PBF: The Dreaming Ward

@Abubu asked for a die roll:
3d6: 6 + 3 + 2 = 11 vs Antonella’s Body Language of 9

Antonella grins at Celia, “Well if your parents were involved, at least you have an excuse.”

After that bout of sociability, during dinner Ant is much more reserved, chewing her food almost mechanically as she makes a plan of attack for the group session. The food is pretty good in her estimation, but she had never really been much of a cook. She’ll makes pleasantries with anyone sitting around her but will fall more into a listening role. If there’s one thing that patrons of antiques have in common, it’s that they’ll ramble on about their collections and misinformed facts they were given by less reputable dealers. It’s granted Antonella the ability to keep a conversation going even as her mind drifts elsewhere.

She especially likes encouraging Mr. McQueen as his performative way of speaking allows her to fade into the background. She’s unsure if he’s doing it on purpose but looks upon him in a more favorable light regardless.

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@EliScrubbs asked for a die roll:
3d6: 2 + 5 + 5 = 12 vs physician 16
3d6: 1 + 5 + 2 = 8 vs diplomacy 12
3d6: 5 + 1 + 4 = 10 vs psychology 12

Duncan keeps the conversation light on his work, trying to stray towards the academic and research areas instead of clinical. Still concerned he has misstepped with his earlier forwardness he tries to keep the tone more jovial and let’s McQueen take most of the attention, waiting for the therapy session to find out more about the group and the connecting factors.

On hearing its Mrs Gill’s first time in a hospital, he will swap to an almost customer service voice to try and reassure her, he’s dealt with scared patients before so has an almost practiced routine. It’s only half way through he remembers he’s not the leading consultant here and awkwardly mumbles an apology.

(happy to move on BTW)

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Aurore thrives at dinner; she doesn’t dominate the conversation, as Vincent does, but sparkles wittily, with dry, wry observations at just the right time to accentuate the stories and leave favourable impressions to the rest of the table. If anyone talks to her, or tries to get a word in edgeways over Vincent, she is an attentive and generous listener, making them feel as if she, at least, wants to know more.

All the while her mind knaws and ticks with anxiety. The hour is growing late. Is she really going through with this? Is it really going to help? Dark water and whispered words flit across her mind as she breezes her way through dinner.

Happy to move on too

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Stella (who hasn’t eaten since an early breakfast) would specifically like to ask “Could
someone please pass the pepper?”

Mean time, her ears are dining out on all the morsels of table conversation.

Ready to move on (oh, and Happy Solstice Day!)

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Happy Solstice Day and shortly, merry Christmas! Sorry for the delay. Will try to get back to you tomorrow!

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@EliScrubbs As well as general nerves, you sense Mrs Gill is feeling overwhelmed by the company. Most of you are educated and middle-class, and she doesn’t seem confident to join the conversation. You’ve experience of dealing with patients of all kinds, though, and she perhaps feels like she at least knows how to talk to a doctor. By the time the meal finishes, she seems a lot more at ease.

You get a good look at Green’s leg as you head downstairs, and again during the meal. His left leg is clearly weak, though it doesn’t seem painful. Your instinct says it’s from an injury, rather than a congenital limp. Based on his gait and sitting posture, your best guess is a badly-broken femur at least six months ago, probably with injury to muscles and ligaments as well - long enough to have healed up and no longer be painful, and bad enough that it couldn’t fully heal.

As dinner comes to a close, May Leiter appears at the door and asks you to join Dr Thorne when ready. You all sense the faint popping of tension as everyone begins to head back upstairs.

@Suz Stella will note someone has been through with a feather duster, eradicating the cobwebs. Nurse Faber is as good as her word, apparently.

In the common room, Dr. Thorne has the chairs arranged in a circle. He’s thumbing through some notes and greets you with a friendly smile. “Please, sit wherever you feel comfortable. We’ll just have a quick chat and then I’ll explain tonight’s routine.”

Stella, feeling slightly less frazzled after a decent meal, finds a chair next to Barry Lambert. She’s pleased for Mrs Gill that the cobwebs seem to have finally been dealt with in the common room. It was odd about Nurse Faber saying the cleaners had already dusted once before that day… Some miscommunication between staff, I guess.

She awaits with interest for proceedings to begin. Her notebook is burning a hole in her pocket, but she resists (with some difficulty) the urge to dig it out.

Speaking quietly to Lambert, while everyone is getting settled: “How many of these sessions have you sat through already?”

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Aurore breezes in and greets the room with a smile, picks a chair next to anyone who appears ill at ease and attempts to make them feel less so, to distract herself from her own nervousness.

