❝ you have permission to exploit me however you want...
-- on the condition that you DEFEAT me first! ❞
[ nurse class trainer RP for Wild Encounters. ]
oh, the hopelessly tender hearted; Clementine&Xerosic
( theabsolvedanalyst )
She has the tendency to believe herself preconditioned to tackle some of the most prominent roles of the world. She fancies the image of herself taking on the Johto League championship; or taking to stardom in the music industry; or taking one of the highly sought-after legendary Pokemon in to her care, freeing it of the scheming reaches of the fiends of the world. She could have immersed and thrived in anything other than the fact of reality, that being medicine: her greatest gift from birth.
But today, she has tasted success in the department of high intrigue! The medic is in the mood to credit herself as having the flair to become, at the very least, an intelligence agent for the nation (in some other lifetime.)
In truth, she merely struck lucky on her so-called ‘manhunt’ for the ex-convict Xerosic. She has that one dapper chap from a date, which occurred an exact fortnight ago, to thank for the address of the scientist’s Lumiose flat. It was pure happenstance that he works as a laboratory technician in a place which Xerosic seemed to have expressed vocational interest in. With the strength of Kalosian liquor and the certainty of a second date, Clementine was able to extract Xerosic’s curriculum vitae from him, ascertaining the information she had been gunning for for months.
Maybe this victory is all ultimately owed to her feminine appeal? ☆ Oh, she’s just too crafty!
She makes no hasty judgments as she climbs up along a winding flight of stairs, carrying herself towards the residence of the subject of her intrigue. What was it about the scientist, really, that drew him to her attention? At the height of Team Flare’s glory, Clementine had only learned of their extremist villainy from the safe harbors of Unova. After the effect Team Plasma had on her politics, she was in every way certain to condemn the ideals Flare seemed to praise. Yet, here she is. With greater aims preoccupying her, successfully engaging Xerosic is no doubt a pivotal step to moving forward. Failure is unthinkable!
She is, after all, grasping at straws.
Butterfrees jitter in her stomach, creating a sense of doubt foreign to her usual headstrong conviction as she locates herself before the apartment door. Her body, the only thing that can compete with the quickness of her mind, acts before the latter has the chance to ask: now, what’s the way to make certain we won’t go ignored like a door-to-door salesman?
“Yoo-hoo! ♪” Clementine raps on the door thrice. “La Poste de Kalos here with a parcel delivery! Anybody present to sign for it?”
Plenty good a guise! Not that her medic’s uniform will hold her through the charade, but she simply needs to buy time. As long as she does not go off the books, she will do anything to obtain the answer she is determined to leave Xerosic’s apartment with.
budding like the birth of a star; Clementine&Jillian
( retrospacebabe ) - continued from [ here ]
“Don’t you speak,” the medic counsels gently as the girl, quivering with as much fervor as a Joltik, attempts to put the symptoms of her ailment into words. “I like hearing your cute voice. ♥ But now’s a time for you to save your breaths to yourself. Next time,” she cautions, “best let me know if your body’s intolerant to something I give you. Don’t be shy, now! I would much rather avoid being assigned to ER duty unless the absolute necessity arises, you see.”
Clementine’s breath smells lightly of espresso shots and a hint of caramelized sugar, and lightly sways the flyaway wisps of Jillian’s hair each time she murmurs singsong nothings, a practiced effort to help walk the girl through the short spell of agony. With each tousle, the strands form a captivating moire, shimmering with an exclusive palette of colors normally observed in unison with intergalactic nebulae. A sneaking suspicion prowls about, suggesting the use of artificial hair -- but she’s engaged, nonetheless, and the last thing on her mind is to voice the trivial curiosity.
Absolutely gorgeous! Beyond captivating! ☆
Piloted by a gravitational snare of empathy, Clementine tends aptly to the girl. Gently applying the cold compression, she mindfully surveys Jillian’s recovery by monitoring the gradual flush of her temperature. The shivers ease away in piecemeal measures until the quake finally subsides, until all that is finally left is the tranquil rise and fall of her small frame as her respiratory pattern finally paces itself comfortably. The nurse crimps the warm tea towel and returns it to the barista, lips shaping a silent expression of gratitude. Her fingertips rest within the Galactic soldier’s artificial tresses, toying with them, softly and in tandem to the approximate melody of Les Étoiles.
