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Post by Amelia Jacobson on Nov 21, 2011 7:02:36 GMT
Amelia found herself being dragged down the hallway one morning abruptly, not at all sure of where she was being taken. She was lower than ever and had not been in the mood to eat the double portions of weak soup they had been attempting to feed her. It tasted like nothing and she hadn't had a manic phase since coming into the Asylum. No doubt that it would take to her with a vengeance when it finally showed up. That would undoubtedly make things worse. Lovely.
The brute that was dragging her yanked at her leather collar when she slowed. They were in front of a set of doors that led to the Bloodletting Ward. Something in the back of Amelia's mind told her that she should be worried about this, but she could only pale slightly. Then they entered.
The place smelled like metal. Metal beds, metal blades, and the metal copper-and-iron scent of blood. Amelia's brown eyes scanned and saw the drops of crimson spotting almost everything around her. The aid pulled her over to any empty bed after an unconscious girl was shoved off of it and she panicked. She did not want to be strapped to a bed. There were too many men here and it made her feel like a trapped animal.
"What are you doing?!"
In no time at all, the giant had picked her up, flipped her over and pulled her arms up near her face, wrists shackled in leather bands. Her foot moved to kick him, but those too were tied down. Amelia struggled for a moment before she stopped. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling, the sounds of screaming fading into background noise in her ears. It occurred to her that she was probably going to die here, and suddenly she wasn't afraid.
Her love had left her. Her parents had put her here. What did it matter anymore? It would be as though she'd never existed and it would not matter in the slightest. She was just a number now. No body of her own and a soul that they probably thought they could take too. If they even thought she had one, that is.
Amelia closed her eyes and waited for the doctor. In the back of her mind, she saw the face of the boy who said he'd loved her, of the best friend who had left her behind. Had it all been her own fault because of her emotions? I'm sorry, she thought, but you should be too. Perhaps leeching wasn't the worst thing that could happen to her. One or two moments of pain and then everything would slowly drain away... Dying might even be peaceful.
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Post by Dr. Edward Gideon Bramsfield on Nov 22, 2011 3:43:43 GMT
"I do apologize, Caleb, for this one's feistiness. She seems to harbor quite the spirit in herself, even in her dormant state" a familiar voice crooned as the venerable Doctor Bramsfield made his appearance.
He stood tall and ominous over Amelia's bed, and his sneer was worn as seriously as a surgical mask. Instead of his usual dapper clothes, his garb was nothing more than a long ivory lab coat which covered a black muslin shirt and loose black cotton trousers which seemed to blend seamlessly into his riding boots which he never seemed to be seen without. His ever-lengthening hair was tied into a very loose and unkempt ponytail which fell to about mid-shoulder, and his ever-changing emerald eyes were protected by a larger pair of glasses which kept the blood spatter from his sensitive eyes.
"Dr. Lymer is not in today, I'm afraid, I hope you don't mind me filling in" he whispered almost cruelly as he took a seat on a newfangled stool which possessed the same wooden wheels as the metal gurneys they'd recently invested in possessed. "Overall, above my ownership of this wonderful establishment and subsequent position as headmaster-" he said, almost braggingly, "I am a Medicine Man. A proud and prim surgeon, a physician, a psychologist, and a bloodletter."
He tacked on the final word as an afterthought, though the words were obviously meant to strike fear, or at least some form of emotion from the girl bound before him.
(OOC: I do apologize for the lack of activity. If you haven't noticed, I'm the only other active member on here. Feel free to recruit some friends! :3)
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Post by Amelia Jacobson on Nov 23, 2011 4:57:05 GMT
Amelia didn't open her eyes as the doctor approached at first. She was honestly in too much of a depressed state to care, besides remembering literature quotes or playing music in her head. Still, she heard every word the doctor said and was conscious enough to find it amusing. The poor man seemed to work very hard to get himself to an esteemed position in the views of others, maybe of himself even. She knew what that was like and felt a bit sorry for him. There was no way to have everything, no matter how much one might want it. People were forever searching for flaws in others. This asylum proved that much. "A bloodletter as well? My, your dear mother must be so proud." Her voice was gentle and soft, even though it was dripping in sarcasm. The faintest hint of a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. Amelia knew that she was being impertinent but if she couldn't be in this place, then she couldn't anywhere. "Not a god in bed like every other man claims himself to be, though? What a pity." (OOC: I'm trying to get others to join. Hopefully some will come and stay.)
