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Summary: Misha seeks out Angelo for a favor.
Date: 05-20-2010
Log Title Statistics can be creepy
Rating: PG
Barnes Academy Medical Center
In standard Barnes attire, a short sleeve tshirt, and camo pants, Misha ventures down to the medical bay. He has been here a few times since he came to the academy, and always for the trouble that finds him in New York City. As a matter of fact he was here having his knee looked at some days ago. That isn't what he's here for however as he knocks at Angelo's office door. "Sir?" Asked in his rough voice. "Do you have a moment?" The teen's English has sure improved though. The daily lessens, and constant use, are showing.
Angelo has been working up education modules for the academy. Headmaster Wilson, and SHIELD had some rather unusual suggestions in addition to the ordinary CPR classes. Not just first aid, but triage, advanced triage, emergency surgical procedures, drug identification, substance abuse management, contraceptive techniques, and believe it or not, a series of workshops and practica on a number of things that the School Board of Texas would simply NOT approve of. Origination of mutant power. Evolutionary Theory. Identification of Powers. Common Power-Related Injuries and Illnesses.
Since his actual workload is fairly low and a handshake fixes most problems, he'd be bored without the added work.
He looks up at the knock, and blinks, focussing the distance. "Oh! Mikhail! Please, come in, have a seat. How can I help you?"
A nod and the teen slips in, settling into a chair near that desk. Misha is favoring his knee slightly, but it's nothing bad. Certainly not what he's here for. "I've come to ask a favor actually." Said with a rueful smile. "If you aren't busy." Not that the young man is at all nervous. This isn't anything that he's worried about, or embarrassed for. Sitting forward in his chair, hands gripping the sides of his seat, he asks, "I was hoping you could help me with my voice. I've asked some of the staff here and they say nothing else stands a chance. The injury that made me sound like this is fourteen years old. Long healed." Not that he's expecting miracles either. Improvement would be, well, improvement.
"Ah. Yeah. Traditional surgery would risk damaging the larynx further, and really, … OK, stop talking Angelo. Mikhail, I won't promise, but I'm going to take a look."
The doctor-in-training looks at the expatriate russian youth, and his eyes are suddenly brilliant fire, his dark skin lit from within by the traceries at his wrists. Wings of light slowly unfurl from his back, moving as though there were a wind in the room, leaving after-image streaks where they touch the wall. He stands, moving to look very closely at the scars. After perhaps a minute, he nods, and steps back to speak.
"That's well-healed, but it's wrong. I can heal the wrongness if it's going to cause … OK. Yes. It would continue to get worse. So. If you're ready. This may sting a bit, and you'll need to hold your breath for thirty seconds. Can you do that without vanishing?"
Woah. That's the first thought as the tattoos illuminate. For a kid with no power effects to really speak of, this is impressive. Especially as the wings unfurl. Hazel eyes are wide as he watches his. He holds still for the inspection, fascinated instead of afraid. Misha doesn't think Angelo would do his harm. "That's impressive." Said with a smile of the glowy stuff. As he's told an attempt is possible, the young man nods. That's part of why he's asking. He's only eighteen and doesn't want to lose his voice entirely in a few years. "I can try." Misha holds his breath as well as he can. Thirty seconds is totally doable for someone without practice. The stringing? Well, that may be more difficult, but if he can endure staples without painkillers, he can deal with this.
"I'm going to touch the scars, and probably your head and back, in order to push energy into the right places," Angelo explains, as the brightness in the ankh-symbols on his wrists increases, now much more intense than the glow of the white-LED bulbs that light the office, even though those lamps are intended to provide full-daylight equivalent conditions. He reaches out.
The touch from his fingers is like having pure menthol pouring through the skin, bracing and cold and hot at the same time. One left-hand finger strays to the bottom of the scar where something sharp nearly took an eye away. That palm gently presses, up and back, to get better access.
