The Bionicist

Eldrich Pomeroy steepled his fingers and released a silent curse. Fortunately for Hildegard Tilt, even now struggling into the seat opposite from the wheelchair, he had had the presence of mind to attach his recently updated ‘permanently caring’ eye-mouth combo so masking his real feelings at the presence of his most stupid patient.

Hildegard fumbled – the woman was defined by her fumbles, thought Eldrich – for a tissue and dabbed various parts of her face. As much to distract himself from this self-evidently self-pitying performance, Eldrich made a note to have Gerrard his PA send her details of the latest in suppurating suppression skins. He was especially gratified at their take up though the recent reports of unsightly bleaching on those needing a darker skin tone would need to be followed up. Especially after the disaster of his range of ‘knowing noses’ allowing the wearer to chose their most prominent feature to suit the cultural and religious sensitivities of their audience. He shuddered at the memory of the headline: ‘Beware the racist bionicist’s proboscis’.

‘Oh Professor, how could I be so silly?’

Eldrich peered at his patient, easily but unwillingly resisting the urge to answer this patently rhetorical question with a brutally honest answer. ‘What happened, Mrs Tilt? It’s not like they were a pair of spectacles you might forget.’

‘Peach mojitos,’ she offered by way of a response.

Eldrich prided himself on the depth of his hard-won cynicism. He liked to believe he was capable of unpicking even the most abstruse of answers proffered by his patients. But this defeated him. ‘Mojitos?’

To Eldrich’s surprise – his left eyebrow performed a passable rumba leading to an immediate regret that he had omitted adding his static brow-line to his features when he had got ready for his first appointment – Hildegard giggled. She was so unsuited to that action, given that the harmonics of her jowls were clearly aligned, and not in a good way, to the wave pattern caused by the giggle at its peak. He made another note to include with the suppuration suppression scheme a detailed list of the available humour modes she might adopt which would, in a heartbeat, remove the possibility of unsightly jiggles breaking out during laughter.

‘I think it’s the combination of peach and alcohol. One and I’m Sensual Siren…’

Eldrich winced at the image, sadly acknowledging that the limits of modern day bionics meant controlling visualisation was a way off.

‘… but after two I’m insensible.’ She shrugged and waved at her hollow trouser legs which would have been filled with two limbs. ‘I was legless. I’d taken off my day pins and had on my party calves – you did them beautifully Professor, they just melt into my Jimmy Choos.’

He nodded at the compliment. It was the least he deserved.

‘But the boys I was with left them behind. I can’t go to work wearing my party calves, can I? I’ll need some temporary legs to see me through until I can arrange for my own to be retrieved.’

Eldrich pondered this woman with her open face and untroubled countenance, a product of his engineering and medical skills. There were many benefits to being the best bionicist around and having a willing – and rich – client like Mrs Tilt wasn’t one of them. ‘Mrs Tilt – Hildegard,’ the woman simpered – he scratched another note to include the removal of facile features from her next upgrade, ‘I am good at what I do. I can provide you with hands for the garden and the gala, arms that can squeeze and seduce, legs that can beguile and beast. You can have an infinite range of faces and fingers. But there are limits.’ He held up a hand to forestall any protests and was disappointed to realise there were none coming. ‘I cannot provide you with common sense.’

Deb of Deb’s World provided a picture prompt on her Wordless Wednesday post here. This is my response.