. Imogen was sitting, because her job didn't always require her on her feet and sometimes it was good to already be sitting down when someone came in and told her what stupid thing they did to become injured. The infirmary was relatively quiet, but that wouldn't last for long. It was simply early morning, and Imogen was one of the first to work in a day, a fact that she'd account to not wanting to have to take care of her daughter that early if she could avoid it.
12th A S H A N, 716th A R C
. She wasn't too charmed with her work today, though. There were a few people who had come in, complaining about a rash on their arms that they 'didn't know where they got it', in not nearly so eloquent terms. She had stared at them, for a bit longer than she should have, because she didn't immediately understand how one could have gotten something without knowing what they were getting in. Did these people spend so little time outdoors..?
. There were three of them like this: a father and his two sons, and all three of them must have been stupid-
. Imogen couldn’t allow herself to continue her internal rant, because as she understood it, doctors helped people first and then ranted about them later when they were safely at home and had the time to do so. So, she returned to her doctor frame of mind and regarded the rash anew.
. It was pretty large on the two boys, up and down their forearms and looking like it was about to blister. The father was not as bad off, but he’d gotten it on his face as well. Thankfully, for him, it seemed he had only gotten brushed by whatever had sent them off into this state.
. “Were you off in the woods yesterday?” Imogen asked them, because she’d seen this rash before. Ateka had gotten into a bush and had come home teary-eyed. Imogen would have been stupid to not recognise the same symptoms Ateka had suffered through in these three, but when the father shook his head and the boys nodded theirs, Imogen had to seriously question whether or not this little family were the stupid ones.
. “So, what is it? Yes, or no?” She asked, a little more sternly than was necessary.
. “Sorry, ma’am,” the father said, and he scratched at his rash nervously. “I wasn’t in ta woods. Dey were. Dey’s give me the rash.”
. Imogen narrowed her eyes into a nice little squint, as shrewd as possible as she looked between the three once again. This time, she turned that little almost-evil look onto the man’s sons, because if it had started with them then they may as well as explain how it happened.
. The eldest would have been considered a strapping lad. He had sinewy muscles from a life of labour. The youngest was cleaner, and it looked (to Imogen’s less than discerning eye) as if he hadn’t seriously lifted anything heavy in his life.
. “We’s were in ta bush yesternight,” the youngest said, immediately extinguishing the idea that he was learned. “Roughin’ with ta farmhands.”