Information
Clinic_425 has a minion!
Medicine the Nice Nurse Blob Kitty
Medicine the Nice Nurse Blob Kitty
Clinic_425
Legacy Name: Clinic_425
The
Chibi TutaniOwner:
MYSTERY_356Age: 17 years, 2 months, 1 week
Born: February 24th, 2007
Adopted: 14 years, 2 months, 3 weeks ago
Adopted: February 6th, 2010
Pet Spotlight Winner
June 5th, 2010
Statistics
- Level: 1
- Strength: 10
- Defense: 13
- Speed: 10
- Health: 10
- HP: 10/10
- Intelligence: 0
- Books Read: 0
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Unemployed
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BarghestPet profile by User not found: exclusive
Quad by
FlipHuman by User not found: feather
Scars. The universe's way of taunting you. An ugly reminder of something menacing and horrid. Something that you'd like to forget, but can't. A deformation that you know is there.
Clarissa softly traced the scar on her left cheek. Another day, another day past the epidemic, she thought. She pulled up memories of the horrible time of the zombies.
The day that men, women, and children alike started pouring into Clarissa's clinic in Centropolis was the sixth of February. Clarissa had walked in exactly sixteen minutes late. She was confused as to why there were so many people in her clinic.
"All right, sir, let me have a good luck here. Just open your mouth and...ahhh." Clarissa shone her penlight into the mouth of the man sitting in front of her. Everything Clarissa was looking for. Sandy brown hair, sparkling green eyes, a bright smile - but Clarissa was nothing short of extremely professional at work. She had no time for men.
Clarissa clicked off the penlight. "So what seems to be the problem?"
"Well," the man coughed and gave a little smile, "I woke up this morning and found I had the flu. It seems pretty resistant to most of the medicines I've taken. Nothing's worked so far."
Clarissa 'mmm-hmm'd and nodded, taking notes on her clipboard. "Any symptoms?"
"Just the usual," he said, "cough, sore throat, headache, vomiting...that sort of thing." He coughed into the crook of his elbow. It echoed through the confined, sanitary office.
"There is one unusual thing," he continued, "I think I'm getting a rash to go along with it. I've talked with some other people, and they've got it too." He held up his arm. Along the backside, angry red bumps formed a line down the arm like an army of red fire ants or mosquito bites. "I've got it on my legs, too."
"That seems odd..." Clarissa muttered to herself. She saw the man staring at her with a concerned look on his face. "Just the flu, it should run its course in a few weeks. Don't worry. Here's a prescription for some flu medication. It should probably work better than what you're using now. Take it to a local pharmacy." She smiled, and hoped it didn't look too bright and fake. She finished scribbling out the prescription, ripped it off, and handed it to the man. He stood up from the paper-covered bed and strode across the room and out the door. "A rash...what an odd new addition. Hope this doesn't turn into anything. No, I'm sure it isn't anything." Clarissa pushed her concerns to the back of her mind and didn't think of it the rest of the day.
Clarissa hadn't been worried about the rash. She hadn't been worried about the hospitals giving out masks to the civilians. She hadn't been bothered when the hospitals ran out of the free masks so quickly that they had to be made so quickly that one days' supply was actually sold in about five minutes.
But now Clarissa was worried.
New strains of the cold or flu developed every year, and the number of patients Clarissa got did usually fluctuate around this time of year. However, never once has one of these new strains been big enough to make the news.
As she put her morning paper down, Clarissa felt her hands start to shake. She took a long drink of her coffee - black, of course - and trudged out the door to work at the clinic.
The clinic was bursting with people. The waiting room was packed, and there was a line out the door and all the way down the street. As Clarissa pushed by the people with her briefcase in one hand and labcoat in the other, she heard violent hacking and screams in her ears.
"Hey! I was here before you!"
"Back of the line, missy!"
"You're not more important than us! You stupid Centropolis jerks, you-"
Clarissa slipped on her labcoat and the screams stopped. The crowds parted, and she was in the clinic.
All day, Clarissa tended to her patients and did the best she could. She assured them that nothing was wrong, when she knew it was. Clarissa had a sinking feeling. She knew that this wouldn't turn out well. Not well at all.
Clarissa knew that all of Subeta was in trouble when the article about biting came out. Biting was not a normal thing that one did to another. The occassional schoolchild biting a classmate was shrugged off and accepted. Children didn't know any better. But a full grown adult trying to attack another? It was unheard of.