"Look at the ceiling," Angelo instructs, and the light goes even brighter at that icy-burning touch from the right hand, placed directly over the clavicle, then the trace of heat-and-cold goes over the scar as his fingers run along it. The urge to cough would begin to form but is not allowed to express itself. At about 40 seconds, the light fades back to merely brilliant, and Angelo steps back, gasping for breath himself, hands dropping to his side.
"Don't speak for a minute," he says, "It's still settling. I think I got the worst part."
Misha nods, giving his permission, "Do what you have to." Honestly.. this sure as hell beats surgery and weeks of recovery with no promise of even getting to have a voice afterwards. He can so very easily deal with this slight pain and awkward holding his head. This isn't to say it's comfortable. Misha has trouble as the cold and hot hits. The teen has to struggle to sit still, and while he tilts his head back his expression tells so well how uncomfortable this is.
Trembling a little in the aftermath, Misha leans forward, hand to throat. Most just breathing as he tries to shake the feeling of the menthol sensation. No talking for a minute, right! Does grin a little to let Angelo know he's okay. As Misha straightens, he blinks in surprise and rises to his feet, putting weight on his injured leg. Well, a leg that is no longer injured. Another smile follow, the only thanks he can give right now. Wow!
"You know, there's no reason to go around with gunshot wounds and so forth," Angelo says in a dry, sardonic tone. He looks at the greatly diminished scar on Mikhail's neck. Only a thin line remains, the hideous mess that looked like a werewolf love-bite reduced to a trace.
"Turn your head left and right, then look up, then down," Angelo instructs. Where in the past there would be a faint tugging sensation, ignored by long habit, there's nothing in any way impeding the movement. The scar itself tingles faintly when touched, as does the facial scar.
"You had a bit of hyperkelosis, that's gone now," Angelo says. "Something in those scars was keeping them from even retreating, but it's gone now. The one on your neck should be undetectable except by close examination by end of week, and the face… that's cosmetic, but the skin should loosen up, and it should become less severe. If it bothered you more, it would also have gone away."
He presses his fingers together, a faint crick, and smiles. "You can trytalking now. Don't shout for about 24 hours though. No use risking laryngitis."
No reason for what? That has him struggling not to laugh and Misha shakes his head, lifting a hand. Honest, not a gunshot wound. Still, bemused, the teen does as he's instructed. Also surprised that the scars will fade. He looks startled over this, but then smiles again. And when he's allowed to speak, he says, "…Something." The first word is a little rough, and with fingertips to throat Misha tries again. "Something to do with how I was injured." Brightening as even he can hear the difference. "I barely lived through the monster who did this, and mostly due to infection." No smiles for that, even if he is pleased. "Probably due to something experimental on it."
"And wow." Amazed to say the least. "I never thought it'd be this complete. Thank you." So very heart felt that. "I was worried I'd lose my voice entirely in a few years. ..And it wasn't a gunshot. It was a stab." Said with a smile because he knows that's soooo much better. "Trouble always finds me." He shrugs about it. What can he do?
"Yeah, your voice would have been gone within a year and a half. You'd still have been able to talk, but barely above a whisper," Angelo says. "You were getting nodules, the scarring was irritating the throat. And you don't sound bad at all now, maybe a bit growly, but that's hardly a handicap."
He smiles, and the fire in his eyes and along his skin fades, the wings folding back into place on the skin of his back.
"Now about that stab. I don't care how you get hurt. I don't HAVE to tell the SHIELD people why or when it or where it happened, even when I know by looking. But you come and see me rather than being the manly man who toughs through the pain, because that wound was inflamed, and thinking about becoming infected."
A nod about his voice. Yeah, good reason to come and ask about it. "Growly I can live with." It sure as hell beats the alternative. "Growly means people can understand me with this accent." For the teen still has a heavy Polish one. He articulates well however.
