"North Pacific Ocean Flight 119, boarding in thirty minutes..."
Taylor felt sick. Their skin was crawling, the world was spinning, their skin was clammy and their world set to a feverish high. The youth wasn't sure just what in blazes was up with them. They weren't sick, they weren't drugged up, they certainly weren't drunk, and the odds of being poisoned were astronomically low.
Maybe I ran into something I'm allergic to? Taylor thought, running the possibilities in their mind down till they ran aground of the only remaining possibilities. It was a soothing act at the least, enough to distract from the way their stomach felt like it was about to force its way up and out through their throat.
That helped until they felt a shock run through their whole body, which summarily fell limp. It was as if the world itself blipped out of existence for a single solitary moment before being resuscitated a moment later. Taylor could hear noises, terrible noises, the sounds you only heard when disaster was afoot. Screaming people, sketching metal, the haywire crackle of sparking electricity. All in all, it felt like quite the ill omen considering they were about to board a plane and all that jazz.
"Are you alright?"
A refined, kindly voice asked them from above. It was then that Taylor noticed the firm, if feeble, arm wrapped around their torso.
"You nearly suffered a good wallop to the head youngster. "
"Th...th...th..." Taylor mouthed the words, but nothing came out but air blown between the teen's teeth.
God this is embarrassing. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Taylor cursed the situation all the harder, the indignity of being as helpless as a newborn babe a harsh sting to their very psyche.
"Hmmm, seems you aren't well? Hold on, let me get some help for you..."
A few moments later, another pair of arms was around Taylor, and they felt their limp body slumped upon the soft cushioning of the waiting seats by the plane terminal.
"What happened to the girl? Any clue why she's like this?" A new voice rang out, deep and composed to an almost monotone degree.
"I couldn't hazard a guess why the boy's fallen so sickly. Thank you kindly for the aid in any case, tis appreciated," the older voice replied, the one who first caught Taylor.
Looking at him, he seemed a dapper fellow, bedecked in a fine suit, walking cane in one hand and briefcase in the other, while a striking top hat rested atop his silver haired head. He had a finely groomed moustache, a firm brow, a stiff upper lip and well weathered creases upon the age face that looked down at Taylor with concern.
"Can you speak? Or gesture? If you know what's wrong with you, blink. If not, wink."
Taylor winked, and he turned to the other person, a well-dressed bespectacled man, who ran his hand down his bald scalp in exasperation.
"Kid looks like they're in bad shape," he said, pulling out a phone. "I'll give medical services a call. See if we can't get you to the hospital."
Taylor managed to vigorously shake their head, the older man pushing aside the younger one's phone.
"Seems they're coming to" he sighed, letting out a relieved breath. "I do believe they'll be just fine."
"You seem pretty sure about that," the spectacled man asked, are you a doctor?"
"No, but I do have first aid training. And I've seen my fair share of medical emergencies in my day." He answered, sitting Taylor up as feeling returned to their muscles.
"From the looks of it, something disrupted the kid's motor controls. Bizarre all things considered, the last time I saw something like this, the poor young lad had a six centimeter long sliver of metal sticking out of the base of their neck."
"That... sounds bad. You think they've got a tumor or something that's only just showing?"
"If the kid does, then if they want treatment that's their business, so long as they aren't dying on the spot," he concluded as Taylor started breathing in and out at a rapid pace.
"Don't hyperventilate. You'll just make yourself sick. Long, deep breaths, here-"
The old man put his hand on Taylor's chest in an odd way, applying a quick controlled amount of force that pushed the air right out of their lungs. As he slowly let up on the pressure, Taylor drew air back in, before he guided the teen through a long breath out.
"There you go. Nice and easy." The older fellow said calmingly, before turning to the other man.
"Thank you for your assistance. I have it from here"
"All in a day's work" the other man replied, handing the older gentleman a strip of paper.
"Give this number a call if the kid gets worse again. I have places to be, things to do, hate to ask you this..."
"No, no don't worry. I understand. I'll stay with them, no need to hurt your conscience over this matter."
"Thank you. Thank you very much. Have a good day, both of you."
With that, the other man took his leave...
"North Pacific Ocean Flight 119, boarding in twenty minutes..."
As the speakers boomed again, letting the pair know their plane was that much closer to the point of embarking, Taylor clutched their head anew.
Flashes of light flickered across their vision, along with dark spots that made the young adult frightfully nervous. Till he felt the older man put a hand on their shoulder.
"Remember, breathe steadily," he reminded the suffering youngster, demonstrating himself with a deep breath in and out.
"I'm not sure what's quite wrong with you, but, it doesn't seem like anything that can't be dealt with through some good old fashioned self-control."
"Right. I suppose you think I only fell because I wasn't believing hard enough in my ability to stand or something. Thanks for the catch, now beat it."
"Can't do. Afraid your stuck with me. It would kill my heart to learn anything happened to a fine young man in the prime of his life all because I decided to turn a blind eye."
"I'm not a man," Taylor said with ample venom dripping from their words.
"Oh, so then you are-"
"Drop it."
"Ah, my sincerest apologies. Now that I look at you, you do have quite the androgynous physique... Well, it's none of my business in any case." the old man finished, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handful of mints.
