Did the dust ever settle? Did the wind ever stop blowing? Was there ever a time when such was not the case? Even an elder like Albertuss Magnuss had his doubts at times. Oppressive heat had enhanced his ill feeling and urged him towards the Hospital at the heart of the city. Slow, painfully slow steps carried him off of the streets and into the Union grounds. The sterile, cool air from within clashed with marked contrast to the heated dustiness from outside. Veritably ancient eyes panned the room as the doors swished closed behind him and a hand tugged upon his silvery beard. Labored steps took him across the threshold as he spotted the one he sought.Mirandahh Drachenn, affectionately known as Asche, was engrossed in a conversation when the old man entered. The opening of the outer doors was always something that drew her attention, and this time was no exception. A quick, appraising look was given, checking for any outwardly obvious signs of injury. Her blue eyes scanned the old man further, even as he made his approach.
"Stimulants and anti-nausea medication." Given his age, the old man had no time for formalities or anything other than stating his purpose, clearly and succinctly. A gnarled old hand rested on a table for support and eon wizened eyes peered into hers.
"For?" Given Asche's temperament, she had not time for formalities either, particularly when none were offered to begin with.
"Me," he stated flatly. "Was that such a difficult request?"
Asche just stared at him for a moment, transfixed by his gaze. She snapped out of it as his patronizing tone was again heard.
"Stim-mu-lants and an-tee naw-zee-ah medication."
"Yeah, well, I don't usually give out meds without a diagnosis." The words she spoke were caked in sarcasm. So much for the innocent look of naivete he may have thought he encountered from the seasoned medic.
The old man gave a slow nod. "And I don't usually ask for them ... but I think we are in short supply of a pharmacist."
"Well, like I said ... " If he thought he could bowl her over by that grandfatherly visage, authoritative tone, and piercing gaze, he had definitely chosen the wrong woman. "You on file here?", she asked.
The grandfather image made itself apparent as he smiled an almost gentle smile. "I sincerely hope not."
"Lucky you. I'm still not gonna just give you meds. Let me examine ya ... if you need meds, I'll prescribe it." Asche had never been one to beat about the bush. Her tone was not standoffish or rude, merely matter-of-fact.
"Hmm, such service." The sarcasm was indeed flowing freely tonight. "Try to be polite and ask nicely, but still given a hard time. I suppose if I came waving a pistol at you, I might stand a better chance at service, no?"
She shrugged and leaned forward on the desk, propping herself up on her elbows. "Nah. You can shoot me and then you wouldn't get your meds anyway. We'd both lose."
If he was irritated, it remained absent from his tone and posture. "Very well then ... " and he glanced quickly to the name pin on her jumpsuit for a reference, "Mirandahh ... we will play it by your rules, for now. I simply need the stimulants and anti-nausea meds. I'll play along with you. Examination it is." Another tug to his beard was given, hiding some of the grimace that lay beneath the whiskers.
Asche shuddered as he horribly mangled the pronunciation of her proper name. "It ain't play, you know? You take too much of some of that stuff and it'll kill ya." The desk was abandoned for a course set on Exam Room Three.
Albertuss nodded and followed the acerbic medic to the assigned room. "My dear, I haven't a lot of time left anyhow. Death would be a welcome change of pace."
As if she needed to see more evidence of the Reaper's scythe. Still, she chuckled quietly and wondered just how old he was. So, she asked. "I'd say you've earned a rest. How old are you?"
"Seventy-five, my dear," he replied.
"Hell ... you were around when the bombs dropped." There was an element of surprise in her tone.
"That I was. I saw quite a bit of the festivities ... personally," he quipped.
The sound of snapping rubber could be heard as she donned a pair of examination gloves. "Yeah, my parents saw a lot of it too. OK," she said, "go ahead and change behind the curtain."
He saw no need for that as she handed over a hospital gown. He simply drew one arm after the other out of his sleeves and dropped his robes then and there. He spoke plainly, answering the arching of her brow. "You are a medical professional, are you not? It's not like you haven't seen someone nude before. Unless, of course, your bedside manner is as icy as the rest of your demeanor." The hospital gown that he now wore offered little protection from the decided chill of the Hospital.
"I'm icy?" She chuckled through the question as she prepared her tools.
The Cult ArchMage nodded slowly, hoisting himself up onto the table. "I suppose it is difficult for one such as yourself to remain ..." He chose his word carefully, "optimistic."
"It ain't my strong suit. State your name for the files, if you would."
The old man narrowed his eyes as he did everything else ... slowly. Clearly, he did not wish that fact archived to or by anyone or anything. "Al," came the simple response.
