ways_infirmary | (no subject)

"The skin fuser basically grows the skin back." Guppy says. "It'll be tender for a few days, but it won't leave a mark."

"YEAH, ALL RIGHT," he says quietly. He still sounds like a duck, but hopefully Gene can't hear it from all the way over here.

Guppy gets the skin fuser, instructs Travis to keep still, and fuses the wound back together.

He then gives Travis a general check over. He can see signs that there may be internal damage, so he gets the scanner out.

"This is a non-radiation scanner. Keep nice and still while I check you for internal damage, okay?"

He's not entirely sure about all this, but he'd rather like to think that he's annoying Gene by cooperating.

"WHAT IS IT?" Travis asks cautiously. He can't help but laughing slightly at the Donald Duck thing he has going. It is sort of funny, he realises.

"Future technology." Guppy says. "It's actually safer than any scanner from our time on Earth."

He shrugs dismissively. Yeah, all right. Seems all right.

If it hurts, he'll just tell Guppy to sod off.

"You won't feel anything, but keep still."

Guppy runs the scanner over him.

He won't find much. Just some bruising on his back, which look just as bad as the bruising and cuts on his face.

Travis sighs deeply as he waits for all this to finish, and idly wonders if he'd be able to get a drink back here.

"Okay. You don't seem to have done any severe internal damage, but you've got quite a lot of bruising. Because of the head injury, I would recommend that you stay in overnight, and lay off the booze tonight."

Well, that's no fun.

"I ONLY HAD ONE PINT," Travis protests.

"You'll probably be okay, but don't have any more. You could exacerbate the bleeding and make any head injury that's too small to show up on the scan worse."

Yes Gene, Guppy will be saying this to you in a few minutes.

Travis snorts, and then coughs slightly.

Fine.

"GET SOME TEA, AT LEAST?" Travis tries. At least tea is something to drink.

"Yes, either Aesclepius or Work Experience Waitrat will get you some." Guppy says. "And reading material."

He gets his stethoscope to double check Travis's chest.

He jumps at the cold of it.

"I GOT HIT IN THE FACE. NOT THE CHEST," Travis says.

"Then why is your back bruised?"

"CAUSE HE SHOVED ME INTO A TABLE."

"There you go then, general exam not looking so daft now."

"YEAH, ALL RIGHT," Travis says quietly.

Still seems kind of stupid, but whatever.

"I'll get you some pain relief." Guppy says. "You sit tight here and rest while I sort Gene out."

He gets Travis something that won't react with the amount of alcohol in one beer, then goes back to Gene.

Gene sniffs, having watched the whole thing with an unimpressed sort of glare.

'Took your ruddy time. Some of us wan' t'get some pints in tonight, y'know.'

"Oh, I'll stitch you up without waiting for the anaesthetic next time then." Guppy says, rolling his eyes.

He sorts out Gene's wound with neat stitches. He's good at what he does, and there shouldn't be more than a tiny scar when it heals.

"You need to lay off the booze tonight as well. Same reason I gave him. Booze equals more bleeding, more swelling, more pain, longer recovery time."

He picks up the scanner. "Now, you've seen it on Travis so you know it doesn't hurt, so are you going to let me scan you and make sure you've got nothing nasty going on?"

He tuts at being told not to drink (never going to happen) and assumes they're done.

But then Guppy picks up the scanner. He takes one look at it and something inside him twists; he shoots to his feet and without thinking, a single fist is raised in threat.

'I told you to keep it away from me. Try it an' you'll be findin' bits of your teeth on th' floor for the next week.'

Guppy, who has the advantage of not having an injured knee, is startled into dropping the scanner (fortunately not hard enough to break it). But he's got his hands up ready to block if necessary.

"Knock it off, you pillock!" he says. "I was asking you if you'd let me, not forcing it on you. Now sit back down, or I'll call Belar back and watch with pleasure as he turns you into something fluffy and demeaning."

He'd tell him to put it down, much like he'd tell a blagger to drop a gun. But the bloke's dropped it, so it's alright. Still, he holds his stance for a moment longer, glaring all the time, until he's sure the danger has passed. Then his shoulders relax and he drops his fist, looking down before perching back on the edge of the bed.

'We done?'

Travis is not amused with any of this.

"JESUS, MAN. CALM THE FUCK DOWN, WOULD YOU?" he squawks.

Edited 2010-12-11 17:32 (UTC)