The Doctor is in

[Guile]

Like a bloodhound to a scent he heard the words "Justice Hall" and lights lit in his brain. His gut wrenched with the anticipation of a catch and for the briefest moment, his blue eyes flickered over her petite body while he listened.

"Mikey, grab the Goldenseal for me would you?" Pet names were one of his many specialties. Without a proper pet name, Michael had been demoted temporarily to a more suitable calling until the doctor could find something more interesting. Metarie had been one of the few to escape this little hobby of his. He didn't catch the wrenched look on Mikey's face as he began shuffling through a nearby cabinet. The assistant returned quickly with a brown-colored, glass bottle with a liquid inside. He had one of those annoying, chiseled chins that women adore and a calmness in his eyes that Guile didn't like. He was shorter than Guile by around two inches and it was amusing to literally look down on him.

He didn't say anything about Justice Hall; that was something expected, or hoped, Metarie to do. It was relatively unusual for a girl with her... means to be going there alone. Or had she been going alone? It seemed like a peculiar instance.

He poured a light orange liquid into a tiny glass the size of her palm, far less than a mouthful. It was foul-tasting stuff, but still mild and easy to swallow. He handed it gently to her, smiling a concerned, almost mothering smile.
"This will help the burning," he said.

[Metarie]

"Justice Hall? I thought you might be from Shim." Metarie heard the pet-name, but it ignored it for now. Calling it out would only make things worse. She waited until after the Goldenseal had been administered and passed over a glass of water.

"We'll need to get you well before you are allowed to leave the hospital. But, since you're talking now, if you're feeling up to it, we do need to get some information from you for our records."

[Arria]

"Thank you," Arria said as the man handed her the small glass. She examined the liquid momentarily, out of curiosity more than anything. It wasn't as though she was going to be able to identify what made up this drink, called Goldenseal by the doctor. Still, it was a strangely colored liquid, and worth the look.

She drank in one gulp, made a face appropriate to the foul taste, and then swallowed. She hoped it would help out enough to get her on her feet soon. Arria had never been too fond of lying around in a bed doing nothing.

Arria then turned her attention to the elven woman. She nodded her understanding.

"Certainly. What do you need to know?"

[Guile]

Guile readied his quill and sat at the side of the bed with a wooden board to write on. They did indeed need the information for their records, but he wanted it for other reasons. It was likely that this girl didn't have anything that would interest him, but then again, people didn't normally waltz over to justice hall with forty degree fevers. He dipped the quill in the ink sitting on the bedside table and scratched several lines pertaining to the way Metarie was handling the situation. He wrote down just about everything, from the suggestions of medicines to reduce the fever down to the color of her shoes.

"Your full name, for one thing," he said, without looking up from his parchment.

And, if she was as boring as he suspected her to be, he would visit the young prostitute in the other room. He would need to be questioned about where he'd received the drug, and Guile wanted to be the first one to hear such information spill from the boy's supple lips.

[Metarie]

As the primary doctor on-duty, Metarie was required to attend when Guile was in residence. She found the role tedious, but couldn't leave unless he dismissed her. Metarie felt that Guile interrupted the smooth cadence and flow of the work, just by being there. It didn't help that he was always writing notes.

Metarie reached for the folder on the cart, another item Michael had brought. An intake form as well as a medical assessment form were clipped inside. After Arria responded, Metarie opened her mouth to speak, but Guile spoke first. Metarie closed her mouth and waited. In this, she was an observer.

[Guile]

"Arria..." said the girl, and her face looked a bit flushed, still feverish and sticky from the illness. "Uh.. Arria Merril," she answered, and Guile scribbled it onto the parchment with a few impossibly quick throws of his quill. The girl had taken a long time to respond to the question, and for a moment Guile looked up from the notes to see what Metarie was thinking. He couldn't decipher her thin, soft expression; he almost never could.

