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Description
Conversion:
Noun. The process of changing or causing something to change from one form to another.

Hey, let's check in on how Connor Gideon is doing! Oh.. wait, nevermind, he still looks terrible and miserable :'D
Gideon is what the G in Connor G. Goldenweiser is for, btw - in case you forgot that he renounced his first name ('Connor died') and started using the middle one back in episode 5 ^^'

Previously:

,,You have to eat.”
Nurse Esraa was still sitting there; hovering a spoonful of what resembled porridge in front of his face. She had sat in the exact same position when he had chosen to close his eyes and block her out 5 seconds ago? 5 minutes ago? He was not sure – he had lost all sense of time in this hospital. The nurse’s patience was commendable, but how he hated it…
,,Do I?” Gideon sighed and then, just as Esraa drew in breath to –he assumed- scold him for not cooperating, he elaborated. ,,I’m not hungry.”
,,You have lost quite some weight since you got here.” the nurse said after a while. ,,Most of it muscle, obviously. But- and I hope you will pardon me for saying this- you were already on the slender side to begin with. I don’t like where this is going.”
He would have shrugged with indifference but could not. He blinked with indifference instead, or however indifferent he managed to make a blink look with his face plastered with bandaids. The more days swam past, the more those scrapes were starting to itch…
,,If you’re trying to starve yourself to death you should know a few things: if your vitals start to budge I will be forced to put another feeding tube in you. I would really prefer not to do that.”
,,Bite me.”
The nurse blinked.
,,You might want to stay on good terms with the person in charge of changing your catheter, young man.”
,,Or you’ll inflict terrible pain on me? I honestly wished you could.”
Esraa sucked in her breath and Gideon's instinct -or was it Connor's instinct?- told him to squirm and apologize profusely for being so blatantly rude… but a much stronger feeling of just wanting to be left alone willed him to stay silent and hope his caretaker would have the –in his opinion- good sense to do just that: leave him alone.

Esraa was not so easily put off. She put the bowl away but instead of leaving the room she gave him one long, penetrating glare and spoke with piercing clarity:
,,Everyone who knows you says you’re polite to the point of being an excuse for your mere existence. But the things I have observed are in stark contrast to this. You've suffered quite the head trauma, yes, but frankly, we are all worried for you.”
,,We?”
,,Everyone who has talked to you since you woke up. Your tendencies are.. worrying. You’ve shut yourself off from everyone. Now this hunger strike. What exactly are you trying to accomplish?”
Silence.
,,Do you wish you had died in that accident?”
The directness of the question surprised him – it was the first time anyone had dared to strip away the bubblewrap layer of soothing words that was wound around every question directed at him. It was provocative, in a way… and ever so refreshing. It took another moment of silence before his answer came; barely audible but perfectly clear:
,,Yes.”
Esraa nodded.
,,Alright.” She said. ,,Would you care to elaborate?”
,,Not really. I think I should be dead. I think it would be better if I were.”
,,Better for whom?”
,,Everyone?” he answered her hesitantly.
Esraa regarded him from beneath her heavy eyelids. They gave her a calm expression, those lids, as if nothing in the world could rouse her. Gideon could not hold her gaze for very long.
,,Do you think your mother would agree to this?” she asked him. ,,Your father?”
,,Maybe.” He dared to raise his gaze again. ,,Right now all I cause them is pain and trouble and I can do nothing about it. Not even pat my mother’s hand and lie to her that I’m alright. I’ll forever be a liability to them.”
,,Is that how you really see it?”
,,Yes.”
,,And I assume that is also why you are attempting to cut off your social circle as well?”
,,Family is stuck with you,” he ventured cautiously. ,,Friends.. girlfriend… they shouldn’t have to. I’m just doing the reasonable thing and doing it for them so they won’t have to deal with their own bad conscience later on.”
...and his own, for wasting their time.
,,Azaria did warn me you're a cynic."
,,I don't mean to sound ungrateful. But people are busy telling me how lucky I am to still be alive; how grateful I should be for existing. That it ‘isn’t that bad’ and that ‘life doesn’t end here’. They speak of the future. But it’s selfish – they say it to make themselves feel better, and in doing so they completely trivialize what I think. They don't listen - because I don't feel lucky - and I certainly didn't ask to be kept artificially alive. What kind of life is this? I am under surveillance 24 hours a day; I have no privacy, no dignity and when I try to set boundaries I get told I’m unreasonable. Of course it’s ‘that bad’ and of course it’s the end of my life as I knew it. I am tired of being treated as if I’m unreasonable. I've been staring at this ceiling for months without getting even remotely better - I just want someone to acknowledge that this sucks.”
,,Well, that it does.” Esraa said diplomatically. ,,But it's been four days since you woke up. Not months."
There was a distinct widening of his eyes for the briefest moment.
,,Four... days? That's it?"
Esraa gave the monitor a brief glance and nodded with a cautious smile.
,,You are heavily medicated and sleep 19 hours a day, so I can't blame you. But you have already improved: your intracranial pressure was a bitch to get under control, but the drain is finally out. And you get a little more coherent each time we speak."
,,Still paralyzed, though."
The nurse sighed heavily.
,,Well... yes." She weighed her words, keeping her gaze fixed on him the entire time. ,,That's another thing. You're a bit... more paralyzed than you should be."
,,Your medical student mentioned that, yes. That with this injury I should still be able to bend my elbows." He shot a glance to his arm before his eyes darted back up. ,,Well, my elbows don't agree. And honestly, it doesn't really make a difference to me. I think I've always been paralyzed. I've wasted my life by being cautious to the point of standstill; missed opportunities because I dared not take them. I couldn't even commit to dying entirely, y'know?"
,,Do you want to die?"
Again, one of the nurse’s direct questions. He thought he had the answer right on his tongue but for some reason he hesitated – and once his answer finally came he was surprised to hear himself say it:
,,No.”
,,No?”
,,No, I.. don’t know. I don’t think so.”
,,And why is that?”
,,I... don't know. I guess I'm scared?" He snorted. ,,It's ironic, isn't it? I've always been too scared to do anything. I've accomplished nothing while I had the chance. And now, with nothing left to lose, I'm too scared to die."
,,I wouldn't say you've accomplished nothing," Esraa argued. ,,I've been told you're quite the dressage prodigy."
,,Connor was. Connor is dead, though."

