god a sduvy noze on Hospital Wing

Zack Dill

January 19, 2006 9:03 AM

god a sduvy noze by Zack Dill

Zack hated cold weather, he really really did. First of all, it was cold, which made him worry about exposed body parts freezing off and shattering on the floor. He was badly underweight so he had nothing by way of body fat or insulation and he was prone to frostbite with only a little exposure. The fact that he didn't have proper winter gear only exacerbated the problem.

More importantly right now, though, was that his immune system was overworked and tended to buckle down under the pressure. Hence the very loud sneeze that had interrupted today's Astronomy class and brought his condition to Professor Dione's attention. She'd promptly lent him her cloak and gloves for the remainder of the lesson, but she'd also ordered him to report to the infirmary.

So, here he was.

He pushed through the door into Sonora's Hospital wing and moved in only a few steps before just standing there, looking cold and miserable in his two t-shirts, one sweatshirt, one light jacked, and a Sonora school robe thrown on over top all those. The layer approach did help some, but a winter jacket would have been nicer and wouldn't have left him looking quite so much like a four and a half foot tall football player. And it felt even colder now that he wasn't wearing Dione's heavy cloak anymore.

A Detroit Tigers hat sat on his head, not because he felt any devotion to the team but because it prevented heat from leaving his head at a more accelerated rate. His hands were curled up inside his sleeves and he was hugging himself, which made him look both smaller and more miserable than he already did.

When he did catch sight of the nurse, he reported in a barely understandable voice, "P-prov-vesor D-dion-ne said t-to z-zee you." Teeth chattering and a stuffy nose were not condusive to easy communication, but he figured the doc could figure out what was wrong. His nose wrinkled and another violent sneeze made him double over and stumble back a few steps.

Yeah, telling the man what was wrong was highly overrated.

1 Zack Dill god a sduvy noze 40 Zack Dill 1 5

Nurse Papp

January 20, 2006 4:07 AM

To the rescue, again. . . by Nurse Papp

Philemon puttered in front of his storage cabinets for a solid hour or five before finally admitting that he was bored mindless. Despite the over abundance of excitement and eventfulness before, during, and after the winter holidays, he would almost welcome the return of some of it if only to interrupt the monotony that had become his daily activities.

In quick summary, the past month and change had passed as such:

Morning: he would rise a good ten minutes after his alarm clock began its chanting of promised hexes should he sleep a second more, take care of the normal ablutions that came with a new day, pick at his breakfast in the Cascade Hall while downing at minimum three cups of coffee, and then return to his office in the Hospital Wing to take stock of his supplies.

Afternoon: he would quickly conclude that his stores were well stocked, even over-stocked at that, and then attempt to find a new way to organize the many bottles, salves, and their variances.

Evening: bored beyond belief, he would catch a light supper in the Cascade Hall, attempt to trigger some sort of conversation that did not revolve around the school's many climatic oddities of late, and then, after failing miserably at the aforementioned task, return to his room which was now knee deep in unopened packages from his mother.

Philemon really was in need of a change, any sort of change, or there was a strong chance that he might just do something drastic like accidentally charm one of the cots to duel with the storage cabinet, the obvious side effect being that they would then need an immediate re-stocking.

It was really quite the godsend then that an interruption arrived soon there after in the shape and form of a small boy buried beneath a laundry load's worth of clothing. Philemon bounded back from his cabinets in undisguised delight at the student's snuffled announcement.

"P-prov-vesor D-dion-ne said t-to z-zee you."

The fact that the voice meant the owner was most likely only suffering from a cold (it was, after all, a near tundra outside) didn't deter Philemon's enthusiasm in the least. He grabbed one of the thirty-nine bottles of Pepper-Up shoved on the shelf with cheerful abandon and strode enthusiastically to the boy's side. Snatching the hat from the student's head in order to better recognize him, Philemon's cheer only grew: it was that slip of boy from before, from the dust storm whose last name had something to do with pickles.

Dill. Zack Dill. He repeated the name aloud in much too happy of a tone for someone who tended to the sick, maimed, and all around unwell. "Zack Dill! Of Aladren! You don't sound well at all! Here, here, sit down." He prodded the student onto a nearby cot. The heat emanating from it should have been encouragement enough, though. "I've spelled them all with warming charms. You won't be cold on these."

Philemon loomed over head, still decidedly giddy in his mannerisms. Zack looked absolutely pathetic and miserable beneath all that clothing, and with that in mind, Philemon shoved forward the bottle of Pepper-Up. "Drink up, kiddo. If the cot doesn't warm you, this will."

0 Nurse Papp To the rescue, again. . . 0 Nurse Papp 0 5