Not Destined for Glory
Graciously retired
Divergent (By Veronica Roth) Pg. 102 "Human reason can excuse any evil; that is why it's so important that we don't rely on it."-Andrew Prior
Present: One week earlier, autumn
Just like you practiced.
The overwhelming sensation of warmness followed in the air, a hand that was tucked from a pocket slowly came out to smooth over her hair. "This shouldn't take long. It'll be a piece of cake." She kept insisting to whisper to herself, nervous hands start to shake, "Seriously, stop being such a pu-"
"Yūhi Suzuha?"
A small head presently snapped to one direction that the voice came from, getting up quickly and as steadily as possible she could manage, she stretched her mouth to a polite smile, "Hai." The Voice motioned for her to follow.
Walking away from her chair the warm air dropped a couple of degrees as she was greeted by an AC blasting in one corner. She took a chance and glanced back at the waiting room, it was nearly empty and the people that were working wouldn't directly look at her in the eyes. As she sighed she tried to smile at the voice, she faltered when he was already ahead of her, and that made the hallways seem lonelier making her more aware of shyness crawling in her throat.
Catching up she scowled at her naïve childish ways, it'll be over soon enough.
Present Time: November 29th- 8:00 am /Delivery Day
"It's your turn."
A head turned around and bobbed his head acknowledging the news he was receiving; his hands were currently tucked inside his pockets. Still leaning back with his weight against the white wall he nodded again but said nothing as he stood straight and started to walk away. Just as he was passing the voice a hand stopped him, "Don't forget the wheelchair and the chart." The person pursed his lips slightly before nodding again like a child would obey his parent.
Taking the wheelchair and tucking the chart in one arm he strolled down the hallway, keeping in pace his footsteps were silenced by voices around the hallways. The white walls and clean floors were bright against the few windows that were made showed the intense the sun glares that appeared in the ever-present sunny environment. As a pair of co-workers passed him he greeted them with a slight small smile and nod; both undistinguished bodies quietly said hello before going back to their conversations. It was an early morning that was already gearing up for more shipments to overflow the quite hallways. And by shipments, he meant newly broken patients. As a newly entered worker he was assigned to see and care for some of the war veterans. With the little interaction he had with war he vowed to leave the front lines as quickly as possible. It may sound a like a cowardly thing to do but he didn't care. His easy-life style that he wanted to create didn't involve fighting in some war. But that didn't mean he was all that selfish; he did want to help and he did need to pay bills so he entered the medic-corps. Among the graduates that were shipped off to the regular genin-corps he was considered to be useful in the medial side, being the type that usually flowed with the circumstances he went along with it. It wasn't bad and he did have the charka control to be beneficial.
He didn't mind the tasks that were boring; he liked that lavender cleaning smell that would always end up clinging to him when he was asked to clean the hospital sheets and bedspreads. Most people he had to interact were fine too (for the most part luckily); and the best part was that since he was still freshly trained and selected for this type of division he didn't have to constantly see outside of the village. Overall it was a safe choice for him; in back of his mind though he knew he wasn't going to be called the best shinobi ever in the planet and he was fine with it. He had bills to pay, a life to complain and enjoy and a chance to get rid of his apathy that was starting to grow by the days. For him this was enough excitement for a lifetime.
To hell with the niggling front lines.
Another thing he liked to do to pass time was to roll down the wheelchair in the hallways it was fun, because it was an easy safe task to go by. As the wheels rolled by the smooth title floors the scent of strong cleaning products became more distinctive. Pine, wait... lemon? He thought over as a mop swooshed and landed on the floor with a thud.
"No lavender?" his voice was still raspy from the lack of use. The worker that paused to look at him grinned and said they ran out. He said that was a tragedy since he liked that scent very much; the worker himself laughed and agreed. Before it could developed into a full registered conversation he walking away from that exchange as he made it to the end of the hallway where he was met by a ghastly beautiful transportation device called the elevator, he doubled-checked the chart as he went inside the claustrophobic elevator.
With the light blinking he pressed the button for the 1st level, the closed in space was already too warm for his liking that he wanted to walk away, but he didn't. Instead he looked at the clean crisp chart. The normal information regarding the patient was bland but he didn't mind, he liked normality it was safe. On one side of the documents held a picture of the tagged name, glancing at it he couldn't help but study the features it held. One minute later his eyes narrowed by a millisecond. First of all it was a girl; he wasn't a sexist pig that stereotyped everything. But that didn't mean he particularly liked females in general whether they were still considered girls or Women. (It deepened on the personality of the girl and age. Some liked to be called ladies as well. ) They were emotional creatures that could be well, annoying, and sometimes they were just plain too complicated to please. This worker that looked around the elevator wasn't feeling too peachy; he was frankly nervous. He had a mom and some girl cousins to compare to but still, he was clueless on talking to females in general. The majority of the time he didn't care of his social inability but it looked like it was coming to bite him in the ass, hard. So there he was staring back at the photo of his charge, pale skin that was still cleanly smooth, eyes that hid most terrible secrets he knew would soon revealed and crack her sanity. Honey-brown hair that had steaks shinning by the lighting, she was in one word: Plain.