An unmistakable sensation of chemistry: a tingle that nestles in the palm of one’s hand before propagating throughout the being via the circulation system. A medical expert would recognize such symptoms with most scientific confidence. ✓Only the fact of the matter remains that such intimate, genuinely human contact has been few and far between for Clementine, who has managed to condemn herself to a relatively friendless lifestyle. Not that this troubles her, of course. All the more space left to make the most treasured relationships last!
“Not that I expect anything..! It was my own intent, don’t think this means we’re close just because I’m in a bit of pain.”
“Welcome back!” Not missing a beat, Clementine returns her retort knowingly. Reaching out with both hands, she draws the young woman closer and presses an unabashed kiss to the crown of her head, tactfully shaping her wig back into place. By the time she relinquishes Jillian, the flyaways have long since been teased back into place.
She then gives her cheeks a fond petting, gazing at her as if regarding a sibling she had just been reunited with. “Phew. ♪ Back to a hundred percent, I see! That’s a lesson learned, right? Soy chocolate for you next time, missy. Nursie’s orders!”
The oppressing atmosphere for conformity in the gala is stifling her up to the chin. The torment of anticipation is the only thing that can ever preside over Clementine.
She has always cared for crowding. The sea of faces, however unfamiliar as they may be, are a form of cheer, scoring the social reception meant only for businessmen to knot their neckties tighter for the sake of greater trade opportunities. A cooperative effort for everyone to be on the same wavelength, how’s that! And with her liberal sense of humor, Clementine is almost always at the heart of the party. It simply does will not do if she is not the cause for buzz, for her outspoken quality and refreshing appeal, all which endear grappling stock traders and prowling investors, are the ace up the family’s sleeve.
She’s hardly ever, if at all, opposed to dunking herself inside at least a liter of rich champagne in the process of engaging her parents’ business partners. Clementine could have been born a Chatot in another life, and bears the brunt of her parents’ exerted pressure with the ease of vanquishing a slice of pie.
Like the calories that come with pie, however, there come consequences after the social affairs: an odd, great, and surreal sense of sadness would sandwich her between a hangover the next day, and the impact of having her head exit the clouds and plummeting back to earth full-throttle. Maybe she was made for this sort of lifestyle, that much she cannot refute, but on such mornings, she finds herself staring into a mask of heroic optimism in the mirror, glass of water in hand with an antacid fizzing away in its depths. And she would confide with herself, very honestly, that she misses her brother, and the odd currents of freedom he brought with him that would bring change, however fleeting.
Tonight, she abstains from the party’s drinks because it’s a valuable occasion, rare as the shiny Purrloin whose tail she had accidentally stepped on in the grass once. For one, she can not possibly bring herself to meet with Aarune smelling of alcohol; for the other, she had to remain sober if she wanted her secret plans to succeed in the midst of so many people. Having monopolized the areas by the hall window and tactically hidden her Dedenne in a plot of flowers outside, Clementine would ensure herself to catch a timely signal the moment the antenna Pokemon’s whiskers pick up the electromagnetic waves of Aarune’s handheld transceiver. No distraction from the party whatsoever! Two Pidoves with one stone.
She’s in the middle of a confab with a college-age suitor when a miniature spark catches her eye beyond the window panes. In the shades of the balmy evening, Dedenne’s tail can barely be seen, flicking to and fro in the conveyance of their secret message. A momentous grin cuts across Clementine’s features. She’s on the move in less than a moment’s time, weaving herself strategically through the crowds - acquaintances who try to hail her down for a chat, like hooks on wool sweater. She evades them skilfully, breaking free through the emergency exit door. Her Dedenne is there to join her. Overjoyed, she rewards the Pokemon a sound petting.
“At long last! Great job, Denne-Denne! Let’s go welcome big brother home.”
They’re still a good distance from the quay when they - Clementine and her Pokemon, the whole team who have come to adore her brother - arrive just in time to see the passengers of the ferry disembarking. There is no way whatever, however, that the medic would mistake the familiar sight of that ranger’s hat. Still decked from head to ankle - not toes, she’s long since removed her heels for the purpose alone of achieving speed - in her party outfit, she rushes towards him, loud and excitable, making past the sparse crowd of groggy travelers.
“A-A-RU-NE! ☆ Surprise! Ah!” Carelessly tossing her shoes over the edge of the dock and right into Castelian waters (splash!), Clementine throws herself at him with the collective might of the many times she found herself unable to put ‘don’t go!’ into words. The setback of doing so without discretion, however, feels almost like tackling a wall.
“Bguh--”
Or it may be an exaggeration on her part. Either way, she pulls back for a brief, pained spell as her Pokemon flock around their feet, chorusing warm welcomes.
