Antidote

[Itash Mecetti]

TERMINUS​

​

According to [member="Farah"] he should become more experienced in helping people rather than just corpses and dead rats.

Irajah had agreed with that assessment.

Both of them had glanced towards his hands while making that assessment, causing him to feel just a touch awkward. He was getting better at it, yes, but he still wasn't truly comfortable with doing anything really intense like open-heart surgery or things like that. An exchange program allowed him to work part-time for a local clinic in the capital of Terminus. In truth Sam liked it here- it reminded him a little bit of Tryp an' then some.

She was kind.

He liked her.

Most nights Samson worked alone, it was less awkward and the others were all to happy to give their rotations to him. They had snickered the first couple of times.

Hrm.

The last patient had been helped about forty minutes ago and it didn't look like anyone else was going to come in. That was probably for the best, he still had a few course slides to go through. He'd give it maybe another twenty minutes and then start closing things up for the night.

Samson hummed softly as he bend over a crate, brushed steel, clean, it was the last supply run with anti-biotics.

They had just deposited it in the middle of the entry hall.

How rude.

[member="Sortz"]​

 

[Sortz]

The doors opened with a whoosh and a very large, rather green figure ducked in. Most doors topped out at seven feet and it was not even close to sufficient. If anyone was looking, it would be difficult to tell if it was a duck or a stumble, but as the figure rose back to her full height it became obvious that it might have been as much the later as the former.

Sortz paused just inside the door. Normally olive green skin was a bit pale beneath the tone, and she had a large, clawed hand cupped carefully around her flank, holding her jacket bundled up there awkwardly. In truth it was to keep blood from dripping and making a mess more than actually covering the wound properly.

The night had started out fine. At least, she'd thought it had. She didn't often go out without Daro, but with some encouragement she had decided to give it a shot.

Clearly a mistake.

The bar fight hadn't been her fault. She hadn't started it. She'd just ended it. She wondered, briefly, if they'd managed to get the rodian down from the hook she'd hung him up on by the back of his jacket.

Of course, she hadn't come out of it unscathed.

"Um, excuse me," Sortz said, addressing the man maneuvering a crate. He was shorter than her, but not by nearly as much as she was used to.

Of course, having a broken bottle rammed into her side and wiggled around there was making it a little hard to concentrate on the details.

"Where.... um..... do I check in? I think I need to see a doctor."

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Sortz"]

The ding made him tilt his head for a moment, before he opted to quickly finish the sorting.

Then the footsteps - heavy, yes, but there was a scrapping quality to it that suggested - now Samson frowned. He sighed and rose up, just in time for her to start speaking and him to catch her eye.

He had to look up.

Huh.

That didn't happen very often... or at all really, if he was being honest. "Oh, that's me, what can I help yo-" That's when Samson noticed the pale quality, the blurry eyes and more importantly the blood dripping just a touch from bundled up side. "Oh, dear, that's quite something you got there." He uttered softly- Sam had read somewhere that being less direct and a bit more round-about... helped?

For some reason patients didn't like to hear the full-brunt truth from the very start.

People were odd.

"Okay, let's get you settled, miss...?" Sam approached carefully, steadying if she needed it, to guide her towards the backroom where they had a bed and all the other equipment.

Names were important too.... apparently! Personalized approach.

 

[Sortz]

He was soft spoken, which surprised her a little.

Of course, she was too, but that was her.

"Sortz. Just. Sortz." She said by way of introduction. If she had a last name, she didn't know what it was. "And it's not that bad, really. If I need to wait I understand...."

Yeah Sortz, whatever you say.

Of course, there was no one here and she didn't have to wait, so she followed instead. She didn't need to be steadied, but really only just, and it became clear that the stoicism of her expression in no way matched whatever was under that coat.

Shorter than her (but then, everyone was shorter than her), she noticed the scars next. Extensive, deliberate and deep, etched across the sides of his head and down his neck. She had her own- not the same by any stretch, and she didn't know where they had come from. Other than a brief glance, there was no comment, no staring. Sortz was someone accustom to being stared at and she was very good at not doing it to other people.

