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Entry tags:
Open | not very prim and proper
WHO: Sawbones and Whoever.
WHAT: Sawbones has been confined to the Gallows for the duration of a month, so she immediately involves herself in everyone else's business and then catches a cold.
WHEN: Time is fake, post-Snow Mission
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES:
WHAT: Sawbones has been confined to the Gallows for the duration of a month, so she immediately involves herself in everyone else's business and then catches a cold.
WHEN: Time is fake, post-Snow Mission
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES:
1. Winter Preparedness
While it was probably not the intention for her to monitor the comings and goings of Riftwatch agent, the barracks that had been re-purposed to house a number of her regular Lowtown patients cut a path right near the docks. So it was more happenstance than an intentional exercise that Sawbones started casting a glance at the comings and goings as she herself came and went. Which means she notices certain things.
"Hey!" she calls out, path diverting suddenly when she spots someone heading for the ferry, "Where the fuck is your scarf?!"
2. Wardrobe Adjustments
Of course, there are far more worrying things than some Duster heading in to a freezing city in the grips of an outbreak without a scarf. Like the Riftwatch members who refuse to wear shoes. It's unacceptable. She's not able to address the problem as quickly as she would like, but she still does. She walks up with an unmistakable air of triumph, armed with a pair of Rivanni sandals and thick knitted socks.
"Here, try these on."
3. Tea Service
The practical thing to do would be to keep a low profile around Riftwatch's authorities. She was, after all, being punished and one ought to give those in power the impression of respectful penance for one's own safety if nothing else. The problem was that they had their second official case of grippe. And now that her presence in the Gallows was being enforced, she was fully aware of the hours and habits of its residents.
Like any Duster, Sawbones had a perfectly reasonable disregard for authority, subservience enacted purely in the interest of one's survival rather than any sense of loyalty. And the very real potential of any of these powerful individuals in charge of the daily running of the fortress catching ill was a pressing concern. And so, Sawbones added another routine to her modified rounds. She finished attending her patients in the barracks and checking in with their two grippe cases by noon. The perfect time to slip down to the kitchens and round up a tea service with a strong herbal brew.
She is entierly too short to loom, but she does all the same, slipping into offices and marching up to occupied desks with a brisk step and a determined scowl, wielding a cup of hot tea.
4. Sick Day
a. The Well Runs Dry (one thread)
The grippe takes her right at the end of her confinement. Because of course it does. She lasts about three days, just enough time to make the necessary arrangements for her Kirkwall patients still present in the Barracks and make up a cot for herself in the Chapel's sick room. And then it hits with a vengeance, taking her out at the knees.
She'll be found propped up against a wall, feverish and eating a bowl of porridge with the grim face of one facing the hangman's noose.
b. Book Return
Being ill is tedious. Relying on others is likewise tedious. Sawbones is perfectly aware of all of these things, it's what drives her to be as efficient and effective as possible when tending to her own patients. It's what makes being ill herself all the more insufferable. Because there is a point where the only thing anyone can do is rest.
It's intolerable.
So it ought not be a surprise that the fever hasn't even properly broken before Sawbones can be found shuffling down the halls, dressed in a plain dress rather than her habit, with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and head where her wimple ought to be. Her main objective is ferrying books back and froth from the library to the Chapel sickroom. She is very determined to complete the objective, entierly undaunted by the number of walls and shins she bumps into.
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"Why aren't you in the sickroom?"
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In her defense, she had been attempting to be good.
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Then, with a roll of her eyes, she strides toward the dwarf. "Up you get, then," she grunts, slipping a thin arm under Sara's, her other hand making a quick snatch for the bowl.
"You can eat when you're in bed," she decides.
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"I can make it back myself," she huffs, "Just not at the moment."
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She nudges at the Sister's arm again, dragging her to her feet. "Come on, come on."
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Or she's just being contrary out of annoyance. She doesn't fight being dragged upright, but she does frown deeply.
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"Gone and worked yourself ragged," she mutters, "have you got anyone who'll take over your duties, as you're clearly unable to perform them?"
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That means Teren won't have to, as far as she's concerned. She manages to haul the dwarf down to the door of the sickroom, grunting as she shoves it open and deposits her inside.
"Go to bed," she says, "or do you need me to take you there?" She's still holding the porridge.
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The severity of her tone is perhaps lessened by the way she shuffles over to her little bed, swaying on her feet.
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Striding after Sawbones, Teren sets it on her bedside table.
"If I find you on the bloody floor again I shall kick you over a fence." She turns to go.
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