ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Unnecessary Risks

Vignette - Unnecessary Risks
Dramatis Personae Deltressa	2015-11-20 “Shhh, sh, sh, shh."
Location <MOR> The Widow's Walk
Two long-abandoned subway cars from a bygone era have been pulled down from one of the unused tracks and set aside for the Morlock's use as a sort of post-apocalyptic medical trailer. It gets its name from the sad looking metal ladder that rests not a foot away from the first car's main door, which leads to the space's narrow roof-deck. Bordered by a sharp, hand-soldered, metal railing straight out of Mad Max, an assortment of old folding chairs and a portable card table are set out along with whatever else anyone has dragged up there. Although the view leaves much to be desired, the sensation of being even slightly elevated can be very satisfying for a people that live primarily underground. With most of its original seating having been looted long ago, the main car has been refitted with found materials to facilitate its capacity as a makeshift medical facility. To ease transporting the sick and injured, the entire right side of the car has been left completely open. The left side however, has been built up with upcycled shipping pallets. Deep benches function as sick beds or seating with cabinetry both above and below. Farther along in the car, counter-space of similar design is capable of serving the same purpose but instead is littered with various medical instruments, pill bottles, and sterile packages. “Shhh, sh, sh, shh,” Deltressa consoles as she crosses to dip her blooded forearms and the small bundle they carry into a large, metallic basin. The sound of a crying baby reverberates off of the metal walls of the subway car as she bathes and swaddles the newborn. Unwanted pregnancies aren’t necessarily a rare sight for Morlock women, but ones that are let go too long, and come to term successfully in such a disgusting, dismal setting are uncommon indeed. Unabashed, the arachnid woman frowns deeply behind her surgical mask at the baby’s distinctly human features before leaving it for a moment, to tend to its mother. On the bench over a sterile lining, a mutant woman of indeterminate age is splayed out in disarray. Her scaled legs, where they had been propped up, have fallen limply together at the knees. As a sure sign of life, a fresh sheen of sweat spreads across the new mother’s domed pachycephalosaurus forehead. Without removing her latex gloves, Deltressa presses the pads of her fingertips gently to the the recently deceased woman’s eyelids. She closes them. Her somber expression only darkens as her other gloved hand aligns an ice-pick to the outer aperture of the corpse’s ear. ‘No more risks than are necessary,’ she mouths beneath the mask, as if repeating something told to her. The wet puncture sound that follows hardly registers over the infant’s wailing.