“Ow... ✘ What’s that! You’ve really bulked up lately!” Despite the impish complaint, Clementine attaches herself to Aarune once again, arms clinging to his middle. “Welcome back, my big brother. I’ve been waiting for you! ♪”
웃유 - Interested to see how Aarune and Clem would be a sibs!
In the presence of her brother, by some psychogenic force of sentimentality, Clementine never failed to wind up tearful. The notorious shimmer of radiance would vanish from her dainty face, her eyes spilling inelegantly like the fountains of Castelia - the city within which they never truly did grow up hand in glove, although this was an imperfection she had long since put behind her.
“Sniff… H-hic. Why, Aarune? ☂”
She loved Aarune, oh, she did. More so than their so-very-diplomatic parents would, ever since the decisive moment they realized Aarune’s interests lay not the artificial, sky-scraping refuges of Castelia, nor the boundless funding ledgers that made the city the city, a place completely devoid of him all-year-round. As if that was not already a sin in itself, each time, her brother would return from his faraway voyages sporting new scars, lumps, and accidents that would one by one reconfigure him from ‘cherished older brother’ to a ‘sort of beaten-up, cherished older brother.’
He would clamp one of two coarse, warm hands over the crown of her head in efforts to reassure her, entreating her with an arsenal of stuffed Pokemon and those chocolate-covered berries from Hoenn he knew to be her weakness. Still, her sorrow only became all the less ladylike under such coddling, consisting of sniveling, sobbing, and all manner of sadness that has, of course, only ever been seen by the eyes of Aarune.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” She would accuse furiously. “Seeing your forsaken little sister bawl her eyes out every time you come home! Admit it: sometimes you have such a blast out there that you even happen to forget you have one, don’t you?” Any brother as clever as Aarune would be able to pick up on the way in which she mischievously fashioned her words in order to garner more affection.
“C’mon,” he would submit. “Y’can’t be a good sport? Got so many secret bases ‘stalled throughout the regions, but only one little sister thr’out the entire world.” Strategically producing yet another slab of chocolates from his jacket, he gives her a twinkling grin.
Casting him a testing look, she would greedily take the bribe into possession. “Bet you 10 Pokedollars you know full well what kind of bugs and diseases come with scrapes like that. You just want me to worry!”
“Ya kid me, right? S’like invokin’ the wrath of Kyogre itself, makin’ ya worry.”
The next sigh would make the circles beneath his eyes grow dimmer as a folded 10-dollar banknote is also surrendered. “Since when di’ ya start taking after our old man? S’ either that, or med school’s done somethin’ to ya. Who m’ I kiddin’. All th’ other doctors n’ nurses I see ain’t nearly as cunning as my lil’ sis.”
“Hmph. Now you know what happens whenever you’re away. Take it as a lesson and learn, big brother. ✧”
And then, by some interjecting hex of timing, one of either siblings’ X-transceivers would break out in a shrill ring, the equally maddening dinner invitations of their parents being the very cause. If it was Aarune’s, Clementine would reach over and effortlessly poke the ‘end call’ button with the tip of her ring finger. It was a bold move that often left her brother a confused binary between being concerned and impressed at the same time.
“T’heck with those black tie affairs,” she would make a poor attempt at emulating his charismatic accent, stuffing empty chocolate wrappers into her trash bin and casually acting selfish. “It’s your last day in Unova! Mine for the taking. ♪ Let’s go make some sandwiches. You, brother dear, are taking me tree-climbing in Pinwheel Forest until dusk! Teach me all you know about building secret forts, okay? Then, we’re going to stargaze and get up to speed on each other’s lives until I pass out and miss work tomorrow! ☆”
“Nah, y’better not miss work tomorrow. Otherwise, I’d say we have a done deal, sis.”
( send 웃유 for an AU drabble of our muses as siblings. )
The inaccessibility to one’s own beloved sibling was, in all irony, the sin to being the sister of a most illustrious gym leader. ☂
“W-A-L-L-A-C-E!”
With but a mere two years of difference in age, Clementine and Wallace had been raised be the perfect exemplification of ‘salt and pepper siblings’, kindred only in the chemical makeup that fashioned their ideals as children of the same blood. But unlike his flighty little sister, Wallace had always had twenty-twenty vision when it came to his ambitions. While sharing in her attitude towards aspirations, plentiful as the stars in the sky, what set him apart from her skittishness was the cogency with which he treated his goals.