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Post by Dr. Edward Gideon Bramsfield on Nov 23, 2011 17:14:50 GMT
Almost within a heartbeat, Doctor Bramsfield stepped forward, motions swift and purposeful as his long fingers coiled abouut both sides of her neck. His grip was trembling and strong, but not tight enough to choke the young girl of her breath. He let out what sounded to be a feral snarl, uttering somewhere from deep within his heaving chest. He dipped his shoulders down low, lips nearly touching her ear so that only she could hear his dark and furious words.
"You, little brat, may want to watch that tongue you wag so freely. Yes, my mother would be proud. Of you. That woman. That wretch of a woman is to blame for who I am today. She is the one who took what semblance of innocence I had left. She defiled my body, took my precious virginity away. She is the woman who broke into my household and MURDERED my dear sweet Noel. Took him by the throat even as he and I shared a moment of sweet intimacy together. Slit his throat even whilst our bodies were still joined. And you think that she'd be proud? That she should even desire to remember me? That sham of a woman is dead and gone. Dead by mine own hands, no less." He uttered each word with a vengeful poison. A tearing hatred that bubbled up from deep within him that drove his words from his lips.
The moment or two of instability left his body shaking, and he knew what he must do. It would bring him the utmost pleasure to now draw away the blood and infuse the pain within his patient, to draw out cries and tears and pleading utterances.
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Post by Amelia Jacobson on Nov 23, 2011 23:09:34 GMT
Amelia's eyes flew open in shock as his hands wrapped around her throat. She had not expected the animalistic reaction that seemed to come out from his very being in streams of ferocity. The darkness in his words was something she could taste just as clearly as if she had bitten into it. She knew that he wanted her to scream, wanted her to show some sign of agony. Therefore, she made up her mind to have none of it. She wouldn't give him any sort of satisfaction. More than anything, she had to process the wealth of secrets he'd just spat at her in his anger.
Amelia knew now a big part of what made him the way he was. She herself couldn't imagine such horrors or lusts, but she was familiar with pain. The pain this man had gone through was more than he could bear. That was, perhaps, why he felt the need to cause it in others.
She looked at him now. Her deep brown eyes found his green and bored into them, back and back and back. Amelia shook her head and her expression was almost sad. "I was right. You've seen too much." Then she relaxed against the table.
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Post by Dr. Edward Gideon Bramsfield on Nov 24, 2011 0:09:39 GMT
"Shut your whore mouth" he slapped her jaw upwards, hearing her teeth knock as her mouth shut.
He forced her head back against the table, securing it with the forehead strap, and grabbed one of her wrists, binding that as well and leaving the other one free. From the table beside her rusted metal bed he withdrew a few different tools of the trade, as well as a beautifully crafted pink leech jar.
"Choose your poison, dear sweet" he whispered, picking up a slimy leech from its jar, the jaws clamping on the tip of his finger and dangling there, writhing in the chilled air.
In the other clawed hand he held a rusted but solid scalpel, the body of the blade brown and speckled, both from dried blood and from years of rusty wear. The tip of the blade itself, however, gleamed silver as the moon.
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Post by Amelia Jacobson on Nov 24, 2011 6:34:06 GMT
Amelia didn't say anything, having no further desire to have her teeth knocked together again. Her eyes followed the wriggling worm in the doctor's hand and watched its gleaming body twist colors in the light. It was then that she noticed the bowl of salt nearby and the container of dead leeches located beside it. She could see their dissolved forms, swimming in vomited blood. It seemed that the inmates weren't the only ones subject to purging and death. Now she felt horrible for the leeches that were going to be used on her, because she knew that they were doomed to a sick fate.
