Nurse Della and Dillian

If there was anything that Dillian couldn't do, it would probably be getting on stage and performing all alone. Behind curtains, she kept to herself, trying to figure out how to calm herself down. Her brows were furrowed and she had abandoned her notebook on the table next to her. She knew that, soon, it would be her turn to get up on stage, and she had already bothered Mr. Alice - there was no way she'd be able to back out.

"Dillian Green?" a voice called out from out of her view, and next thing she knew, she was on her feet and walking towards the stage.

She was clad in a typical nurse's outfit, apple green in color, with a hat placed on her head. A standard medical mask covered her mouth and nose. Desperately, she attempted to swallow down her fear and nervousness, making a meek wave  towards the teacher. Her eyes slipped closed as she took a deep breath, dropped her hand and allowed herself to drop into the character she knew she was supposed to be.

---

Slowly, her eyes opened, and she got to work.

Quickly and efficiently, she moves around stage, acting as if she were checking in on patients, pretending to hold a clipboard and writing in it. Her movement was almost robotic, as if Nurse Della was used to the routine by that time, stiff with an air of professionalism.

It is not too long before she is sitting on a stool with what seems to be an imaginary patient. Calmly, she wipes down the needle in her hand with a cloth, preparing it for the syringe she'd be using. She turns to eye the invisible person, grabbing at the non-existent arm and pretending to ready it for the standard routine of blood extraction. Taking the syringe, she slowly presses into the 'arm', her eyes widening at the thought of blood squeezing into the little piece of equipment.

Her heart pounded against her chest, eyes tracing the syringe, lusting after the metallic tasting blood within it. Carefully, she places the syringe back into it's container, her body shaking with restraint. As if to care for her patient, she pretends to take it's hand, holding it gently, before reaching out into a box of equipment with bandages, alcohol, and most importantly, her trusty scalpel. The giggle that barely escaped her lips is all the warning that is there before the scalpel is in her hand and she's already digging into the invisible skin, craving for the sweet, red liquid that oozes out.

---

Suddenly, the sharp-bladed instrument drops out of her hands and she's standing up again, back to her normal, meek attitude. Scratching at her neck, she quietly accepts her notebook and pen that somebody hands her, quickly writing in something for Mr. Alice to see.

[Was that okay?]