#filthy pride

Sometimes even lords of darkness need to feel pretty. this started as a Filthy Pride piece and turned into….? @markiplier

As kind as that young witch outside the clothing store had been to share his particular herbal remedy, and magical remedies as well, with her to help with her arthritis, the effects unfortunately hadn’t lasted. Nothing truly did, not even medication. The ache in her knuckles was simply a fact of life now, as much as she hated to admit it. It was manageable. She could deal with it. That’s what she did. But with every fumbling card trick as her joints locked up and betrayed her, her patience wore thinner. 

Which was why she found herself at the hospital to see a doctor yet again. Perhaps she could get her medication increased or find some other alternative form of treatment. Something lasting that didn’t cause her to wake up with stiff, immobile hands every single morning. That would let her enjoy the rain again instead of filling her with a sense of dread. Something that would let her forget how much her body was failing her with each passing day.

“Hello. I have an appointment with Dr. Ojeda.”

The receptionist asked for her information, as per usual, and then Babs took a seat in the waiting room. Ugh, she despised hospitals. It smelled like death at every turn. She didn’t know how anyone could choose to work in one. The medical field ate your life away, from what she understood. Spending that much time around the sick and dying had to take its toll, and served as a somber reminder of what awaited Babs herself if she wasn’t vigilant in her search.