With a grunt and a wince, she sat on the edge of the bed.

"You're a doctor?" She asked- she didn't sound surprised, just confirming.

She didn't let go of the jacket pressed to her side.

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Sortz"]

"Well, I am a worrier, Sortz, so why don't I just take a look or two anyway, just to be sure?" The soft guide towards the bed was happening one way or another, wasn't much to be done about that. He had read that it was beneficial to try and make it about his worry rather than theirs. It supposedly lowered the anxiety and worry overall. Samson wasn't really sure how that worked, but maybe it helped! Maybe it didn't. But he'd rather try and make them as comfortable as possible.

"Mhm, well, doctor-in-training-" Head tilted as he slowly pulled up the tip of the drenched sheet and noticed the extent of the damage.

Oh, dear.

That didn't look good whatsoever.

"-oh, don't worry, I have done this quite a few times already." That made his face fall just a little bit though. "It's quite a violent neighborhood here, I am afraid." Oh, Samson didn't experience it first hand. Something about his large stature made everyone walk a few meters around him rather than anything else.

But he experienced it second-hand.

Every day.

Every night.

The clinic was working overtime and it wasn't healthy as far as Samson was concerned. There was a sickness here, deep embedded and it was poisonous.

"What's your pain level from a 1 to 10?" Seemed like a two from her face expression, but that couldn't be all that right.

 

[Sortz]

A little reluctantly, she let him remove the jacket she had balled up.

"It, uh, looks worse than it is," she muttered.

She was probably right. After all, she was walking around with it. But broken bottles leave quite a mess, jammed in and twisted before getting dragged off to the side as the wielder gets lifted up by the scruff of the neck.

"Neighborhood's not that bad," she said quietly. "Some of it's pretty good."

Honestly, it was the only one she knew. So this? This was just normal.

Wasn't it?

It really was a bad neighborhood. The parts that Sortz thought were good were really just things that should have been the bare minimum of okay. She simply had nothing to compare it to. And somewhere, deep in the mind were memories that knew on an instinctive level that it could be so much worse.

"Uh."

Sortz didn't know how to answer that. She thought for a second before cautiously asking, "Something like a three?"

Holding her arm up so he could get a better look at it, she looked up at the ceiling. Her entire body tightened when he started to probe at it.

"Okay, maybe a four."

At least when he was doing that.

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Sortz"]

"It often does," Samson murmured without disagreement. Why disagree? She wasn't pushing to leave with that crap sticking out of her and it would be best if she remained calm in the moment.

Trying to tell her that this was rather serious wouldn't help anyone.

He got out the sterile gauze, the alcohol, some medical scissors, needles and thread, couple of other things that would make this eas...ier. "Why don't you tell me how this happened, Sortz?" Sam kept catching himself trying to add miss before the name, but she had been clear. It was just Sortz and he didn't want to cause offence. That would be rude.

Especially while she was wounded.

"A four? Hm. I expect you have a higher pain threshold than most then." While she talked he started carefully picking out the glass. First the small parts around the main wound, ensuring that they wouldn't just trickle in while he was tugging out the larger ones. It seemed to be an... alcohol glass? Sam could just about pick-out the brand past the blood marring the surface of this piece.

Head tilted at that.

Sortz did not seem the type to frequent those type of things.

But Sam supposed that appearances could misdirect quite easily.

 

[Sortz]

She kept her arm up, attention in the same direction as he worked. She sat still- very still considering what he was doing. Oh it hurt alright, but Sortz gritted her teeth and forced herself to not move or flinch.

"Uhhhhhh."

Sortz thought back over the events that had led to the broken bottle getting shoved into her side. The subtle mocking she had ignored. The less subtle taunting that followed. Getting up to go home, instead of keep sitting there. The hand on her arm- the demand that 'hey, we was talkin' to you, it's rude to ignore people.' The laughter- 'maybe she's deaf as well as dumb.' Shaking him off. 'I said I was talkin' to you!'

What had made that rodian think grabbing her had been a thing to do, she had no idea. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the group of people at his back, hooting with laughter. Falsely assuming that because she didn't take the bait, over and over, that she wouldn't fight back when things got rough.

