Realistic or Modern Villier Hospital for the Incurable

[vivi wannabe]

“Are you content at Villier, Miss Montgomery?”


The question was poised by one Dr. Mulberry, a placid man easily recognised by his petite height, to Miss Georgiana Montgomery, a frigid young woman easily recognised by her grand height. Employer and employee were taking tea on the hospitals grounds, as Dr. Murberry was in the habit and graciously asked Miss Montgomery to join him.


Georgiana Montgomery had only recently taken her new position at Villier Hospital. Miss Montgomery was of that marvelously elegant set that everything they did and everything they said was just so, such to an extent that even if one disliked her, you could hardly help marveling at her.


Georgiana delicately placed her saucer down on the table before answering.


“Yes sir, Dr. Mulberry. I could not be more pleased with my position, or, if you will permit, my employer.”


Dr. Mulberry graciously consented with a nod. There was a slight pause in the conversation, before he continued.


“Are you happy at Villier, Miss Montgomery?”


Georgiana Montgomery’s demeanor froze, if only momentarily. Perhaps the doctor noticed, for he was watching Georgiana as he asked, but perhaps he was not. His tone, his eyes, his whole person were so soft and so sanguine that one could hardly believe he noticed much at all. Yet, to Miss Georgiana Montgomery she felt that her slip had been detrimental.


“I have only been at Villier Hospital less than a week, sir...”


“I love Villier, Miss Montgomery. The hospital, its grounds, my patients... they mean the world to me.”


Silence resumed, due to Dr. Murberry being deep in thought and Miss Montgomery not knowing how to respond to such sentiment.


At length Georgiana spoke, simply putting her impressions into words.


“The grounds, like Villier, are very beautiful, sir, yet... at the same time they are also rather melancholy.”


Dr. Murberry gave one of his delightful half smiles, as he reflected.


“You know, Miss Montgomery, I do believe that is why I am so fond of it.”


“You are fond of the dismal then, sir? or possibly the pensive?”


“I would like to answer pensive, but in honesty, Miss Montgomery, perhaps I am more amused with the gloomy... ah, I hear someone approaching from the garden walk. It would perhaps be best if we abandoned such dreary conversation for now.”


The individual approaching was none other than Harold Meinert, Villier’s longest remaining patient. Meinert’s most noticeable feature would be his strikingly blue eyes. They were not simply striking because of their shade, but rather for their intense cruelty. Meinert sauntered up to the little group with as much ease-of-manner and gaiety as one might expect to find in a seasider.


“Well, well, well, well... we are living the good life, aren’t we? Is this a private affair or may anyone barge in?”


Dr. Mulberry motioned for Meinert to sit, but he waved his hand dismissively.


“No, haven’t the time for that, Mully. I’ll just take a dainty from here and be on my way...”


Georgiana corrected Meinert’s informality with an equally venomous glare and controlled tone.


“That is Doctor Murberry, Mr. Meinert.”


Meinert snorted, amused.


“oh, hullo, fatso.”


As Georgiana ignored his mocking salutation, Meinert addressed Dr. Murberry with the utmost sincerity.


“I would be cautious tempting her with sweats, Mully. It is rather obvious from her physique she’s not one to demonstrate restraint when it comes to such indulgances, if you know what I mean.”


Dr. Murberry smiled, amused.


“What are you up to today then, Harold?”


Meinert was, by this time, perched slightly on the arm of Georgiana’s chair, much to her disgust.


“Oh, you know, Mully... this and that. What with the fresh blood arriving later, I’ve found rather alot to keep myself occupied of late.”


“Oh, of course... that reminds me. I had planned to have a group therapy session later... well, as soon as all the patients arrive and are settled... Miss Montgomery, would you be a dear and fetch Mr. Paxton? I would like him to sit in on the session... oh, and if you see George, please remind him he needs to help gather all the patients into the sitting room. Thank you.”


Georgiana rose from her seat.


“Of course, sir.”


Meinert rose also.


“I’ll accompany you.”


Georgiana snapped, with as much professionalism as possible,


“I’d rather you didn’t.”


To which he replied, laughing,


“I’d rather I did, so I shall.”


With great reluctance Miss Montgomery made her way back into the hospital, accompanied by one Harold Meinert.

