That towering horse, sitting like a drooped down clown missing his jester’s hat couldn’t believe his ears, that nurse proposed him to have a cookie afterwards, him, not the other, not the savior next chair, not the more than perfect looking emergency doc or the unsure young man guiding people the wrong direction. No, him.... Max. Max feels better, he can now endure the bestial horse-devouring needle to enter his inner. Max can accept to be pricked, he can puff out his chest, be ‘man’ again, Mercy was going to have a cookie with HIM. Even the super-hero in his metal costume did not stand a chance against HIM. Max grins and presents again his arm to the nurse, the arm where that needle was already tucked into like a T-shirt into some trousers...
Max didn’t even feel that thin iron pierce his ‘tough’ skin, Max was already connected to the collecting blood bag. He can see how first life-juice serpentines through the thin rubber canal that leads to a transparent plastic pouch. The needle throbs in the rhythm of his heartbeat, held by a small piece of adhesive bandage onto his arm. Max doesn’t understand how she did that, surely professionalism in its purest form.
The horse sighs once, he feels a bit stupid, what did he think by fearing a little needle. Ok admitting that last time the other professional got that thing way too far into his arm and might even have touched a nerve, pretexting a thick skin and thick subcutaneous tissue. (he regretted afterwards).
More people arrive or hesitate while the vampiric needle satisfies itself on Max’s blood. The horse looks at them, somehow a pleasant look on his face, it was not to scare them off. It turns out that more people of the medical world find themselves in these tents and it has to be clear and obvious that this nurse called Mercy was absolute competent to run this business.
Last warning from her, but this big anthro horse will not pass out, he wants his cookie with that nurse, so he looks around to find something to drink. As she said to stay hydrated, Max obeys.
Max didn’t even feel that thin iron pierce his ‘tough’ skin, Max was already connected to the collecting blood bag. He can see how first life-juice serpentines through the thin rubber canal that leads to a transparent plastic pouch. The needle throbs in the rhythm of his heartbeat, held by a small piece of adhesive bandage onto his arm. Max doesn’t understand how she did that, surely professionalism in its purest form.
The horse sighs once, he feels a bit stupid, what did he think by fearing a little needle. Ok admitting that last time the other professional got that thing way too far into his arm and might even have touched a nerve, pretexting a thick skin and thick subcutaneous tissue. (he regretted afterwards).
More people arrive or hesitate while the vampiric needle satisfies itself on Max’s blood. The horse looks at them, somehow a pleasant look on his face, it was not to scare them off. It turns out that more people of the medical world find themselves in these tents and it has to be clear and obvious that this nurse called Mercy was absolute competent to run this business.
Last warning from her, but this big anthro horse will not pass out, he wants his cookie with that nurse, so he looks around to find something to drink. As she said to stay hydrated, Max obeys.
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