"Bar fight," she said, a little more gruffly than she meant to. It was the truth, she just didn't feel like explaining the how.

He got to one particularly deep shard and on that one, she couldn't help but flinch a little before making herself be still again.

"What.... uh..... what do you call a doctor in training?"

It sounded like a lead in to a joke, but it was actually a real question.

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Sortz"]

"Bar fight? Hmm." Samson murmured noncommittally while musing about that internally and continuing to carefully remove pieces from her side. The larger the parts became the more careful Sam was- which was probably something to behold. Large hands, fingers thick, slowly and methodically pinching them out as best as he could with complete utter focus there.

"I tried a bar once." The doctor-to-be offered as a reply, "It was... fairly confusing to me. The more they drank, the sadder or less controlled the people got."

He didn't really get that.

It seemed counter-productive to drown yourself in toxic waste just to avoid dealing with one problem or the other.

In truth it seemed only to increase their troubles, so what was the point? "I suppose it simply isn't my thing." The biggest shard remained, but everything else was picked out and deposited on the metal platter. "Oh, I am unsure if there is a term for it- I am basically a med student, I suppose." A medical student with a flash-printed base of knowledge that rivaled most experienced surgeons.

"I am going to remove the largest glass shard now. This will most likely hurt far more, but I need you to stay put, so I can immediately work on the wound." Sam warned her patiently as he wrapped his fingers around the base of the glass.

He'd have to work fast here.

 

[Sortz]

"I.... uh, someone recommended it," she grunted.

Get out, meet some people, Sortz. Where? A bar, I dunno, just get outta the apartment for a couple hours, okay?

"I don't think I see the appeal either," she admitted. "It was noisy and people were...."

She trailed off. She'd almost said mean, which would have been true but she didn't really feel like explaining that. This doctor.... med student.... whatever.... seemed nice and likely to ask. If nothing else than to keep her talking while he worked.

She went to shrug as if that was the end of her statement, then winced, halting the motion. Oh yeah.

Glass.

Breathing in deeply, she nodded. Her left hand found the curve of the metal bed, gripping slightly in case it hurt more than she expected it to.

"Okay." She said with a huff. "I'm ready."

When he pulled it out, a deep hng noise escaped between clenched teeth in a huff. Beneath her left hand, the metal warped.

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Sortz"]

"Rude?" That was his experience with people, especially those that willfully poisoned themselves in some ill-advised attempt to blunt the edge of their own sorrows and pain, rather than try and face their problems head-on.

It was sad, yes.

But it also made Samson feel some other emotion. An unpleasant one, something he couldn't truly put to words, but knew that he didn't like having. It was contempt and hopefully Sam would never have to put it under words again. "That is my experience with some." He added as a clarification, while his grip tried to be relaxed. The last thing they needed (either of them) was for the shard to shatter under his grip.

That would be... a complication.

Luckily his training under [member="Farah"] was paying off and his grip remained loose and relaxed.

Enough that when he yanked the shard came out smoothly without any of it shattering or breaking. "There it is," Samson murmured softly as it came out, only leaving a neat hole behind that started to seep blood almost immediately. Luckily Samson was already prepared for that eventuality. Immediately moving to dab and sterilizing it as they went.

"You are in luck, it was a very clean puncture, surgery won't be necessary." It was the practiced eye that saw the edges around the wound weren't inflamed and the surface not swollen.

"I will need to knit it back together though."

Slowly Samson guided her hand to hold the fabric tight against the entrance of the wound. "Hold that like this, apply pressure, I will need a thicker needle for this..."

 

[Sortz]

"Yeah, rude," she said, a little distantly.

Honestly, the rude she could handle. Just rude was harmless. It was when things got mean that it got hard. Usually she just walked away, but sometimes.... well.

Sometimes she ended up with glass in her side.

She grunted when he pulled the shard out, low and hard in the back of her throat, a whoosh of air out through her nostrils. She let him guide her hand, breathing slowly to keep the pain at bay- it was worse for the moment after he withdrew it.