Misha grins in spite of the chiding, shrugging. "It's not that I'm trying to be manly. I don't care about how strong I seem. More like I don't want to take resources when I'm the one getting into trouble. Hopefully that isn't too silly." Didn't think it needed mentioning since he was cleaning it well, and it wasn't hindering his studies. The leg though. That he got looked at. "Really, I think I'm doomed to live an interesting life." No, he doesn't think that's a bad thing. Yet anyway.
Angelo laughs. "It is silly. I have this healing touch, I use it very little, mostly on training injuries and the very occasional SHIELD guy who's had something bad happen … I've considered going out on the streets sometimes, y'know? With an actual costume-type thing. So I won't be recognized. That's the only excuse for those things, really."
There's that grin and he can only shrug about it being silly. "I worry of those who might not get that help if you heal me. That's all." Misha can deal with being silly. He also has been doing that same mulling over costume. Told Teddy he didn't want to ever wear one, but circumstance is showing that he's got to regardless. Stupid trouble always finds him, so he's going to have to cover up. "How are you going to cover the light and the wings?" Asked with a curious tilt of the head. "That's going to be hard to hide." …And this talking without sounding horrible is neat! He can even feel the difference.
"That's the point, in a costume I hide my face so I don't have to hide the wings, but they go away unless I'm using them. I was wearing long-sleeved shirts and a ski mask, but then the rest of the clothing was maybe too identifiable. The silly spandex, people don't see past it."
Angelo shrugs. "It's one of those cultural blind spots. And next week you should talk to someone about singing lessons. Even if you don't have a miracle voice, it'll be good for your speaking."
He sits back at his workstation, and glares at the backlog of 'write up this class please' requests. "And don't worry about me not having energy to help other people. I'm nowhere NEAR capacity yet, and if it was that bad, I do know how to do triage. It's in my job description. I assess the patient load so I can work on the most important cases first."
For the first time since he was a child Misha's laughter doesn't sound like some bad B movie villain's. "They are blind at that." Settles back down into his chair as the talk of costumes goes on, but gives a strange look at singing lessons. No, would have never thought of that. "Alright." Dubious about that one! Singing lessons? Him?! "Are you going to take a codename too?" Amused as all heck about this idea.
The teen shakes his head at you, still smiling, about the healing. "Alright, but I can't promise to see you if I think it's papercut worthy." Smile spreads into a grin. Sorry, a little too delighted to be as withdrawn as normal. "What are you working on? If I can know."
"You can know. I'm working on my MD, of course, but SHIELD has decided that they'll help pay for it if I write up some new teaching modules for the school here. Stuff you don't find in regular schools, like field emergency surgery."
Angelo grins. "You know I might ask you to look over a few of those lessons."
That catches the teen by surprise, but he doesn't reply immediately. More of like he has to ask himself just why he'd be asked, but then remembers that yeah, he might just know more about that then other kids his age. Misha nods slowly. "If you'd like me too. I don't have experience in surgery though." For all he does have excellent training in improvised field first aid. "Frankly I'll be terrified if such a need arises." Smiling for that though. "Surgery isn't anything I want to try." Especially not as untrained as he is.
"You treated your own injuries," Angelo points out. He flips through the list, "But there's other stuff too. A whole slew of power-related stuff."
He shows the list (as mentioned earlier.) "They keep adding more."
Rising from his seat, the young man places a hand on the edge of the desk and asks approval with an expression. Can he look over Angelo's shoulder. "You've read my file." Misha says with amusement. "You're telling me you don't know my evaluations?" Considering he gave consent to look at that file weeks ago.. well, maybe Angelo didn't do more than read medical history. Not that the teen looks upset.
"Nope. I actually read only the precis. Everything else I needed to know I was able to read with the light," Angelo says, grinning. "It's not my business until it IS my business, if you know what I mean? Anyway. I know you're a good enough student to tell me what's good teaching and what's not, even if you can't verify the content."
"I wouldn't have minded if you did." Misha assures, looking over Angelo's shoulder. The list has him looking a bit stunned. "Are they serious?" Some of this goes well beyond what a student should be taught. "How can this be acceptable for a normal student?" Motions to some of the advanced things. "I'd expect this of proper SHIELD training. Is that what they mean it for?" You'll have to excuse him as he boggles a little.
