision, and his eyes were as sharp as a scalpel. Even though he was a slight man with a bland face, the way he carried himself, the way he spoke brought him a height nothing physical could match exactly. "I am here to see you home. I thought it best you not return home by yourself. You may not be able to navigate the city well, and you have a look about you."
Jemesk frowned. "And why would a man of your stature want to spend more time in the company of another's failure?"
"I do not like incompetence, Mr. Graymarch," said Bailey, his eyes fit to draw blood. "I like doubt still less, and doubt colors my thoughts on my employees of late. It will be enlightening to see how this facility operates without me for a time. I hope for the sake of all that they paid attention in medical school. You, on the other hand. You may not be as capable, through no true fault of yours, and I take care of my own."
Jemesk felt himself blink, heavy and slow. He had worked in a hospital, this particular hospital, under the supervision of this particular efficient, man-shaped terror. He hadn't assumed that he languished in boredom all his days, but Jem was put off balance by it nonetheless. He nodded, satisfied with the new information, and gathered his coat around his shoulders. He spared the room no second glance as he left it.
Outside the hospital walls it was bright and loud and cramped. There was the sky, overhead as it had always been, and there was the road, paved in the precise type of cobble he'd seen in dreams but hadn't known from whence it came. And there were houses and shops and carts lining those streets, people milling about on their business and minding nothing but. Aside from that, the curve of the road, the choked smell of smoke, the buildings themselves were wholly new to Jemesk, but even still warmth flooded him just looking out at it all, as natural and reflexive as a heartbeat. This was his town, even if it was foreign territory to him now. Whatever else it was, it was also damned cold. The sky above was the same milky white of a blind man's eye, snow slithering and blowing about in the wind in thick clouds of tiny flakes. And the wind stung, invisible needles biting into Jem's face. Home didn't mean much yet, but he hoped it wasn't far. They walked past crowds of friends, past shiny shop windows, past the dark, frozen waters of the Faindown, and shortly they arrived at Jem's door, the most alienating sight of all.
"It's unseasonably miserable. A week more and it'll just be seasonably miserable, but much more clement than today. It's a shame this is your first sight of New Kaddar," Bailey said, a bitter twist of humor peeling his lips back in a close approximation of a toothsome grin. "The snow gives New Kaddar the appearance of her antithesis, but it shouldn't be long before our city's true face reveals itself. See to your health, and Miratech will take care of the rest. Your reeducation will begin within the week."
Jemesk, red-nosed and numb-faced, merely nodded and slipped inside. His apartment was immaculately clean, nothing out of place in a way that suggested that something was out of place. It wasn't a house as much as it was some abstract museum, but somehow it was the smell that his attention snagged on.
"Funny," he muttered, his voice a shout in the sheer quiet. "I don't seem like the type to keep flowers."