"You're the almost doctor," she muttered, in a 'do what you've got to do' sort of way. "My skin is, uh, pretty tough," she added, sounding more like an apology than an explanation.

Trying to ease the tension in her shoulders (not easy with the pain and keeping her arm up and out of his way, in truth), she rolled her neck, letting out a low, low breath between her teeth and tusks.

"It's.... uh.... a hard job, huh?" She murmured, trying to think of something to say.

Which was weird. Normally it wouldn't have mattered. Sortz was just as happy to sit quietly as anything else. But it seemed like the right thing to do here.

@Samson

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Sortz"]

"T'is," He got that one from Tryp- she... often seemed to link and connect words together like water flowed through a river. It gave a pretty rhythm to it and it sounded nice in his opinion.

"You are lucky with it, you know, couple of inches more and it would have-" Samson coughed and interrupted himself. That was not helpful! He started shuffling the needles an' stuff together, until he came back again. "Are you good, how's the pain, need something for it?" In quick succession to move past the awkwardness that might have pulled out some worry out of her.

"Pain might be okay now, but I am gonna knit it together, so I think you should take something."

He added right after that, while trying to be helpful and give her an option.

It wouldn't be the first time that Samson met stubborn people. Tryp was one of them, actually. The type of person to soldier on and pretend like everything was peachy, when everything was anything but that.

Especially when they were wounded.

It was a bit silly, if he was being honest. Which was a rude thought- but sometimes it was silly!

 

[Sortz]

She gave him a look that could have been vague alarm or vague interest, it was hard to tell. Honestly it was somewhere in between.

"Would haaaaaave.......?"

She nodded, looking a little doubtful however when he commented about needing a painkiller. Honestly, it hurt like a fether, and again, he was the doctor. Ish. Well, way more of one that she was. She'd want (but didn't expect) people to listen to her on the stuff she was good at, so she nodded again, as if to reaffirm to herself that she was agreeing.

"Uh, it's not.... that bad. But. If you think it's a good idea...."

He handed her a pair of pills and a cup of water. Then, looking at her, added a third. She was about to swallow it when she saw him prepping a syringe.

"Wait, thought these were the painkillers?"

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Sortz"]

It was tough to really gauge just how much she needed with her specific physiology and particular reaction to pain.

But with her size it was probably better to go a little bit above it, then to be cheap about it.

Neither of them would be happy, if she suddenly punched him in the face while he was sewing her up again, this had happened once to him and... never again. Truly. "I think it's for the best, yeah." Samson confirmed calmly before watching her take them all in. Then the syringe came out and Sortz was clearly a bit cautious about it. That wasn't a surprise- he wasn't exactly the most... relaxing of people to be around with. The syringe presumably didn't help with that at all.

"The pills will help for the next couple of hours, but this is the local anesthetic that will kick right in and help you through the sewing."

He had already realized something as he approached her, but waited for permission to actually do the injection. "I will need to keep you in for a couple of hours afterwards, to make sure everything is okay. I hope that is not a problem?" Inwardly Samson sighed a little.

Truth to be told Sam had been looking forward to settling down in a comfortable chair, maybe read a bit of his study material and maybe have a hot shower afterwards.

Today had been crazy all things considered.

Especially in the morning.

But this was more important as far as Samson was concerned. "I don't want you to rip the wound open and I need to make sure you react positively to the pain medication." It wouldn't be good to have her walking around in the middle of this neighborhood while on medication. That was most certainly a recipe for disaster.

 

[Sortz]

"Uhhhh."

Just get outta the apartment for a couple hours, okay?

"Yeah," she said with a sigh, a little resigned. "Couple hours is fine."

Not like she had anywhere to go for now anyway.

She eyed the syringe in his hand for another minute, not sure just where the anxiety about it welling in her chest was coming from. Was she afraid of needles? That wasn't quite it. Just.....

She shook her head, as if to physically dislodge it, whatever it was. Finishing the last of the water to wash down the pills, she set the little paper cup down carefully. She'd handled it gingerly and now was no exception. Once she had, she nodded at him.

"Okay, ready."

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Sortz"]

Samson nodded and leaned down to get a better look at the area around the bloody cloth wrapping.