“Well, not exactly like this - but something similar, a couple of times. I guess Thorne puts a lot of stock in them. He might be right; it was rather a relief for me, talking to people who know what it’s like.” Lambert thinks for a moment. “He said something about being more receptive to the treatment, I believe.”

Lewinsky joins you as well. Once everyone’s sat down, Thorne opens with a few pleasantries - how was the meal, is everyone comfortable with their room, and that sort of thing. After a while, he kicks off the discussion.

“The first thing I’d like to say is, please feel free to be as frank or as private as you’re comfortable with. Many of our patients-” he looks towards Lambert with a smile “-find it reassuring and empowering to share their difficulties with others in a similar predicament. That’s up to you. Dragging things out of you isn’t productive at all; the reverse, if anything. And of course, we’ve all agreed to complete confidentiality* over anything we discuss during your stay here.”

*Not strictly true, anonymized versions might end up in their research papers, but it was agreed in a form you’re all happy with so it’s a fair summary.

“Why don’t Dr Lewinsky and I get started. As you know, I’m Randall Thorne, one-half of the research leadership in this institute. I graduated in '01 and served a decade or so in general medicine. In the aftermath of the war, I got involved in treating shell-shock and similar neuroses. These are often tied in with nightmares, insomnia, and similar sleep disorders, as well as traumatic memories - so I’ve ended up specialising in those areas. My part here is to investigate the underlying causes of your sleep troubles with modern psychiatric methods.”

Lewinsky chimes in next. “Stefan Lewinsky. I’m a physician, but also a qualified psychologist. On the medical side, I specialize in sleep, comas, hallucinations, fugues and trances - issues relating to consciousness and volition. Psychologically speaking, I follow the Jungian school, exploring the interaction between conscious and unconscious mind. I’m here to study your sleeping habits, and share some psychological tools to help you resolve any neuroses that are affecting your sleep.”

They settle back, and Thorne glances around. “Mr Lambert, would you care to follow?”

Barry nods, and gives a brief introduction. “I’m a public librarian. Recently I’ve been troubled with sleep paralysis - can’t move a muscle when I wake up, and I feel there’s a sort of awful presence looming. It’s darned unpleasant, I can tell you. Been here for a few days, and things seem to be improving, between the medicine and the talks. It’s a difficult thing to explain to people - it sounds ridiculous to most of them who’ve never experienced it. Good to have some understanding folks here.”

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Stella goes next after a brief pause:

"Before dinner, Mr Howard asked us all if some trauma was a catalyst for our sleep problems… My answer is ‘yes and no’. Nothing happened to me, but I got caught up in a story I was reporting on last year and now I can’t seem to shake it off. That’s never been the case before. I’ve had the same nightmare over and over for the last few months, always set in the Green Mountains, where Jane Strong was finally rescued (some of you, I know, will remember the kidnapping…). But, in reality, I only visited that cabin once, well after the incident.

"Not knowing why I’m so affected by that place is almost the worst thing for me. Just this week, I came across the notion of ‘collective unconsciousness’ but I didn’t get very far with it. Might all be baloney - it sure wasn’t medical articles I was reading.

“And now I’m rambling, so that’s enough from me!”

McQueen looks briefly startled by something Stella said, and gives her a “we need to talk later” look.

“I was staying in an old place in the woods, and the floor, well, let me down. I was stuck there with a broken leg for half a day or so, couldn’t move, couldn’t get away… well. Eventually someone came by, heard me, and shifted the wreckage, and now the leg’s as good as new. But there’s something that left a mark, and in the small hours of the night it comes back to me.”

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Duncan rests his chin in his hand centemptively as the group share their experiences. Listening thoughtfully and noting common symptoms. Eventually it is his turn to share.

“ah, yes, well… There was an incident on one of our wards. We have these oxygen tanks, you see, and there was a family member who snuck a cigarette in.” He shudders at the memory and presses on. “Timber fell down and blocked one of the rooms, I tried to shift it but wasn’t strong enough and so… I uhh… I could only watch through the doors window. I haven’t slept a wink since then… And I hope you all appreciate my… Behaviour towards the smokers a little better now also. I’m sorry… I’ve probably said too much”

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apologies for slow reply, I’m a bit ill.

There’s a brief pause as everyone takes in what Duncan’s said. While several of you have your own traumas, it’s clear that the unspoken horror of the fire has touched everyone. A look of distinct respect has replaced Newton’s usual tense expression.

Mrs Gill coughs nervously, and straightens her shoulders. “I’m Emma Gill. We have a flower shop - me and my husband, I mean. I’ve always had nightmares, since I was a girl - all different ones - I wake myself up screaming, and everything thrown about.” She glances again at Duncan. “John’s very kind, but… last month, I had a bad one and I hurt him badly. I almost bli- blinded him.”

