ways_infirmary | (no subject)

(no subject)

Zhaan guides Steed into the infirmary. "Here, sit down," she says, waving to one of the patient beds. "I'll get a scanner." She hopes she won't find the projectile that made that wound still stuck in there.

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The bullet is long since gone, and Steed does as he's told.

"Gosh, this is very high tech."

"I am not sure what world it comes from," Zhaan says. "Some of the medicines are my own. They may be unfamiliar to you, but they work quite well." Zhaan finds no foreign objects or signs of infection in Steed's arm, much to her relief. "I fear it is too late for me to stitch it, and the skin fuser does not work so well on flesh wounds," she informs him. "You will have to treat it carefully after I've dressed it, although if you do it should heal up before too long."

Steed nods seriously.

"Thank you, what wonderful service. How much do I owe you?"

Zhaan puts her materials down and starts to wash her hands. "We do not charge for medical treatment here," she says. Her people generally don't anyway: on her homeworld they're supported by taxes, and elsewhere through donations.

"Is there a fund I could contribute to, that supports this wonderful scheme?"

"I don't believe that has ever come up before," Zhaan says. "Perhaps you can make your donation to the Bar. If it cannot be applied to the infirmary, then it can go into the fund for the Bound."

Steed tips his hat.

"That sounds an excellent suggestion, thank you."

Zhaan applies a short-term local anesthetic cream to Steed's injury so she can clean it without causing undue discomfort. "Are you able to get here regularly, or only at random?" She wants to make sure that Steed's arm is healing properly, if she can.

"I haven't yet worked out the pattern, but I think it's regular yes. It seems to be convenient."

"I am hoping it will be convenient enough to bring you back in a few days, so I can make sure this is mending as it should." Zhaan goes back to the counter and twists the top off a small jar. There is a hissing, bubbling noise as the contents change color and go from what looks like powder to a darker, sort of chunky glop. Fortunately it doesn't smell as bad as it looks (or sounds): were that so, nobody would want to use it, in spite of its curative properties.

Taking some of the poultice on her fingers, Zhaan spreads it on Steed's wound. "This should help protect it and speed cell regeneration," Zhaan says. "Can you at least stay in the bar overnight? I will need to remove it tomorrow. It is very useful for healing, but should not be left on too long."

Steed nods.

"Yes, time isn't moving while I'm here, it would seem. Thank you Miss Zhaan."

"You are welcome," Zhaan says. "Be careful of that arm and come back early tomorrow afternoon."

He tips his hat, thanks her and departs.

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