It seemed not to seep any further, which was another good sign, but he'd have to start knitting it to have an actual clue. Hands steadied her side, fingers practiced and experienced setting themselves on her skin, so the upcoming injection would be handled well. "Alright, here we go." Instead of doing a countdown or something else that would tip her off, he suddenly pressed the tip of the syringe against her skin and injected it without any further warning.

The anticipation was usually worse than the actual sting.

Usually.

The injection was smooth, quick, sliding smoothly into her skin. Samson didn't need to have multiple tries, but he remained very careful throughout the swift injection. It wouldn't have been difficult to apply just a bit too much pressure- then it would either shatter the syringe or go deeper than was safe.

"There we go- that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Leaning back again and straightening his back. He was about to try and give her a small smile to put her at ease, before realizing that would only do the opposite. "It should kick in in a moment." Sam continued, putting away the syringe safely. Safety came first as far as he was concerned. "I gave you something powerful just to be safe-" Couldn't help but wrinkle his nose. "I have had... unpleasant experiences with giving smaller doses to people."

His nose still hurt from last night.

 

[Sortz]

She winced a little, less at the injection itself and more the cold feeling that went along with it. It was localized just in the area on that one side, but something about it was unpleasant in a way she couldn't put words to. The dull, insensate quality to how it felt after the first few moments. She breathed in deeply, letting it out in a low whoosh, not having any idea why it was bothering her so much.

"Yeah, it's fine," she confirmed, despite it being not actually fine at all. But it was doing the job he wanted it to, so she addressed that instead of the emotionally unsettling unease that went with it. Because that, she decided, wasn't really relevant or anything some random person needed to know.

Instead of staying upright, he had her lay back. Especially once the oral ones started to kick in, he explained, she was going to want to be.

Settling her arm arched up, inside of her elbow against the top of her head, she tried to relax.

It wasn't going well.

"Uh, what happened?" She asked, trying to take her mind off of anything but the strange numbness along her flank- she could tell that he was doing things- she could feel pressure- but not what it was and the entire experience about it was very disconcerting. It didn't help that the world was starting to get a bit of a floaty feel to it around the edges- the oral pills, she surmised- that left her the same sort of disconcerted.

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Sortz"]

She didn't look fine.

In fact, she looked upset, but in truth it wasn't Samson's business and it didn't look like it was in reaction to the pain meds. There would have been more external factors, if she was having an allergic reaction. Eesh, which Sam should have asked before administering them. His face fell a bit, concern clouding as he studied her form just a bit more in-depth to make sure he wasn't missing anything.

Seemed fine.

Didn't mean it was.

"Oh, got elbowed in da nose yesterday night." Samson informed her softly as he continued to work on the wound. That at least got his mind off of his kark up, the subtle and nice cadence of a rhythm settling into his hands.

It was the flash-print, he knew that. It took over and allowed him to focus completely on it. "The first few threads were fine, but halfway through they suddenly started feeling it and got me straight in the nose." He didn't seem particularly beat-up about it and that was all about getting used to things. It wasn't the first time and Sam figured it wouldn't be the last one either.

"Halfway through, Sortz, you are doing great." Encouragement was helpful. "Do you often go out to bars to get stabbed in the side?"

That was an attempt at humor.

Samson wasn't very funny.

 

[Sortz]

"Half way through and I'm not punching you in the nose, so you're doing okay too."

It was positively loquacious from the Tro'zet, but that might have been the meds talking now.

She frowned at his question, missing the joke.

"I do not, no," she answered truthfully instead.

"I, uh, don't go out much. Period. Unless it's for work," she added after a moment of reflection.

Some of the early tension was fading away a bit, nibbled around the edges by the slight fog of the painkillers. Bit by bit, Sortz relaxed. Sort of. As much as was possible anyway- just more than usual because holy nerf these drugs tho.

She squinted a bit up at the ceiling, chewing on her lower lip in thought.

"I've never been stabbed with a bottle," she said a moment later, fairly decisively. And then. "I think." Suddenly much, much less decisively.

[member="Samson"]