 

[SlowInfect]

Charles Paxton stared bleakly through the gates of Villier Hospital. To no avail, he had been phoning through the intercom for around a hour. The hospital should have been expecting him as he sent notice months ago. He sniffled, the chill of approaching evening getting to him. As he slumped to the ground in defeat, the wet grass antagonized his discomfort.


Rearing up, he yelled into the microphone without even pressing the button. "Fine! You win! I'm climbing the blasted wall!"


With notable effort and slipping only briefly, Mr. Paxton heaved himself up brick and over bars. The courtyard was beautiful but determination to dry himself off prevented Charles from appreciating the view. Upon his first step to descend, he found his pant leg caught on a wrought iron spike. Charles lingered in perpetual unbalance as he flung his arms wildly trying to prevent his fall.


"No, no, no, no. NOOOO!" He screamed as the fabric tore at his ankles.


It wasn't long before Charles was pulling himself out of the dirt. Mud caked his glasses and freshly laundered outfit. He had come here to study Asylum Medicine and he wasn't going to let this deter him. As he scraped the soil from the lens, he peered into the blinking light of a security cam above him. He scowled and tramped his way to the front door-- hoping desperately nobody was watching the security monitors at the time.

 

[Fayr Kraudis]

George


George was doing some menial chore, he was patrolling through the entire hallway. He observed everything from the ceiling to the floor. He was just recently stationed there, so he doesn't know the place very well.


At the time when he was back to his office. He saw an eerie man walking through the monitor. Surprised by that, he looked at the notice board beside him.


"Crap. I forgot about the new patient arrival...", he said lazily.


"Better go and help that young man." said George slightly running out.


He got out and found himself seeing a tattered young man.


"Umm... Do you need a help? Ah, sorry I guess..." said George with awkward smile.

 

[Vinipote]

Betty mopped the floor of the entrance foyer. Hers was a liberal interpretation of mopping, as she more or less smeared clean water around on an already spotless patch of floor. Once in a while, she dipped the mop into a bucket of mysteriously grey water, and slopped it back onto the floor. A sign had been erected nearby, that warned passersby "CAUTION." The stick figure in the sign was mid-fall, illustrating the perils of a wet floor. Someone had drawn in faded marker a noose around its neck, as if it were engaged in a particularly clumsy suicide.

 

[Takuwan]

He sneered, leaning forward in his seat as they began to evaluate him. "So, what do you think, Doc? You think I'm crazy?" Reggie tilted his head, glare shooting right towards the man who was centered in the group circle. "Answer. Me," he spoke again, however more aggressively.


"What I'm getting here, is that you're trying to... intimidate me. What's the reason for your PTSD?"


Reggie rolled his eyes, standing from his seat, "hmph. What? You gonna write shit down about how my behavior has worsened? About how I'm not recovering? I'm no sociopath and I never talk about the past." One of his fellow patients reached towards him in order to stop him from saying anything more. "Don't touch me." As his voice raised, so did the ruckus around him. Patients began to scream and yell, laugh uncontrollably. Did he trigger it? Most likely, but at this moment, he didn't care. He was in there for far too long and for the wrong reason. PTSD doesn't throw you into a mental institution unless you did some crazy shit. Wait. Nightmares and behavior triggered by memories. Yeah, maybe he belonged there, but not for as long as he had been in there for. "Am I the only fuckin' sane person 'round here?!"


"Calm down, you're upsetting them!"

"Oh, shut the f--" His words were cut off by the feeling of hands grasping his arms. "No. Let go, assholes! I don't belong in here, and you know it!" Reggie fought, tried to shake away from the grip that restrained his movement.


"Take him away. He's being a disruption."


In his ear, Reggie could hear the grunts of agreements as they began to drag him away. The man kicked, wriggled, shouted profanities as he was filled with anger and annoyance. His behavior made him question himself. Was he really crazy or did this place make him this way? "Just go back to your room and think about your actions, hon."


Were they serious? He hoped not. Reggie shook his head, brows furrowing as they continued to talk to him about his unacceptable behavior. Of course he was going to act that way, all these weeks.. Maybe months, Reggie built yup anger and annoyance - the daily thing around him was close to just making him lost his shit. But, he didn't want to prove them right. Hostility got you in some solitary B.S. and he didn't want to deal with that.