In the same manner as the destructible nature of rules, dreams are all made to be fulfilled. It was Wallace who had first given Clementine that galvanizing glimpse of true glory, and the rewards and prices that all came within the hefty burden called ‘success’. Needless to say, as his starry-eyed sister who faithfully revitalized the adage that ‘anything was possible with effort’, Clementine holds Wallace close to her heart and regards herself as the truest fan he will ever have. ♥
“Wallace,” the medic puffs, suffering as she drags herself up the final flight of stairs that show the way to the Leader’s platform. She is drenched from head to toe; the flowers in her hair have slackened from away from her skull; beneath her nurse’s uniform, her opaque tights are torn, bruises and the odd discoloration riddling her exposed knees.
“Ah! I finally reached you!” The bleats are nonstop the moment the nurse sets foot upon his platform. “I’m your sister, and I can’t even reach you without first taking a countless number of tumbles in this ‘sore excuse’ of a gym set-up you have! ▽” The criticism is, of course, insincere. “What kind of brother leaves his baby sister to be the laughing stock of the members of your gym? ╬”
She crumples to her knees, sobbing theatrically. Both she and Wallace share that dramatic flair in their blood, too. “What do you have to say for yourself, o’ wretched man? You may be the apple of everyone else’s eyes, but you’re the lemon in mine! Now, are you taking me to dinner, or do I have to taser your Pokemon with mine until you agree?”
"Sure I am! Sure as exeggcutes,” the medic rebounds, never missing a beat. She whips him the ironic thumbs-up. A crafty grin goes great with the guiltless arch of her pretty brows.
“Why? Something feel amiss? If it’s your manners, I’ll have you know that those were missing since you woke up. Mm. ♪ Maybe the boys in blue picked ‘em up at the place where you were found? I’m sure the police won’t keep what isn’t theirs to keep.✧”
There’s a wicked sort of glee to be farmed from Seymour’s drastic reactions. It is almost as though she makes a splendidly unfortunate knee-jerk impulse for his rueful crook’s soul. Who is to say that the local police department will be able to evoke a prize reaction like this? One so menaced, so delightfully vulnerable. Now, this is the way bullying should be exacted under all circumstances! All the more rewards to partake, when, in all due time, he comes to realize that she’s only about as harmful as she appears.
( Now, now -- not all roses, beautiful as they are, are thorny! ✿ )
Being the uncanny charm that she is, however, it takes but a mere transitory notion for her temperament to shift gears. The keenness, incessant like philodendron attempting to grate into Seymour’s nerves, seems to melt away like oil colors yielding an underdrawing. Something has hit her. A knock from reality, maybe?
“Ah... But you’d be high and dry if they showed up now, wouldn’t you, Eyepatch? I was being sincere! You had better make sure you’re decent before they come knocking.” Clementine then eyes him inquisitively, although the gaze isn’t prying. “That said! The paperwork for your hospital admittance was done by yours truly! But I wasn’t able to dig up any emergency contacts from what little information the database had of you. So we’re distant cousins if they ask, yes?”
She passes a wink in his direction. “No need for them to find any inconsistencies in what we testify, right? ♫”
In this melting pot of a world, one made of providence and affluence, a thing such as maturity pertinent to age is luckily absent. Julius is young; in Clementine’s native region, his age - a mere numerical unit to celebrate how far you are away from the anguish of real maturity - is an specially-observed one. Twenty is the hatachi, the coming-of-age, and the age of majority no matter where one ventures about the globe hoping to shirk the self-conjured anxieties of life as an ‘adult’.
She needs only go out of her way to push a pair of rose-colored spectacles up the solemn bridge of his nose, whisk him out of the hospital and straight into the nearest dive. Of course he isn’t a-hundred percent committed, either — Clementine reckons he was only about twenty-percent willing to play along until he took that first sip of that Amaretto-laced liquor.
Then, he began appearing 80% more personable to her — and there’s no questioning that she was proud of this feat she had achieved!
None.
Another year beneath one’s belt never meant a radical restructuring of the self would be in order - that’s just an impression that the older generation, those who allowed their patience for life to be worn down to the stub of a candle, liked to press. You ate and drank and made merry as a ‘child’ not many years ago; a few years later there’s not cause to do otherwise but to eat and drink more, make even greater cheer than ever before. Learn from your bad decisions as a ‘child’, and prosper from the blessings of your past errors.