"Perhaps we should continue this later," he said, pushing his large fingers through his light and smooth head of hair. The quick come and go fever appeared to have taken a lot out of her body, and her response time was poor at best. "Mikey, bring me that Morgonia sedative will you." Michael moved off to another cabinet nearby and pulled a small vial out of the shelf. Guile had a habit of putting people to sleep when he suspected they needed time to heal. He believed that sleep would allow the body to heal itself in many circumstances.

Guile pulled one of the glass syringes off of the cart and removed a protective cork at the tip of the needle. He took the vial from Michael's hands the moment he returned and turned it upside down. he pulled the piston back and quickly inserted the needle into Arria's shoulder before she had a chance to see it, to reduce discomfort.

"We'll get the other stuff when she wakes," he told Metarie, and bumbled off to room 2.

[Metarie]

The sedative worked quickly, causing Arria's words to slur slightly and her lids to droop. Metarie mentally counted backwards from ten and by the time she reached one, Arria was asleep. Metarie checked Arria's pulse once more and nodded her head.

"Michael, I'm assigning Arria to you." Metarie made a few notes in the young woman's chart before handing the chart to Michael. Michael nodded. "Understood." He was relieved. Michael took the steps to settle the sleeping woman before taking the chart to the front desk. There, he began her case history, documenting her arrival, symptoms, and prescribed treatments.

Metarie followed Guile out. She had already made the rounds. Considering only one patient had stayed overnight, doing so had been easy.

"Your latest research paper on Copiax was informative and detailed." She had enough professionalism to acknowledge Guile's research expertise. "Rose used your suggested technique to pull the boy back from seizures." Metarie pulled the boy's chart and handed it to Guile. "Do you recommend forced waking or rest?"

[Sinuvarakoon Tasza]

Tasza and Tamaya continue from here: http://www.tharshaddin.com/rp/viewtopic ... 1&start=15

The route to the hospital was ingrained in Tasza's mind. It was not that he had cause to visit there frequently, but it was almost routine how often he had to bring Marn's needy to its doors. It was strange how reticent certain individuals could be about visiting the hospital, even though it was free. Impracticality, to Tasza's mind, and there was something he had a difficult time tolerating.

Carrying a fainted woman through the streets was another thing to add to that long list. Typical of a woman to be so gaspingly impolitic and naive about trouble she'd gotten herself into, and faint as soon as the going got tough. The mess wouldn't be so bad if he could simply dump her into the doctors' arms and leave, but he needed to ensure that the woman did not attempt to run away or otherwise avoid her impending yet-to-be-rescheduled appointment with the Magistrate while she was -- laughably -- his responsibility.

Speaking of doctors, standing watch on the woman ensured he would have to spend time in Miss Sehkhara's company. The woman was not unpleasant -- indeed, she was a lovely, mannered woman -- but there were certain rumors. Typically Tasza would scoff at such mean gossip, but there was simply too much truth littered amongst the rubbish to ignore them. Miss Sehkhara and the Captain had an upstanding acquaintance that lent itself to familiarity. That much Tasza knew as well as any man could ever know a thing, and that gave him significant pause.

The Captain didn't really have an upstanding acquaintance that lent itself to familiarity with anyone. Except Miss Sehkhara. Tasza thoroughly venerated the Captain, and he knew the man's demeanor as well as any other guard. The acquaintanceship, whatever it might be, was a significant thing that isolated Miss Sehkhara from any other woman -- or person -- in Tasza's world. He had to be very careful around her. That made him nervous.

And there, then, was that wretched prickling at the back of his neck. The doctors at the hospital had once offered to try to cure him of his strange rashes, but Tasza had steadfastly refused. The Captain frequented the hospital, and Miss Sehkhara worked at the hospital. He would never linger when he didn't have to. The thought of committing any level of faux pas, no matter how unlikely, was enough to give him cold chills. Impossible. Unthinkable.

He looked down at his burden as he reached the door, not bothered by her weight or the awkwardness of her in his arms. Were he off duty, he might have regarded her in a whole other light, but he was not. She was an errand. You're not worth it, he thought as he maneuvered his way inside, calling politely for assistance.

