Anaesthesia
| ........................................ |  |
date ; 20/06/20 . location ; Schöneberg , Berlin . starring ; @Santiago Peralta. notes ; cw! panic attacks, drinking, clubbing, generally kind of provocative content? outfit here. |
................................... |
| ... | 𝓗e silently noted the symptoms, observing inwards like he was his own patient. His gloves felt too tight, the room was too warm, his pulse too loud in his throat. The voices that had filled the room moments prior now seemed out of reach, echoing against the walls of Arkady’s skull. Outside. Now. He made no attempt to excuse himself, removing the latex from his hands and shouldering past his coworker with his head down and a murmured apology. Each footfall was faster than the last, though he refrained from running to save whatever sliver of dignity he had left. Hands moved on their own to rip his collar button open. He could not breathe, as if the atmosphere was running out of oxygen, a vacuum crushing down upon his leaded limbs. Hypocapnia, he noted to his own annoyance. So pedantic, even in a state like this. Staggering for the back exit towards the bins, Arek doubled over, retching as he vomited into a hedge. Ribs aching forward and eyes watering into tears, his knees lost all strength. Seeing death in a magical hospital was an uncommon occurrence. After all, magical medicine was far too advanced for most mundane illnesses to claim lives. Losing blood by the gallon? There's a potion for that. Gaping wounds? Gone before they can even scar. Death was exceptional – and grim. As a venerated Healer, Arkady had long accustomed himself to the sight of blood and gore. Splinchings, children turned werebeast, curses leaving wizards mutilated. The hospital was often ablaze with cries of agony, incantations and the shouts of loved ones. Death was often met with silence. It was the subtler father of pain and suffering. Ever since that miserable day in brutal July, every death mirrored the same. Heaving as he stumbled to a fire escape steps, Arek sat on the concrete in his crumpled uniform, gaunt and sweating. Tremouring fingers fumbled to work his lighter, dropping it with a hissed curse. He was not due for a break for another thirty minutes, though he figured they could do without him for a while. Laying back on the steps, he chained cigarettes until he felt ill again, mouth still dry and tingling as he tried to control himself. Thankfully, he had nothing left to throw up and no effort left to give. There were a few hours before Ark was cut from work, finally able to slink home through gloomy backstreets, covered in the proverbial blood of another. His colleagues had looked on at him with a dash of confusion and indifference, simply noticing his absence, not his departure. Hadrian had helped, his kind words sedating the drumming in Arkady’s head. Finding him surrounded by a sad pile of cigarette butts, he could only wonder how he wound up here. Arek would not tell. Instead, he left work with his sights set, clear and simple. He wanted to get belligerently drunk. Go to some gritty club and replace the thundering of memories in his head with pulsating music. Schöneberg was typically where Arkady ventured for a night of mindless self-indulgence. Despite the pandemic ravaging the muggle world, wizard-run establishments stayed upon under the guise of abandoned buildings. Mind still scattered from the day’s events, he wandered into the first promising place he saw. Immediately heading for the club bathrooms, Arek leaned against the sinks and stared into his own eyes with a difficult expression. These sort of nights always seemed to muddle guilt with liberation. When he surveyed himself, dressed in the tank-top he wore beneath his scrubs and a shabby brown leather jacket, he seemed more like a choir boy playing dress up, entertaining the idea of audacity rather than truly embracing it. He pulled at his eyebags, ruffled his hair this way and that, and splashed his face with cold water – all in some futile attempt to emerge a different man. He almost succeeded. Arek staggered out of the bathroom, two shots down and with black eyeliner smoked out on his eyelids by a drag performer who’d taken pity on him. Lips parted, pale, he headed straight for the bar. Though Arek opted for gay bars and clubs in Berlin, he was never one to take a souvenir of the night home with him. He simply enjoyed the music, the atmosphere and the company better than being pat down by strict bouncers, pushed around by overly-macho-projecting men and suffocated skin-to-skin with some deplorable characters at generic nightclubs. He floated around the scene, elated and hardly lucid. A bottle of Gigglewater in hand he’d conveniently stumbled upon as 2000s music blared from every angle. As he ran his thumb over the American label, Arek reached for a version of himself he missed. The first sip didn’t taste particularly good. What he craved wasn't the flavour – but rather the memories attached to it. Drinking from mismatched mugs, sitting on dormitory rooftops, laughing until sunrise, before adulthood became so heavy. The burn was like the familiar accent of an old friend. Unable to help but grin languidly as he drifted with the crowd, he was swept to the dancefloor. Unable to fight the heavy bass and the horde that surrounded him like a single organism. There were arms in the air as far as the eye could see, couples fading into corners together and lips moving in unison to the music. Faces were erased and redrawn with epileptic lights flashing in primary colours. It was almost horrifying if it weren't so brilliant. No one was real. bodies in a room with backstories Arkady would never know, unlike the bodies back at the hospital where he stood over them playing God. The lights caught in his pale hair every time he turned, the white strands flashing briefly before disappearing again into the crowd. The synths of Nelly’s Hot in Herre blared from speakers while swarms of drunken revellers chanted the intro and gradually lost their layers. Hands tugged at Ark’s jacket and he couldn't care to fight the music, letting it drop from his shoulders. In fact, he joined them, tilting his head back, neck bared as he smiled giddily and sang along. He looked like someone who had forgotten to be haunted; whatever grief had followed him through the hospital doors had finally lost his scent. He laughed when someone spun him around, too loudly, too freely. The self-consciousness that usually sat heavy between his shoulders had dissolved somewhere around his third swig from the bottle. As strangers sang in his face, he gave it back louder and brighter. Sweat glistened on his forehead like a halo. He could live like this forever. To his dismay, the next time he brought glass to his lips, hardly a drop of liquor met his tongue. Another couldn’t hurt. Making an agile beeline for the bar, he rose the bottle above the crowd, slithering between rolling hips and crashing bodies. He leant both elbows against the bar, arms folded with a coy grin at the bartender. Arek’s eyes scanned the selection of bottles, lit like lanterns behind the counter. “How about some Firewhiskey?” Pale eyes shimmered over his company to his left – a tall man of rich tawny skin and dark curls. Arkady’s lip curled with the tilt of his head, hair falling coyly in the way. “And what are you drinking...?” His voice trailed off expectantly for the stranger to supplement his name. |
... |
═════════════════════════════════════ ❝ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ. ❞
perfectionist i ; perfectionist ii ; prodigal charms ; ability 4 ; ability 5 ; wandmaker ; ability 7 ; ability 8 .
sta 10 ; eva 15 ; str 01 ; wis 15 ; arc 14 ; acc 11 .
sta 10 ; eva 15 ; str 01 ; wis 15 ; arc 14 ; acc 11 .