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M.S.R.P. II • View topic - Surgury? Sure. Why not! [Other]

M.S.R.P. II

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PostPosted: Tue May 23, 2006 12:55 am 
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A figure in black walked across the street to the small house that was a pale blue in the day; but a dark navy at night; dressed in black shoes, black pants, black shirt, black jacket, black trench coat, hood, black gloves, he walked slowly and deliberately moved between the light unseen in the night’s pale glow. The small bag made no noise; his shoes softly felt the ground without so much as a scrape of gravel or of dirt. Approaching the front door he slid sideways past around the house staying in the shadows, moving without hesitation to the window, then with a glimmer of light the window clicked and opened with a slight shudder, it had not been opened in years it seems and was going to be a loud way of entering… Another quick flash and a hissing solved the problem; it slid silently to the top and remained open. The large figure in black slipped through to the interior of the garage, at the door to the house the dark shadow loomed over until a click brought it to rest at the wall and the figure was gone. Inside muffled footsteps and groaning wood quietly made the intruders presence known to the dust and mites in the shag floor. The occupants of the closed master bedroom were sleeping; his target a Doctor Blymouth had no inkling that things were very amiss outside his door while the looming darkness enveloped the frame. With silent malignant intent the figure was at the bedside; black glove around the neck silencing the woman as he injected her neck with a sedative, he waited and released his grip. Her breathing returned and was normal; around the bed he stalked now, the outfit flapping enough to disturb the air and cause a commotion that made the man stir to his side. Widened eyes met the shadow under the hood when his hand grappled the neck of Dr. Blymouth and he struggled while being drug from sleep across the shag to the couch. “You will remain silent and will not move, lest you insure that I do harm you.”

Snapping came from the left hand of the man and Dr. Blymouth couldn’t make out what it was; quickly it went to the face of the dark figure; the other hand held what was easily recognizable as the outline of a gun. The bulb above his head burst to life in a nova of light that blinded Blymouth for a moment. His eyes could only make out the sunglasses on the figure looming above and in front of him. As his eyes adjusted he saw the white mask as a stark contrast to the blackness, but it was shadowed and nearly impossible to see. “You are a doctor of plastic surgery and of reconstructive surgery; you moved from England to practice in Palermo, you even have children. How do I know all of this? The sticker on your car I saw; the pictures on your desk right over here and the fact you have an odd mailbox name. Blymouth isn’t really a common name you know.” The eyes of Dr. Blymouth began to pickup finer details of the man in black; how clean the clothing was meticulously groomed and kept with minimal dust or dirt from the entry. The black bag was something else he noticed before his wandering eyes were forced back upon this man with the velvet voice “You know how to rebuild a face and you know how to repair burn injuries and you know that I am now in full control. I have a gun, your wife is unconscious in the other room and your children are away on that camping trip you scheduled…” A black glove threw papers lifted from the desk and slapped them into the lap of Dr. Blymouth. “As you can see, much is easily learned by observation. I will pay you two hundred thousand dollars for facial reconstructive surgery, or I can kill your wife and you. Think carefully but quickly; you haven’t time to waste” Sweat was beading now on Blymouth’s head as the man in black moved toward his bedroom door “Such a lovely wife, it would be such a shame to see her die, wouldn’t you say?” Blymouth broke “I’ll do what you want, just don’t hurt her” The boards creaked as he moved closer “Very well then, you will be met by me outside of the hospital in one week. Oh and Doctor, if you think you can turn me in you might want to think again; I would hate for one of your children to have an accident at camp.” The mans hand quickly pulled out the sawed off shotgun and waved it above his head striking the light and plunging the room back into darkness. Quickly he slipped out the window after removing the sunglasses and vanished into the night. Blymouth sat there, shocked, unable to move.

A week passed and Dr. Blymouth was ready, he had told no one about the late night surgery. Outside he saw him, under the light in black as a light rain fell; his two assistants had also come but were still waiting in their cars. Blymouth walked out and nodded at the man in black, a twist of the wrist and flash of a fluorescent greeted them. Inside the man in black waited for them to set up and then was given a gown. “I prefer not to wear anything; I’ll put this over my shirt.” Phibes took off the coat and all of the weapons one by one, then the jacket. Un-hooded they stared at the exposed head of the man, the scars and white flesh patterned all around. Then he took the latex off and the mask; Blymouth knew this would be a challenge larger than thought. Slowly the lead the tall faceless man to a gurney and he laid back. “I do not expect perfection, I want to eat again. That is all I ask, should you need a skin graft do what you must.” The tissue was missing but there was enough there to patch the holes in the flesh inside and outside of his mouth. One of the assistants inserted the IV and began the drip, while the other prepared the room. Finally another man showed up followed by one more nurse, they would make sure Phibes would sleep well, but before he was wheeled in Phibes’s phone rang and he handed it to Dr. Blymouth “it’s for you” On the other end he heard all he needed to hear. They wheeled into the OR and Phibes drifted off into a sleepless realm without remembering dreams.

Hours later Phibes awoke with his face covered in bandages and gauss, the pain was immense but nothing new. He looked at a window and saw it was still dark and raining, arising from the bed he pulled off the gown and walked to the door, nearly collapsing. He opened it and looked at Blymouth while still in a daze and asked “Is it finished?"Blymouth walked over quickly “The Bandages can come off in three weeks; you need to lie back down until the anesthetic wears off” “I need none of your help or concern Doctor Blymouth, here is your money and if you would be so kind as to bring me my clothing I will leave here without another moments delay” The clothing was brought to him and he put it on, and began sloppily walking toward the door, bouncing off of the walls for balance. “I honestly think you are I no condition to-“ “I am also a Doctor sir and I know my own limitations better than anyone now leave me be” Somehow he made it outside and back to the estate. In the bed he laid, now he had a new mask, one made of layers for medical reasons, one he would not take off for 3 weeks, he could feel the stitches inside his mouth as well but it hurt, he was not allowed to suck on any drinks, well, basically he had to eat what he had been eating.


Requests: Able to eat normal food

Will pay grading admin


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PostPosted: Tue May 23, 2006 1:09 am 
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Wow. A bit different shall we? I never knew pursuit for facial reconstruction had to be so, murderously complex. Well, I must say, I was impressed, although it is nice to abide by most writing teachings and separate dialogue. Ahem, ahem.

I enjoyed your little tale, reminded me of that show, 'Medium' or whatever that fictional coverage of horror movie personalities. Shall I make an addition, your character is a bit, 'yucky.' Skin grafts, and your terrifying avatar, such imagery is enough to blind Mormons.

Length, quality, it all factored in to create one big plastic surgery orgy. How that settles in your soup, tell me later.

Requests approved, pay me the costs and you can eat whatever you dare sneak into that decaying mouth of yours.

_________________

Formerly known as 'Whiskey,' never the less known as your sworn staffer.


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