For Fii, sleep was a battleground of sorts, and last night was a no-holds-barred skirmish. As the hazy light of morning filtered into her little makeshift home, it seemed like sleep had emerged the victor, leaving her with the spoils of fatigue. The rhythmic dripping of last night's rain from her leaky roof was an ever-present background chorus, counting the seconds she had wasted in her bed.
Ugh. Too early. Way too early.
Sprawled out on her makeshift bed of worn-down pillows and ragged blankets, Fii stared blearily at the corroded steel roof. A single bead of water traversed its path from her leaky ceiling.
After all these nights here, you'd think she would have fixed that by now.
Another water droplet began to form; lazily, almost carefree, and with a heavy sigh, Fii rolled to her side, unconsciously groping around for her blanket to pull it over her head.
She grumbled when her fingers met nothing but air. Why wasn't the blanket right next to her? Oh, right. It had wandered off thanks to her gravitational barrier.
After a brief mental tug-of-war, the desire to laze around until noon triumphed over her better judgment. With a flick of her wrist, the floating blanket folded itself over her.
Ah, the simple pleasure of being wrapped in warm coziness after waking up on a chilly morning...
And so, the battle began. On one side was her cozy haven, beckoning her into the world of sweet slumber. On the other side, were her responsibilities. Her big toe stirred from under the covers, seemingly deliberating between joining her in dreamland and urging her to face the day.
Traitor. Why was it even moving at all? Go back to sleep!
Despite her reluctance, her mind started its wake-up routine, attempting to peel back the layers of sleep-induced haze. The gears in her head cranked—slowly at first, then faster until her thoughts whirled. No surprise there. With everything going on, tranquility of mind wasn't exactly her forte lately.
Everything was just... a lot. From the trivial inconveniences, like leaky roofs and finicky faucets, to the more pressing issues, such as gang violence and whatnot, it all seemed to be constantly demanding her attention. This wasn't counting her ever-growing list of Superhero-adjacent responsibilities.
Life's kind of a jerk sometimes.
Before she could make any further attempt to escape Morpheus's clutches and kick-start her day, an involuntary noise erupted from her throat: A big yawn. She couldn't stop that huge maw from opening wide, and her body took the chance to stretch, eliciting several audible pops from her joints. There was something strangely satisfying about it, like a giant reset button for her body.
Whatever. Time to get up.
Sitting up in her improvised bed—a well-worn mattress from the fifth-hand store tucked snugly into a forgotten corner of an abandoned shanty house—she rubbed the drowsiness from her eyes. In the cramped space, her 'kitchen' of sorts was merely a stovetop with a single burner alongside an icebox—a less-than-reliable contraption that was probably older than the shanty itself.
Turning on a touch-to-heat kettle with her finger, she waited as the water inside gradually warmed. Too bad she couldn't use her gravity powers on it. Messing with something that generates heat via gravity was a horrible idea. While she wasn't sure why, it just gave her a weird feeling that something could go very badly wrong.
Half-asleep in her reverie, the bubbling sound from the kettle pulled her back to the present. Pouring herself a cup of boiled water, she dipped in a synth-tea bag—a cost-effective luxury of artificial floral notes—and inhaled the slightly off-putting fragrance. It wasn't real tea, but with just a hint of honey and a squeeze of lemon, it was almost... good. Almost.
Alright, morning ritual engaged.
Synthetic tea in hand, she grabbed a meager selection of ingredients from her tiny icebox, wobbling slightly as she straightened her posture.
An attempt at cooking breakfast began, mostly relying on a mishmash of edible vegetation she had collected earlier. From dandelion greens, wild carrots, and a handful of mulberries to some radishes, onions, and garlic scapes, Fii sprinkled in whatever was at hand.
Over the years, her culinary skills had evolved—or devolved, if you ask Quinn—into an art form of its own. Not caring about the details or planning ahead, she tossed everything into her pan and hoped for the best.
It was her way of sticking it to the system. Why waste time following recipes or measuring things out precisely? A splash of this, a handful of that, leftover pudding—what could go wrong?
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"Are you okay?" Quinn asked, eyeing her uneasily as she turned down his offer for the third time. "You never pass up on the opportunity to eat here. Last week, you almost jumped over the counter for some leftovers."
Fii's eyes shifted away, unable to look into his baffled expression without feeling her stomach lurch at the mere idea of consuming anything right now. If only her stomach would settle down, everything would be just fine. Her hands rubbed her sides, hoping the gentle massage would placate the turmoil brewing inside her.
"Fii, come on, what's wrong?" The concern in his voice cut through the persistent nausea that had been her constant companion since morning.
If she wasn't a metahuman, would she have died from food poisoning?
"Well, I tried this new recipe," Fii admitted after a moment of silence. "And... well, it tasted weird, so I didn't eat any more of it. But it still didn't sit right." As soon as she finished, a gag escaped her lips, as if her stomach was rebelling against the memory alone.