The walk of life as a medic is never easy. No doubt are you perpetually bound to the duties spawned from your choices, hopes, and dreams, but you also shoulder the responsibilities of seeing through vital components of the hopes and dreams of your patients. As physicians, Clementine and Julius needed to learn to be above the impossible, be it with smiles that earned one the reputation of a blissfully-ignorant bitch, or with a hard-boiled mask that drove away the attachment of others.
Clementine hates the burn of alcohol in her throat! Alongside that, there’s the additional searing behind her eyes caused by his nepheligenous habits… But these, too, are hardships to celebrate - minuscule ones, at that. She can only become stronger, and now she no longer wants to climb to a self-defined prosperity alone — not when she’s had a glimpse of his potential.
“Cheers to a job that takes care of the rent!”
When she raises her glass, a tiny splash of her cocktail spills over. Nothing to be sorry for! No excuses, no regrets, no apologies. The tears at the corners of her eyes are inexplicable, and she brushes them away with the back of her knuckles, very clearly inebriated as she settles back into her seat.
"Julian." There’s no doubt whatsoever she’s drunk; she wouldn’t have called him by his proper name otherwise. Tipping forward, she loops her arms, pallid beneath the dim bar lights, around his shoulders and cants her head, her swoop for a fringe curtaining their faces. The contact of their lips is warm, unabashed, and filled with emotion.
Maybe not love, but the affection is genuine.
"Never forget to keep your chin up at all times, no matter what happens."
There are two quirks about the impenetrable Clementine Fairchild that liken her to a Spoink: the first, and the given, is her buoyancy, her inexplicable energy at any given time throughout a day. Even in the restrictive domain of her office she seems almost inclined to ricochet about the restrictive dimensions -- which touches upon her second likening to a Spoink, really, and the million-Pokedollar question:
Will her heart also cease like a Spoink's if her incessant chatter is inhibited? Probably.
A deft hiss of translucent-woven gauze chafing is like that of an Ekans' just before its predatory plunge. Clementine swiftly unwinds the narrow fabric, stretching it from end to end with the keenness of a Noctowl cornering her prey. There's a sharp whisking noise as one end of the bandage sails, followed by a crack! as it lashes against the wall. Who even knew something as virtuous as gauze could produce such a threatening noise?
Moreover, what kind of nurse in her right mind would opt for threatening to capture an unwilling patient, like a Garchomp hot on its victim's trail?
"Well! ♪ You have two options: accept the vaccine, or accept the vaccine?"
She braces her makeshift lasso, with genuine intent to trap and a mischievous twinkle in her large almond eyes. As well-meant as her intentions are, her methods are invariably despotic for someone typically meant to instill nothing but goodness into the world.
"To one with a resolve like mine, it doesn't matter whether you're league champion, past or present, or even a member of a criminal organization, for that matter. As a nurse, it's my duty to ensure your wellness. There's no way around the needle for you!"
She stretches the gauze once more, looking about ready to pounce. "Now then... Are you coming over here on your own, or does Nursie have to resort to force? ♥ "
He's a local figure of mystique, an object of idolatry from his oddly avid demographic of fans littered not only within the precinct, but also across the region. To a certain extent, he must have admirers scattered across the world, too. After all, he boasts bona fide authority on subjects concerning the paranormal and mythical. Atop of intellectual status, his physical appearance also seems blessed in a rather unique right -- thus with effectiveness he earns himself an even greater reputation as one of the definitive commodities of Johto.
Although he's irrefutably denominated a famed oracle, Clementine now realizes he's never once been a lingering subject on her mind with the untold number of coffees she's resigned to space over in the past. Perhaps she had been too focused on her studies when the gym leader began earning his public prestige? Or she could have simply been too in over her head, enamored with the legendary Champion of Indigo Plateau in those days.
Either way, his presence serves a hot reminder to the medic that she seems to overlook many definitive things about her mother region, but as both a child and, later, a scholar, she had always remained oddly unaware to the gifts of Johto. Being critical was, in part, a specialty of hers. Nonetheless, she's well aware of Matsuba's arguably radiant reputation, so when a somewhat dismal-looking cloud wanders directly through the hospital lobby and into her office door, she almost doesn't recognize him.
"Oh, aren't you..."
Well, of course she does: one would have to be a genuine dunce to be unable to identify his prestige through this trademark headband, that invariable scarf pinned into place by a polished magatama. It's the crooked and evidently forced smile, strangely humane and strangely accessible, that she doesn't recognize. Or is it not supposed to be even a smile in the first place as it is just an obligatory tug of the lips?