The first encounter Clarissa had with the biting was on February eighth, two days after the new rash was discovered and the day of the biting article. By this time, the line had expanded so much that the whole main street of Centropolis had to be blocked off for the sick waiting for care. It was two in the afternoon, and Clarissa was sweating buckets trying to give each person the time they deserved. She was sitting down, taking a well deserved break when she saw him.
It was the man from the first day. This time, he looked different. Only slight changes, but they changed everything about him. His skin had adopted an ashen tint to replace his previous rosy, admittedly pale, glow. His lips were curled upward in a smile, but there was nothing happy about it. His eyes still glittered, but with menace and slyness instead of happiness and joy. His fingers curled into his palms and his hair stood on end. He showed his teeth. They were surprisingly white, and somehow sparkled in the flourescent light.
Clarissa felt a strange tinge. Fear. Something she hadn't felt in a long, long time.
He stared straight at her, and she looked away. She could feel him getting closer, his eyes boring into the back of her head. She whipped her head around as his teeth grazed her arm. Clarissa started to shake. She was overcome with so many emotions. Fear, anger, worry.
She stood up and slapped the man across the face. "Out!" she yelled at him. She turned to the waiting room. "OUT! EVERYBODY, OUT!" The sick gave mutters, but shuffled out. The man got mixed among the masses. She sat on a bed until she stopped shaking.
That night, she boarded up the windows and hung a "Closed" sign on the door.
Overlay by
BarghestPet profile by User not found: exclusive
Quad by
FlipHuman by User not found: feather
Scars. The universe's way of taunting you. An ugly reminder of something menacing and horrid. Something that you'd like to forget, but can't. A deformation that you know is there.
Clarissa softly traced the scar on her left cheek. Another day, another day past the epidemic, she thought. She pulled up memories of the horrible time of the zombies.
The day that men, women, and children alike started pouring into Clarissa's clinic in Centropolis was the sixth of February. Clarissa had walked in exactly sixteen minutes late. She was confused as to why there were so many people in her clinic.
"All right, sir, let me have a good luck here. Just open your mouth and...ahhh." Clarissa shone her penlight into the mouth of the man sitting in front of her. Everything Clarissa was looking for. Sandy brown hair, sparkling green eyes, a bright smile - but Clarissa was nothing short of extremely professional at work. She had no time for men.
Clarissa clicked off the penlight. "So what seems to be the problem?"
"Well," the man coughed and gave a little smile, "I woke up this morning and found I had the flu. It seems pretty resistant to most of the medicines I've taken. Nothing's worked so far."
Clarissa 'mmm-hmm'd and nodded, taking notes on her clipboard. "Any symptoms?"
"Just the usual," he said, "cough, sore throat, headache, vomiting...that sort of thing." He coughed into the crook of his elbow. It echoed through the confined, sanitary office.
"There is one unusual thing," he continued, "I think I'm getting a rash to go along with it. I've talked with some other people, and they've got it too." He held up his arm. Along the backside, angry red bumps formed a line down the arm like an army of red fire ants or mosquito bites. "I've got it on my legs, too."
"That seems odd..." Clarissa muttered to herself. She saw the man staring at her with a concerned look on his face. "Just the flu, it should run its course in a few weeks. Don't worry. Here's a prescription for some flu medication. It should probably work better than what you're using now. Take it to a local pharmacy." She smiled, and hoped it didn't look too bright and fake. She finished scribbling out the prescription, ripped it off, and handed it to the man. He stood up from the paper-covered bed and strode across the room and out the door. "A rash...what an odd new addition. Hope this doesn't turn into anything. No, I'm sure it isn't anything." Clarissa pushed her concerns to the back of her mind and didn't think of it the rest of the day.
Clarissa hadn't been worried about the rash. She hadn't been worried about the hospitals giving out masks to the civilians. She hadn't been bothered when the hospitals ran out of the free masks so quickly that they had to be made so quickly that one days' supply was actually sold in about five minutes.
But now Clarissa was worried.
New strains of the cold or flu developed every year, and the number of patients Clarissa got did usually fluctuate around this time of year. However, never once has one of these new strains been big enough to make the news.
