The monster of Dr. Freundnstien

‘AAAH-CHOO-!’

The sound was loud and sharp, a contrast to the sort of muffled air that filled the estate. It was followed shortly after by a sort of half sigh, half moan, from the stallion all but cocooned in blankets, if not for his head and forelegs, which stuck out, and rested up against the head board of the master bedrooms luxurious four poster. Weakly, he held out a hoof to the mare at his bedside, who was carefully levitating used tissues from the nightstand into a tin rubbish bin.

“E…” he moaned, “I’m dying E…”

The mare let out a breathy chuckle and rolled her eyes. Setting down the bin, she snagged a fresh tissue from the box with her magic, and turned to face him as she passed it,

“You’re not dying Marus, you’re just sick.” Through their years of working together, Eagar had grown accustomed to the doctors’ melodrama, which, she was sure, he enacted solely to get a laugh from her.

“No, E,” he continued, his ‘dramatic voice’ and half smile betraying him, “I’m really dying… I can see it now, ‘the great Dr. Freundnstien; caught a common cold, sneezed himself to death.’ Why, it’s almost poetic.”

This brought her to chuckle fully, “Yes, I’m sure, you done?”

The doctor chuckled with her, “Yes, Eager, I’m done.” He looked as though he were about to say more, but weather he was or not, it was interrupted by another sudden sneeze.

‘AAAH-CHOO-!’

Eager quickly discarded the freshly used tissue for him, grabbing him a new one as she reached over the bed to examine him. Lightly, she brushed his mane from his forehead, and pressed her hoof against it softly, quietly examining his face as she did so.

The doctors’ mane, a wild mess of dark reddish-purple hair, with just a touch a silver at the roots, which the doctor liked to pretend didn’t exist, was worse than usual; somewhat long for a stallion, various sections stuck out at ridiculous angles, from spending the days in bed, his emerald eyes; normally sharp with wit and analysis, were soft and somewhat hazy, with just a touch of red around the outside, and his muzzle; though the color of his coat remained mostly unaffected, it’s deep blue, near black coloring faded to a red shine at his muzzle’s very tip, where his nose had grown raw and sore.

“Feels like your fever’s died down…” she withdrew her hoof, absently smoothing out the bed sheets as she did so, “you want me to fetch the thermometer?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he replied, “though I would very much appreciate a fresh glass of water, if you don’t mind.” He motioned towards the empty glass by the tissue box.

“Sure thing.” She picked up the glass in her magic, the soft green glow refracting oddly off the small beads of condensation that clung to the glass’ inner walls. In no real rush she made for the en suite, and the estates silence, muted with sickness, settled over them again.

She called back to him as she began to fill the cup at the sink,

“You want me to drop in an aspirin for you?”

“Might as well,” came his reply, then after a pause, “use one of the new ones, I’m still trying to work out how strong those are.”

She shook her head to herself, dropping a yellow tablet into the glass, she always worried about trying new remedies on themselves, and o ften, with good reason.

She examined herself in the mirror as she waited, watching as the pill began melting into a sort of goo, which almost immediately diffused into the water, leaving it faintly tinted. She adjusted her mane, removing her pink headband, and gently brushing the stray mint strands back behind her soft, cream colored ears, which twitched slightly at the distant sound of a ticking clock elsewhere within the estate. She looked herself in the eye, and, with her pupils shrunk in the well-lit bathroom, felt almost like she were staring into two glasses of dark, red wine. Satisfied, she scooped up the glass, and turned back the way she came.

As she trotted back into the bedroom, she noticed a look of contemplation upon the doctors’ face, and she could almost see the gears turning in his head. She passed the glass in front of him,

“Something good?”

“I think so,” he took it between his hooves, his mind still to hazy to use magic reliably, “I’ve been, shall we say, mulling something over in my mind…”

She raised an eyebrow, “Something to do with this ‘brilliant new idea’ of yours?”

“Precisely,” He took a sip from the glass, and began to splutter and cough, “(Cough-Cough)-Sweet Luna-(Cough-Cough-Cough)-ooooh, that was not-(Cough)-not friendly…”

Eager was on him in an instant, like a mother to her child, “Are you okay? What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

“Well,” he began, hoarsely, “It’s hardly what I’d call palatable.” And his weak grin assured her he was alright.

She backed away and there was a short silence, in which the doctor suffered another sneezing fit, and Eager passed him another tissue.

“Sorry… where… where was I?” he asked, grimacing as he took another sip.

“This big idea you’ve been contemplating?”

“Ah, yes, big idea! The big picture, the big… uh… big shebang, the big- err… big…”

“Reveal?”

“Reveal, sure, why not. I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I’ve finally got it.”

“What?”

“What?”

“Got what?”

“Got what, what?”

“The thing you’ve been thinking about.”

“Ah-! Yes, the big-err…uh…”

“Big idea?”

“Idea? Yeah, yeah, that… um…” he paused a moment, mouthing silent syllables, “S...sorry... I'm just sort of... struggling to... uh..." he stopped again, and seemed to begin thinking something over, "Say, do you have the, uh... the thing…? For the… the thing?”

“What thing, for what thing?”

“You know, the thing for the uh…” he held up the glass

“For the new pill?”

“Yeah, the thing, where you put the things that can happen?”

“The medical notes?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in concern, a slight tinge of worry creeping into her voice

“No, no, the thing where it does it right, but there’s other… things…”

“The... side effect list?”

“Yeah! Those… that…”

“It’s in the other room.” her worry increased,

“It… what?”

“In the… the bathroom? With the bottle?”

“Yeah… g-go… uh… get… get…” He waved a hoof weakly

She reached out with her magic, bringing the small pad of paper and pencil that went along with the hoof-labeled black bottle before her.

She touched the pencil to the pad, “What am I writing?”

“S-sor…ry, wha…?”

“What do you want me to put? What side effect?”

“Y… ye…” he held up a hoof, in a ‘wait, hold on’ sort of manner, his words became slurred, as though it were the first time he’d ever used his mouth, “avv… avvva, av-av-aaafff… ay… aphaaaza…?” Eager scribbled hastily on the pad, the doctor shook his head, Eager crossed out what she'd written, “Nuh-no… aphaa-a-asssssya… aaaphaaseeuh…. aapphhaassiiaaaa…”

“Aphasia?”

The doctor nodded smartly, making sort of satisfied noises and half syllables

“Do you… want me to get something for it?”

He shook his head, “nuh, juss… is…” he made a motion with a hoof, gesturing at the lack of sound coming from his mouth, as though to say emphasize the obvious difficulty words had become to him.

“You sure?”

Again, he nodded, “ffine… iss…” he tapped his temple, “jusst, naa,” he repeated the previous gesture.

Again there was silence, and the doctor seemed to be concentrating very hard on something, and after a while, began to speak, slowly and awkwardly.

“The big… Idea, is… un-death…”