The nurse nodded to herself and reached over to the bedside table to take a pill glass.
,,You had a talk with one of our doctors earlier today," she said slowly. ,,About your... identity crisis. Do you remember that?"
,,Vaguely..." He was hesitant to admit that he could not really separate the doctors from each other. They all looked the same to him.
,,...and he suggested these." she made a small movement in her wrist that made the pills inside the glass rattle as if she was shaking a maraca.
He gave the pill glass one long, hard look.
,,I know those.” He said flatly. ,,My family produces them. I also know what they are used for."
Esraa nodded quietly.
,,What's your opinion?" he asked in a guarded voice.
,,It’s not really up to me to decide.”
,,I understand that. But I'd still like to hear it."
,,Objectively," the nurse began. ,,You are not in a state to make your own decisions right now. You have depressive delusions to the point of psychosis - and we think this may influence you physically. It would explain the discord between your injury and your symptoms."
He scoffed.
,,I'm not depressed."
,,I don't think so either- but you are delusional. And effectively, while you are in this state, you have two choices: you can take the pills voluntarily - or you will be treated against your will if someone decides you present a danger to yourself."
Gideon sighed wearily.
,,Well, my sister did want me to become more involved with the family business," he said in a voice strewn with sarcasm. ,,Fine. I'll take the pills."
Esraa smiled disarmingly.
,,I think you're as sane as anyone," she said. ,,You might just need a push in the right direction. Or a pull. And another thing--"
She picked up the bowl again. He could have sworn she wore a pleased little grin behind her serious facade as she did so - she knew she had him.
,,If you insist," he sighed. ,,I’ll eat.”

To be continued
Next: 2.12: Chai

Hmmm... Someone going on hunger strike and being moooody out of frustration that he's not being heard? Why, it's almost as if there's a parallel to a certain grey stallion here...

Disclaimer:
Is Con out ouf character? YES HE IS.
Please consider than he is 4 days out of a medically induced coma, heavily medicated, woke up paralyzed, is under 24-hour surveillance (and is usually a very private person), can't separate night from day (lights are never dimmed in the icu), has no privacy AND suffered a pretty serious head trauma. That boy's brain is TOAST. Of course he doesn't think like a healthy person :'D
...and then again? He reasons EXACTLY like he always did, just taken to an extreme:
"Wow, I am an inconvenience" --> "I should stop being an inconvenience." (---> "I should be dead" )

Neuropatients can be funky like that.

He lost his intracranial drain, though, yay! ...and some swirls along with it, ah. RIP swirls :')

Toast-boy and company reside with meee

Description
Conversion:
Noun. The process of changing or causing something to change from one form to another.