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"Here, take one, it'll keep your mind of the pain."
"I'm not in pain," Taylor grumbled, taking one of the mints anyways.
It was pretty decent, all things considered.
"Of course you are. I mean, technically speaking, everyone is. It's just human nature to turn a blind eye to it..." he paused, popping a mint into his mouth himself, savoring it's delightfully simple sweetness.
"I knew many a good young man, prime of their life, who thought themself invincible. All stalwart sorts, proud to a fault, masking their hurts to keep pushing on no matter what. When the time of crisis was at hand, when they felt they had to portray themselves as men of steel, they never seemed to so much as fidget from pain, even when they were shot burnt or blown apart! Then, once they didn't have to fight anymore, the dam's they'd build in their mind's burst, and in the relaxation of their own homes they realized just how much pain they had really been in. I lost many friends because of that, I nearly lost many more. My elderly advice to you, youngster; don't pretend to have nerves of steel, your flesh is as soft and frail as any other human being. Try not to forget that fact."
Taylor looked at the man, and noticed his hand shaking uncontrollably. They looked into his eyes, and saw him giving a mile wide glare to the space in front of him.
"What about you? Are you in pain?"
"Every day" he answered glumly, rubbing his forehead. "Most people are after they hit a hundred. I can't remember the last time I didn't have to suffer some ache or pain."
A hundred!? Taylor didn't think the man was that old!
"Okay, wow, you look great for your age!"
That outburst of sheer surprise earnt a chuckle from the man. His eyes seemed charmed, even as everything else shuddered like a rickety old house before a stormfront.
"The wonders of modern medicine." The elderly man jested, before growing eerily silent.
"And only on the outside. My insides are another matter. It seems like I'll be dead in a few weeks. My blood's gone rotten. Late stage acute myeloid leukemia, or at least, that's what my doctor said I had. The only reason I'm here is that I owe it to my family to give it one more shot before kicking the bucket. Some cutting edge specialist in the Far-East convinced them that he could pull off the impossible if I just bankrolled funding for his future research. Of course, I don't have too high expectations for the treatment myself..."
"I'm sorry... I didn't think..."
"Oh, don't worry. I made peace with my fate a while ago..." he reassured his young new friend, regaining some of his previously chipper spirit, even if it was just to enhearten Taylor.
"The world's moved on. Old relics like me aren't needed in this day and age. I lived my life, fought my battles, and made my fortunes. I've already lived far longer than I ought to. Now? I'm just happy to see what tomorrow will bring, and the tomorrow after that, and the one after that, till my privilege of standing amongst fine young souls such as yourself finally expires."
"I see. Well, I guess it's good to know you aren't too bothered by it. Sorry for being a bother to you..."
Now that earnt a big bout of good nature chuckles from the venerably old gent.
"Oh, no, it's quite alright. I'm just happy that, spent as I am, I could still be good for something even now. Honestly, I consider our little meeting a highlight of this going-away trip of mine."
"Glad to have helped." Taylor said, before moving to get up. However, the frail hand on their shoulder grew firmer in grip.
"Now now, let's not get ahead of ourselves. I've given you my story, so, might I have the pleasure of hearing yours?"
Taylor grew quiet at that.
"What is there to say? I'm only here because my parents insisted that a university exchange program would do me good. Not that I care. They want me to be a doctor you know?"
"Oh," the old man said, raising a brow, "And are you any good at it?"
"Good enough to know how lucky you are to be so spry in your condition. You must have some serious skilled practitioners working you round the clock."
"Let's not make this about me. I want to know about you. If you have some skill at such a noble profession, then what irks you about it?"
"Everything... and that's all I'll say about it. I have a minor in the arts I'm hoping to pursue instead, at least enough to keep me sane. If all goes well, my current major will be a distant memory."
"I see... hmmmmmm... Sane you say? Why would you need something to keep you on the up and up? Life not treating you well?" He inquired, before pausing, "...actually, never mind. It is not my business to pry into such matters unbidden".
"Thanks, I guess. Really though, it's nothing too complicated. I just can't get the sound of yelling out of my ears is all..."
"Oh... that old pain eh? I understand. If it is any consolation, in time, the sound of screaming grows dimmer in your mind, so long as you lead a healthy happy life. You seem a talented young soul, I'm sure you'll find the remedy to your ailment soon enough."
Taylor smiled.
"That means a lot, you know. Just, I haven't had a talk like this in as long as I could remember. I don't suppose I could get your name before we have to board?"
The old man held out his hand, his expression glowing once more.
"Sir William Redmond. Now, may I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"
Taylor stuck out their own hand and shook gently, "Taylor Dane".
"Thank you for the privilege of our meeting, Taylor Dane. I hope you recover swiftly from whatever malady plagues you. It isn't right that a sick old man like me should be spritelier than a youth such as yourself!"
"You're welcome. Hope you get better as well." Taylor said back, giving the man an earnest smile.
Then, they continued to talk. Small talk really. Mild mannered chitchat. Draining away the seconds till they had to part. All the while Taylor felt a buzzing in the back of their head, a terrible droning that only grew direr as the time to their departure crept ever closer...