Micolash, Host of the Nightmare (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
grantuseyes) wrote2018-02-04 11:02 pm
grantuseyes) wrote2018-02-04 11:02 pm
February 2018 Writing Prompt
He examines it carefully. Peeling black lips back to examine tongue and gums, holding eyelids open to watch for the pupils' response, prying open the mouth to prod a finger to the back of the throat to test the gag reflex. Clapped hands are heard and attract its attention. A vial of blood held close makes the nose twitch with attempts to catch the scent. A drop of methylated alcohol on the tongue prompts an attempt to cough or gag against the bitter taste.
Pleased with the ongoing signs of vitality, Micolash gently pets one thin hand atop the dog's head. "Good dog," he coos softly as he rubs his thumb at the fur between its eyes before sliding his fingers to scratch at one ear. Its eyes look upwards at him with plaintive devotion. What more can a dog desire but to be a good dog? What higher aspiration is there to gain the approval of their human masters? A tail thumps against a steel container in a few lazy wags before going still again. That in and of itself makes Micolash smile and give the other ear some attention now. "Good, good dog."
The scholar checks the tubing and IV bags dangling over his canine companion, ensuring none are kinked, all are secured in their respective places, the bags full of the necessary fluids. What a terrible shame it would be if it were to perish now after such a marvelous recovery and sustained vitality! He would allow no such thing.
Orange light sweeps across the room in jagged, divided squares, pouring in through the fogged windows overlooking the laboratory. The sightless eyes in the walls glitter wetly from the glare; three more sprout and grow with muted squelches. He's long since grown used to that, as well as the frenzy that causes them. Where once it was torturous agony, now it was inspiration, elation! Beautiful bliss and new ideas growing inside of his brain just like those eyes on the walls. And one of those ideas resulted in this current effort.
The dog is given one last pat to the top of its head before Micolash moves to check on the rest of it. He strides across the lab with giddy purpose to where a steel cage contains a headless dog on its side. Tubes run into the stump of its truncated neck that lead to more hanging IVs and dripping fluids. When the scholar unlatches the door and swings it open, his first action is to reach and touch its shoulder. The tail thumps once more in limp response. When he pets down its side, the head across the room begins to pant.
"Good dog..."
Pleased with the ongoing signs of vitality, Micolash gently pets one thin hand atop the dog's head. "Good dog," he coos softly as he rubs his thumb at the fur between its eyes before sliding his fingers to scratch at one ear. Its eyes look upwards at him with plaintive devotion. What more can a dog desire but to be a good dog? What higher aspiration is there to gain the approval of their human masters? A tail thumps against a steel container in a few lazy wags before going still again. That in and of itself makes Micolash smile and give the other ear some attention now. "Good, good dog."
The scholar checks the tubing and IV bags dangling over his canine companion, ensuring none are kinked, all are secured in their respective places, the bags full of the necessary fluids. What a terrible shame it would be if it were to perish now after such a marvelous recovery and sustained vitality! He would allow no such thing.
Orange light sweeps across the room in jagged, divided squares, pouring in through the fogged windows overlooking the laboratory. The sightless eyes in the walls glitter wetly from the glare; three more sprout and grow with muted squelches. He's long since grown used to that, as well as the frenzy that causes them. Where once it was torturous agony, now it was inspiration, elation! Beautiful bliss and new ideas growing inside of his brain just like those eyes on the walls. And one of those ideas resulted in this current effort.
The dog is given one last pat to the top of its head before Micolash moves to check on the rest of it. He strides across the lab with giddy purpose to where a steel cage contains a headless dog on its side. Tubes run into the stump of its truncated neck that lead to more hanging IVs and dripping fluids. When the scholar unlatches the door and swings it open, his first action is to reach and touch its shoulder. The tail thumps once more in limp response. When he pets down its side, the head across the room begins to pant.
"Good dog..."