Floating "How long has it been?" asked Harvey. There was an odd nostalgia attached to the noise of the establishment, the waiters bustling back and forth, glasses clanging together at tables all around. Victor's eyes looked towards the sources of noises as he identified them, flinching in apprehension each time. He picked up his own glass with a hand that felt alien to him. It seemed to float there in front of him rather than fight against his will and burn against the cold surface as a hand should. "Four months, give or take," he said, tipping the glass back. The beverage was sweet, whatever it was. Might've been tea, maybe soda. He'd hardly paid any attention when he ordered his food. Words rolled off his tongue without the trouble they used to cause. No more stuttering, no more murmuring. He set the glass the down and frowned, more at himself than at it. "The drinks here are crap, I know," Harvey said idly. "Look I get this is real soon after, but this interview’s been on my mind ever since your treatment kicked in. What's it like?" He had a pen and paper at the ready and his hands were all but raining sweat. 'What is it like,' what a great question that was. Well, what was there to say? "Best start with the anesthetic, I guess," said Victor. "You feel a cold rush in your veins and then the little man at your brain's PC starts clicking all the X's he can see on the screen. After that you're out cold for what feels like a heartbeat. Next few weeks were rough, but that's about normal for anything like this." He stopped and waited for Harvey to get all of that down. The weasel-like man was writing at mach two, it would've been amusing to watch were it not so oddly humbling. Maybe that was what Victor would learn to do next, write by hand as quickly as he could think. Sky was the limit at that point. "Go on," said Harvey. "The first thing I wanted to do after recovering was throw myself off a bridge. Not because I wanted to die or I didn't know what to do with myself, I was just absolutely sure I could fly." Even as he sat there, his chair felt two miles below him, he had to look in order to realize that he was still leaning back. Nothing ached anymore. Harvey was still writing like a man possessed. "I remember walking through a crowd with this weird sensation in my head. What was I even supposed to do with my arms without a chair to push? Everyone was swinging them while they walked. I didn't get why, still don’t. None of them spared me a glance, I blended in seamlessly with the backdrop just like everyone else for once. And the last thing I remember about that is feeling really disarmed without my chair there to sit in, or a wall to lean against," he said, then took another sip of his oddly sweet drink. No wash of aching pain hit him as he sat there motionless throughout their conversation. He moved his legs a little anyway, he could never be too careful. Not moving his legs was once a good way to temporarily lose his ability to stand. "So to sum it all up, I’ll ask again: What's it like to be cured?" asked Harvey. Victor hesitated and grasped for words that weren't there. "That’s exactly what it’s like," he said. "Come again?" "What do you feel right now, Harvey? Does your head hurt? How about your neck? Can you hold it up for another ten minutes without much trouble? Your hands feel pretty steady?" asked Victor, keeping his glass in his hand. The liquid inside stayed completely still, to his continual amazement. "I'm fine, I don't really feel anything, I guess," said Harvey. "And there's what I'm trying to tell you," said Victor. "Think of it like this, if you locked yourself in a room for ten years and all you heard was nonstop screaming, you'd get used to it, as crazy that might sound. It's like going from that to a library, Harvey, it's peaceful beyond what my lacking imagination can begin to describe." He looked down at his legs again and noticed that one of his shoes had come untied. 'Easy,' he thought, and pulled the laces this way and that until they were tied again. It took almost no concentration for him to do. Harvey looked on in confusion, Victor made no move to explain.