Ooh, Illness Apocalypse RP is my vote!

"Ellie!" An impatient voice calls. She doesn't yell, but her voice is bold, and, as always, tinged with its usual demanding side. I can already hear her fingernails tapping against a counter or table, the way they always are, as I enter.

It's the usual examination room we put all faeries in before they are treated. A sheepish doctor stands there, the boss lady sitting with her usual poise next to him. The fae in question is sitting, half-slumped against its makeshift seat. Her wings are folded downwards, and it's clear she lacks the energy or connection to hold them up.

"The lady that brought the patient just left." The doctor says, their voice mild. "We need a bit more information, and..." The doctor trails off, while the boss lady points a finger at me, then jerks it toward the fae.

I just cough once before slipping, if not roughly, into faerie speech as I look down at the fae. "Deenid tisi yaodt?" I begin ("Indeed it is today?" a proper greeting). "Hawitt s tehial?" ("What is the ail", or asking what ails them).

The fae immediately launches into chatter, her voice high and energized. She constantly repeats that she has no clue, that it is not something she has knowledge of. She even stands up at one point, positioning herself as if she is about to take flight to get to a better vantage point and yap at me from there. Of course she can't fly.

"Tseyre? Tigenab tseyre?" I try ("Yesterday? It began yesterday?"). The fae nods and launches into every little detail of what happened that day--how she went to the well, chatted with a friend, even the insect that flew by while she was chatting.

I glance at the doctor, fighting the urge to shrug hopelessly. I've learned not to do those things in front of the fae--they're tiny. What is a hidden, secretive movement for us is a giant quaking for them. 

"Khaytmns sebouyr. Jonye." I say as calmly as can be ("My thanks be yours, enjoy"). I follow it up with instructions on how to reach me again if need be, and tell the doctor, almost half-speaking fae again, to begin the basic examinations. I'm usually a variety of different emotions as I leave the exam room, and this time is no different. This time, I'm puzzled. 

It's unusual, having no symptoms, no clear cause. For humans, no, but for faeries... ah well. I'll see the results tomorrow. 

I haven't heard anything about the results yet. I dismiss the thought, though--it's probably nothing of concern, and my curiosity is speaking more than my head. It wouldn't be the first time we've gotten an oddball illness. I've seen stiff and unusual wings before, though there almost always is clear proof it's from some sort of weird pollen or an impish creature attacking them. It's probably a different strain...

I'm almost at the greenhouse entrance when a doctor pokes their head out of a door and asks me to translate for a patient. Of course. So for the next hour I'm switching between the human and faerie languages constantly (while slipping up and saying a bit in faerie to the doctor too). The fae in that room is suffering a usual ailment, and I'm so used to this transaction that I let my mind wander while speaking.

By this time, you might be wondering, what is it with me and speaking faerie? Why does nobody at a faerie hospital of all places know how to speak it?

It's this way for some humans, I suppose. Some of us are born with an abillity or affinity for speaking in the faerie tongue, and I'm one of them. We're not fantasy creatures like the other beings in our world, we're not magical, we can just...speak a language no other human can seem to master. 

It's half-instinct, half-learning. For some words, I had to either teach myself or find some sort of material to help me learn. When I had just began speaking this narrsteg language--erm, that's fae for 'strange', sorry--I had to ease myself into it. Some words came naturally, of course, slipping into my mind like they had always been there. But it got harder and harder the more I tried to have good conversation.

Of course, there are other humans gifted with this strange talent. Once in a while someone will appear who speaks druid or dryad, or more commonly nymph. However, well... if someone knows the draconic language, it's a target on their back. To even claim you know it is asking to be killed, but... that's just how our world works. Dragons are hated and feared, and a human who has any connection with them is disposed of.

I haven't even mentioned hybrids yet... we'll just say that culture doesn't like them too. Humans and magical creatures were never meant to mix, according to...people, I guess. They're in hiding, pretty basic stuff.

I guess it makes me appreciate having a harmless skill a bit more, knowing that other people are hunted down for their skills.