[Tamaya Ayashe]

She regained consciousness on the way, became aware of being carried, became aware of the pain and the wetness soaking through the bandages, became all too well aware of Tasza's overwhelming presence. Why was this man here, this horrible antithesis to Cathal's gentle, approachable kindness? And most importantly, where was he taking her?

Get away from me! I don't want you. Where is Cathal? What happened to Cathal? I cannot leave him there alone, with those horrible people. Not because of me.

Her head reeled, and she closed her eyes, fighting back nausea. She could feel them enter to a building, and heard Tasza call for someone. There was the smell of herbs again, different from the one at Cathal's home.

Where are we? What is happening? Why is this happening?

[Guile]

"Yes, thank you. I find that proper treatment is one of many ways to deal with our recent copiax epidemic," he said, taking Metarie's mild ass-kissing and pocketing it to raise his inflated esteem. He was about to ask the doctor how long the boy had been here and thus how long he had been unconscious when they were once more called out to the main hall. The voice was decidedly male with an exotic spice to it. Guile looked over to Metarie and shrugged a moment, which made his face look even more childish. "Perhaps it is just as well; the boy may need more rest," he said, and lead the way back out, leaving the boy peaceful.

Guile had a quick step as he bustled his way toward a man holding what looked to be a young, plain-looking woman. The man was wearing the uniform of the Guard, and Guile thought he recognized vaguely the face beneath the helmet. Members of the Guard were relatively common inside of the hospital because part of their duty was to bring the injured to medical attention. Not to mention the guards themselves had a tendency to get themselves injured doing their little physical tasks that Guile supposed were important. The Captain of the Guard himself, Smithson, had a habit of frequenting the hospital. This was something that Guile, understandably, detested. Such things he considered to be improper and frivolous, although it seemed that Camulus always had a reason for his little hospital visits. If the entire city didn't love the man's good deedy-ness so, then Guile would have used the Captain and doctor's little relationship to bring Metarie down.

Unfortunately, fame, namely popular fame, was a formidable defense for people like the Captain. Meanwhile, Guile was forced to take the opposite approach, as no one would ever see him as the hero he thought himself to be.

"Morning, noble guardsman," he said. "Who is this in your tow?"
Guile looked at the girl, who didn't appear limp enough to be completely unconscious. "Let's set her on a bed." With that bit, he moved over to an empty, clean hospital bed and motioned for the guard to set her down. The girl appeared to have some form of injury on her leg, as there was blood on her cloth pants that had dried some time ago, but it was not old enough to have turned a dirty brown color. He gestured for Metarie to also inspect their new charge.

[Metarie]

Before Guile’s comment had time to lay in the air like a stale egg, a voice called out, requesting assistance. Metarie thought she recognized the accented voice. Guile decreed the boy could rest a while longer as he made his way out of the room. Metarie nodded to herself. Her preference was to allow the boy to rest, experience said as much. He was not comatose. It was a sleep induced by exhaustion, hopefully a healing sleep.

Metarie neatly side stepped to allow the large man passage through the door, before following behind. His girth was wide enough and his height tall enough, that the willowy elf was completely eclipsed from view as was the person who had called out.

“Morning, noble guardsman. Who is this in your tow?” Guile queried before pausing to observe whomever the guardsman held.

A moment passed before Guile moved aside, indicating by voice and gesture to the guardsman to place the woman in a bed. A follow-on motion waved at Metarie indicated she should examine the guard’s charge. It wasn’t until Guile moved that Metarie was able to see the guardsman. Putting voice to occupation, allowed Metarie to make the connection.

“It’s Guardsman Tasza, isn’t it? Thank you for bringing her to the Hospital. Is her name known?” The person being known was a give or take possibility. Outsiders did visit Marn, some were working on the new wall. And, sometimes, guards were given different patrol areas or were given special assignments. Metarie moved to the guard’s side to view the woman more clearly.

