Dalen's Journal, Part Five
Foggy. Everything is stupidly happy, and slowly foggy. A dream where one
part of your mind stands aside and watches the other part of you move
through idiocy. Rationality calls attention to the dull aches in my leg,
shoulder and arm. Garish, red memory of something heavy and hot slamming
into the bone, ripping through the flesh in my arm and shoulder. Lots of
blood. Feeling the narcotics flow through my system as the happy physician
withdraws the needle. More numbness as the not-so-happy physician probes
for the balls of metal in my body. Being stitched up again is a cake walk
in comparison.
Why am I here? Beyond the pain and confusion, why? The thought of a
bauble rises to the surface of my thoughts. Jewelry? No, that's not quite
right. Narcotics make it hard to think. Ah, the Jewel of Judgement. Why
were we the ones to go look for it? Something that important ... why leave
it to inept bumblers like ourselves? Does the King even know it is gone?
A feeling of giggling lassitude blankets thought. Instead of fighting it,
I will let it wash over me and so have it pass. Trickery may work where
fighting won't. Ah, the cunning mind of the drugged-out being.
Higher brain functions return.
Rational Mind sends a note to itself. Item #1: Never, ever go anywhere
with Lord Aaron without first ascertaining full particulars. Item #2:
Kick Lord Aaron's ass the next time you are in company and can move w/o
pain. Item #3: If people point metal wands with curved finger pieces at
you, get the Hell out of there FAST! Fighting is *not* an option.
The drugs they have given me should be fading soon ... one good thing about
a shapeshifter's body ... it compensates for medications. Of course, this
means I should be in a good deal of pain as well. I'd try to shift into a
"whole" me ... but I don't think I have the energy for it yet. Besides, if
I got caught in the middle of a shift, it would take a good deal of
explaining -- if I even could explain it here. I will wait until I know
that I can handle the shift safely.
The reoccurring happy, babbling side of my mind is irritating. If this was
a dream, I'd wake myself up.
In fact, I think I will ...
Stifling the giggle that is nudged out of me by the remnants of that damned
narcotic, I ease my mind towards coherence ... towards analysis of what is
remembered despite a lack of total consciousness. I remember the horrors
of the lights, and the metal, and the cold ... hideous smells and comments
by masked people, punctuated by urgency. A multitude of boxes with
flashing lights, and sounds ... paper spilling forth in a thin ribbon.
Then a certain quiet, and the sensation of being moved, floating along a
hallway. Finally, to be placed here. Where ever "here" is.
I listen and inhale the smells. My eyes are closed, and will be until I
know that I am alone. Inventory of place: I am on a bed, I hear the
clicks and buzzes of the boxes with lights. A hollow needle is in my left
arm at the elbow. I feel covers, and a thin, short piece of clothing which
covers me ineffectively. I need my sword, my Trumps and my circle. A
small panic arises. Where are they?
Only to be followed by overwhelming lassitude.
I will look for them in a few moments, I reassure myself even as the heavy
hand of fatigue pulls me back under. Rest a little while, then resume.
Before I drift off to sleep, one more thought surfaces with a hard-edged
clarity: Lentaro was also injured. Do the physicians here know how to
treat Tellurians? What will they make of his fur?
| 