It doesn’t take a roll to see that she’s on the verge of tears.

“Thank you, Mrs Gill,” says Lewinsky, in a soothing tone. “No need to push yourself.”

Antonella visibly squirms in her seat throughout these confessions and by the time Mrs. Gill has gone her face has blanched.

“Hello everyone, I’m Antonella and… I’m not sure I should be here. I’ve been having horrible, horrible nightmares for the past few weeks,” she says, positioning her arm over her sternum as she seems to shrink in on herself before continuing, “But, I haven’t faced any real life danger, haven’t dealt with death or trauma or even a troubled childhood. As far as I can tell, the only thing that changed was me purchasing a paperweight.”

She laughs mirthlessly, “It’s just so frustrating. It feels like I’m losing my mind, I dread going to sleep each night because I know what’s going to happen. I know I’m going to die and wake up screaming. I know I’m going to feel it stab into my chest as my heart tears itself apart trying to keep me alive. After I realize I’ve woken up, I’ll sit up and cry like a schoolgirl, I cry because I’m so tired and scared and I know that thing is waiting for me. I know that I’ll be stabbed again and again and again unless I can manage to keep myself awake. Yet, here I am, my desperation has brought me here to you all, who have real trauma to deal with, hoping that just maybe, just maybe someone can fix me. But I know there’s no escaping it. After we’re done here, I’ll feel relieved to talk to you all about it, maybe even a little hopeful that I’m on my way to recovery, but there’s a kernel of dread. I’ll convince myself things are going to be better here, but I’ll try to stay awake, tell myself I’m just not tired, that it’s the new location, that the bed is less comfortable than my own. But I know the truth. I’ll eventually fall asleep against my will and it will be waiting and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

By the end of her story, Ant has drawn her knees up to her chest in the chair, trying to mask her trembling as she wipes a few frustrated tears. She averts her misty eyes from everyone, instead focusing in on an almost imperceptible stain on the floor.

((Almost a month since my last reply :skull: sorry everyone!))

Vincent looks as if he’d like to say something, but he knows he doesn’t have the right words.

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Aurore feels the now very uncomfortable silence pressing. She takes a deep breath and a sip of water, wishing it was something else.

‘You may have read what happened to Cam… Cameron, my fiancé. For those who don’t… well, there was an accident… a tire. The car went into the river. I was rescued, but Cam…Cam…’

She pauses and looks into the glass.

‘The funny thing is, I don’t remember it at all, not in reality. I woke up in the hospital, and didn’t remember any of the drive. But at night… at night… I’m there. The cold water filling the car, Cam next to me, twisted and bloated as if he’s been down here for days already. I feel the water, the shock like a giant’s hand squeezing my chest. And then Cam turns to me… he turns, those beautiful eyes already misted, like he’s frozen. He smiles his wonderful smile, only now it’s not wonderful, it’s awful and wrong and I try to scream but the water fills my mouth and… and…’

She puts the glass on the table and looks up, trying to smile. ‘And that’s why I’m here.’

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Duncan scratches the back of his head. He normally closes himself off emotionally when patients are suffering, and having to remain emotionally available is taking some effort.

“I’m sorry to hear that, my condolences… To all of you. It does feel better to have shared this with others though, you all have my support in us getting through this.”

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Anyone except Aurore, feel free to roll Perception with a -2 for the distraction.
If you pass, you realise Celia was leaning forward and hardly blinked throughout Aurore’s account.

Celia has a hand to her mouth, and murmurs “I’m sorry, Aurore. How awful.” It’s clear that everyone here is increasingly affected as these very personal experiences spill out, one by one. Whether it’s making things more tense, less, or something more complicated is hard to pin down.

Newton takes a deep breath and leans forward. “I’m - I was - a policeman. Just like my father. Two years ago, I got bitten by something and got sick. After that - well, I started falling asleep just about anywhere. Couldn’t control it at all, even on duty. The last straw was a burglary. I saw the guy slipping out a window and went after him, nearly had him - and woke up, ten minutes later, flat in the grass. That cost me the badge.”

He nearly cracks on the last word, but manages to control himself and takes a couple more deep breaths.

“In my dreams, I’m back chasing the guy. Doesn’t matter how fast I run, he’s always turning a corner just out of reach. Little twisting alleys, corridors - sometimes a sewer - can’t go back, and no way out - only chase and chase, until I feel myself falling. Failing. Being useless-”
-at which point Thorne places a hand on his shoulder and murmurs something, and Newton pulls himself together.

@RogerBW asked for a die roll:
VM rolls Perception: 3d6: 3 + 3 + 4 = 10 vs 11

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