miss amelia

Tip of the day: it feels much better to receive than give. ( ˊᵕˋ )♡.°

Post.

The very first comment is: As if we needed confirmation that Koha-chin is a bottom.

Koharu deletes the comment, then the post. She takes deep breaths.It’s okay. Everyone makes mistakes. She meant it the other way around.

How to act when committing a faux-pas?

Option A is to pretend like nothing happened. This often backfires.

Option B is to vaguely address the issue while gaslighting one’s audience. This works to varying degrees.

Option C is to tell everyone to die. While it’s objectively the best option, Koharu has to choose her brand over her morals.

Thus, she tries again. Tip of the day: if you feel sad, try gifting something! It doesn’t have to be a physical object. Something as small as a smile or a compliment can make someone’s day! ( ˊᵕˋ )♡.° Personally, I feel better when giving GIFTS than receiving them.

Post.

The very first comment is a screenshot of her original message.

***

There are four crates at the entrance of Otohama Medical Center. So this is what they called her for, huh…

Yet again, Mrs. Matsueda sits at the front desk. From what Nagumo had told Amelia, Mrs. Matsueda worked as a nurse for almost half a century. Since Dr. Shimazu is her granddaughter and she was in the field for longer than the current staff has been alive, Mrs. Matsueda unofficially runs the place–in her head, that is.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Mrs. Matsueda, a patient, greets Amelia, a nurse. “I’m glad you’re here to help and not that Gouda blobfish.”

“Good morning. Do you know why those boxes are there?” Amelia hasn’t finished talking yet when she realizes how rude that sounds. In Japanese. It was fine in her head, because she… because she was thinking in French… “I’m sorry! I’m very sorry!” Last time she did this and explained why it happened, they chastised her for explaining herself, so she’s doomed with, doomed without. “Who put the boxes there?” That sounds even worse. “Where’s Nagumo? Mr. Nagumo.” Putain.

“Nagumo is here,” he responds as he emerges from the hallway, writing something on a clipboard. Like her, he didn’t use honorifics, but unlike her, he’s being passive-aggressive. “Miss Gaillard, would it be possible to do the morning checkups, please?”

He actually used ‘miss’, not -san. Amelia just showed up and she wants to go home already. Mrs. Matsueda and her watch him head upstairs, and it isn’t until he leaves that the former says, “Please forgive Toshi. He’s cranky today.”

Terrifying is what he is. Amelia has to swallow the lump in her throat before she responds, “I’m very, um, very sorry about before, Mrs. Matsueda. It won’t happen again. I didn’t mean to be rude. I promise.”

“I know, sweetheart. I could tell by your face. Don’t worry.”

Amelia can’t not worry, though.

“To answer your question… they’re supplies Ms. Fuji kindly donated to us.” That does sound like something Koha-chin would do. “Would you be so kind as to help me with them?”

She glances outside. The crates are just… there. No labels. No paperwork. There’s something very, very wrong about this. “Of course, Mrs. Matsueda. Just… let me ask first.”

“Ask? Ask who? Toshi?”

A chill runs down Amelia’s spine at the thought.

“I thought as much. Come on, sweetie. Let’s take these things to the kitchen.”

Yet she doesn’t move. Again–doomed with, doomed without. Surely, Koha-chin would know better than to just… dump those things at the entrance, right? The gift basket incident was probably a one-time thing. Surely. Even a civilian would know that accepting donations involves a ton of paperwork and safety checks and…

…besides, Mrs. Matsueda worked in the field. She should know, perhaps better than anyone.

Surely.

Amelia chews on her lips. It’s a nasty habit she needs to get rid of.

“Ms. Gaillard?”

“Mrs. Matsueda… who approved those supplies?”

“Bah! Not you too.”

And thus, Amelia’s worst fears are confirmed: Koha-chin really just ordered those things and expected the clinic to take them.

Koha-chin… no wonder she made that extremely poorly-worded post earlier…

“This place can’t afford bureaucracy. Does filling papers make carrots taste better?”

A long-term patient, Mr. Oda, shows up. “You know how city folk are, Matsu. They show up, they help a bit, and they think that they can run the place. Good morning, French girl. Bon, uh… Bon voyage?”

He tried. “Bonjour,” Amelia corrects.

“Banjo. So will you take the food or not?”