Her pose was stiff, he could tell by the tense muscles from her shoulders and how her mouth twitched to an awkward smile. He could see why she was sent here; it was a gut feeling when he stared at her face. As the lights flickered down and the machine humming and groaning he was just wished she would be easy to walk around with the wheelchair; crazy people made the wheelchair un-fun. And he didn't want that, no, especially in the morning.
Ding!
The doors opens, he looks up as a blast of AC air hits him from the first floor level. The waiting room is still slightly open but the daily check-ups are running. The main desk that is center is being run by the young flirty civilian, as he walks by she smiles and giggles on the phone. If he went closer he could had sworn he could smell her expensive perfume or bubblegum or watermelons that always radiated from her skin. Did she bathe in it or something? The smell was staring to enter his nostrils. Going further down the hallways to the very back he takes out his ID card and places it in a more convenient plain place as he meets his boss. He quickly checks his uniform and sighs under his breath that he was in code and that they were presently clean and pressed. As he stops the wheelchair his boss looks up from his stack of charts.
His non-descriptive bland eyes scan him and grumble a morning as he signs a paper, "Mitate, I see you have already been appointed…good. This is nothing too different from the usual rounds of the hospitals. I expect you to easily usher your charge to her quarters and help her into this selected life style. "He looks up to him and likes what he sees, "For now please take good care of your charge."
Mitate, as he was now named bows down and thanks the man before slowly straightening up his back continuing his way to the entrance of the newly built wing. Consumed by the white walls he barely registers another body mingling around the hallways staring at something in amazement.
"Isn't wonderful?" he turns around to find a worker known as, Sukui looking at him.
It has been awhile since he was socially around to know the workers and their names. But from experience and total annoyance he learned her name quickly; after all she was the type to get to know all her peers. She was friendly and had that easy to talk to personality, she was relatable that it made him a little too annoyed to be around people, like herself, that were always trying to be positive. It wasn't natural, when she did falter though that was when he, Mitate, thought Sukui was alright.
Her short brown hair was growing that it was starting to reach her shoulders, her violet eyes hiding from her glasses. Mitate by then looks at the direction she was pointing at, the window's view though it really was something. It was clear blue skies that roamed, the village's Mountain that was etched with their first three leaders proudly in display. It was a sight to see especially because they were in a higher level that they could see a good amount to the village.
Sukui's smile grew, "It's wonderful…" she says again before sighing, "because if I had to stay here for a while at least the view is comforting…" her eyes almost seem to glaze over about something before clearing her throat. Resting her arms on the top of her wheelchair she steals a glance at Mitate.
When he doesn't reply she takes it as if he agreed silently. Her head lifts up higher to look at him and his uniform she readjusts her top hooded part of her uniform to cover her hair, "Well then, I guess back to work Mitate." She ends with a smile. "Bye."
The sound of her wheelchair glides through the floor forcing him to look at the newly built wing. It wasn't the main hospital per-say but a new wing that was constructed due to the physically and mainly mental problems that were caused during the Third Shinobi War. (Well any war really) It was built near the actual hospital for good reasons, but it was more hidden if that made any sense. The number of patients grew far too high that it was necessary for this type of huge building. It wasn't lively but muted (most of the time). It was safe and boring and very repetitive (if you were lucky). It was exactly how Mitate preferred; gaining some space he looked at the doors that had door knobs polished, the strong smells of Windex and bleach were already giving way to his nose. He wanted to smell that lemon again instead of those cleaning products.
"I want my book!" three doors up ahead a voice cried. "Where's my book Damnit!" in a hushed tone someone told him to calm down.
The door slams open revealing a patient stepping out seeking for his book. The body is taller and bulkier; the man's back though was bending by a fraction as he moved around the semi-empty hallway. As he turned his muted white clothes were a little big on him that it didn't show how exactly strong his body was; but from the looks from his reactions and reflexes he was barely new and still freshly trained. His black eyes were franticly searching all sides, his ears catching Mitate's movements. By now Mitate knew from experience that he needed to show he meant no harm and was there to help; the patient was not looking any happier as he was approaching the man's door.
As he slowly rolls the wheelchair the patient quickly locks eyes with him, "You!" the eyes are filled with anger and accuse. "You have my book!" his face is wrinkled with frown lines and bags under his eyes; he starts to move closer as if to strike.
Backing away and placing his hands up in the air Mitate tries to calm him down and shakes his head "no" that he didn't have his book, he opens his pockets to even show he had no room for one. Behind the patient that was in Mitate's point of view, totally losing it was Yokaze, an older and wiser member from the Medical Corps. His wavy locks were tied in a short pony-tail, his black eyes scan the room and apologies with his stance, "Takio-san, please calm down." He walks closer and places one hand on his shoulder, "Mitate couldn't have taken your book he's still new around this sector."
