Past-Part Fills Part 7
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Past-Part Fills Part Seven
Fills from past parts can go here!
Fills from the current part (part 22) MUST go in that part's post until it is full.
Link to the original request (and if an ongoing fill, any previous chapters/sections).
Don't forget to link your new fill at the fill ( Read more... )
Whoever ‘they’ are, they’re certainly correct in the case of Eduard von Bock.
Eduard von Bock is an eccentric optician, but his peculiarities are subtle, and only apparent once he’s managed to coax a person into the examining chair. His eccentricities are, as far as eccentricities go, simple. He possesses numerous pairs of spectacles, frames of all shapes and sizes and colours, but he always reverts to his favourite basic, silver pair when working. This is how he resembles his career, even though it’s a side of himself that he likes to keep hidden.
Occasionally, however, he lets out his collector’s habit when dealing with a particularly bothersome patient. It’s not often he encounters patients that don’t want to co-operate; opticians such as himself don’t generally have reputations for being terrifying or pain-inflicting, not in the same way doctors and dentists do.
It’s mainly children that act up when they’re in his consulting room. Sometimes they cry when he shines lights in their eyes, sometimes they bite him when he tries to use a phoropter on them. In order to calm them down, he brings out the more unusual pairs of glasses he owns, to make them laugh away their worries. It’s a technique that has - until now - always worked.
It seems that today, as he shows his current patient a pair of glasses adorned with small bumblebees, his technique is going to fail miserably.
“They’re not actual bees,” the boy, Alfred Jones, sniffs. “They’re plastic.”
“Of course they’re plastic,” Eduard says. “I’m not going to wear real bees on my face. That’s dangerous.”
Most children find the bumblebee pair amusing. They giggle and relax and let Eduard finish examining their eyes. Alfred is not like most children. He is adamant that Eduard won’t get anywhere near his irises.
“Look,” Alfred says, folding his arms. “I atreeciate what you’re trying to do here.”
Eduard cocks his head. “I think you mean ‘appreciate’.”
“Who cares!” Alfred replies, exasperated. “You’re tryna make me feel better about how glasses look. But all that matters is, I’ve been tricked. I shouldn’t be here.”
Baffled, Eduard shoots a glance towards the boy’s grandmother. She’s standing by the door to Eduard’s consulting room and she seems incredibly amused by Alfred’s defiance, so Eduard decides to press on.
“What do you mean?” he asks, pushing back in his chair.
It’s wheeled, so it moves back a few inches, placing Eduard closer to his desk. He feels safer, being further away from the Jones boy. Alfred looks like a biter, and Eduard hates biters.
“I got told Grandma wanted to take me for pancakes,” Alfred says, trying to push back in his own chair. It’s not wheeled, and his feet don’t quite touch the ground anyway. “Sadly, Mr. Optician, she took me here instead. This is mean because my eyes are fine, Mr. Optician.”
“My surname is von Bock,” Eduard says, pointing to his badge.
“Are you gonna let me go or not?” Alfred asks, pouting.
“Now, now, Alfred,” his grandmother calls. “Co-operate with the gentleman and we’ll be out of here sooner. Your tutor said you were having trouble with seeing the board, and though it may be that your eyesight is absolutely perfect, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“I wanna go home!” Alfred says, near a whine.
“This won’t take long,” Eduard promises.
That line normally acts as a small comfort to scared children, but Alfred doesn’t really seem scared. He just seems indignant.
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