Metarie’s gaze traveled over the woman, assessing her. The stains on the woman’s pants and the pallor to her skin were indicative of the blood loss, but her breathing wasn’t overly out of the norm. Thankfully, at first glance her condition did not appear to be advanced shock from blood loss. Until she could check the woman’s pulse and heart, Metarie would not rule out the possibility, though. Hypovolaemia was no laughing matter. Mundane therapies usually failed.

The scent of blood was strong and metallic. A second look showed spots of new blood seeping through. The wound on the woman’s leg was first priority – stop the bleeding to push back the risk of shock or an organ failure. More than likely, stitching would be required. A strong pain reliever along with plenty of water and rest would ensure the women regained hydration and relief. Other items to note were the women’s slightly pointed ears and thick black hair. She wasn’t human. Maybe the woman would allow less mundane means of healing.

[Sinuvarakoon Tasza]

Of course Miss Sekhara would know him. Tasza battled an instinct to hunch and slink away, keeping his back straight by force alone. He set Tamara down onto the bed, keeping his eyes on her and not looking at either Dr. Markus or Miss Sekhara. Dr. Markus and the Captain did not very well get along, and though the Captain had never outright spoken on the subject, Tasza could easily enough figure out that the two did not see eye to eye.

A question. Innocent enough, surely, but it was dangerous whenever someone important asked a question and the one answering didn't have the correct answer. He almost cringed at Miss Sekhara's casual intimation of his name, not liking the idea of Dr. Markus having any idea of who he was. The Guard was right in the middle of the political struggles of Marn's elites. Tasza had not found that out until it was nearly too late, and he'd been saved from his own youthful ignorance by the Captain's pragmatism. Tasza would not stick his neck out again.

"This woman is an illicit magic user who was seen in the company of one Cathal. I was presenting the two of them before Senior Magistrate Lord Couttrel when she fainted. Her identity is unknown, sir," he paused, swallowed and turned reluctantly towards Metarie, though he did not look directly at her. "I am Guardsman Tasza. I am assigned to keep a close watch on this criminal until she is well enough to face her charges."

[Tamaya Ayashe]

A hospital. That was a good sign. Why would they bother with a hospital, if they were to execute her? Unless they were planning to do it in some spectacular manner that required her to be able to stand up, of course.

Being put on the bed was a relief, thanks to both its comfort and the fact that she was now a bit further away from the guard. The sheer relief made her shiver. She lifted her head weakly and glared at Tasza. "You never bothered to ask my name."

The woman had sounded friendly. Tamaya squinted at her, trying to make out features. Small. Slender. Reddish hair. If she was a healer as well, she would probably know Cathal. Maybe she could help.

Tired and out of breath, she slumped back on the pillow. "And I'm not illicit anything. I. Was. Not. Inside. The city."

[Navarre]

Navarre stared out the window of her carriage as it rolled down the street, her gloved hands folded on her lap. As she expected, the dregs of society were beginning to crawl out of their little hovels to start their day. The drones were chatting amongst themselves as they marched off to their work prisons, and their filthy children were running off to roughhouse with their equally filthy friends. She shuddered to think that she would have had to brave that sea of failure not too long ago. But those days were finally behind her, and a bright future was waiting just around the corner.

Of course, she couldn't say the same for her companion. Modestine sat across from her with his eyes glued to the floor, still as a statue. The death of his family had reduced him to a shell of his former self. The once jovial nobleman hadn't so much as cracked a smile since the guards delivered the unfortunate news. He only lived to see his family avenged, which made him a useful ally. Once his bishani ran dry, however, she'd dispose of him and blame his death on the insurrectionists. She knew Liorysei would love to have another excuse to haul more fools down to her torture cellar.

She scowled as she remembered the Battlemage. Liorysei, who had once been a potential ally, now posed a threat to her plans. Her gambit to gain her trust had failed, and the fool had damaged her connection to Isyrion's body with her little prank. She would pay for her disrespect with her life, but that would have to wait until she had more influence. And that traitor Derin was still at the top of her list.

