• Published 26th Jul 2015
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The Things Tavi Says - shortskirtsandexplosions

Let me tell you a few things about my roommate, Octavia. After all, she saved my life.

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Medical Things

Author's Note:

I only remember where I am once the door swings open. And now that the moment is upon me, I'm aware of how desperate I am for it to end.

I feast my eyes upon a criminally tiny examination room, complete with a cushioned recliner, wooden cabinets and counter tops, and several jars full of sterilized instruments.

The doctor strolls in with the usual stethoscope and clipboard. His labcoat bears a patch with the Canterlot City Crest. He takes one look at me and smiles. The stallion looks old and friendly. They always look old and friendly.

"Well well well, Ms. Scratch. You're the third patient I've had the good grace of examining today. You gotta hoof it to the Princess. The Royal Majesty's hiring of a staff for that palace of hers is certainly affording many ponies a healthy checkup. Heheheh..."

I smile, if only to make this whole thing go faster.

It barely works. "My name is Doctor Clark. Don't let my age fool you. I promise that you're in the hooves of one of the finest and most observant physicians in all of Canterlot. Spared no expense."

I'm sure...

"I've gone over the notes that Nurse Redheart has made of your previous visits," he says, squinting through his bifocals at a set of sheets dripping from his clipboard. "It would seem as though, over the past six or seven years, you've become quite the talk of the medical field here in Ponyville. Ah... yes... I do believe even I have heard of your case for quite some time." He looks up with a wrinkled smile. "It's a very rare thing for a pony to survive a run-in with Tier Three Manafeedback. You, my dear filly, are a living miracle."

I'm glad that he hasn't asked me to remove my shades, or else the rolling of my eyes would surely drag the rug out from under him.

"Hmmm... nothing you haven't heard before, I'm sure," he says. For once, he is right. "Let's see now..." He rolls a chair over and squats down in front of where I sit. Only now do I realize that he's simply an earth pony, and I'm legitimately impressed. "Eeeuhh... hmmm..." He taps his chin, reading over the copious sheets of notes and notes and notes. "'Acute Schism of the Inner Alicornia.' Sounds about right. That makes you the only pony in modern medical history to be able to walk—much less adequately function—with such a condition. According Nurse Red Heart, you displayed a three hundred and fifty percent improvement in your motor functions over the course of the first eight months alone. Tell me..." He looks up at me. "Have you had any trouble walking?"

I shake my head.

"Sitting down and getting back up?"

I shake my head.

"Eating or drinking?"

I shake my head.


I... eventually shake my head.

Dr. Clark raises an eyebrow. "The shades..." He points at them, then at his own skull. "I am to assume that there is still a degree of chronic photosensitivity?"

With a sigh, I finally nod.

"Mmmm... that also checks out." He scribbled across one particular sheet with a pen. "Doesn't appear to be any sign of physical or neurological regression. We'll have to test all of that, of course."

I struggle not to groan.

"It... also says here..." He tongues the inside of his mouth, then glances up at me. "...that you haven't come to Nurse Redheart for a physical in over two and a half years." He folds his forelimbs together. "Is that a fact?"

Biting my lip, I hesitantly nod.

"Any particular reason?"

I stare at him.

He blinks, then chuckles. "Oh! Heheh... but of course. Ahem." Dr. Clark reaches deep into his lapcoat pocket and grabs a tiny notepad. He scoots forward in his chair and hoofs it to me—along with his pen. "By all means, dear..."

Casually, I grasp the pad and instrument with my telekinesis. I write and scribble on the sheet with ease, then display the answer to him.

"Hmmm... well, I'm glad that you're confident enough about your condition." He leans back. "Still, considering the... rare nature of your case, I would like to advise regular checkups after this one." He waves a hoof with a serene smile. "Now... I can't quite force that without the Princess' authority, but—as a learned physician—I can assure you that future visits here at the hospital would be in your best interest. I would especially suggest being consulted by Nurse Redheart. She seems to understand your case the best, after all, and I can think of no other pony in the field more equipped to document your progression."

I arch an eyebrow his way. Scribbling on the pad, I raise a series of words for him to read.

He shakes his head. "I'm not suggesting anything of the sort, ma'am! But... living miracles or not... we all grow old." He chuckles. "Trust me. I'd like nothing more than to see you enjoy good health for as long as you can."

I sigh, deflated. My head turns away from him.

There's nothing in any arsenal ever conceived that can naturally argue against that...

"I'm getting the distinct feeling you're not very fond of checkups, Ms. Scratch. Am I assuming that correctly?"

I drag three harsh letters across the pen pad and practically shove it in his face.

He laughs. "Yes, well..." With a muffled groan, the elder stallion gets up out of his chair. "...perhaps it's for the best that we get the most important part of this examination over with, hmmm? Only fitting—seeing as you haven't had one of such ilk for the past two years."

I nod, shuddering slightly.

"I must ask that you remove your shades for this, Miss Scratch," he says, shuffling over to the light switch. He turns the dial slowly, dimming the room. With a long face, he murmurs: "I... apologize in advance. But I will not be able to turn the light off completely, as I will be needing enough light to read my instruments. Sadly... eheh... there are no sarosians in this province with a medical degree, or else I would do more to make this next part less discomforting to you."

I'm sighing, for I've already expected this. I clench my eyes tightly shut, then remove my shades with telekinesis. I take one deep breath... two breaths... three...

...and I open my eyes.

I know that's dim enough for kindergartners to nap to... but it feels like I'm staring into white beach sand.

My eyes squint painfully the whole time, and the look is not lost to Dr. Clark.

"Please... try to relax..." He braces my shoulders as he sits on the stool in front of me again. "...I shall endeavor to make this happen as swiftly as possible."

I nod, gulping hard.

They all say that too...

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