As someone who grew up in a place that could not afford bureaucracy, she gets it. As someone who understands that accepting donations without any kind of quality control is a recipe for disaster, she gets it, too. “I’ll um. I’ll have to ask.”

“So no.” Mr. Oda heads back to his room. Once there, he uses his phone as a radio.

“What a shame,” Mrs. Matsueda says. “All that food, that kindness, going to waste, and all because of silly paperwork. Always the silly paperwork.”

Amelia should probably be on her way now. There aren’t many patients today aside from those in hospice care, but still… “If I may, I was born in a small town, too. When I was little, someone showed up with a lot of medicine. We didn’t have any clinic or hospital or… anything there, really, so a lot of townsfolk took them. The problem was that most of the medicine was expired. I… think…? That he might have just had it lying around at home, and decided to give it away, but because no one checked, or cared, some people had very bad reactions. Before that happened, I didn’t even know medicine could expire.”

Mrs. Matsueda nods. “I understand where you’re coming from. Ms. Fuji donated food, though, not medicine. It’ll expire if it stays under the sun for long.”

“Oh, but…” If any patient gets sick due to said food, in principle, it would be pretty similar, wouldn’t it? Or has Amelia just become ‘city folk’? “I’ll try to… convince them? Maybe?”

“As you wish.”

As Amelia goes through the morning checkups, she’s so distracted that she slams against the doorframe, but the patient she sees then–Mr. Sato–comforts rather than mock her. He’s kind, if a bit silly. He was here last time, too. He looked less pale. He also looked for excuses to keep her from leaving the room.

Still, eventually, she has to move on. There’s nothing worse than a patient who’s clearly lonely.

In the beginning, Amelia used to cry a lot. It doesn’t happen as often anymore, but it almost does today.

Thankfully, Koha-chin is last on the list, so Amelia can use her as emotional support before the inevitable confrontation with Nagumo. Koha-chin is, as usual, on her phone, with full makeup on despite being bedridden. From the corners of her eyes, she glances at Amelia, then smiles once she sees who it is (which makes Amelia wonder if she’s also scared of Nagumo). “Gaillard! Bonjooour!”

“Good morning!”

Koha-chin’s vitals are great, as usual. She’s always so healthy. “Did you see the gifts?”

“Yes, I did…”

“And?”

“And…”

“Matsu and I came up with the idea. You can thank her, too. I just have to bring my chef now.”

“Ms. Fujinomiya, please don’t do that.”

Koha-chin pouts at her. Amelia will actually, really, truly cry now. “Why not?”

“B-because… the clinic could get in trouble?”

“Why?”

“Patients can’t just hire someone to–”

“But why? It’s always ‘no, no’ for everything, for no reason. If this place is understaffed, why would they not want a chef? I’m the one paying, not them. Ah, pardon, Gaillard. I didn’t mean to snap at you! I just knew that something would go wrong. With the staff, not you, or even the patients. The patients are all lovely. They would love Nana-chi.”

Amelia assumes ‘Nana-chi’ is the chef. Frankly, she’s sick and tired of explaining bureaucracy. She just nods.

“You’d love Nana-chi, too. Hey, Gaillard, what if you help me convince Nagumo with this? I’m sure Eguchi and Dr. Shimazu will agree.”

And Amelia is sure they won’t. She just nods.

“Great!” Koha-chin does her signature Y pose. “I’ll be counting on you!”

Wobbling, she heads to the break room, where Nagumo is filling out silly paperwork. He doesn’t even acknowledge her. Quite honestly, she’s thinking of basing a villain off of him.

She can do this.

She’s a grown woman.

She touched a frog once. “Mr… Nagumo?”

No answer.

“They um, the patients told me about the crates, but I don’t think anyone authorized them… right…? So what will we do about them?”

Nothing.

“I think Ms. Fujinomiya was just trying to help. She just doesn’t know any better. I’m not sure if you know this, but she donates a lot to, um… fish stuff.”

“I’m sorry,” Nagumo says.

So is Amelia, and she shuts up.

He puts the pen down for a moment. “Talking to you that way was uncalled for. You didn’t deserve it.”

She turns around so he doesn’t see her crying. Amelia can handle rude people all day long, but apologies… “It’s fine! It’s fine.”

Since it takes some time for Nagumo to respond, it’s safe to say that he knows she’s crying. “Take a break, Ms. Gaillard. Don’t worry about Fujinomiya’s latest siege. I’ll figure it out.”

…did he just call it a siege?