In here, he was surrounded by freaks.. and patients.

 

[DctrCat]

Abigail wandered down a hall, passing a very displeased Reggie and some of the nursing staff. Her bright, large eyes shone as she watched, almost glimmering as she stopped a smile from spreading across her face. She half skipped down the hallway, coming to a large set of french doors which she pushed open and made her way through, out into the large gardens of the hospital.


She walked out into the gardens and let herself relax, as much as she could at least, and let the sounds of the gardens soothe her head. It ached, as it often did nowadays. A low throb in the back of her head that refused to disappear. She found herself in the hedge maze at the back of the property.


The maze was made up of lush green hedges, with lovely vines growing among them, with their bright purple flowers peeking through the hedge. Butterflies and small black birds lived in the trees and the flowerbeds in the properties, and the little sounds they made always made her smile.


Except for when they seemed to drill into her head and make the throbbing so much worse. That was usually when she was in a bad mood.


Abigail pulled herself up the trunk of the large, smooth tree in the middle of the maze and once on her favourite long branch, she laid back and closed her eyes. A warm day with a nice breeze that blew around the tree trunk and tousled the leaves gently around Abigail.

 

[SlowInfect]

Mr. Paxton adjusted his sleeves and took a deep breath to keep himself from snapping at the guard.


"Yes, hello." he greeted with a stiff formality as positioned himself for a handshake. "I'm Charles Paxton and I've just come from Cambridge to study under Dr. Murberry. Though, I suppose I'm not too presentable in my current condition. Would you mind guiding me to the laundry room?"


His gaze lingered on the janitor mopping the floor before he peered down at his shoes. As he removed his loafers, the polite gesture would be somewhat in vain as mud still tracked through the halls.

 

[mikaluvkitties]

Once again, Kaneda was sitting in a corner in one of the rooms on the first floor, book in hand. However, unlike most of the time he was actually reading instead of just wishing he could focus enough to read, occasionally looking up upon hearing an odd noise or seeing something out of the corner of his eye. He guessed his anti-anxiety meds actually worked, if he were able to sit here and read. He really couldn't be blamed for refusing until recently, though. They could have been poison, after all.


He'd grabbed the book earlier that morning out of the library, and he'd managed to get thirty pages in already. It was a good start to what was going to be an awful day. Today, after all, was the day the new residents arrived. He guessed it made sense with the recent shortage of patients, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Especially when they might try to extract information from him. After all, information was power, and he couldn't give them that. Too risky. There was no way to know what they were actually thinking, and what if they used what he told them to hurt him? Kaneda didn't know what would happen, but just because he couldn't think of it didn't mean it wouldn't hap-


Kaneda closed his eyes. Just focus on the goddamn book. There was no reason to get this worked up over people he planned to avoid, anyways. It might be harder with more people in the building, but he was sure he could manage it. He still had a while, he was sure, and until he had to see anyone, he was going to read. He began reading again vigorously. He was going to read.

 

[Deathchart]

As all of the Viller Hospital clocks read twelve, a pair of brown eyes open in their usual routine. The man that those eyes belonged to was very much awake and ready to start the day. Miller Marks was a simple and complicated man. He woke up the same time. He ate the same things. He walked to the same places. Yet, every time he woke up he had a different insight on something. He had a different thing to think about during breakfast. He had a different thing to see at his usual spots. As he gets up the hospital clothes stick to him like wet paper. He hated wearing them but they were the only clothes suitable for night time, as his other clothes are all suits. The floor boards creak under his legs as Miller makes his way to the closet were his suits spend the night. Next to the double doors, hanging on the wall, is his degree in theoretical physics. Seemingly useless inside a hospital yet Miller didn't think so. He saw it as a sign that he is smarter than everyone here. Even the good doctor.


After getting his suit on and grabbing his usual book, Miller started making his way towards the mess hall. They let you order what you wanted here and you could take it anywhere you wanted, except your room of course. As he passes the plates and makes his way towards the door mad for the privileged (Staff only) an idea enters his busy bee of a head. What if he went somewhere different today? His usual routine was getting boring and mundane anyway. Miller's feet squeak as he makes a u-turn and begins heading into a random direction. Passing by the fruit bowl gives him the opportunity to grab a few apples. He does like apples.