I sit in the greenhouse. Two faeries are perched on a flowering bush nearby, chattering back and forth to their heart's content. I occasionally put a word or two in, or a word of agreement ("Meyhs", the faerie's word for a casual yes).

One of the two laughs and dives off a branch, pulling herself into flight, and then a gentle hover. "How many faeries are there in the garden, again?" She asks in faerie-tongue. I consult my phone. "Eighteen current." I report, in faerie as well. She places her tiny hands on her hips. "Esurc het goardns! I still haven't met one." She mutters, flitting over to a rose and sitting on it. I shrug. "Probably a new patient." Is all I say. We get many patient faeries staying here while they heal. It's not a big deal.

The fae chatters something about going to find them, and leaps, her damselfly wings extending as she flies away. 

"Eliae?" A hesitant voice, in english, speaks. I look up, meeting a doctor's eyes. It takes a moment, but I recognize him as the doctor who examined the Fae with paralyzed wings. "How were the examinations?" I chirp.

"Not promising at all." He shrugs. "The fae was supposed to stay in the greenhouse for a while, but..." A pause. He held out one of his hands. The same fae from earlier sat there, looking dazed, her eyes half-closed. "Do...do I need to translate something?" I ask, confused. He takes another step toward me. "No. Take a look."

I stare over the fae, trying to find something wrong, when my eyes fall on her wings. 

It's clearly the same fae from earlier, but her wings are...different. They're partially covered by a strange black growth, with scale-like shapes of the same color portruding from her wings. I blink. "How did..."

"This happen so quickly? I don't know. It usually takes a while for fae illnesses to grow to an extreme, but..." He trails off. I stare. "Are you saying this isn't an illness?' I ask, somewhat incredulously. He just shrugs. "Only time can tell."  

~One day later~

"Yueroa galin?" (Are you ailing?) A fae asks me. I flush. "N-no, I'm fi--" Paused. "Mion nief." (I'm fine) I muttered, staring out at a rose bush toward the corner of the greenhouse. Was it odd that I felt nervous about the fae from yesterday? Whatever had happened to her wasn't normal.

The fae frowns, fluttering toward me on his sharp dragonfly wings. "Teaor orurm? Goardns?" (Are you listening to rumors? ...Dragons?) He asks. I glance down at my phone, frowning. "Goardns? Raeh orurm? Yuoddi raeh mrof eno?" I practically yelped, asking as many questions about rumors of dragons as possible. He shook his tiny head.

"Oh." I paused. "Tis het quarantine." I said simply (it's the quarantine). He nodded--he had heard the word 'quarantine' many times. "Something about this sickness..." I muttered in human. He just stared up at me for a moment, before flying his way over to a flower and taking a seat.

"Louhysou raef goardns." (You should fear dragons) he stated simply, then described a rumor. "Raehi...raeh..." He paused, then said a simple word, a human word. "Draconic."

Someone who speaks Draconic has been here. 

The rumors are pretty simple. Some surveillance thing got a short recording of what sounds uncanilly like someone speaking Draconic, their voice a remarkable mix of raspy and smooth as they speak.

I wave it off. It's probably really some other noise, like two items scraping together, or a machine malfunctioning. But it is fun to talk about; we chatter on and off about people speaking Draconic, and the last dragon attacks, and hybrids--(Y"idduo wnok a dyhrib aws nese?" Or, "did you know a hybrid was seen?")--anything that comes to our minds really. I talk to multiple fae, though--a lot of them are scared by the odd situation with the strange sickness, and one of them reports that the doctors have been talking about it.

Eventually I just end up leaving for the day. All the rumors are a bit too much for me.

The next day, something new is here. Or...some new people.

I see them first standing in the lobby. They're talking to the boss-lady--that is, the pair of people I see now.

One is an older woman, tall and slim, with a head of full red-brown hair pulled into a ponytail. She stands straight and tall, but is at constant attention, listening to every word of the boss-lady's rapid-fire talk. The other is smaller, looking about my age (I'm a year too young to be hired for anything too full-time or formal, but my Fae-speak gives me the rights), with short brown hair and amber eyes. Perhaps she has fae-speak, or is young, but I'm not sure. She wields a clipboard she seems to be constantly writing on, copying down everything the boss-lady says.

