[ For a myriad of miserable reasons, the clinic is the place to be these days. And unsurprisingly pinning the lone doctor down for more than a handful of seconds is going about as well as vying for an audience with the king and his full royal court. They’ll talk once the patients are fed. They’ll talk once the linens are changed. They’ll talk once the supplies are inventoried, not just anyone can do that, you know! One thing after another. Excuse, excuse, excuse. ]
[ They’re valid excuses. Mostly. That doesn’t stop them contributing to his burgeoning headache. Whatever’s next on the goddamn docket, Doc’s gonna have to learn the ol’ walk-and-talk, but inventory... He’ll leave them to it. For now, considering Vidal is probably actually more qualified than this medieval quack, the least he can do is intercept the not-so-plague-ridden patients and let the good doctor finish running his numbers uninterrupted. ]
[ That’s how he’s wound up half sat on a table with a screaming child hooked under the arms with one of his own, free hand attempting to clean some pretty nasty-looking claw marks raked across her scalp and shoulder. Poor thing must’ve run afoul of a chicken or several, and she is simply not having it with this burning antiseptic business, no matter how adamantly he shushes and soothes. ]
Sweetie— I know— Come on, hey. I said it was gonna sting a little, it’s gonna sting a lot more if we don’t get this clean, all right hon? You don’t know where that chicken’s been.
[ Admittedly, he’s not very good at it. She is, quite staunchly, not impressed by his efforts, and has chosen to make a noise like he is murdering her in cold blood in the middle of the clinic instead. Harmonizing with some placating okay okays, he puts a pause on the efforts to glance around. ]
Hey, [ Vidal shoots toward the first tall, out-of-place, hale and hearty-looking youngster he lays eyes on. He himself looks about to snap; not his temper, nor his patience, just… Yeah. ] I dunno if you’re here to help or for help, but gimme a hand, kid.
I was gonna go for something something sand pest, but either way,
[ They’re valid excuses. Mostly. That doesn’t stop them contributing to his burgeoning headache. Whatever’s next on the goddamn docket, Doc’s gonna have to learn the ol’ walk-and-talk, but inventory... He’ll leave them to it. For now, considering Vidal is probably actually more qualified than this medieval quack, the least he can do is intercept the not-so-plague-ridden patients and let the good doctor finish running his numbers uninterrupted. ]
[ That’s how he’s wound up half sat on a table with a screaming child hooked under the arms with one of his own, free hand attempting to clean some pretty nasty-looking claw marks raked across her scalp and shoulder. Poor thing must’ve run afoul of a chicken or several, and she is simply not having it with this burning antiseptic business, no matter how adamantly he shushes and soothes. ]
Sweetie— I know— Come on, hey. I said it was gonna sting a little, it’s gonna sting a lot more if we don’t get this clean, all right hon? You don’t know where that chicken’s been.
[ Admittedly, he’s not very good at it. She is, quite staunchly, not impressed by his efforts, and has chosen to make a noise like he is murdering her in cold blood in the middle of the clinic instead. Harmonizing with some placating okay okays, he puts a pause on the efforts to glance around. ]
Hey, [ Vidal shoots toward the first tall, out-of-place, hale and hearty-looking youngster he lays eyes on. He himself looks about to snap; not his temper, nor his patience, just… Yeah. ] I dunno if you’re here to help or for help, but gimme a hand, kid.
[ You know. As long as you’re not sick. ]