He continued to walk through the halls, wearing his pinstripe suit and tall matching top hat, making his way into the garden. The bright green bushes were the perfect background to the blue, red, orange, purple, blue, and yellow flowers that dotted them. He began walking around, taking in the atmosphere. It felt like he had been reborn. A new man. He quickly shook the thought. Reborn? Why would he want to be reborn when he is practically a god? His intellect is far superior than anyone else's here. Before he got lost in his own head, as he usually does he begins making his way towards a large tree. As the tree gets closer, he notices a figure sitting in the branches. It must be Abigail. She was an odd one for sure, yet Miller was rather fond of the girl. She sees the world in ways no other can. He is even slightly jealous, but he'll never admit it. She was one of the few new patients that he knew about.


"Hello up there! Are you the one they call Abigail?"


Miller might as well attempt some conversation. The hustle and bustle around the halls meant there was a group therapy session soon. He needed to practice.

 

[Vinipote]

It took a moment for the janitor to notice the newly minted footprints on the clean floor. She used her astute detective skills, eyes following the short trail of mud to Mr. Paxton. She leaned over her mop and squinted at the newcomer. Slowly, she jabbed two fingers towards her eyes, then aimed those same fingers towards Mr. Paxton. To elaborate her point, she mouthed widely, "I. AM. WATCHING. YOU."


Maintaining her look of scrutiny, she wheeled the squeaky bucket of water towards the muddy footprints, letting it slosh copious amounts of water in its wake.

 

[DctrCat]

Abigail swung down, hanging upside down from the branch by her knees. The hem of her dress was caught on the branch, keeping it in place to cover her upper legs. her almost light blonde hair hung low beneath her as a tumble of tight and loose curls. She blinked quickly, 3 times, her thick eyelashes fluttering as she did so.


She took in the person who had called out to her and set her eyes on Miller. She had spoken to him once or twice, he was not a fan of her riddles she had found. He was fun to frustrate as he was a very logical, serious man and she was... the opposite? he was also not someone she found very pretty, she much preferred Reggie.


"Good morning Mister Miller, I hope you are well. I have a new riddle, would you care to hear it?' She asked, letting a faint smile creep onto her lips. The leaves rustled around her as she let herself drop onto the floor, twisting herself so she landed softly on her feet. The garden was so bright and airy, with lovely gentle sounds of leaves and birds surrounding her.

 

[Deathchart]

"I am well. What is this new riddle you have?" Miller never liked Abigail's riddles. He could figure them out fairly easily, but he had to keep acting like he didn't. The first one she told him he solved in seconds. However, she claimed he had gotten it wrong and refused to believe he had solved it. It was rather annoying. Abigail was the opposite of Miller and it bothered him occasionally. How could someone be so sporadic. So.... random? She was an enigma. Miller never liked running into unsolvable problems.


As Abigail told her riddle Miller leaned against the tree trunk, listening intently. He was planning on enjoying as much time as he could here before they all had to go to this group therapy session. Events like these don't happen very often, yet Miller would make the best of it. He makes the best of every situation. He is a genius after all. Smarter than everyone. Before he got sidetracked in his own mind he pulled it back and continued listening to Abigail go on. Waiting for the end of the riddle, so he could play dumb and see her smile away.

 

[SlowInfect]

Charles grimaced when he noticed the trail of mud he still produced. With an apologetic and slightly-amused smile, he rolled his pant legs up to his calves.


"Sorry, I didn't intend to create more work for you... Or the gardener." Charles said, trailing off at the end.


Looking around, he tried to orient himself again. Sniffling, He wasn't sure if the guard had actually given him directions as his head was rather fuzzy at this point. The emotional exhaustion was coupled with a feverish throbbing in his head and Charles wondered if he had caught a cold. He peered down each hall again, unsure where to go.


"Excuse me. Would you mind guiding me to the laundry or somewhere else I can clean myself up? You could definitely keep me out of trouble that way." Charles called to janitor, trying to lighten the situation of his blunder.

 

[Vinipote]

Betty sighed, rolled her eyes, and made a general show of being unenthused at the newfound responsibility. Despite all her pantomiming to the contrary, she relented with an upheaval of her shoulders. "Yeah. Okay. Laundry's in the basement. Come on." She started wheeling the mop along, its wheels groaning ominously. "The spooky basement," she uttered in portent.

