Breakfast passed with much chatter from Arcade and Tomahawk, while Duncan sat and looked helplessly at the two. What he wouldn’t give to be out of this vault, but he was sure he wouldn’t be leaving as easily as he came in.
“And how does your internal trade system work? Are you basing it off of currency?”
“Nope, it’s barter, not even for things of equal value, it just depends on what a person wants. Even though it was nearly impossible at first, this democracy doesn’t really run off of capitalism. We don’t have a ranking outside of leaders and important positions, and everyone just sort of does their own thing. I suppose the only reason we call it a democracy is because we try to be fair about things here, but hey, it’s a life.” Arcade was slowly becoming fascinated by this society. He had that look in his eye that meant that sooner or later, Duncan was going to be pulled aside by the doctor and told of the “right thing” to do.
If this was breakfast, he was worried about lunch.
---
Duncan tried to make himself as small as possible, as he usually did when confronted by people as large as Brick was. He and Arcade sat side by side on the medical table, and the infirmary in the vault was actually rather… legit, for lack of a better term. Clean, bright, and Brick was obviously not some hack they shoved into the position of healer. The man cleaned his hands three times before even approaching them, three, and he had even put on a large pair of rubber gloves.
Duncan didn’t know they made them that big before the war.
“Open.” The man said, his deep voice carrying through the room, and like a good boy, Duncan obeyed. Arcade did as well, despite his previous protests that he was a doctor and that he “could do all of this himself.” The hulking Fiend stuck thermometers in each of their mouths, and they closed while he peered into their eyes with an ophthalmoscope. When he was satisfied, he took the thermometers and nodded. He recorded whatever it was he had noticed on a chart.
He went through the basics, blood pressure, heart rate, pulse and lung health, checked the ears and nose and tonsils, Duncan was just starting to get comfortable with the whole thing until he pulled out the butterfly needles. Arcade was the one who freaked out, however.
“Oh, no. No, no, no. I don’t know where that’s been and you’re not sticking it inside of me, no way.” He was right on that one. They were in a vault that housed drug addicts, who knew where it had been?
Brick shrugged and moved over to cabinet, grabbing two unopened sterile bags with more butterfly needles in them.
Maybe the blonde needed something to complain about (he was still long overdue for his bitch fit) or maybe he was being honest, but he had to keep protesting. “Maybe you should let me do that. I’m a tough stick, my veins are pretty small.” The argument seemed to be a little lost on someone who worked with Fiends all day, but people did usually have a better time finding their own parts.
“I can do it.” Was Brick’s gruff reply, and he didn’t leave any more time for Arcade to complain, because he took his arm and effortlessly slid the needle in. While he drew the vials of blood he needed to do… whatever, Arcade tried to speak past his own surprise.
“How…? Nobody ever got it on the first stick…” His eyes were wide behind his glasses, and Brick looked up for a second before returning to his work.
“I read a book about phlebotomy.”
Duncan decided that this was the best check-up he’d ever received in his life.
Follow The Leader (2b/?)
“And how does your internal trade system work? Are you basing it off of currency?”
“Nope, it’s barter, not even for things of equal value, it just depends on what a person wants. Even though it was nearly impossible at first, this democracy doesn’t really run off of capitalism. We don’t have a ranking outside of leaders and important positions, and everyone just sort of does their own thing. I suppose the only reason we call it a democracy is because we try to be fair about things here, but hey, it’s a life.” Arcade was slowly becoming fascinated by this society. He had that look in his eye that meant that sooner or later, Duncan was going to be pulled aside by the doctor and told of the “right thing” to do.
If this was breakfast, he was worried about lunch.
---
Duncan tried to make himself as small as possible, as he usually did when confronted by people as large as Brick was. He and Arcade sat side by side on the medical table, and the infirmary in the vault was actually rather… legit, for lack of a better term. Clean, bright, and Brick was obviously not some hack they shoved into the position of healer. The man cleaned his hands three times before even approaching them, three, and he had even put on a large pair of rubber gloves.
Duncan didn’t know they made them that big before the war.
“Open.” The man said, his deep voice carrying through the room, and like a good boy, Duncan obeyed. Arcade did as well, despite his previous protests that he was a doctor and that he “could do all of this himself.” The hulking Fiend stuck thermometers in each of their mouths, and they closed while he peered into their eyes with an ophthalmoscope. When he was satisfied, he took the thermometers and nodded. He recorded whatever it was he had noticed on a chart.
He went through the basics, blood pressure, heart rate, pulse and lung health, checked the ears and nose and tonsils, Duncan was just starting to get comfortable with the whole thing until he pulled out the butterfly needles. Arcade was the one who freaked out, however.
“Oh, no. No, no, no. I don’t know where that’s been and you’re not sticking it inside of me, no way.” He was right on that one. They were in a vault that housed drug addicts, who knew where it had been?
Brick shrugged and moved over to cabinet, grabbing two unopened sterile bags with more butterfly needles in them.
Maybe the blonde needed something to complain about (he was still long overdue for his bitch fit) or maybe he was being honest, but he had to keep protesting. “Maybe you should let me do that. I’m a tough stick, my veins are pretty small.” The argument seemed to be a little lost on someone who worked with Fiends all day, but people did usually have a better time finding their own parts.
“I can do it.” Was Brick’s gruff reply, and he didn’t leave any more time for Arcade to complain, because he took his arm and effortlessly slid the needle in. While he drew the vials of blood he needed to do… whatever, Arcade tried to speak past his own surprise.
“How…? Nobody ever got it on the first stick…” His eyes were wide behind his glasses, and Brick looked up for a second before returning to his work.
“I read a book about phlebotomy.”
Duncan decided that this was the best check-up he’d ever received in his life.