Her eyes began to sting with unshed tears. Not eating for a whole day and drinking plenty of water seemed like a good solution to whatever was messing with her.
But still. No lunch? That would suck...
Quinn sighed and slung a damp dish towel over his shoulder, a furrowed brow betraying his concern. "Why am I not surprised? Last time you attempted cooking, didn't you tell me it was a recipe of 'anything that fits on a pan' or something like that?"
A sheepish nod from Fii was all the confirmation he needed.
"Is the mysterious 'something that fits on a pan' from a reputable source, or was it another one of your fantastical creations that not even rats would eat?"
A mere shrug of her shoulders was enough to trigger a wave of nausea that had her reaching for the edge of the counter in front of her. Anything to steady her dizzy head.
Quinn exhaled in exasperation, reaching out to pour Fii a glass of water before speaking. "My best guess, based on the available evidence: food poisoning. Your symptoms suggest Salmonella bacteria or some wild strain of E. coli. Common in undercooked eggs, rare meats, contaminated veggies, or unwashed hands."
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
Despite feeling under the weather, Fii couldn't help but find humor in Quinn's exposition. "Or maybe," she added, "just poor kitchen hygiene. How do you know all that anyway?"
Quinn flashed a brief grin. "I've been reading up on general first-aid and basic medicine in my spare time. Some of us here are still interested in learning and self-improvement." He pointed playfully at Fii who frowned, understanding the intent of his jibe.
"I read books," Fii countered defensively. "If there's nothing else to do. Sometimes..."
His lighthearted prodding at her love-hate relationship with academics elicited a smile from her. He gave her a smile of his own. One that was infectious. Too bad it was tainted by an ever-present worry clouding his features as he handed her the glass of water. "I'd go see Sheri if I were you. She'll give you something for your stomach. Otherwise, you can use their fancy toilets all day, instead of trying not to puke on the job. Again." His grimace matched hers.
"What do you mean by 'again'?" She grumbled between sips.
"That night you ate the..." He shuddered at the memory. "...purple pudding?"
Oh, right. That incident.
"Right," Fii mumbled, carefully getting up to leave. Her insides threatened to reorganize themselves, and her equilibrium wobbled. Deep breaths were her lifeline; without them, she wasn't sure how she'd keep her nausea in check. A frustrated sigh escaped her lips.
This was going to be one of those days, wasn't it?
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Tucking the memories of this morning's misadventures into the corner of her mind reserved for self-induced culinary mishaps, Fii headed towards The Aether Clinic. Each step was measured, a tango of sorts with the relentless nausea that gnawed at her from the inside out. But, despite the challenge, the simple act of walking provided a welcome distraction from her roiling innards.
As she neared the clinic, the usual line of people waiting at the entrance seemed more like a carnival queue than anything else. Conversations buzzed among the crowd, filled with complaints about life, injuries, and the odd medical mystery.
The rhythmic tapping of a cane against the asphalt caught her attention, and Fii noticed Old Joe in the midst of the throng. She offered him a wave as he swung his head towards her, his deep-set eyes catching hers with the clarity they always held.
"Oi! How's ya doin', Superstar?" Old Joe called out in his peculiar, jumbled speech. A trace of an old Kurigali accent mingled with his slum talk. "Ya lookin' a li'l off. Doesn't look like ye've got a full basket today. Got a case of drench, yeah?"
He moved to join the queue, using his cane to nonchalantly sweep aside a few complaining youths to make space for himself, without the faintest hint of remorse.
Meanwhile, Fii leaned against the wall of the clinic to steady herself. "Worse," she groaned, "a nasty case of the gut jitters, brought on by my own hand."
His cackle cut through the hum of the crowd.
Now they were all staring at her. Everyone. Great. How wonderful. Exactly what she needed right now. Public humiliation.
"Did I mention you're the best, Joe? Truly, the best?" she grumbled, flashing a sarcastic smile. It probably came across more like a grimace than anything else.
Joe shrugged, a wide, toothy grin on his weathered face. "Nothin' I ain't heard before! If only more people knew. World'd be a better place if I got ta run it." He chuckled before he motioned towards her belly and spoke, "Yer an idjit, kid, but y'are tryin'. I'll give ya that. Now, don't let that bugger in there throw ya around like a ragdoll, or worse, dismiss ya."
"Great advice, as always," Fii muttered, another wave of nausea threatening to bring her to her knees. "Thanks, Joe."
"Ya welcome, Superstar. Oh, that reminds me..."
Oh no. That was usually a precursor to...
"Back in the day," Joe's voice kicked up to a higher volume, projecting more than usual, ensuring that everyone present could hear him. "there was a story about a gal who went and had somethin' big injected into her bum..."