 

[Jesika]

White. Everything white. Just so plain, blank, bright, like how white is. Is she dead? Have they finally given up on her realizing they can't cure or fix what is happening in her crazy brain? Did they come to her and kill her off in her sleep without the girl even knowing so they can rid of a pesty problem? NOPE! These people, they have done something worse. A hospital, Villier hospital to be her new home. Britney has become too much of a hassel at home being destructive and at times violent. Along with the regular trips to the hospital she has become too much trouble to take care of. No treatments seem to be working and it only seems to get worse or never end. Britney's family loves the girl dearly, but are doing what they think is best for her and following the doctors orders. Now she is here, Villier, her new home away from home; here to stay until her death.


White, most hospitals she has been put through have been this color and that is what exactly this one was going to be like. A squeaky clean place with an odd smell in the air that no one can really figure out what it is. This place is different though. In the begining it was white, the examination room looked like any other hospital but when she got the whole tour of the place it felt more like a hotel in a way. Perhaps this place won't be hell on Earth afterall.


Britney was brought in yesterday evening, pretty late as it was already dark outside. She had another fit, screaming at her brother and almost straggling him. They were going to wait to bring her here in the morning but didn't want to risk it. Papers were filled, a health check up made and soon sent to her room where she stayed up all night staring at the ceiling feeling utterly alone.


In the morning Britney is pulled to the lounging area by a petite, too friendly nurse. "Here you are" the young lady says, "now you go and enjoy yourself" and with that the girl was off. What no sercurity or having to follow her around? It surprises her some. Shrugging it off her shoulders Britney moves into the room, almost in a way like she has been here before and she is just casually going on like normal. Even though she is the new patient here, at this moment it doesn't show in her expression. Moving in she grabs one of the empty chairs and drags it across the hard flooring, pulling it with her she finds a random spot in the room, sets the chair down and takes a seat.

 

[SlowInfect]

Spooky basement was no exaggeration, even if the grave tone came off more as sarcasm. While the rest of the building seemed to be modernized and remodeled inside the classical shell--the basement's only update seemed to be a sub-par rewire for electricity. An electric hum resonating through the walls inflamed Charles' persistent headache and he applied pressure to his temples as they descended creaking stairs. The door had to be unlocked as an employees only sign dangled haphazard on the frame.


Past the initial block, the brick walls were calcified and soot-blackened. He wondered if there had been a fire at one point. Hallways pointed to old wards with metal cages, unused in the modern century (at least he hopped) but still an imbruting reminder of how barbaric his profession once was.


"Good riddance." he muttered as they passed the rusted bars. "Not you!" Charles quickly expressed, trying not to offend. " Thank you, so much for guiding me. It was just the cages... the ones uh back there. Asylums were once so macabre and inhumane. We've come a long way."


Arriving in the laundry room, Charles tried to keep conversation going in any form possible as he undressed in the cover supply closet. Mostly because he didn't want to be down there alone but also because he wasn't sure if the door they came through could be unlocked from this side without a key. He started by introducing himself before moving on to topics about the hospital.


"Anything for me to keep in mind while working here? Or when I meet Dr. Murberry, for that matter?" Mr. Paxton inquired from his makeshift dressing room.

 

[Vinipote]

Betty reached into the pockets of her coveralls, grabbing a pack of gum. She unwrapped three pieces, stuffing the whole wad into her mouth, and chewed noisily.


"Don't mention his height," she advised Charles, amidst smacking. "He gives me the creeps. I bet he's got a foot fetish."


She was nothing if not candid. "Don't tell him I said that," she tacked on. "Anyways, are you his new uh. Pro-tee-gee? I hope you're good with a hack-saw."

 

[SlowInfect]

Charles made an awkward display of attempting to load the washing machine while keeping himself obscured by the closet. A sock dropped from the opening but he wasn't about to make an effort to reach it. Instead, he started the cycle after a beleaguered stretch across the threshold.


He chuckled over the rattle of the washer, "Sounds like there's a story behind those concerns. You didn't find him sniffing your shoe did you?"


The hammering of the machine antagonized his headache and he furrowed his brow.


"Wait... hack-saw?" He inquired with some concern. Betty's blunt tone left him to question if she was serious or not.