"Not for normal students, but then, a lot of the students aren't normal, and they expect that some of them will be needing this stuff." Angelo rubs his forehead, "Sadly, the most common power side effects are still pretty rare, and the number of them is huge. It's worse than new drugs."
Leaning against the desk on a hand, Misha shakes his head as he takes in the full list. "No, I have to agree." That most the students aren't normal. It brings him to straighten and rub at the fading scar over his eye. "I hear so many of the other students talk about wanting a normal life. I only know one who willing seeks being a hero." One besides Misha himself. As much as he protests he doesn't hesitate to jump into the frey when trouble hits. "So this list surprises me. Even if I would sign up for several of them."
"I really wish they'd teach some of these subjects in regular grade schools and highschools," Angelo says, tapping the "mutant genetics" and "evolutionary theory" lines with the eraser end of a pencil.
"The amount of sheer, utter stupidity might stop. People are being convinced to be fearful and stupid for the sake of some venomous greedy bastards getting their hands on more money and power. Stupidity is seen as virtuous and brilliance and insight as suspicious. Questioning is being sold as treason or an inclination to terror, and adherence to the dogma of a handful of fanatics is replacing inquiring faith." Angelo's eyes light up a bit and the wings almost come out as he almost rants… But then he realizes where he is.
"Ah, sorry. I guess it's getting to me more than I thought."
Misha rests a hand on Angelo's shoulder if that's alright. "It's okay." The touch doesn't linger though, for he moves back to his chair. "I think the problem is that people don't want to learn. These days the information is out there if they care to look for it." Of course he just can't grasp a world without the internet. You mean some people don't have a computer?! That happens? So, no, he can't visualize people unable to learn everything he's been able to. "All we can do is to try and do right in our little parts of the world and hope it catches on."
"The problem is lies and fraud," Angelo says, not minding the touch, "and, misinformation and outright ignorance. Not to mention the economic disparities."
He taps a few quick searches, fingers going at frightening speed. "A quarter of the families in this country don't have computers, according to Seagate two years ago. The census from two years ago said 111,162,259 families total, and that's more than 25 million families without 'em. The distribution is highly uneven, people over 60 are much less likely to use a computer much less own one. People who don't make much money, the same. People who are in one of the three main minority races, the same. And guess which income range and which education group has the most people in hate groups? But here's the scary thing — the fundamentalist groups that are starting to dominate? They're coming from all levels of education and income. It's very disturbing."
Quiet as all this information is given, Misha sits rather properly in his chair and thinks about it. No quick replies, and the change in subject has him returning to old habits. Think before speaking. "But is it really education?" Asked as he gets the words right in his head. "We could teach those people, but they aren't the ones making this trouble. Crazy religious groups are still going to be crazy religious groups. Or are you hoping for fewer of them?" Asked with a little smile.
"Fewer over time," Angelo answers. "I want to see both fewer over time, and people getting less ridiculously stupid. But I'm not sure how that's going to happen. If I was the conspiracy-minded type, I would think there was some sort of conspiracy of dunces. Or perhaps, of those who want to create dunces."
"Maybe that movie Idiocracy is right and human kind is breeding for stupidity." Misha doesn't believe that though. Or at least he's really praying it isn't true. "If I come up with a way, you'll be the first to know. Until then I'll continue doing what I can." There's a pause before he changes the topic again. "Thank you, sir, for this. I know you shrug it off, but it means a great deal to me." He's not going to lose his voice in a year! That's awesome. "I do need to get to my next class before it finishes though." A little smile about that.
Angelo laughs. "Well, get going then! I'll send you a link to the preview of the class modules when they're done."
Misha grins back for that laughter. "Good bye, sir." No longer limping, and still amazed at how talking doesn't even begin to hurt, the teen returns to the main areas of the school, and his classes.