Yokaze steps out more and ushers his charge inside the room, "Have you looked in your book shelf?" Takio negatively nods no before rushing inside. A minute later they hear Takio laughing and giggling at the same time claiming that he found his book.
Mitate sighs in relief and nods at Yokaze before walking away, however just like Sukui, Yokaze wants to talk. "I'm sorry about that Takio is usually nicer around the new workers; he's just really passionate about his books that he hardly lends them to anybody." Pausing Mitate opens his mouth but closes it when he realizes he doesn't what to say since he didn't even want to be in a conversation in the first place. Yokaze didn't either mind or notice and kept on blabbering and blabbering that Mitate soon finds himself nodding and saying the occasional "yeah," "hmm" and his personal favorite, "I know right".
Trying not to be rude (even though he knew he already was ) he shows Yokaze his chart and told him he had to go report to his charge, but they could finish this very "exciting" conversation at break. Yokaze smiled and understood and went back to work leaving Mitate alone and happy in his own little world.
Further down the hallway a few workers already started be assigned or be appointed to some new patients. He looked at his chart again and scanned the hallway, taking a deep breath he asked one of the workers where his charge was. "Just go down the hall and two door down to the left you'll find her."
Following directions he comes across the right entry and finds the young girl from the photo sitting down on one of the waiting room's chairs. He looks around and sees one worker talking to another patient about medication and sleeping arrangements. Walking in closer he calls out her name watching her flinch and turn to face him quickly. Judging from her reflexes (and mostly age if he was being totally honest) she was probably one of few that was selected to fight in the war, unlike Mitate she was tagged under being too unstable and unreliable to be in serve for their village. (Especially from her mission logs, she had a good record of successful ones; that alone could factor her assets becoming undesirable.) She accomplished her mission to keep everyone safe from war but she couldn't escape insanity. And that one of the few reasons why Mitate didn't bother to train that hard to see war at first hand. The growing number of unsteady shinobi was increasing that it was pure ambition to maintain peace in mind. Instead he stayed inside to tend for these people that had that special adrenaline junkie spirit to risk their lives for the cowards, (cough, himself) for the weak and whatever else could be thought of.
In a way when he looked over at her he felt ashamed that he couldn't handle war but also he was happy it wasn't him that was sitting down here as a patient. Was that wrong to be silently thanking God it was him paying for this treatment? "Yūhi Suzuha?" she nodded as her grey eyes watched his movement carefully.
His throat felt clogged, she was waiting and it was finally hitting that he was responsible for another life. (Not the best timing for him.) He cleared his throat and looked directly at her. "Hello my name is Mitate and I will be your guide and care taker until further notice." His voice was still a little raspy, he bowed down and plastered his best fake smile he could manage. "Welcome to your new home."
In front of Mitate was his first assignment and charge. Since starting work in this wing all he had done was clean and do small errands. He had lessons on how to deal with these types of fragile people and now it look liked his boss wanted to see how he would do by himself. As he coughed a little he felt his stomach twist, he was now in charge of someone's life. It was now in his ass if anything happened to her. As she blinked at him he came back out of his bow and politely asked if it was okay he for him to push the wheelchair when she sat down on it. When she didn't answer immediately he waited patiently.
Her small body shivered slightly as she looked around the room again, her golden locks were with knots and shined too much in the lighting as if it wasn't cleaned that often, her face was unhealthy pale, and her clothes more worn-out. She was young and unstable, not the best combination in the world.
"Are you hungry? We can go to the cafeteria and then take the tour or…" she raised a hand for him to stop. He closed his mouth as she smiled a little and shyly said it was fine and that she would rather take the tour now then eat. He nodded and asked if he could push the wheelchair, she agreed.
Gently and slowly he made his way around and started to explain everything around them. "Right, well then right now we are at the…." She kept quiet and didn't ask too many questions. With him at worked few workers stopped to talk to him, as the morning rolled down it felt comfortable to give a tour.
The ride itself wasn't bad at all. In fact Mitate was very grateful that the tour was simply easy and that his new charge wasn't too crazy at all.
Life was good.
. . .
"Is that all?"
Brown eyes, white walls and blobs. Everywhere.
"No." A sigh was born then a hand cracked nervously, "y-yes."
Two sharp bored brown eyes looked directly at the visually smaller figure, "Alright then, if you need anything don't be afraid to ask."
Click, the door remains shuts after it was closed.
There was no clocks, no personal touches that someone lived here before; the whole room smelled of cleaning products and new furniture. For the next X amount of days, weeks, years Suzuha will have to call this home. Taking her eyes off the blank walls she smooth's over her shirt and bed spreads. The material still smells new, the fabric was even still strong. The pillows also not worn; for right now this was fine. At least for now. Resting on the mattress her body feels cold from the untouched material underneath her. She lays down completely, trying to get used to the room and bed.
One hands runs over her hair, "Yeah piece of cake." The AC then makes itself known as it grunts and heaves cold air to her face and body. It was going to be a long, long day that was for sure. "I hope they have chocolate pudding at least or we're going to have some problems." She mumbles under her breath.
. . .
(3425 words)