Well, people do have the tendency to appear uncannily ordinary around GPs and their infamous syringes. ☆
"-- looking just like a ray of sunshine today, dear patient? ♪ "
It is, of course, a grossly exaggerated observation. She flashes him her tool of trade, her indiscriminate smile, before clapping her hands twice, resolutely, and gesturing in the general direction of the patient's bed.
"Do help yourself to a seat! I'd like to hear your full story, mind you; for if you're not looking so doom and gloom because of heartbreak, then there's absolutely no reason to be frowning in the presence of Nurse Fairchild. There's no ache out there that I won't heal on your behalf!" She seems keen on chirping away one-sidedly like a Chatot.
Collecting her clipboard, she adjusts herself upon her spinning chair to face him, looking oddly optimistic. "So? What's bugging you today, Matsuba-san?"
In the boss’s absence Seymour was left with one lone responsibility; gather information on any and all gang activity in Goldenrod City. Years ago it’d been the site of a terrorist attack on the Radio Tower and the base of Team Rocket’s second coming. Seymour does not like Rockets much, but that’s a story for another day. As far as he was concerned, if not extinct they are a dying breed and this was just another pointless mission dropped over his head.
Nothing surprising there.
Read More
He must have been withering on the edge of consciousness the entire time she'd tailed after his Pokemon, for when she arrived at the scene his body had already shown visible evidence of shock. Being Clementine, she needed only gauge the circumstances of the mortally-wounded 'crook', grappling for life near the end of an unlit alley, before subjecting him to a preliminary check.
Shallow breathing and clammy skin. Body terribly riddled with open gashes, not nearly treatable by your commonplace first-aid sprays from the drugstore. She hadn't even had enough time to thoroughly confirm whether or not anything had been broken, but the absence of internal bleeding alone was subtle reassurance that he would live. It's through this check that she discovered his identity as one of the 'Aqua brigade' - but the trademark headscarf found on his person went straight out of plain sight inside her coat just before the local paramedics arrived, stretchers and policemen at hand.
Due to hypotension, he sleeps well over thirty straight hours before finally showing the first signs of conscience. It isn't as though Clementine had anything planned for her vacation asides from reading herself further down the path to myopia - so she takes it upon herself to play the Good Samaritan, regularly following up on the man's well-being well after tackling the papers for his hospital admittance.
The casual assumption stands, of course, that she's as close he currently has to a 'friend' for someone who seems to only have enemies around these parts.
"Well now!" She sing-songs as he comes to, no doubt blinking himself into the world of disorienting blip, blips of a heartbeat monitor, the definitive scent of saline drip and sterilizers. "Congratulations on your luck, Eyepatch! Or, should I read your expression as a cue to say 'Mister Seymour', instead?"
Her hyperactive quality must top everything uncanny in the experience of recovering conscience inside a hospital. She braces a smart salute - her idea of an orthodox self-introduction.
"Clementine Fairchild, off-duty medic and saintly nurse just volunteering her time away as the job description dictates. ☆ It's about time you came through, don't you think? You've made your rescuer absolutely restless." From within the confinements of her jacket, she produces his bandanna, evidently ironed and folded into a neat square. A simple Pokeball sits atop of it, containing the very Bite Pokemon who had saved his life from the get-go.
"It was difficult to persuade him to rest the entire time you were inside the operating room, you see. I'm sure it'll give him some ease to learn that he won't have to consider a future of not being commandeered by a master any longer -- though, that would have been nice too. ♪"
Her casual grin stretches.
"I'm just kidding. ♥ Still, it behooves me to inform you that the police are interested in a chat, soon as the doctors take a good look at you. And for the record," she pushes the bedside chair back and rises to her feet. "I've already given the investigators my statement on your situation. Is there anything else I can be of service with before I leave you to the pesky authorities, sir?"
WHAT MAKES YOU FEEL BETTER WHEN YOU ARE IN A BAD MOOD?
Practical advice hour with Clementine the Nurse!
"Is your mood in the dumps tonight? Are your first-world problems starting to get the better of your astute judgement? Then, look no further! Nurse Clementine’s got just the solution for you!”
"When in doubt of your own feelings, always be sure to have a victim or two at hand! Be it a friend or a foe, there's no reason you should need to anguish alone when it feels like the world owes you for your suffering! ♥”
[Words cannot express how much LOVE I have for you right now Tess I—;;; Clementine looks so cute as Tsumikan and I;; /dying on the inside here aaahhh;;;; Ugghhh /proceeds to cry a lot because of Tesslove]
