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Adah's Voicemail.

The beep is followed by a long period of silence.

When a voice finally does surface, it is barely audible, quiet like death.

"Leave a message."


And so it came to pass that the experiment revealed itself to have at least one unexpected benefit. In a wheelchair, one didn't even have to worry about how having a penis between your legs would mess with your already troubled sense of balance.

Adah had considered calling it a day off of classes when she woke up and found herself male again, especially since she didn't have the joy of a perpetually startled roommate to mess with this time. She did, however, have a lot of professors, and she couldn't afford to miss class at all.

The best part of it came, however, during her shift at the clinic, where she had to explain to her superiors and the children she worked with that Adah couldn't make it today, and so he was helping her, a friend of hers, who lost mobility in his legs during a terrible circus accident. And when anyone asked her name, she replied simply, "Leland Adama."

She was already going to hell, anyway...

[[ Lee's name totes stolen with permission; Adah can conveniently find herself on break should there be any phone calls! ]]
When the neurologist came in that morning, he would find Adah on her mattress, as usual, but, not nearly as usual, he would find that she was not alone. She lifted her hand, her left hand, which got a frown out of him because she should using her right, putting a finger to her lips to signify that he should be quiet, and then she nodded, slightly toward the figures across the room at her bookshelf.

"To indulge, for a moment," said the volume of Poe, "in any attempt at thought, is to be inevitably lost; for reflection but urges us to forbear, and therefore it is, I say, that we cannot. If there be no friendly arm to check us, or if we fail in a sudden effort to prostrate ourselves backward from the abyss, we plunge, and are destroyed."

"Because I could not stop for Death," replied the volume of Dickinson, "he kindly stopped for me; the Carriage held but just Ourselves, and Immortality."

The neurologist looked back at Adah, puzzled, confused, expectant of an explanation.

"I'm waiting for them to make out," she offered.

"...You are so weird," he said after a moment.

[[ post is open! Mun may be slow! Could not refuse! ]]
Being restricted to a bed and unable to move had Adah doing a lot of sleeping, listening to the radio and, the biggest surprise of all, actually looking forward to when the neurologist would stop by to check up on her. She still hated being fed and taken care of, regardless of how necessary it was, but he could give her a few things to make sure that her brain did not join her body in an atrophied state. Read from a book, give her news of campus, or notes on a lecture from the internship that he'd gotten into but she had not. And sometimes, the mail. Usually, there wasn't much. A few flyers for local businesses, the occasional medical university newsletter, a bill or three or five. Today, however, there seemed a few things of note. "What's my mail?" she asked.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Letter from the university touting your brilliance and apologizing for their hindsight in keeping you out of the summer program..."

"Frak you, they'd rather blow up the lab than let me step on their precious toes. What is there, really?"

"Postcard from your sister," he said, flipping it over so she could see the picture of Big Ben. "She sends greetings from London."

"Of course she's taking the long, scenic route. What else?"

"It looks like an invitation. Your high school? They say there's some dance next weekend..."

Adah just looked at the neurologist from her immovable position on the mattress.

"Oh, fantastic. I can't wait to get out there and show off my new moves. I'll have to go shopping of course, for some new dance shoes and a dress to go with it. Do you think I should get my hair done?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, I'll throw it in the trash. Still, that timing. Almost makes you think there is a God after all, and he's got one hell of a sense of humor."

"Excuse me while I wet myself laughing so hard. Lucky you, you'll have to clean up the sheets."

[[ idk, scene stuck in my head since the dance was announced. Post is open, icly and oocly! ]]
"You do not have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body." -C.S. Lewis

"You do not have a soul. You are a collective bundle of neurons and sensors. You have a body." -A.E. Price

You have a body. You have a body. You, a body have. Body, have you a...A body, you have. Ydob a evah uoy...

Proprioception. Predominant position sense. It was the thing that allowed a person to be aware of their own body as their own body, a subconscious neurological sense that helped maintain the concept that your arms were your arms, your legs were your legs, your self your self. Adah had never had the best relationship with proprioception before, at times finding that limp and lifeless right side of her to be something foreign and unfamiliar. But to feel it as she was starting to feel it now, as a week of little to no movement started to inspire the left side to follow suit, she discovered a sudden clinging to her idea of body, so tumultuous and awkward her entire life. To see one's own limbs lying there and to think to yourself, Who do those belong to? Surely, they cannot be mine. I am thinking about moving them, but they remain still, like corpses. Surely, they cannot be mine...

You have a body, Adah. This is your body. Still, like it was supposed to be before you very stubbornly said no, lifted yourself, and limped in defiance of your body, dragging it along against its will, answering only to yours.

She watched these alien limbs quietly for a moment, until, finally, her attempts at telepathy seemed to have worked and the big toe of her left foot gave a twitch.

