Kindness wins no wars, but victory is meaningless without it.

Which of my muses the song gives me vibes for 💃🏽

Which of my muses the lyrics are most relatable for 🎼

Which of my muses would personally listen to this song 🎧

I’m tied to so many things I don’t need to do 

“I think I get it now”, you tell them, and fidget. “Is it a general thing?” You don’t know how to ask ‘Are you uncomfortable with what I do?’ without making things worse for them.

But it’s a pretty important question, and you’ll have to ask it sooner or later.

Before you can, though, Ceylon is back with an infusion bag. She shuts the door behind her, holding said bag up so both of you can see it, almost triumphant. “We still had this in stock”, she states. “The first half in three chunks, with fifteen minutes in between. The second half gradually over an hour.”

“Can I do that too?”, you ask, which earns you a weird look.

You hesitate when he does, suddenly catching on to the subtext with his own choices and career and you shake your head. You never hated going to the mediculler so badly before, it’s just... 

 The mediculler returns, holding up a clear bag of the medicine.

Your expression sours again, as you realize what exactly the treatment entails. Sitting in this room for nearly two hours, attached to a bag. Great. 

Your lip curls again, but when Fleurs volunteers to administer the medicine, you look at him in surprise. Something to be suspicious of? ....that’s just paranoia speaking, you’re pretty sure. 

You trust Fleurs more than you trust the strange mediculler, even if you don’t  know exactly what’s  in those bags. She’s got no reason to do anything weird to you, you don’t think, unless there’s some sort of shady experiment going on you don’t  know about. Maybe you should have done more research on her before you came but... 

but.... there’s nothing you can really do about it now. You need to get treated. 

Right, Don brought it with them. That’s good.

Ceylon takes the fungicide from them, turning it around to scan the label. “Mm”, she hums, and disappears through the door, bottle in hand.

Which leaves you alone with Don for a moment - but you’re really not sure what to say. Or, really, if they even want to talk. So you don’t.

The mediculler disappears behind the door without a second glance and as soon as she does, the tension more or less just bleeds from your shoulders.

You slide down the wall, your legs somewhat unwilling to keep you up, as you take a deep breath.

Then you look at Fleurs, whom you just about forgot was still there and you flush a little. He saw all of that.

“Thank you”, she hisses, handing the stethoscope to them. She then proceeds to give them instructions on how and where to move it.

She doesn’t even seem to register the backing up, or even the hissing. You, on the other hand, are do, and it makes you feel a little lost.

All you can really do is make sure that you stay in Don’s field of vision, but still ready to step in whenever it’s needed. What you would actually do, you’re not sure.

“No fluid buildup”, Ceylon declares. “You just have to cough this out. But you need an infusion for the fungicide. What brand was it?”

You keep your eyes fixed on the mediculler as she listens, though you dutifully move the cold stethoscope as she asks.

She’s standing too close for comfort and you’re sure she can hear the pounding of your pumper as you tense up.

But she just says your lungs are clear and you just need an infusion so you pull the stethoscope off or your chest and more or less throw it away from you.

Not the containers. You only just bought them, and they were so practical… And also full of fungus, you guess. “Okay”, you just tell them, rubbing your face. “That’s reasonable.”

Don asks Ceylon if she can go through their shirt - you guess that might be where the shoe is pressing, but you almost can’t hear that thought through how loud and long she sighs. 

“I might miss something”, she explains, strained. “I can’t risk that, please push it up. If you want”, she sounds annoyed, “You can also take the stetoscope. I won’t even touch you or look at you.”

The mediculler sounds annoyed as she pushes you to roll up your shirt and your lip curls instinctively with a hiss as you press your back up against the wall, and cough violently.

You know this isn’t rational at all, but you can barely help it. Being shut in this room with a stranger whose job is to examine you, fix you- it makes every hair stand on end, with your skin crawling.

“Plastic smoke?” You look to Don, surprised. Is that what happened to your ablution trap? …What happened to it, exactly?

“Alright”, sighs the mediculler, and steps closer to them. “Skin looks pallid”, she declares, and grabs for a stethoscope from a drawer. “Can you lift up your shirt for me? And do you know which brand it was?”

Fleurs gives you a weird look and you duck your head.

“Burned your containers,” you murmur at him before the mediculler steps in closer and you back up as she declares you’re pale.

You breathe again as she steps away but it’s short lived as she asks you to lift your shirt, and you fall silent, struggling with the urge to press yourself into the corner and snarl.

Your snarls aren’t exactly impressive either. You flap a hand in her direction.