FICLET: "Discovering that Girls Have More Fun"
SERIES: Nr. 15 of the Boring!Orli series. Back to nr. 14 .

Author: Lobelia; [email protected]
Pairing: Orlando Bloom / all sorts.
A/N: For Sheldrake who needed to be bored.

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They ran along the grey-floored corridors of hospital wing A. To be precise, the floors were not exactly grey; they were a mottled shade of elephantine infused with bright-pink squiggles, designed by some 1950s-retro interior decorator. To be even more precise, the floor was not much noticed by those who ran along it at top speed. Those who ran along it at top speed did not even heed the floor's supreme design and its technologically advanced and rather squeaky resistance to their Nike-soled footfall. Nor did it ever occur to those that ran along it at top speed that this same floor might possibly, conceivably, though improbably, rise up and throttle them all from behind in classic T2 style.

No, they ran and ran, past Surgery Unit 1, round the corner of Titillations & Articulations, up the stairs from Pregnancies (Female & Male), and down the hall towards the Transgender DNA Transplantation Hormone Department.

They, in this case, consisted of one shoulder-length-haired man with dimpled chin (clutching a bunch of wilted yellow freesias), one frazzled-looking bloke with sharp cheekbones who was leaving a cloud of cheap eau-de-cologne in his wake, and one young chappie whose head had nearly disappeared beneath a pair of headphones and whose torso was draped with sundry audio-transmissive equipment, viz. a discman, a walkman, a CD-carrier case, a portable cassett-o-rotor and a knapsack containing who knows what.

Knock, knock, on the door of Room 403.

Frenzied rustling inside.

Knock, knock, again.

The sound of a chair scraping across lino and the suction steps of a nurse's shoes.

Knock, kno...

The door opened.

"Yes?" came the crisp voice of the nurse, her name tag only slightly askew and her chignon tight as a panda's arse.

"We're here to see Mr Bloom," grinned Viggo and proffered his flora.

"Mr Orlando Bloom," specified Johnny and raised one finger knowledgeably.

"Hey, Orli, how're you doing?" yelled Dom and waved his discman in the air. "Look what I've got here: the brand new, only just out on pre-release, sneak preview edition of the latest Pumping Smashkins! Also, you'll never guess what happened but I've had this most amazing time in gaol. I was there for a..."

"Please, sirs," said the nurse. "Do lower your voices a little. The patient is still in a very, ah, delicate condition."

The three of them crowded into the room.

Orli lay propped up on the bed in a white hospital gown. The gown's drawstring was undone at the back; the left sleeve hung down to the elbow, revealing an expanse of sweaty shoulder; the standard-issue white sheet was tangled around his bare legs; Orli's hair was wild and mussed; and Orli's face, well, the cheeks were flushed, the lips were red, there were red splotches on the ridge of his nose, and his eyes had a glazed look about them.

The patient did look as if he were still in a delicate condition. In fact, the patient looked to be in a decidedly post-orgasmic condition.

"Orlando, are you all right?" said Viggo with concern engraved in the lines across his forehead, taut as telegraph wires in an old-fashioned movie.

"Orli-mate?" croaked Johnny. He came up close to the bed. He looked down at the sheet. He looked up at Orli's face. He swivelled his head to look over at the nurse.

"You know, it was an amazing coincidence, really," went on Dom unperturbed, sat down on the edge of the bed and started to unpack his CDs and audiotapes. "While I was in the clink, well, it wasn't even a proper clink really, more a sort of police station cell -- anyway, I met this amazing guy in there. He was in for, I don't know, robbing a supermarket or drug dealing or something, and he told me that he has, wait for this, the entire collection of the original Washington Starplane live albums, recorded in Santa Monica in 1967 and..."

Johnny waved Dom aside. CDs clattered to the floor, spreading out among the 1950s squiggles.

"Orli-mate, is this what I think it looks like?" said Johnny.

The door burst open. A man came in. It was the Head Physician, the Right Honourable Royal Surgeon Brad Dourif M.D., Ph.D., Dipl.med., RPS/OOC-AU.

"Goooood morning," he intoned. "Good morning, all. Nurse, guests, Mr Bloooooom. Now..." He consulted his clipboard. "I have very good news for you, Mr Bloom. We will be able to operate within the hour. And let me assure you, the operation in conjunction with extensive hormonal treatment will have you back to what you were in no time. We also advise you to register for our special gender trauma counselling course. Please sign here, Mr Bloom, dotted line and so forth."

Orli opened his mouth and spoke for the first time since everybody had crowded into the room.

"Operation?" Orli cried. "Trauma? I don't want an operation! I want to stay the way I am now!"

A collective gasp escaped the throats of all those present. All throats except the one of the Royal Nurse who smiled smugly in the background and adjusted the hem of her uniform.

"What?" said Viggo and dropped the freesias.

"Orli-mate!" exclaimed Johnny and threw himself across the sheets.

"You're going to stay a girl?" said Dom and looked bewildered.

"I bags go first!" yelled Johnny in wild exultation.

"Excuse me?" said Brad Dourif M.D., Ph.D., Dipl.med., RPS/OOC-AU.

A dreamy look invaded Orli's face. "I've never experienced anything like it," he sighed. "It's... wow, I can't describe it. But I want to stay like this forever and ever. And I want.. what's your name, anyway? ... to be my personal one-on-one nurse!"

"You're going to stay a gay girl?" said Dom and looked befuddled.

"I want my old Orlando back," implored Viggo.

"Not the nurse!" gasped Johnny into Orli's chest. "Take me! I promise I can make it good for you. I've deflowered many a..."

"Gentlemen, please," interrupted Brad Dourif M.D., Ph.D., Dipl.med., RPS/OOC-AU. "I'm afraid, Mr Bloom, what you say is not possible under the Gender Discretion Act, paragraph 1a, clause 72b. It is quite out of the question on medical grounds also. We have already initiated hormonal treatment which will, even without surgical interference, restore you to your erstwhile gender splendour within the next 48 hours."

"But doctor," pleaded Viggo. "It's not just his genitals! Something's happened to his personality. He never used to be like this."

Just then, there was a crash and a bang. The catheter had toppled over. The window swung on its hinges.

In--patient Bloom from Room 403 had escaped and was even now running at top speed across the manicured front lawn of the hospital, gown and hair flapping in the breeze.

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[email protected]
17 September 2003

The story continues in nr. 16: Falling in with Professionals.

Back to nr. 14: Appreciating the Health Professions.

All original parts of this story: © Lobelia

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