A few clicks of switches, pushing of buttons and whirring of machines, and the scanning equipment was primed and ready to be used in the exam. "Gotta last name, Al?"
Thin, almost colorless lips pursed together slightly into what could have almost been mistaken for a smile. "Big. Big Al, Al Big ... whatever. I just need the stimulants and the anti-nausea meds, please. I have work to attend to ... elsewhere." How he hated to repeat himself. That last request would make the fourth this evening.
Asche turned around with a wide grin upon her face. "Well, now, Mr. Big ... now you can come back and refill your prescription."
"And," he began again, giving another glance to her nametag, "Mirandahh ... you are right not to be optimistic."
She shrugged her way into a lead-lined vest and retrieved a metallic wand from atop one of the machines. She flicked another switch and waved the wand once across his body. "Oh yeah?", she asked. "How's that?"
Again, his lips pursed together, though this time, it was not in a smile. "Because He is coming."
"And who is he?" Asche moved behind him to repeat her earlier procession of movements.
"The Beginning and The End." Riddles were a fundamental part of being an ArchMage. He did not have to clarify further, and saw no need at the present time to do so.
"That's a big name." The screen on one of Elliot's terminals began to flicker.
"He has many names to many people, my dear. He waits, but He comes." Digital images of the man's bone structure flashed onto the screen. It was a quick, albeit crude, x-ray.
Asche ran through the motions of checking his pulse and blood pressure by rote. So many times had she done this, and her actions were mechanically second nature by now. "Anyone I might be familiar with?"
"Unlikely," he replied, "unless you are a student of history as well as medicine, my dear."
The medic shrugged nonchalantly. "You never know." She glanced down to 'Big Al's' blood pressure reading with an almost disbelieving look. "Sheesh ... you sure you're alive?"
Albertuss chuckled lightly. "That I am alive is amazing enough considering my age and the events of 50 years ago. But yet, am I alive? Your instruments tell you one thing, but do they tell you all?
There are no facts, merely interpretations. Simply one interpretation of a possible truth."
"Oh man, you're not talking about collective beliefs, are you?"
A wrinkled hand shot out and gripped Asche's with an agile movement uncharacteristic of his age. She gave a sharp glance downward, mirroring his own pursing together of lips. The Mage's vellum tiers moved but barely as he quietly muttered something under his breath, still not releasing the clutch about her hand. Asche took a step backwards, pulling away from her geriatric patient. She was getting a funny feeling about all of this. His face paled noticeably as she gave a sharp tug to free her hand. The only thing to outwardly betray her outrage was the widened stance of her eyes. Reflexively, his hand released hers and he leaned over the edge of the table and prompting began voiding his last meal onto the floor.
"Aw, hell" she murmured, an arm stealing about the man in a surprisingly soothing gesture. "I guess you really do need those meds." She remained by his side, to make certain that dry heaves were not going to set in.
"Now, Mirandahh ..." came the somewhat more strained voice, "medication."
"You bet, Big Al." She found herself rubbing her hand, as if surprised that the man's grip was as formidable as it was. His color returned slowly, such as it was, and his condition seemed to normalize as she called for a janitor. "Elliot, get a janitor down here and set this man up with a month's worth of Dexedrine and Compazine."
Albertuss nodded and creaked his way off of the table, out of the hospital gown and back into his robes. "Thank you."
"Yeah," she said, "you can pick up the meds at the pharmacy."
"I shall do that my dear," he said, slowly making his way from the exam room. "I do thank you ... and the ghosts thank you as well."
"Hey!" Swallowed words she spoke as she followed after him, wanting to know more from his cryptic message. "What do you mean by ghosts?" Though she knew sickeningly full well what he meant.
The old man stopped at the pharmacy window to pick up his prescribed medications and did not turn to look at her as he spoke. "If you need to ask, my dear," he mumbled, "you are kidding yourself."
"I just," she began, and then decided that her best course of action was to shove her hands in her pocket. It was almost a girlish gesture and not indicative of her previous mood. "How do you know?"
"You wear your troubles on your sleeve, my dear," he said, turning away from the window, bag in hand. He gave her a small smile again. "Or shall I say you wear them on your hand?" A mumbled small chuckle as he brushed past her and made for the exit.
"My hand?" she queried, turning to watch him cut a path for the outer doors, but remaining in place. The sudden urge to rub her palm availed itself again, and she gave into it. She spun on her heel and veered off toward the ER and the waiting ambulance bays. "You are such an idiot," she muttered to herself, "stupid, stupid"
The lady medic's self admonishment continued as Albertuss, Mr. Al Big, took further achingly slow stops out of the Hospital and down the steps to the street. He did have other work to attend to ... elsewhere. And He was coming. Preparations had to be made.