As she put her morning paper down, Clarissa felt her hands start to shake. She took a long drink of her coffee - black, of course - and trudged out the door to work at the clinic.
The clinic was bursting with people. The waiting room was packed, and there was a line out the door and all the way down the street. As Clarissa pushed by the people with her briefcase in one hand and labcoat in the other, she heard violent hacking and screams in her ears.
"Hey! I was here before you!"
"Back of the line, missy!"
"You're not more important than us! You stupid Centropolis jerks, you-"
Clarissa slipped on her labcoat and the screams stopped. The crowds parted, and she was in the clinic.
All day, Clarissa tended to her patients and did the best she could. She assured them that nothing was wrong, when she knew it was. Clarissa had a sinking feeling. She knew that this wouldn't turn out well. Not well at all.
Clarissa knew that all of Subeta was in trouble when the article about biting came out. Biting was not a normal thing that one did to another. The occassional schoolchild biting a classmate was shrugged off and accepted. Children didn't know any better. But a full grown adult trying to attack another? It was unheard of.
The first encounter Clarissa had with the biting was on February eighth, two days after the new rash was discovered and the day of the biting article. By this time, the line had expanded so much that the whole main street of Centropolis had to be blocked off for the sick waiting for care. It was two in the afternoon, and Clarissa was sweating buckets trying to give each person the time they deserved. She was sitting down, taking a well deserved break when she saw him.
It was the man from the first day. This time, he looked different. Only slight changes, but they changed everything about him. His skin had adopted an ashen tint to replace his previous rosy, admittedly pale, glow. His lips were curled upward in a smile, but there was nothing happy about it. His eyes still glittered, but with menace and slyness instead of happiness and joy. His fingers curled into his palms and his hair stood on end. He showed his teeth. They were surprisingly white, and somehow sparkled in the flourescent light.
Clarissa felt a strange tinge. Fear. Something she hadn't felt in a long, long time.
He stared straight at her, and she looked away. She could feel him getting closer, his eyes boring into the back of her head. She whipped her head around as his teeth grazed her arm. Clarissa started to shake. She was overcome with so many emotions. Fear, anger, worry.
She stood up and slapped the man across the face. "Out!" she yelled at him. She turned to the waiting room. "OUT! EVERYBODY, OUT!" The sick gave mutters, but shuffled out. The man got mixed among the masses. She sat on a bed until she stopped shaking.
That night, she boarded up the windows and hung a "Closed" sign on the door.
From that day, Clarissa holed herself up in her clinic. She stationed herself at one of the windows, peering out through the slats in the wood she had used to board them up. She was too afraid to leave.
Slowly, Clarissa noticed the changes. One day, the afflicted's skin would have a scratch; from a zombie, Clarissa assumed. The next, they would accquire boils. The day after, their whole body would be covered with scrapes and boils and bites. Then, over the next few days, they would make the change into the Undead. Their skin would char and rot, their skull would become visible, and there would be no more life in their eyes.
They became brain-hungry, blood-thirsty, flesh-ripping, horrendous zombies.
Clarissa saw more and more humans make the transitions into the Undead. She saw her first full Undead on the tenth of February, two days after the biting incident and four days after the appearance of the rash. Clarissa was interested in the zombie, yet scared at the same time.
She watched him slowly lumber down the street. His face was set in a grimace, and his arms swung lifelessly at an unnatural angle. He had only one ear. It seemed that the other had fallen off. He slowly approached the door to the clinic. Clarissa silently knelt down, not daring to move and possibly make noise. The zombie opened its mouth and let out a long, solitary wail. It smashed its elbow into the door in frustration, and slowly lumbered away.
Soon, the streets were filled with zombies, and Clarissa was filled with dread. She knew it wouldn't be long before she came across a zombie face-to-face.
Clarissa no longer knew how long she had been holed up in her clinic. The paper wasn't being delivered; most likely a zombie ate the poor paperboy. She just sat and rocked herself back and forth day in, day out, waiting for the epidemic to end.
Clarissa regularly heard pounds on the door. Zombies would sniff the door, and if she was lucky, she would be far enough away from the door that they wouldn't smell her. Luck was on her side until one day forever burned in Clarissa's memory.
Pet Treasure
Nice Nurse Trow
Nurse Fashion Doll
Nurse Hat
Nurse Shirt
Nurse Skirt
Hospital Bed