But her attention was diverted when the scalpel was pulled into view. There was no way that the blade could be sanitary. No way in hell. Amelia blanched slightly before she composed herself. The doctor couldn't see her heart pounding in her chest. Suddenly she wondered just what he was going to do to her. Still, it was probably more prudent not to ask.
Amelia wanted to close her eyes and go to sleep, let the man do what he will to her and get it over with. At the same time, part of her felt almost compelled to watch so that she could somewhat anticipate what was coming.
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Post by Dr. Edward Gideon Bramsfield on Nov 24, 2011 16:42:02 GMT
"Oh, are you not going to pick then, little one?" He said almost curiously, eyes wide, taking in the emotions, or lack thereof, from his patient. "Most girls prefer to choose their own methods. Like it makes any difference"
He reached softly into the decorative jar full to the brim with wriggling leeches, plucking out three or four more from the jar and stroking their sleek bodies. The ones that attempted to bite his frail hands were turned away by leather surgical gloves that protected both hands. His lips curled into a soft, sweet sort of smile as he lifted one up by its presumed chin and transferred the writhing thing to her pale skin. He left it to sit along her inner wrist, where it thankfully clamped its three strong teeth, suckling away her precious lifeblood.
The other two leeches were settled on the other wrist, and along the inner elbow of her unshackled arm, which Bramsfield clutched against his lap to make sure she didn't struggle against her bonds. He reached across the distance from her bed bed to the large central structure of the room, grabbing a rather empty bowl of deceased leeches, setting it near her pinned-down head.
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Post by Amelia Jacobson on Nov 24, 2011 17:01:49 GMT
Amelia flinched just the tiniest bit when the first leech bit into her wrist, not expecting the abrupt pinpoint of pain. Then the blood began to flow in a hot ebb and the initial moment of agony began to recede. The next leeches came easier. He needn't have really secured her arm, she held her breath and made herself not jerk away. Amelia's eyes were open now.
The bowl of dead leeches was set down near her head and it occurred to her that they were prisoners in their own sense. Born, captured, bred for a purpose, used, and then disposed of. She wished that the leeches sucking on her now would stop and wriggle away to safety but there was nothing she could do now. All the same, she started planning in her head to keep her thoughts going. To maintain consciousness, she spoke softly to the doctor.
"Pray, Sir, would you mind me asking you something? You've been trained after-all. What are these little bloodsuckers meant to do to help me? If ridding of bad blood cures madness, why does one not simply give the patients one swift cut and get it over with so that they may return home?"
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Post by Dr. Edward Gideon Bramsfield on Dec 18, 2011 22:20:56 GMT
"Have I not told you to shut your mouth?" He said a bit impatiently as he slapped her wrist harshly, applying the last few leeches with zeal, a proud smirk crossing his gaunt lips. He watched the girl squirm a bit and then relax, then gazed at the wriggling black leeches inching against her skin, latching on for dear life for their last sacrament premortem.
He got distracted by a particular leech who seemed not to wish to latch onto her skin. It had yet to clamp down and drink. With an impatient snarl, he reached forward and flicked the fat thing from her arm, sending the bloody thing across the room, splattering blood about the area.
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Post by Amelia Jacobson on Dec 19, 2011 19:43:33 GMT
Amelia's nerves started up again when the doctor flicked one of the poor leeches off into space just because it wasn't fast enough in jawing into her. Some of the blood that the doctor had forced the leech to vomit up sprayed up and soaked into her hair in addition to spattering in the doctor's face. She watched the leech wriggle quickly across the floor and out of sight, taken into the safety of the wall by a loyal Plague Rat who had been keeping watch out of a nearby hole. Amelia noted that she would have to thank him later and give the leech a name for its reluctance.