Cut for too much Sisterly Love to Handle. Not dirty.Collapse )

Thankfully, blissfully, Rachel seemed to have hung up the phone there, and the neurologist returned it once the dial tone returned. He gave Adah an apologetic smile, but she was not in the least bit swayed. "You ever do that again," she warned, "you are going to be the first person with a syringe through your eye the moment I regain my mobility."

It would be very poetic in its irony, really.

[[ Parts of this inspired by my very timely reading of the first part of The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat, which is probably my new Adah bible. Parts also to set up no_snow_white's eventual arrival, yay! She, naturally, was modded with complete permission. Post is also very open, for IC and OOC alike ]]
Adah Price was a young woman in a long distance relationship with a very, very attractive man, so she would hardly need some fertilizing element of flowering plants, consisting of fine, powdery, yellowish grains or spores, sometimes in masses to get her erogenous zones going. She certainly didn't need them to feel a devastating urge to jump his bones while watching him move things (mostly books, of course) for her into her new apartment, free of perpetually startled roommates and a clause about overnight male visitors leading to expulsion from school.

Ah, revolutionary modernity felt so, so good.

Adah had the mattress moved into the wide open flat first, not to christen it immediately to the place, although the thought did cross her mind. However, patience was a virtue and she could enjoy that plenty later. For now, she was far more amused by lounging comfortably on it, watching the Eel slither in and out with her belonging from the truck down on the street.

"I'd offer to help," she said, "but, you know how it is. I'm supposed to be turning into a neurological vegetable right now. I think moving boxes is definitely out of bounds for activities possible while reseting my motor functions, darlin'."

[[ I put it up early 'cuz I wanted to. For he who was shamelessly modded into moving stuff for the hemiplegic, please! ]]
Adah knew, before she opened the envelop, what the contents would say. It wasn't as if she needed the envelop. She could tell by the way her fellow students, the way some of her professors, the way even some of the people at the clinic would look at her, that it was another rejection. The fact that she hadn't even received it until now was even more proof. Still, she opened it, slid out the folded paper with Emory's medical school emblem on top.

Dear Miss Price,

Thank you for your interest in our summer clinic internship. We regret to inform you, however...

She didn't read any further. She didn't have it. It wasn't the money this time. It wasn't her gender or her inexperience. Or even her ability.

It was, instead, her disability. He eyes easily spotted out phrases: exceptional performance, however, incredibly intensive, however, high complex maneuvers, however, no question of intellectual capabilities, however, however, revewoh...

Adah just sat for a while in her room, until the day turned dark and turned night, and then she let out a slow breath. Then she stood up and limped down the stairs of the dormitory, into the lobby, to the phones, an annoying long journey, and then she picked up a receiver and made a call.

"Yeah," she said, "I'll need to move by next week...Mmhm. I finally want to get started on it, we can get started then..."

And he'd known why she asked of it now, too. He knew that she didn't get in again, too. Adah sat there for a while longer after that, just trying to keep it all in perspective. There was only one thing holding her back, and it was about damn time she got rid of it.

And she thought she was ready for it; doubt wasn't something she was used to, but that was definitely what she felt.

[[ about fifty years later than I had intended, but post can be open, shure! ]]
It was a Saturday and Adah Price was not either in the library or the clinic. In fact, she was outside, in the sun, enjoying the weather.

Needless to say, a few of the people who knew her and saw her there were appropriately disturbed.

But, in cleaning out some things on her desk to prepare for the end of her semester, she'd come across an old book, worn and creased and well used, and now it sat sitting on her lap, although she barely needed to use it out here in a public campus park in the middle of the city. In her good hand, she held a pair of binoculars, trained toward the sky and the trees, birdwatching.

Ornithology took on a decidedly boring veneer here in Atlanta, especially compared to the multitude of brilliant birds found in Africa, but coming across Brother Fowles' book made Adah just a little bit nostalgic.

[[ apparently, all my characters want to post things today despite the fact that I'm slow as sin. That, and researching birdwatching for a project made me remember how much I neglect Adah's birdwatching. Post can be open to correspondence, too! ]]
With a sigh, Adah paused, curling over her desk a little bit more because it was far more comfortable that straightening up, and she looked at the various papers and books scattered in front of her. She told herself that she had nothing to worry about, really; these reports weren't due for a while now, but, of course, when it came closer to the due date, she'd be wanting to already get a start on this summer's work. They were not denying her that internship again next summer, so help her...

She rubbed her eyes a little with her left hand. Damn pediatrics, but she knew it was necessary. Usually, she wouldn't have so much trouble with a report for class, but, somehow, she didn't think her professor would very much appreciate the angle she was thinking of: that gesticulation of a child was almost exactly like a parasite.

Think about it...

[[ likely expecting a call from a baby daddy, but open to other correspondence as well! ]]
A Needle. Tiny little metal pinprickCollapse )

[[ Establishly! Although OOC comments or IC contacts to Georgia are more than welcome! Cut for length and because I know needles and medical crap squick me, so... ]]

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