"My family. . . well," Axel sighed and leaned back against the wheelchair, pulling his hoodie closer to his body as the wind picked up. "We weren't always the richest. I have three older brothers and a younger sister, so paying for school and clothes was always hard. When I got osteosarcoma, it was even harder to get past tough times." He explained, running a hand through his hair. He felt too open now that he had told someone so much about his past. Even a few sentences could sum it up easily.
"It's okay. It's not the end of the world. Yet." Luka ruffled Axel's hair with his hand, smiling softly.
"Yet." Axel repeated, chuckling softly in agreement as he looked up at Luka. He blew a few strands of hair out of his face as he stuck his hands in his hoodie's pockets, glancing back down at the streets once again.
Luka stopped, unsure of where to go. "I have my war paint in the closet and a years supply of spam, I should be able to wait out the zombie apocalypse."
"How did you get your hands on all that spam, exactly?" Axel asked, tilting his head to the side in amusement. As he felt Luka stop moving the wheelchair, he motioned down the street. "We can head back towards the hospital. . . they'll want us back anyways."
"That's a secret not worth telling." Luka nodded, feeling a bit queasy to the fact that he'd have to go back.
Thorn played with her hands for a moment. Should she? Why not, "Um sure. You can come I guess."
"Yay! This is going to be great," she gushed, already standing up. "I'll meet you there. I gotta run by my own room to get my art supplies." And some inspiration, of course. Creativity didn't really count as a drug anyway. She didn't feel too guilty. "What's your room number?"
(in the story where Lana is originally from, she's addicted to "emotion" drugs which are basically what they sound like. they make you high, but they also induce whatever feeling/emotion you take. so Happiness, Forgetfulness, etc.)
Thorn had to think for a second, "It's 114. Don't be afraid to knock, I'll be there."
Thorn played with her hands for a moment. Should she? Why not, "Um sure. You can come I guess."
"Yay! This is going to be great," she gushed, already standing up. "I'll meet you there. I gotta run by my own room to get my art supplies." And some inspiration, of course. Creativity didn't really count as a drug anyway. She didn't feel too guilty. "What's your room number?"
(in the story where Lana is originally from, she's addicted to "emotion" drugs which are basically what they sound like. they make you high, but they also induce whatever feeling/emotion you take. so Happiness, Forgetfulness, etc.)
Thorn had to think for a second, "It's 114. Don't be afraid to knock, I'll be there."
(That's a really cool concept @writelikeyourerunningoutoftime. Is it from an rp?)
(It sounds a lot like something from Doctor Who….. Just saying.)
(I saw it on Doctor Who and a few other futuristic sci-fi's but then I put my own twist on it in a story I wrote last year.)
"114," Lana repeated. "See you there!" She flashed Thorn another bright smile before hurrying out of the room and down the hall. Her own room was on a different floor. Room 1256. She hurried into her room, rummaging through her trunk and pulling out her sketchbook, colored pencils, and graphite pencils. Then she headed into her bathroom and looked into her toiletry bag. What appeared to be a tampon was actually a tube filled with creativity pills. She smirked at her own cleverness, popped two in her mouth, washed it down with a swig of water, and headed back out the room. She made her way to room 114.
Thorn made her way back to her room. She entered and sighed. The rooms and no windows and was lit by a single light from the ceiling. To be fair the light did give off quite a lot of light. She sat down on the dark red bed and waited for Lana to come in.
Lana finally found room 114. Hospitals were so confusing. She'd had to ask for directions twice. She could feel the drugs kicking in, and she was glad none of the nurses she had talked to had noticed anything amiss. Smiling blithely, she knocked on the door.
Thorn got up and answered the door. She motioned for Lana to come in, "Hey."
"Hi," she replied with a smile. She wondered how dilated her pupils were. Hopefully, not too badly. "I'm so excited! It's been so long since I've had an interesting face to draw."
Thorn smiled, "I'm glad you're excited. I've never had someone draw me before, so this is pretty exciting too!"
"Yay," Lana said, glancing around the room. The room was woefully bare. She took a seat on the edge of the bed. "Hmmm…sit in that chair over there."
Thor nodded and sat down. She looked to Lana, "Is there anything I should do? Or should I just sit here."
"Just sit and act natural. Pretend we're just having a conversation." Lana made a face. "Because we are. Where ya from?" She picked up her sketching pencil and started scratching out different shapes and lines.
Thorn nodded. She thought for a second, "I'm from a town called Wilde. Weird name I know. How about you?"
"A Thorn from the Wilde," Lana repeated dreamily, "there's the title for our piece. I was born in some small sh*t town, but I moved to a place called Aesemana last month."
Thorn nodded, "That sounds like a good title. So, if you moved there last month, how long have you been in the hospital?"
"Just a week or so," Lana replied. "You?"
"It feels like forever. I was admitted when I was 14, I turned 17 a month ago," Thorn sighed.
Lana's face turned a bit pensive and sad as she erased a few lines and redid them. "Three years? Damn. I can't even imagine."
Thorn nodded, "My condition made it so my parents either paid a ton of money for special equipment. Or ship me off here. Guess which one they chose."
