• Solo • Poison ivy

[Tlarekih]

12th A S H A N, 716th A R C

. 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.

. 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.”

[Tlarekih]

. Imogen regarded them, and their tale, with a level of coolness that wouldn’t be unlike that of a marble statue. There was a subtle glow to her eyes, possibly a trick of the light streaming through a tall window from further away, that leant her a bit of mystery and offered the impression of something catlike before she looked away from them and was suddenly much softer, like a woman should be. It was possibly the relief that had the men all rubbing at their red skin.

. “Stop doing that,” she told them finally, when the scratching became too much. “Haven’t you heard that scratching it only makes it worse?”

. “Ta missus used to say so,” the father said quickly. “Old wives tale,” his sons added on.

. Why wouldn’t it be, Imogen thought to herself, knowing full well that the words of women were not always taken as seriously as they ought to be. She had long ago come to peace with her lot in life as a woman, though, and was an old maid for the lack of wanting a husband because of it. She used being a woman to her advantage now when, as a child, she’d have fought tooth and claw to be something more.

. “Where were you roughing with these farmhands?” She asked the young men. “Why aren’t they here with you?”

. The sons were distinctly uncomfortable at the interrogation. Imogen probably didn’t need to get this far into them, and she ought to treat them before they up and fled and got themselves into more trouble, but she was definitely curious and there was the concern that there would be other patients out there, scratching away at their rashes because they too were dumb enough to roll around in unfamiliar plants.

. “Probably at ta farm,” the oldest son said. “Dey sleep in ta bairn.”

. Imogen actually had to figure out what a ‘bairn’ was before she got it, and she shook her head. Was this what lowtowners spoke like? She’d have a stroke if she had to keep hearing it…

. “Dey wasn’t in ta bush we was in,” the youngest tacked on, interrupting the beginning of another internalised rant that was sure to come. Imogen flashed him a look, but it wasn’t entirely unkind.

. “Good to hear,” she smiled at them, and again the three of them, looked relieved. She was done that fierce interrogation for now, and they had some peace of mind. They fidgeted, and Imogen had to wonder if she didn’t just like watching them struggle with the urge to scratch.

[Tlarekih]

. She shook herself from that thought. It was well passed the time she should have looked at them and let them know what they’d gotten themselves in, even though she was sure she already knew; a herbalist had to recognise the symptoms of the local flora, fortunately, and a doctor wasn’t required to tell them what this was.

. “Let me have a look at your arm,” she said to the younger son, and he slowly extended it for her to have a look at. Imogen’s hands were cold and soothing, but underneath them she could feel that his skin was warmer where there was a rash, and she supposed that it was because he scratched it so frequently and was only irritating it further. Up close and personal, it didn’t look so much like he was going to blister, but there was definitely indication that he’d been rolling around in whatever had caused this longer than was necessary.

. “You now,” she said to his brother, releasing the younger one’s arm. The older son was much less wary than his brother and he nearly hit Imogen with his eagerness to let her look at his arm. That put her off a little. She didn’t like it when people got eager.

. His arm was the same as his brother’s. They both were probably laying on the leaves of the plant between wrestling with their farmhand friends, and because it took more than a few minutes for the symptoms of the ivy to come out, they wouldn’t have noticed it while they lounged there. If they simply knew what they were getting into, it wouldn’t have been too much of a problem but… Imogen suspected a lot of people in the city didn’t know a thing about what to do when in the wilderness.

. She dropped his arm after looking over it, and looked over to their father. His wasn’t as much of a severe case, but it was on his face, and his eye was dangerously close to his forehead. She gestured and he approached. There was an inherent lack of faith in the medical skill of a woman that Imogen encountered frequently enough that these men seemed to have lost. She must have intimidated them with her line of questioning.

. The man’s face was surprisingly cool to her touch, but she reasoned that it was because he didn’t scratch as hard or with as much fervor as his boys. The rash was much lighter, and she still wondered how he had gotten it. Her questioning was already done with, though, and she would have to give herself that little mystery to chew on.

. “There isn’t much I can prescribe to you three,” she said to them. “You two,” and here she looked at his sons, “you ought to pay more mind to what sort of plants you decide to rough up with a few of your mates in. Poison ivy isn’t the worst plant you could have touched, but hopefully the rash steers you away from finding yourself in a pile of it again.”

. “You can’t give us sometin?” The father asked, aghast.

. “I can give you advice,” Imogen responded. In no way was she going to be giving these men anything if they didn’t need it. “Wash yourselves. Go straight to a washbasin or a stream, if you don’t like to wash in public, and wash those rashes. Wash your hands, since you’ve been scratching, and stop scratching. If you get the urge to scratch, cold water generally helps to soothe that.”

. They stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign language, and remembering that they spoke with a lower level of diction than she, Imogen wondered if she was speaking a different language. In the end, though, the sons both slowly nodded, and the father simply shook his head as if to say, women.

. When they were gone, because Imogen refused to give them something to soothe the pain (she hoped it would teach those boys to not roll around in poison ivy again) and there was nothing else for her to have a look at, Imogen rolled her shoulders.

. There was already someone else who needed her.

[Griffin]

Tlarekih/Imogen

Skills
Observation: 2
Medicine: 2
Interrogation: 2
Intimidation: 2
Herbalism: 1

Basic Knowledge
Doctor: Sit down when you have the chance
Interrogation: The power of a stern look
Low-town accent: Hard to decipher

Specialized Knowledge
Poison Ivy: Brings up a nasty rash
Poison Ivy: Made worse by scratching
Poison Ivy: Treat by thorough washing and soothe with cold water

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Notes
She's so cold, I love it! Again I think you've balanced her out really well. She's working as a Doctor and able to display some traits of empathy without feeling it. I love her reactions to the stupidity of the people around her and her low opinion of the human populace. There's also the return of tension as she doesn't like to touch, or be touched from the threads so far, but is something that is necessary to her line of work. It throws up an interesting facet.

PM me if you have any questions or feel I have missed something.