The instant the boss sees me, she waves me over, still not stopping to talk. "Yes, yes, this is our translator. The fae hasn't exactly been chatty lately as she's sick, but I believe she might talk if spoken to in her own language. Ah, yes, the quarantine room is this way!" I hear the clatter of high-heels on the floor as the small group heads down the hall, the woman trailing the boss, and the girl trailing the woman.

"Oh." The woman stops for a moment with a click of her heels. "I'm Rhea. This is Rita, by the way. She's been assigned as my assistant." The woman informs me, with a jerk of a hand in Rita's direction. I smile and wave but say nothing, as the boss has already begun her rapid stream of talk again.

The boss places a hand on the quarantine's iron door handle. "Now, this is where we're keeping the Fae. She's already reached what we believe is stage two of the sickness." With those words, the door slides open, and we've entered the quarantine room.

Quarantine is no big deal for us; it's just a room with tiny man-made furniture (I suspect half of it's for dolls), no plants, and a few examination platforms. It's just made to keep contagious faeries away from other faeries. 

Today there's only one patient. The fae from before.

Black scales have slowly crept over her being, showing on her bare arms (I can only assume they're on most of her upper back) and creeping up her neck. Before she looked half-paralyzed; now her wings had fully crumpled against her being. She had looked tired then; she looked practically feeble now, just lying there, reminding me more and more of a helpless doll. I can see oh-so-clearly the signs that medicine has been used on her--none of which seems to have worked.

The boss looks at me expectantly, but Rhea speaks suddenly. "Ask her how she's doing." Rhea suggests. I look doubtfully down at the fae. "Right...um... Woh ruyeao giond? Uyogodo?" I try hopelessly. No response. The fae's lips might have fluttered open once, but I'm not sure it was the case. "Leohl?" Nothing.

I can already tell that the boss isn't going to be happy about this one. 

I sit with Rita, the assistant, after the little checkup. She's not what I expected in an assistant--she had first struck me as quiet and intelligent, with every intention of doing her job. 

Now that I'm closer to her, I can notice a few odd features. She's got blotchy foundation smeared over her cheek, it showing clearly over her dark skin. While most secretaries have a narrow-eyed stare, she still seems wide-eyed--though, I suppose she is an intern.

We chat for a while. She's normal, but polite and understanding, constantly asking about my job, but never being too prying.  

Before too long, she stands up, noting the boss and Rhea passing by, deep in conversation. "I'll be right back." Rita half-murmurs. "Rhea should be talking about funding at the moment, which means..."

"What?" I ask loudly. Rita half-shrugs, pulling her bag over her shoulder. "I'll be right back." She said, the promise casual. She speeds off, the sound of her high heels clattering on the floor until she turns the corner. 

Rita has been gone for a while. 

The clock keeps ticking overhead, reminding me how long it's been. I adjust myself again and again, trying to get as comfortable as possible in the seat. A few people pass back and forth through the halls, most lugging an item or two. I guess the boss needs help--

There's a loud crack--the only loud sound I've heard in the long minutes I've been here.

Rita bursts into view, snapping a compact shut in one hand. The other hand clutches her bag, holding onto it as if for dear life. "I said I'd be back, didn't I?" She asks breathlessly. I take a moment to observe her. Her bag is slung over a different shoulder than before, and her clipboard seems to be entirely missing. 

She stops directly in front of me, her usual composure replaced with impatience. I realise too late that I didn't respond. "Didn't I?" She asks again. Before I can say a word, she sighs. "Whatever, just hold still." 

"Wh--" There's a blur of movement, and a sudden flash of light before--before everything goes dark. 

Wow, your writing is really good! 

So are you writing this? Could other people join in? Do you have a plan for where it's going or anything? 

If you are going to let others join, I would love to.

Your writing is absolutely wonderful, by the way.