I'm not sick on Hospital Wing

Jean Wolfe

May 21, 2020 6:34 AM

I'm not sick by Jean Wolfe

This was… surreal. Jean-Loup did not usually consider himself a lucky person. He regarded Dorian as the one piece of good fortune that had ever really happened to him, but apparently he was a strong enough charm that his power spread out, touching Jean-Loup’s life and pulling him into the bubble of safe and cosy comfort he had found.

He was here. He would… not quite be wearing healer’s robes, as he was not qualified. But he would be firmly on that side of the divide. Being the one to dispense medication…

He had been met by Deputy Headmistress Skies, who had explained that Ms. Kapoor had had to leave suddenly. They already had a new medic in, and Professor Skies had briefed her on the fact of Jean-Loup’s existence. She had then proceeded to brief him on what she had briefed the healer on. All the usual medical rules, the living arrangements he would be abiding by, and the fact - covered under the first point but made one hundred percent absolutely specific - that he did not access the records of any student with whom he had a personal relationship unless there was a clinical reason to do so and this was accompanied by their explicit consent.

He had needed to query her terminology. Whether ‘personal relationship’ implied… Personal. And Relationship. With capital letters. It apparently did not. It just meant all kinds of connection. She had, she explained, not wanted to make his personal life the new healer’s business, but had wanted to make it easily understood that such relationships possibly existed. Reading between the lines, he took this to mean he had an opening to tell her if he wanted to, but that it also hopefully meant she wouldn’t be surprised and accuse him of malpractice if she happened to walk in on him making out with his boyfriend. Somewhere other than the infirmary, obviously. He would not be doing that in his place of work. That would be perfectly reasonable grounds for complaint on her part.

The familiar space was already radically altered when he stepped in. He eyed up the vivid purple letters decorating the back wall. He had no particular aversion to them, as it was not his space to care about. So long as she didn’t expect him to wear the colour for a sense of team solidarity. He had simply stocked up with some simple plain blue robes to wear whilst on duty so as to look smart and professional. Underneath these, a stiffly pressed shirt colour was visible, as well as the knot of a tie that might have been slightly too nice for the occasion. He thought it would pass under most people’s radars if they were choosing to appraise him. Ties were one of those pleasantly understated garments where the good were harder to tell from the bad unless you looked with a very careful eye, or the latter were so garish as to stick out like sore thumbs. Perhaps it was better to say that the very good was hard to tell apart from the usual standard, as he would not have worn a bad tie. He suspected that the dark red tie with its finely woven cloud pattern was a good few grades above that. Probably highest quality Chinese silk because he doubted his boyfriend would gift him anything less, even if he probably had had to lie through his teeth about who he was buying it for. Had Dorian had to pretend it was for Vlad, because his roommate’s existence was perfectly palatable and easily acknowledged? Jean-Loup adjusted the knot, trying not to think about that side of things. It was neither Dorian’s fault that that was the situation, nor Vlad’s - who had been nothing but nice to him. The important part was that the person who had given him this tie, the person he loved and who loved him back, was currently somewhere in the same building as him.

He would not get to take advantage of that until later though. And right now he had a new supervisor to meet and impress.

The flowers she had laid on each of the tables were an added complication to that, and would bother him more than the violet lettering. He could already feel their scent grasping at his throat. He was sure there was a potion to deal with that here, but there were also strict rules against him prescribing anything to himself. Which meant admitting to his new supervisor that her flowers were an issue for him. Which did not sound like a polite move. Hopefully, he could get through the first couple of hours without a horrific sneezing fit, and then maybe allergies were common enough that he could beg some form of relief from someone else and not upset things.

“Good morning, Healer Willow?” he asked, when someone stepped out of the office. “I am Jean-Loup,” he hoped she had heard it out loud before she had seen it written. Apparently the first part was both a girl’s name and a fabric here, even if the pronunciation wasn’t at all the same. Also Anglophones did not understand the concept of silent final letters. He did not want months of being called ‘Jean-Loup’ - his name was /Jean-Loup/. “I am Jean-Loup. The intern. You are told about me?” he checked.

13 Jean Wolfe I'm not sick 1506 1 5

Katey Willow

May 21, 2020 3:29 PM

Sweet, me neither! by Katey Willow

It was going well, she thought. At least, she hoped so. Katey had a couple visitors to her infirmary so far - which was intrinsically bad, because it meant students were having medical issues, but also “good for business”, so to speak - and she felt like she was finding ways to do good and also keep herself busy.

She was excited, though, about meeting her intern. Katelyn was a bit of an extrovert, so spending most of her time alone in the hospital wing was, she anticipated, likely to get a bit dull somewhere along the way. Having someone young and eager to go with her own youth and eagerness was going to be fun, she was absolutely sure.

And there he was! “Jean-Loup! Yes!” she beamed, certain to include his name so that he knew she could say it right. She had definitely been reading it as Jeen-Loop on his paperwork, but she committed the correct pronunciation to mind immediately. “I’m going with Miss Katey for the students. But I think you can just call me Katey, if you like.”

She gestured him to one of the beds and took a seat on the one beside it. She pulled her legs up and sat crossed, leaning one elbow on her knee. “So! Tell me about yourself, Jean-Loup.”