She could feel her senses starting to dull as the leeches grew fatter and fatter. Vaguely, Amelia wondered how far the doctor would go while he had her in such a sedated state. It was as submissive and placid as he was ever going to get her, of that she was certain. She had no intention of being obedient and nothing he could do would alter her will.
Inside, the non-hazy part of her brain raged at her parents for putting her here. Even more so, it imagined kicking the doctor in the groin. What was it that his lover had found appealing anyway? She only saw cruelty from him, except around his son.
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Post by Dr. Edward Gideon Bramsfield on Dec 20, 2011 1:39:08 GMT
"All done" the venerable doctor mumbled with punctuality as he lifted up a bowl of rock salt, withdrawing the bowl of leeches from beside her face and holding it beneath each leech he purged, taking some semblance of sick pleasure in watching them reel and gush with their newly guzzled bounty over the girl's pale skin.
"You can leave now, dear sweet" his lips curled into a nasty sneer over his straight and even teeth as he wiped away the blood speckles from his high cheekbones, dabbing the stains from his gloved hands onto a towel beside him. "Of course, you'll probably not be able to stand on your own, will you now?" He said, somewhat kindly as he offered her a hand to help her get to her feet, almost seeming gentlemanly for the weak and paling girl.
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Post by Amelia Jacobson on Dec 20, 2011 3:03:29 GMT
The girl sat up slowly as she was released from the straps, the excess fluid trickling down off of her onto the mattress. Amelia felt suddenly cold, aware, as she had been in her first night in Quarantine, that a white shift and striped stockings was truly feeble protection against the elements. But she was still conscious enough to be surprised when the doctor offered his hand to help her stand up. His shifts between feral and mannerly always befuddled her.
"No, thank you," Amelia said politely, "I think I can manage." She still didn't want to give him any type of satisfaction. It would only make his head bigger. She moved her legs off to the side of the bed and placed her feet on the floor. Too quickly. Amelia felt the world tip sideways for a moment and spots of light popped in front of her eyes.
"Oh!"
She stumbled, nearly falling to the floor.
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Post by Dr. Edward Gideon Bramsfield on Dec 20, 2011 3:23:33 GMT
"My point exactly, my dear" he said, voice as curt and soft as any normal man would have addressed her. Still he extended his hand, awaiting her own small hand, or a shoulder to support. Perhaps he had a motive behind reaching out to the girl. Perhaps his mind was elsewhere completely and he couldn't be bothered to be nasty. He had absolutely no idea. His mind was as arid as a desert and as acrid as the dampest acid. He couldn't string a damned thought together, nor did he care.
"You're going to have to crawl on your stomach like a leech yourself if you don't accept help." He said bemusedly, emerald eyes focused on her blood-crusted hair so as to seem as courteous, though his thoughts were drifting on the tide yet again, this time to the young one's shapely body. She had the same build as Noel. Sweet Noel...beautiful, blonde, saintly Noel...before long the doctor's eyes dilated as his mind drifted away into oblivion on thoughts of his long lost love, the man who won his heart. His eyes fixed internally upon his thoughts, and his outward gaze was as distant as the Americas from here, not to be shaken by much but a severe movement or loud noise, which happened to come in the form of another patient shrieking.
"Ah. Yes." He mumbled, black pupils retracting back to their normal state as he straightened his sore back "Where were we?"
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Post by Amelia Jacobson on Dec 20, 2011 3:43:48 GMT
Amelia's cheeks flamed, red as roses where they had been white as Death only minutes before. It was a miracle considering that most of her blood had been drained out of her. Still, she noted the change in the doctor's eyes. The dilation of the darkness held her fixed for a moment and still. What was he thinking of? Surely it could not be her. She was only sixteen and had often been teased by other females for her lack of extreme endowment. Petiteness was not generous to that respect. Amelia despised her almost androgynous form.
Then the doctor's eyes returned to their normal state and Amelia could move properly again. No. It could not be her. The boy she'd loved before had made it perfectly clear that no one could ever love her or hold any sort of affection for her.
Amelia nodded to the doctor, taking his arm for support. "Thank you," she said quietly.
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