Fii buried her face in her hands and tried to melt into the concrete wall of the clinic. Another of his wild tales. No one needed to hear about that story. Least of all her.
"Jo—"
"No, no, wait a minute. Just a minute! Don't interrupt! It ended up somewhere near her liver. The ol' docs were givin' it some really weird name, but I don't remember what. And then, right after, she let some fella lay with her, without lettin' 'er insides settle first!"
"I don't need to hear this—"
"Well, sure as day, she got sicker than a cow with the drips, 'n her lover-man started acting all sorts of wrong. Unnatural like. Get this: her belly gets all bloated and swells up to the size of a sack of potatoes! Ended up squirtin' black pus, stank worse than death. You wouldn't believe the sight! Her man didn't last long. Got himself turned into a zom..."
Kill me now.
"...then they just took the bloke and doused him with some petrol and..."
Fii stopped listening after that, trying to tune out Joe's ramblings by humming a merry tune to herself. Eventually, the story reached its climax and concluded, leaving her in peace, to struggle with her own biological chaos.
A young boy in front of Fii in the queue shot a look at her before scrunching his face into a grimace. "Gross!"
Just fabulous.
"Joe," Fii hissed through gritted teeth, "why? Why?"
"Just a friendly reminder, is all," Joe said with an irrepressible grin. "Try not ta get into any, er... tight spots." He coughed, a sound more reminiscent of laughter than discomfort. "Don't end up like her, or somethin' even worse, alright?"
Ugh.
"Don't sound too unusual ta' me," a random onlooker piped up. "Just the other day, my buddy found a bug up his butt after he passed out in the park. Should've seen him twitch for hours, all squirmy. Like one of them worms at the fish shop!"
That. That story just pushed her nausea to a whole new level. This was definitely not something she needed to hear right now.
Great. Super great. This line was taking forever! Fii's patience was running thin, her finger tapping restlessly against her arm, and her eyes darting back and forth.
"Oi! Everyone move over! Our Super needs the doc. Now, ye scalawags, shift aside!" Joe suddenly bellowed, and before Fii could protest, she was ushered to the front of the line.
If there had ever been a moment when the world decided to team up against her, it was this one. Her cheeks flared red-hot, her eyes fixed on the ground, and she clutched her arms tightly around her midsection in a futile attempt to suppress the surging nausea. All the attention, the nudges, the murmurs, the apologetic looks, only served to make everything worse.
"You didn't have to do that," she groaned.
Joe's laughter echoed as she vanished through the clinic doors, greeted by the familiar clinical atmosphere, sterile and harshly lit.
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Sheri looked up from her notepad, her usually pleasant expression turning sour.
"Fii," she acknowledged, a pointed exhale punctuating her greeting. "As much as I enjoy seeing you... What have you done this time?"
Not even a hello?
The sight of the room she'd grown all too familiar with added a touch of anxiety to Fii's already overwhelming nausea. "Hi, Sheri," she replied. "Nice to see you too."
At the invitation to join her on the examination table, Fii steeled herself, and readied herself for yet another lecture. Knowing Sheri and her stringent professional approach, she already knew she was in for a less-than-comforting check-up. Taking a seat on the paper-clad bed, she was just bracing herself for what was to follow.
With practiced movements and the efficiency that Fii had grown to associate with the clinic, Sheri began her examination. She quizzed Fii on her symptoms, all the while jotting notes in her indecipherable scribble. Fii swallowed her discomfort and recounted the story of her regretful culinary decision—glossing over certain details—watching Sheri's face transform into a mask of disapproval.
Was it really so hard to believe that she managed to give herself food poisoning?
"Oh, Fii," Sheri murmured, her eyes saying it all. "So, this is going to be one of those appointments, is it?"
Fii chuckled nervously, twirling her white hair with a finger, a habit when nervousness began to set in. "Maybe..."
Sheri let out a soft sigh before flashing the penlight in Fii's eyes. "Normally, I could try giving you some antibiotics and an IV, and we could be done with it." She pursed her lips as she circled around Fii, observing her from various angles. "But since you're a metahuman, that won't work. Your body's... strange, and probably has weird resistance, or something equally annoying."
"Fantastic," Fii grumbled.
"So, my recommendation is lots of water and rest," Sheri concluded, handing Fii a bottled water before motioning her to lie down for a full check-up. "You can rest in your old room upstairs. At least you'll have a personal toilet in there. It's a miracle you've held on this long."
Ugh, the poking and prodding started now, exactly what she wanted right now.
"A hero's job is never done, is it?" Sheri remarked with a sigh. Her hands were warm on Fii's bare stomach as she gently probed. Then, without warning, a deep, painful pressure was applied, wrenching a cry from Fii. "Good news is that it's probably just food poisoning. If you're unlucky, appendicitis. Don't panic, that was the test."
Great. Super great. Worst. Day. Ever.