Hey, let's check in on how Connor Gideon is doing! Oh.. wait, nevermind, he still looks terrible and miserable :'D
Gideon is what the G in Connor G. Goldenweiser is for, btw - in case you forgot that he renounced his first name ('Connor died') and started using the middle one back in episode 5 ^^'

Previously:

,,You have to eat.”
Nurse Esraa was still sitting there; hovering a spoonful of what resembled porridge in front of his face. She had sat in the exact same position when he had chosen to close his eyes and block her out 5 seconds ago? 5 minutes ago? He was not sure – he had lost all sense of time in this hospital. The nurse’s patience was commendable, but how he hated it…
,,Do I?” Gideon sighed and then, just as Esraa drew in breath to –he assumed- scold him for not cooperating, he elaborated. ,,I’m not hungry.”
,,You have lost quite some weight since you got here.” the nurse said after a while. ,,Most of it muscle, obviously. But- and I hope you will pardon me for saying this- you were already on the slender side to begin with. I don’t like where this is going.”
He would have shrugged with indifference but could not. He blinked with indifference instead, or however indifferent he managed to make a blink look with his face plastered with bandaids. The more days swam past, the more those scrapes were starting to itch…
,,If you’re trying to starve yourself to death you should know a few things: if your vitals start to budge I will be forced to put another feeding tube in you. I would really prefer not to do that.”
,,Bite me.”
The nurse blinked.
,,You might want to stay on good terms with the person in charge of changing your catheter, young man.”
,,Or you’ll inflict terrible pain on me? I honestly wished you could.”
Esraa sucked in her breath and Gideon's instinct -or was it Connor's instinct?- told him to squirm and apologize profusely for being so blatantly rude… but a much stronger feeling of just wanting to be left alone willed him to stay silent and hope his caretaker would have the –in his opinion- good sense to do just that: leave him alone.

Esraa was not so easily put off. She put the bowl away but instead of leaving the room she gave him one long, penetrating glare and spoke with piercing clarity:
,,Everyone who knows you says you’re polite to the point of being an excuse for your mere existence. But the things I have observed are in stark contrast to this. You've suffered quite the head trauma, yes, but frankly, we are all worried for you.”
,,We?”
,,Everyone who has talked to you since you woke up. Your tendencies are.. worrying. You’ve shut yourself off from everyone. Now this hunger strike. What exactly are you trying to accomplish?”
Silence.
,,Do you wish you had died in that accident?”
The directness of the question surprised him – it was the first time anyone had dared to strip away the bubblewrap layer of soothing words that was wound around every question directed at him. It was provocative, in a way… and ever so refreshing. It took another moment of silence before his answer came; barely audible but perfectly clear:
,,Yes.”
Esraa nodded.
,,Alright.” She said. ,,Would you care to elaborate?”
,,Not really. I think I should be dead. I think it would be better if I were.”
,,Better for whom?”
,,Everyone?” he answered her hesitantly.
Esraa regarded him from beneath her heavy eyelids. They gave her a calm expression, those lids, as if nothing in the world could rouse her. Gideon could not hold her gaze for very long.
,,Do you think your mother would agree to this?” she asked him. ,,Your father?”
,,Maybe.” He dared to raise his gaze again. ,,Right now all I cause them is pain and trouble and I can do nothing about it. Not even pat my mother’s hand and lie to her that I’m alright. I’ll forever be a liability to them.”
,,Is that how you really see it?”
,,Yes.”
,,And I assume that is also why you are attempting to cut off your social circle as well?”
,,Family is stuck with you,” he ventured cautiously. ,,Friends.. girlfriend… they shouldn’t have to. I’m just doing the reasonable thing and doing it for them so they won’t have to deal with their own bad conscience later on.”
...and his own, for wasting their time.
,,Azaria did warn me you're a cynic."
,,I don't mean to sound ungrateful. But people are busy telling me how lucky I am to still be alive; how grateful I should be for existing. That it ‘isn’t that bad’ and that ‘life doesn’t end here’. They speak of the future. But it’s selfish – they say it to make themselves feel better, and in doing so they completely trivialize what I think. They don't listen - because I don't feel lucky - and I certainly didn't ask to be kept artificially alive. What kind of life is this? I am under surveillance 24 hours a day; I have no privacy, no dignity and when I try to set boundaries I get told I’m unreasonable. Of course it’s ‘that bad’ and of course it’s the end of my life as I knew it. I am tired of being treated as if I’m unreasonable. I've been staring at this ceiling for months without getting even remotely better - I just want someone to acknowledge that this sucks.”
,,Well, that it does.” Esraa said diplomatically. ,,But it's been four days since you woke up. Not months."
There was a distinct widening of his eyes for the briefest moment.
,,Four... days? That's it?"
Esraa gave the monitor a brief glance and nodded with a cautious smile.
,,You are heavily medicated and sleep 19 hours a day, so I can't blame you. But you have already improved: your intracranial pressure was a bitch to get under control, but the drain is finally out. And you get a little more coherent each time we speak."
,,Still paralyzed, though."
The nurse sighed heavily.
,,Well... yes." She weighed her words, keeping her gaze fixed on him the entire time. ,,That's another thing. You're a bit... more paralyzed than you should be."
,,Your medical student mentioned that, yes. That with this injury I should still be able to bend my elbows." He shot a glance to his arm before his eyes darted back up. ,,Well, my elbows don't agree. And honestly, it doesn't really make a difference to me. I think I've always been paralyzed. I've wasted my life by being cautious to the point of standstill; missed opportunities because I dared not take them. I couldn't even commit to dying entirely, y'know?"
,,Do you want to die?"
Again, one of the nurse’s direct questions. He thought he had the answer right on his tongue but for some reason he hesitated – and once his answer finally came he was surprised to hear himself say it:
,,No.”
,,No?”
,,No, I.. don’t know. I don’t think so.”
,,And why is that?”
,,I... don't know. I guess I'm scared?" He snorted. ,,It's ironic, isn't it? I've always been too scared to do anything. I've accomplished nothing while I had the chance. And now, with nothing left to lose, I'm too scared to die."
,,I wouldn't say you've accomplished nothing," Esraa argued. ,,I've been told you're quite the dressage prodigy."
,,Connor was. Connor is dead, though."

