ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Restraint

Vignette - Restraint
Dramatis Personae Teague	2015-11-11 Teague takes advantage of the version of the cure being offered to the general public. (Part of Flu Season TP.)
Location <NYC> Pop-Up Treatment Clinic
Every moment that passes only adds to Teague’s mounting frustration. The hours of waiting, in addition to the throngs of strangers with their smells and bodily sounds. The silence only intensifies the conspiratorial looks of mutual suspicion shared between them every once in awhile. With his hair pulled up under a black beanie, and phony drugstore spectacles should he be recognized, the mutant teenager waits. And waits. And waits. The tiles on the ceiling are uncountable, so the boy takes to mentally tracing out pictures with the specks and dot variations on the walls. He sees a lion, and tree, and a star. He starts to make up a story about them, but a curtain is annoyingly pulled and his vision is obscured. Cramped in like cattle, he does his best to control his breathing. Now isn’t the time to suddenly develop claustrophobia, but he’s sure that’s what has happened. Is it possible? Bouncing his leg is the only manner he finds to ease his anxiety, thumping his shoe against the clinic’s cheap linoleum floor. In his peripheral, a child of indeterminate age fidgets as well but to Teague this is excruciatingly annoying. With all the sniffly brat’s tapping and bumping, he can’t focus on his thoughts. He can’t even read the book he brought with him, which he’s attempted to start up several times since becoming ill only to have some such similar irritant as a distraction. Nevermind the seething, unrelated frustrations that he brought here with him. Silently, he focuses his outrage on the true cause of his current predicament: this annoying child of some stranger - him, and the under-capacity medical workers that buzz around them. Finally, a woman wearing scrubs acknowledges Teague. With dark circles under her eyes, she smiles too sharply to be friendly. She’s obviously human, and extremely condescending even in silence. Teague’s chest tightens as she only finally gets to administering the first installment of his treatment. Foggy minded herself, the doctor or nurse or intern, jabs again and again into Teague’s arm in an attempt to find a vein. Each time he is stung by the plain-faced human’s needle, the child mocks him by kicking the back of his light-up sneakers against the legs of his chair. The needle pricks him, and the woman lets out another woeful sigh to announce her failure. The child thumps one foot, then the other in rhythmic succession. His tiny sneakers flash red in the same order. The process repeats itself, and repeats itself, and repeats itself. “Sorry-” The woman hisses out of habit, too exhausted from being so overworked to control herself. Her hand immediately comes halfway up as if about to cover her mouth. Teague experiences a surge in aggression. His body tenses. With his free hand hanging at his side out of sight, he flourishes his fingers. The corresponding flash of sparkling light that can be attributed to the use of his powers occurs in unison with the child’s flashing sneakers. Under this veil, he creates a thin diamond shiv not unlike a pencil. Unaware of the danger she is, the nurse successfully attaches the IV. In the same movement, she stands up and steps away. The unexpected prosperity rouses Teague from his momentary lapse. Chest heaving, he looks first to the IV then in confusion, at the shard of glittery gemstone. He decides to once again make conscious effort to mind his breathing, and wills himself to think of nothing else. Hours later as he’s leaving the clinic, he passes a mother sternly reprimanding her child in a hushed hiss: “Where did you find this?!" "This is dangerous!" "Why would you pick this up?!" "You could have cut yourself!” Too small to see, the object in the woman’s hand reflects a lovely spectrum of light all around. The corners of Teague’s lips snake upwards, just slightly. With both hands shoved into his pockets, saunters onward.