Isla
People are already swarming under Isla's direction - finding beds, getting their cache of healing water, grabbing supplies of bandages and antiseptic, you name it - such that as the Remedy hears the murmur of Ever's voice cutting under the din like a strangely familiar lifeline, she's able to parse it from the rest of the chaos enough to spot him grabbing the copper kettles. "Thank you," she calls to him, already putting pressure on a nasty puncture wound to the gut, her hands and wrists painted red.
By the time he returns - in little less than ten minutes, if not even sooner - the chaos has subsided into something that isn't exactly calm, but could do a good impression of it if pushed. Two nurses in training sweep forward to collect the kettles that Ever has brought back, chirping their gratitude as they swarm away to find good use for it, and another one of the medics offers him a glad smile as he helps to settle those still in the waiting room, triaging where he can to reduce the number of people in the clinic.
When Isla emerges from the doors leading into the examination rooms and the ward, her hair has been dragged up into a messy bun and her hands scrubbed clean, though there are still splotches of red on her shirt. "Two are stable enough to leave already," she says quietly to him. "The other two aren't in a great way. They said they got into a fight down in the Fingers, something about tunnels having been flooded and gods know what else..." Sagging against the counter, she offers him an apologetic smile.
"You might have saved their lives with that water," she says. "Sorry I dropped the groceries, though..."
By the time he returns - in little less than ten minutes, if not even sooner - the chaos has subsided into something that isn't exactly calm, but could do a good impression of it if pushed. Two nurses in training sweep forward to collect the kettles that Ever has brought back, chirping their gratitude as they swarm away to find good use for it, and another one of the medics offers him a glad smile as he helps to settle those still in the waiting room, triaging where he can to reduce the number of people in the clinic.
When Isla emerges from the doors leading into the examination rooms and the ward, her hair has been dragged up into a messy bun and her hands scrubbed clean, though there are still splotches of red on her shirt. "Two are stable enough to leave already," she says quietly to him. "The other two aren't in a great way. They said they got into a fight down in the Fingers, something about tunnels having been flooded and gods know what else..." Sagging against the counter, she offers him an apologetic smile.
"You might have saved their lives with that water," she says. "Sorry I dropped the groceries, though..."
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard
When you hit me, hit me hard
