fallout-lou-begas:Well, I woke up Sunday morning,with no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt&

fallout-lou-begas:Well, I woke up Sunday morning,with no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt…— “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down,” Ray Stevens (1969). It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’#2 - Prologue II «« First | « Previous || Next » | Last »»  Warnings: blood, cw blood, tw blood Notes / Original Art: Keep reading Archive Links«« First | « Previous || Next » | Last »»Transcript:MITCHELL: Well, now that you’re up and moving, I ought to be as frank as I possibly can about your condition.INT. DOC MITCHELL’s House. Morning.MITCHELL sits at his kitchen table. He speaks slowly, clearly, and professionally as a doctor. Still, he’s undeniably somber, even apologetic, as he explains. MITCHELL: I want to stress that you being alive at all still is a miracle. But a bullet to the head? Well…lucky gets you alive. It doesn’t exactly get you “good as new.”MITCHELL’s voice continues over flashbacks to earlier that morning. He stands next to AGNES, dressed in an undershirt and shorts, as she uses the Vigor Tester.MITCHELL: I’m not sure if your headaches will go away, or if they’ll go away. Same with the hearing loss, though fortunately that seems to just be on the one side, and not too severe. The shakes in your hand and arm there are likely from the neurological damage. Physical therapy could hopefully get it mostly under control, but it depends.AGNES stumbles in front of the Vigor Tester, unable to keep herself up. MITCHELL leans in to catch her.MITCHELL: …and that’s all still the good news. MITCHELL: The bad news is that from what I can gather, that bullet came in at an awkward angle. It missed most of your brain—that’s why you’re not still in that grave right now—but the brunt of the trauma was directly to your ocular cavity.Bloodied surgical supplies lay set on a steel tray. MITCHELL: So, given all the damage and the risk of infection, I…I’m sorry, but your left eye is gone. I removed it…what remained of it, that is.A Rorscach test sits leaning against an easel. It looks like a bird in flight, or an explosion, or a wedding. MITCHELL: I promise it was a last resort. Enucleation ain’t for everyone who walks in here with a sunburn or gecko scratch. Still, waking up with one less eye in your head can’t be easy. There’ll be adjustments, sure. Depth perception is gonna be off a bit, for one thing…A few of AGNES’ belongings—her clothes, her 10mm pistol, and some cigarette packs—are set aside on a shelf. Her own blood still deeply stains the collar of her coat.MITCHELL: …but so long as you just wear a patch and keep the area clean, there shouldn’t be any complications. MITCHELL: I know this must be a lot for you to…process, so I’d like you to stay here in Goodsprings, if just for a while. Some good hospitality might help you get your bearings. I can keep you checked up, but given the surgical kit you had on you when Victor brought you in, I figure I don’t need to teach you how to change a bandage, do I? I was once a traveling doctor myself, for a spell.AGNES is seated across from MITCHELL at the table, staring off to the left pensively and clutching her chin in her hand pensively. MITCHELL: Anyway, it ain’t the Ultra Luxe, but that bed out there’s yours, however long you need it. If you need anything else, or have any questions…I’m here.AGNES’ face is swollen and bruised from surgery, and a large bandage is wrapped tightly around her head. Her right eye is black and bloodshot and gritty stubble has grown through discolored cheeks. She looks down, clenching her hand in to a fist in thought. She brings her hand to her head, cupping the bandage over her bullet wound, and shakes miserably, wincing and grimacing, holding herself together. Her hand slips again back to her chin, her finger resting on her lip in a thoughtful pose, staring off again with an intense, worried expression. It softens, somewhat, as her gaze turns downwards for a few moments.Finally, she turns to face MITCHELL. Her whole face is visible, including the gruesome bloodstain on the bandage over her forehead and the white patch over her eye. Her facial scars cross over the entire left side of her face, too, from her nose to her neck and from the corner of her mouth to her ear. She speaks quietly and hoarsely.AGNES: …Do you know anything about the man who shot me? -- source link

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