God of Marriage Saga: Chapter 12
Imported from SF2 with no description.
Trust your doctor.
Of course, the medical world was not a place of word play and metaphor, in quite the same way as my mind was. As I lay there, peering up at a sharpened scalpel, I wondered if this all hadn't been an utter mistake.
"Of course it was a mistake, shithead."
I struggled to blot out Gavrill's voice. Fran had an unhelpful sister, who had a bone to pick with me. Gavrill the Wolf. She was a violent freak.
"You think I'm a freak? Look at you. You'll hit on anything with a cooch if it's wolflike. Want to get eaten?"
I was not eager for the unhelpful lecture, but I was also not eager to be minced up and put back together, by Fran. Gavrill was trying to talk me out of the mincing, oddly enough, but she was the kind of person who would happily use me as a chew-toy if it suited her.
"See, kid, she doesn't--"
A jolt. Who was I?
Ugh, that was confusing. For a second, I had been a mess of personalities.
Fran: "Not that way, then. We cut somewhere else."
...the stupid thing was that... Fran had no idea what she was doing here, either. Surgery on a soul wasn't exactly her field of expertise, and surgery in general was not mine. When I had suggested I would have to dissect the air around Lupe, I don't know what had come over me, but as best I can recollect, it was a sort of bleak humor. I'd maybe only half thought this would work.
Fran: "Try and remain still. If you move too much, I could permanently injure you."
...what was she even doing with that knife? Aren't I supposed to be sedated for this?
...she just flat out jammed the thing inside my torso. And I began to bleed. A lot.
...was I... just trying to die? Was this suicide, put in practice? Just a deathwish?
Fran scolded: "Your outlook isn't very optimistic! I thought I was supposed to help you to live?!"
...maybe that was it.... I didn't know how surgery worked, but I knew how intuition worked. No. I 'felt' how intuition 'felt'.
Try moving it a little to the left, please. No... wait... "Try moving it a little to the left, please," I asked.
As best I understood, I was a mental image of a cadaver, having Fran fish around inside my intestines--
Fran: "No, not your intestines, your heart!"
"...right. Blondie is playing operation. I'm going to take a break, catch a movie."
...Gavrill.
"What?!" she whipped around.
...you're hot.
"Shut up or I'll mince you worse than this stupid bitch." She raised her outstretched fingers and grimaced. It wasn't clear if she was suggesting she was going to mince us both, or if she was referring to Fran mincing me.
I had no idea what I was doing, I'd just discerned that I needed Fran to help me... become more honest? But... Fran's surgeries did not... have happy endings. In general. I knew this, so...
Gavrill thew up her hands and shouted: "Would you just shut up and stop whining already! Jeez, how can I leave if you keep complaining about her so loud I can hear you in my own thoughts?"
I was dragging her back to me. I don't know 'why'. I'd been trying to 'avoid' her, and this seemed inevitable.
Was it because I was thinking violent, self-harming thoughts? While seeking an answer.
"Where has Lupe gone?" I moaned.
"The fuck is Lupe? That prissy wolf bitch?" Gavrill asked.
Yes, obviously. The one who doesn't need to crank a dial on her head to have a muzzle.
"The fuck is your problem, anyway? Can't get it up unless it looks like they can bite it off of ya?"
...
"I'm asking you." Gavrill insisted.
...so older sister might be part of this operation, after all.
"Can you not say? That damaged?"
A significant pause.
Surviving a bite is how you get to be a werewolf.
"We might have to start from there, then." Fran intoned.