The nurse nodded to herself and reached over to the bedside table to take a pill glass.
,,You had a talk with one of our doctors earlier today," she said slowly. ,,About your... identity crisis. Do you remember that?"
,,Vaguely..." He was hesitant to admit that he could not really separate the doctors from each other. They all looked the same to him.
,,...and he suggested these." she made a small movement in her wrist that made the pills inside the glass rattle as if she was shaking a maraca.
He gave the pill glass one long, hard look.
,,I know those.” He said flatly. ,,My family produces them. I also know what they are used for."
Esraa nodded quietly.
,,What's your opinion?" he asked in a guarded voice.
,,It’s not really up to me to decide.”
,,I understand that. But I'd still like to hear it."
,,Objectively," the nurse began. ,,You are not in a state to make your own decisions right now. You have depressive delusions to the point of psychosis - and we think this may influence you physically. It would explain the discord between your injury and your symptoms."
He scoffed.
,,I'm not depressed."
,,I don't think so either- but you are delusional. And effectively, while you are in this state, you have two choices: you can take the pills voluntarily - or you will be treated against your will if someone decides you present a danger to yourself."
Gideon sighed wearily.
,,Well, my sister did want me to become more involved with the family business," he said in a voice strewn with sarcasm. ,,Fine. I'll take the pills."
Esraa smiled disarmingly.
,,I think you're as sane as anyone," she said. ,,You might just need a push in the right direction. Or a pull. And another thing--"
She picked up the bowl again. He could have sworn she wore a pleased little grin behind her serious facade as she did so - she knew she had him.
,,If you insist," he sighed. ,,I’ll eat.”

To be continued
Next: 2.12: Chai

Hmmm... Someone going on hunger strike and being moooody out of frustration that he's not being heard? Why, it's almost as if there's a parallel to a certain grey stallion here...

Disclaimer:
Is Con out ouf character? YES HE IS.
Please consider than he is 4 days out of a medically induced coma, heavily medicated, woke up paralyzed, is under 24-hour surveillance (and is usually a very private person), can't separate night from day (lights are never dimmed in the icu), has no privacy AND suffered a pretty serious head trauma. That boy's brain is TOAST. Of course he doesn't think like a healthy person :'D
...and then again? He reasons EXACTLY like he always did, just taken to an extreme:
"Wow, I am an inconvenience" --> "I should stop being an inconvenience." (---> "I should be dead" )

Neuropatients can be funky like that.

He lost his intracranial drain, though, yay! ...and some swirls along with it, ah. RIP swirls :')

Toast-boy and company reside with meee