hexetraum:
Organization. Organization is key. There’s always an order and correct place for everything It makes work so much easier.
What’s not easy, however, is filing that information from a direct source.
Asura has been sending letters of request for the inhabitants of Solitude to visit the hospital for a regular checkup and lab work. Asura finds it better to have as much information on every individual as she can, should the necessity come across for any emergencies with said individual. That said, she’s collected names, blood types, family history, medical history and what not. Miss Ziegler has been a help, but Asura needs things organized her way. No offense to her coworkers of course.
But it irks Asura when someone disrupts that order and balance. A certain someone has been sending back her doctor check-up slips, with idiotic messages and drawings. Usually with “no thanks” scrawled along the bottom, or pictures of… cats. Asura has shredded every one and sent another in return. But today was the last straw.
Luckily it was on the same island, where Asura had issued the reminder. So it’s not too far of a venture for her to find the apartment complex her notes had been delivered to. Straightening herself out a bit, Asura knocks on the door three times, and three times only.
“ …This is Doctor Asura from Ikaika Hospital. Please open up. ”
@reseterror
Much to Seven’s dismay, letters were being sent to his residence. Not just letters, either. Junk mail. Coupons. Gross credit karma report phishing scams. Every variety of flammable trash, all mailed to his house like the postmen were entitled to perpetuating such a thing.
At first, he coped by pranking each address by sending sardines and potatoes with evil faces carved in them and bricks with love letters attached, but the mail never faltered, and it took no time for Seven to lose steam in trying to fend off the assailants. It’s as though trees never run out here...but in all honestly, that is likely to be true.
Worse than the mail are the visitors. Everything that Seven once held dear about his previous, relatively private life is now being stepped on like a loveless college drunk with daddy issues in a failed betrothal arrangement. People come right up to Seven’s door now. They knock on it. They leave things that he does not want and ask him questions he does not feel like answering. Fortunately, Seven can still find fun ways to mess with visitors. He isn’t completely dead inside yet--and this is no exception. Thank goodness for surveillance, for he recognizes the angry eyebrows attached to the woman who is now casting a shadow on his door.
“Ahhh...You gotta pay the troll toll if you wanna get this boy’s soul.” Seven snickers into his microphone.
