A medical emergency

[fadingworld]

A deep navy cloak hides his features and the more ornate tunic the courtesan usually wears to greet his clients. Mal hunches his shoulders and slides through the crowds hoping to avoid notice. He keeps his head down until he reaches the home of the doctor and wraps smartly on the door. "Open up," he calls in a voice that expects to be listened to.

How much time did he have? He could not have a client bleeding out. Not this one. Not one who had come to him for help, to be treated privately.

Comments

[fadingworld]

Mal lets out a low sob. "I am sorry, I did not mean to be weak. When you were hurt...I was more scared of what would happen to you than me."

[mandragoraspiritus]

"Hush, now..." Regis comforts softly, stroking hi fingers over Mal's brow. Normally tears have their place to let emotions run their corse, but Mal's ribs are broken and Regis doesn't want him to hurt himself further with his sobs.

"You neen't worry about me. I am not so fragile. And you, you are not weak. Far from it."

[fadingworld]

"No but you aren't a monster and it was. If it had hurt you badly..." Mal's feelings run deep, experiencing love for the first time it has filled every part of his body.


He shuts his eyes. "I saw you bleed," he chokes.

[mandragoraspiritus]

"Mal, you must understand," he goes on gently, "a wound like what I got today is not dangerous to me. I will not pretend that it did not hurt or that wounds might not weaken me. But I do not need a beating heart or air in my lungs to live, or even a brain to think. There was never any actually danger for me, today."

[fadingworld]

"It was hard to see." He half laughs, half sobs, "Seeing your bat form was easy, that was hard. Can I touch your skin where the injury was, later please? So I can feel there are no tears in your skin for myself."

[mandragoraspiritus]

It doesn't need to wait until later, not if it can give Mal comfort and reassurance. Shifting a little Regis grabs the hem of his tunic and pulls it up to bare his abdomen. There really is no trace of the injury, nothing at all. There is only smooth, unblemished skin there.

[fadingworld]

Mal doesn't look at the skin at first, he simply touches it, tracing where he remembers seeing those slashes. Then slowly he tilts his head to look at it. His dark eyes rove over every inch of the skin.

"Thank you," Mal says softly, and his hand moves to take Regis'. "That is better." He looks up and gives him a shaky smile. "Let us try not to do this again any time soon."

[mandragoraspiritus]

"No more encountering chorts in the woods, no," Regis willingly agrees, taking Mal's hand and pressing a kiss to the knuckles.

Then he decides that the tea has steeped enough and moves the few feet needed to reach the pot and pour it into a mug. "It will be bitter," he warns Mal, bringing it over. "But I still need you to drink every drop."

[fadingworld]

Mal accepts the tea, and manages to drink it with no more than a curl of distaste of the lips. "I have been given worse tasting things to eat when I was younger. I was exposed to disgusting tasting things until I could eat or drink without a grimace. It came in useful on more than one assignment."

[mandragoraspiritus]

"I can imagine so." The more Regis hears about Mal's upbringing and training, the more he wants to find a way to tear that house to the ground.

While giving the tea time to have effect he brews another potion to help staunch the bleeding and to help prevent infections. Then he starts setting out his surgical first aid kit with its curved needles and thread.

[fadingworld]

Mal looks at the kit with half open eyes. "Will you walk me through parts of what you do?" Every injury and situation was a learning experience. And Mal finds the learning and Regis' voice both soothing and comforting.

[mandragoraspiritus]

"Certainly," Regis agrees. Some might not wish to know what was done to them, but he knows Mal well enough to know that it would help him, to give him that to focus on rather than just the pain. It would hurt, even with the numbing potion it would still hurt. All Regis can really do for Mal is to be as quick about it as he can be while still doing it right.

He sets to work, washing the wound out with the second potion, explaining why and what properties the herbs has. Some of the torn flesh has too ragged edges and must be trimmed away, causing more bleeding and in turn more of the potion to be applied.

[fadingworld]

Mal doesn't ask too many questions, absorbing the information and biting his lip against the pain. "Wounds are complicated aren't they?" he says in a pause. "Do infections fester under torn skin if it is left hanging."

[mandragoraspiritus]

"It isn't at all unlikely," Regis answers, holding a cloth against the wound to stem the flow of blood until he can continue. "The skin itself may die off and start to fester if it is too damaged. That is not something we want. We want a clean wound with clean edges, but at the same time I must be careful to not cut too much or I will not be able to close the wound neatly."

[fadingworld]

"It sounds like a delicate balancing process," Mal says with a faint smile. "And requiring a steady hand. Do you find being a barber helps with that?"

[mandragoraspiritus]

"It is rather the other way around, I think," he muses. Talking, about anything really, does seem to help Mal. "The steady hand comes from this. Cutting someone's hair or beard doesn't need it quite as much - the stakes are certainly not as high - but it it does benefit."

[fadingworld]

Talking will always be a refuge for Mal. While he's talking, he can push some of the pain away to a secondary thought. The only noticeable indications of pain are the curling and uncurling of his fingers.

"Which came first?" he asks.

[mandragoraspiritus]

"Taking it as an actual profession, it came at the same time. There was no going from one to the other. However, I was a bit of a fop in my younger days." He gives a crooked smile. "Very mindful of my appearance. I would cut my own hair and trim my own beard, and often do the same for my friends. Any interest I had in medical matters were one of simple curiosity at the time."

[fadingworld]

There was a giggle, quickly cut short as the ribs protest, over the image. "What age did you present yourself as then and what did you consider handsome?"

[mandragoraspiritus]

"Oh, we are talking over three-hundred years ago, you realize?" Again that crooked smile, not putting any fangs on display. "I did appear much younger then. Late twenties, perhaps. Early thirties. Not a gray hair in sight."

[fadingworld]

"My age," Mal says with delighted amusement. He drops his head down to the pillow again to rest more comfortably. "Were the hairstyles outrageous?"

[mandragoraspiritus]

"They always are, if you venture into the aristocracy. I did not so I was spared the most elaborate styles. But I did wear it fairly long back then."

He already had needle and thread set out in a small dish. Now he picks up a flask from his satchel, pouring some of the fluid over it. The smell of alcohol is strong. It's the strongest he's managed to distill.

He looks apologetically at Mal, holding up the flask. "This will hurt quite a bit I'm afraid. But I need to properly disinfect the wound before I suture it."

[fadingworld]

Mal would like to hear more about the hair styles. But he is not going to open his mouth to ask questions while this is done for fear he might just scream in pain.

He glances up at Regis, surely this could not hurt as much as receiving the wound itself. He retreats into himself a little in preparation to handle the pain. "I understand why it must be done, who knows what that Chort picked up in the forest. I am ready."

[mandragoraspiritus]

Perhaps it is a warning of just how much it will hurt, when Regis lays an arm across Mal, high up on his chest to be able to keep his shoulders pressed down against the bed.

He pours quickly, then tosses the flask aside to free his other hand to press down over Mal's hips to keep him as still as possible. He fears for his ribs in this but it must be done.

[fadingworld]

For all of his self resolve, Mal finds himself screaming into the pillow, trying to wriggle desperately against the hold. "I can't.... I can't. Make it stop."