Speaking of Liorysei, Navarre had her to thank for this little trip to the hospital. On the night of the incident, she lost her strength on her way to bed and fell halfway down the stairs. At first she brushed off her injuries, but the pain in her leg and hip had steadily worsened. She doubted it was anything serious, but it was interfering with her work. And she had a lot of work ahead of her, especially now that her task force was up and running.

Within a few minutes, the carriage came to a stop near the hospital. Navarre looked to Modestine. "Tell the driver to pull the carriage around, then get out and help me inside. I doubt I'll be able to walk in on my own."

Once Modestine helped her out of the carriage, Navarre smoothed out her dress and straightened her hair ribbon. Now that she was in the public's spotlight, she needed to look her best for all public appearances, even a quick visit to to the hospital. Taking Modestine's arm, she made her way inside and saw several people gathered around a bed. One of them appeared to be a guard, but that interested her far less than the presence of the Minister of Health himself, whom she had yet to become acquainted with. This would certainly be interesting.

Navarre loudly cleared her throat to get their attention.

[Guile]

Tasza. He'd never heard the name before, and didn't take much note of it now. The man seemed of relative unimportance, so Guile dismissed it as Metarie simply knowing all of the guards because of Camulous. He moved his attention to the girl instead, as she was more important at the moment than whatever cause the guard was discussing. A second look at her face and her ears made him realize she was not human, although the race was something he could not place. Perhaps half-elf, he postulated.

Tender hands rolled up the bloodied cotton pant leg and revealed an amateurly placed bandage on her calf and shin. An illegal magic user was a serious issue in a city like Marn, and not one that Guile had ever been one to tolerate. Magic was the bane of this city, infesting it and breeding lesser races like cockroaches in the woodwork. Guile had never been a person to turn down a patient due to their status, however. Besides, in order to be tried and found guilty, the girl would need the health to be presented before the magistrate, and perhaps a judge. Unless of course she had already been found out. In which case, a death in this hospital would have been pure kindness in comparison to the tortures she would surely be subjected to.

She was an ugly little beast, with a slight bump to her nose and short, mannish hair. Guile had always found dark hair to be rather flat and dull.

Michael brought the cart over from where Arria lie, and Guile took a clean cloth from it. He wet it with the bowl of water, wrung it, and placed it on the girl's forehead.
"Those bandages need to be changed," he said quietly to Metarie. The girl then spoke, her voice weak and thin. "Shh," he cooed, "don't force speech. You'll get plenty of time to deal with your crimes." He had to assume her guilt. Not knowing what she was made him uncomfortable.

Then the woman.

Guile turned to look over and laughed a single titter. "My we are the busy establishment today, aren't we!" This was going to be a long day. He'd probably end up leaving halfway before it was over, allowing Metarie to take over everyone while he went home and worked on his little science experiments. Still, he rather liked being in the hospital on days like this, to some extent. Everyone had their little mysterious ailments and riddles in their bodies that he was just the person to solve. Every patient was a puzzle, and he liked logic problems.

The young woman who had interrupted was being held in part by Lord Modestine, a man he knew by sight but had completed only two short conversations with. The girl herself he didn't recognize, but was rather taken by her aura of importance she carried so well. She wore a radiant burgundy satin, which gathered at the hem and a bit at the neckline. It shared to the world her elegant elvish legs from the knees down, and a large part of her neck and shoulders. On her wrist were what looked to be rubies and gold, trickling down on little chains. She looked positively delicate, especially given her inability to walk.

Elves were annoying in that way. The women had a tendency to be overly attractive, and the rich ones were attention-seeking little damsels. Guile could have sworn he recognized her from somewhere but couldn't place where. He left Metarie with the magic user to waltz over to the woman and smile a welcome at the pair. "Good day, Lord Modestine," he gestured with a small nod, though the hierarchy of the Minister's power demanded that it was indeed, small. He politely gestured toward a bed.
"What ails you today, milady?" She was wearing perfume. He couldn't decide if the scent was suffocating or pleasant.