Muraki Kazutaka (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
letsplaysurgeon) wrote2011-05-26 03:25 am
letsplaysurgeon) wrote2011-05-26 03:25 am
Case 004 [Voice/Action]
[Due to the recent disclosure from the last experiment, Muraki no longer feels the need to hide his voice--even from the ones who know about him. His tone is warm and casual, as if he didn't realize there isn’t a filter over his post. Or that he was the type of gent who didn't need a filter because he was a good banana, through and through.]
It's difficult not to notice the recent stream of newcomers over the journal system and in the village. Salutations are in order, as you will be staying here for quite some time. And don't be offended if I don't refer to you collectively as "New Feathers." [As it sounds like something a four-year old came up with.] ...But I will welcome you. I'm Muraki Kazutaka, a doctor that has settled into the local clinic. It is always open if you ever need anything. And of course I offer my own services in any way that I can.
[He stops for a moment, and noise can be heard in the background: a sharp metallic click, and then a steady release of breath. He lights a cigarette and proceeds to smoke while he talks.] If this place has anything going for it, it's the variety of medicine that different people bring with them. I've seen practices similar to my own, and some that my colleagues back home would consider crude, if not primitive.
I have to wonder, with this irrefutable evidence of other universes, if perhaps there is a world where medicine has advanced to the level that I had always dreamed of: one that is past sickness and death. [A offhanded chuckle.] Or perhaps that would only cause sickness to evolve the way a mouse finds a way to outsmart the updated mouse trap.
[Despite the nature of his journal entry, Muraki spends very little time at the clinic that day. He leaves after a few hours and goes by the flower shop, picking up a bouquet of light pink roses and brings them back to his apartment. They are arranged with care in a vase next to his bed, on the side that he rarely sleeps on.
He doesn't care much for the heat wave, or the sensation of his clothes sticking to his skin like an envelope. He stays inside until the late evening, when it cools--and it's more likely he'll run into the one he is most interested in seeing.
Muraki was more of a night owl, anyway.]
It's difficult not to notice the recent stream of newcomers over the journal system and in the village. Salutations are in order, as you will be staying here for quite some time. And don't be offended if I don't refer to you collectively as "New Feathers." [As it sounds like something a four-year old came up with.] ...But I will welcome you. I'm Muraki Kazutaka, a doctor that has settled into the local clinic. It is always open if you ever need anything. And of course I offer my own services in any way that I can.
[He stops for a moment, and noise can be heard in the background: a sharp metallic click, and then a steady release of breath. He lights a cigarette and proceeds to smoke while he talks.] If this place has anything going for it, it's the variety of medicine that different people bring with them. I've seen practices similar to my own, and some that my colleagues back home would consider crude, if not primitive.
I have to wonder, with this irrefutable evidence of other universes, if perhaps there is a world where medicine has advanced to the level that I had always dreamed of: one that is past sickness and death. [A offhanded chuckle.] Or perhaps that would only cause sickness to evolve the way a mouse finds a way to outsmart the updated mouse trap.
[Despite the nature of his journal entry, Muraki spends very little time at the clinic that day. He leaves after a few hours and goes by the flower shop, picking up a bouquet of light pink roses and brings them back to his apartment. They are arranged with care in a vase next to his bed, on the side that he rarely sleeps on.
He doesn't care much for the heat wave, or the sensation of his clothes sticking to his skin like an envelope. He stays inside until the late evening, when it cools--and it's more likely he'll run into the one he is most interested in seeing.
Muraki was more of a night owl, anyway.]
[Voice]
...
I d-do not think I could leave him... though I know this place is f-fickle, at best.
[Robert, by contrast, is incredibly afraid of the potential loss of Don. Even beyond his usual fears with forgetting...]
[Voice]
[The hypothetical question rolls effortlessly off his tongue, as though he had been waiting to ask that since Robert responded to his recorded post. Though part of him wasn't even sure why he asked. He doesn't care about other people's love lives--perhaps he just wants to see where Robert's values lie. Or give him something hard to chew on.]
[Voice]
Yes. I would, if it meant being with him.
I would do anything for him...
[Maybe Robert doesn't mean "anything" exactly literally, but there is an unhealthy amount of conviction in those words.]
... Ideally I c-could take him home, or vice-versa, but if I had to choose between the two things... it would most certainly be him.
[Voice]
Muraki could understand, but he can't stand to relate himself to other people. So he settles on feeling nothing.] 'Anything' is more than most men will give to another person. [Though hollow if it remains just a concept. He wonders if Robert would stick to his convictions if pushed--and decides he's interesting enough to keep tabs on.
Taking one more drag from his cigarette, he crushes it against the windowsill until he's satisfied with the cherry being extinguished.] I don't believe I got your name.
[Voice]
As for the weakness part - Robert has never known it to be a weakness. He's never been toyed with or manipulated by anybody, not deliberately and not with any kind of forethought. He simply wasn't in a position where it was ever used against him.]
He deserves everything I can give him...
[Robert pauses, realizing that, no, he hasn't given his name yet.]
... Ah. My apologies for the... u-unprofessionalism.
My name is Professor Robert Alexander Hastings.
... And yourself, if... if I may ask?