letsplaysurgeon: (Finds this quite amusing)
[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.]
letsplaysurgeon: (Here comes the smolder)
[Doctor's appointments are a little bit like dating. You give someone all your information, they tell you to take off your clothes, and sometimes you end up with a hand shoved inside you.

...That's a bit of an exaggeration, actually. So where did the musing that they're similar come from? The fact that one arranges to meet at a certain time on a certain day, and there is an unspoken expectation of maintaining that commitment--or at least calling ahead of time to cancel. That was courteous.

So in a way, this was like being stood up. But Muraki doesn't wither in the burning heat of rejection. He sits next to an empty bed, smiling a restrained smile as he pulls the top off a pen and replaces it multiple times.

After an appropriate amount of silence, he flips his journal open and makes an entry.]


Sheik? This is Doctor Muraki speaking. I seem to recall setting an appointment with you for eleven forty-five this morning, and it is now twelve-thirty...ah. [He checks the time.] My apologies, one in the afternoon. I just wanted to check in and make sure everything is all right. I hope nothing happened to you or your loved ones.

I would also like to reschedule. If you're not in literal pieces right now, or otherwise incapacitated, please respond back as soon as possible. Thank you.

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Muraki Kazutaka

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