12 Katey Willow Sweet, me neither! 1505 0 5

Jean Wolfe

May 21, 2020 8:18 PM

I wouldn't dream of suggesting it by Jean Wolfe

Jean-Loup took a seat on the bed indicated, offering an easy, even white smile to the lady opposite him. He did not quite mirror her sitting position, quite sure his own long limbs would not quite… work that way, but he crossed one leg loosely and casually over the other as they dangled off the edge of the bed, looking happy and relaxed.

His palms were sweating horribly.

In just a few short sentences, the new healer had proved herself to be as bright and enthusiastic as the lettering on her wall. Or was striving for that appearance, anyway. He wasn’t sure why anyone would bother setting the bar that high for themselves if it wasn’t their natural energy level, so he had to assume it was genuine.

She also wanted him to call her Katey, and he choked down the almost instinctual ‘Yes ma’am’ or ‘Yes Healer’ that was his first response to that. He did not try to estimate her age per se, as that would have been rude, but she was rather young. There was a minimum she could be, whilst still having qualified, unless she’d been a child prodigy. It was not so much the age difference as the status one though. She was firmly the other side of a strong dividing line. Except… It wasn’t teacher/student. It wasn’t adult/minor. He did not feel like a real adult, not like her, and there was the fact that he was very definitely her subordinate, but he was also in a grey space where he was not a child either.

“Thank you… Katey,” he said, with only a fraction of a hesitation. The thing that made it easier was that it was what she wanted. And when you gave people what they wanted, they tended to be pleased with you. She was also doing a decent enough job with his name, and deserved the same in return, albeit in a different fashion.

He tried to tell himself it was just… just another society party. Smile. Chit chat. Be pleasant. The way in which it was not like a society party though was that he could not make small talk about the weather or her outfit and then get out of here. She wanted to know about him.

“I am from Québec,” he started simply, he suspected she knew much of the basic information about him but he wasn’t really sure what else to reveal. My life goals are to be a healer by day and to do x-rated things with one of your students by night, and also he happens to be a boy was not exactly small talk territory. “I did played much Quidditch in school. I am the beater. I try to make there be not so much work for the medic. Defensive playing. And I previously volunteer as a first-aid with ice skating,” he explained slowly, the easy social smile and relaxed posture not faltering even as he cringed internally at the sound of his own English. He knew this information. He had rehearsed this information. It was resume and job interview 101. Why was it so much harder doing it out loud?

“I may ask back to you?” he checked. He did not want to sound like he was questioning her credentials or making her justify her presence in her own hospital wing, but it seemed more like she just wanted to… chat. And it was rude not to show an interest in the other person.

13 Jean Wolfe I wouldn't dream of suggesting it 1506 0 5

Katey Willow

May 22, 2020 5:49 AM

What do you suggest? by Katey Willow

Katey listened.

That was something she considered herself quite good at. It was an important trait for a medical professional, too. A lot of TV doctors, for example, were hard and strong and had the answers, but they also often disregarded the patient’s feelings and intelligence. Dr. House could have probably saved himself a lot of time and effort if he’d just listened instead of relying on his own stubborn arrogance so much. Katey wasn’t that kind of medical professional. She was soft and compassionate, and she listened.

As Jean-Loup spoke, she committed his details to memory, whatever he was willing to share. Her memory was quite impressive; perhaps one of her greatest features was in fact her retention. She never forgot a name, a face, or a story. And she liked Jean-Loup’s story. He was just the right kind of Beater, too. Katelyn wasn’t much of a Quidditch fan for pretty much the reasons he highlighted: it was very dangerous. Maybe she should have been more agreeable to that, as it provided something of job security, but she hated the thought of kids hurting one another. But players like Jean-Loup made it less dangerous. They looked out for people. The protected people. She liked him already.

He returned the question, and she smiled. “Not a whole lot to tell here, I’m afraid,” she said, though it wasn’t a complete truth. “I grew up in the middle of nowhere in Indiana and graduated from my basic education just shy of ten years ago. Since then I’ve mostly just been working on medical school, which I finished and became licensed to practice as a Healer about a year ago. And now, here I am.” Something about it always came out a little rehearsed, like she knew her own story a bit too well and was just reciting it. Practiced. But the smile she wore was genuine.

“Now that we’re familiar with one another, let me ask you something,” she diverted, leaning in slightly more. “Professor Skies told me you were around last term, so can you explain your duties around here? What type of things are you used to doing?” It was a pretty tactful way to try to ask, What am I supposed to tell you to do? “Ooh, also!” she added, as the thought occurred to her. “Do you speak any languages other than English and… French, I would assume?” From her first student interaction, she had learned that this school’s language pool seemed to be wide, and she wondered what sort of translation assistance Jean-Loup might be able to provide. Katey believed in efficiency - maybe while she helped him with his English, he could help her with other languages.

12 Katey Willow What do you suggest? 1505 0 5

Jean Wolfe

May 23, 2020 7:48 AM

I think you're the one who gets to choose by Jean Wolfe

People who weren’t Dorian spoke English far too fast. Even when they thought they were being helpful and slow, they usually weren’t minding either their speed or their vocabulary as much as they thought. She was a medic. She was recently qualified. She had mentioned both being afraid and he was sure he’d caught they word ‘shy’ too but neither seemed to apply. Hopefully he hadn’t missed anything very important.

The smile had slipped slightly from his face as he listened, and he realised this as she concluded.

“Sorry,” he apologised, “I don’t make this face at you,” he gestured to his own frown before smoothing it back out to a more neutral expression, “Just… at English. With concentrating on English,” he amended. Dorian had informed him last year that he tended to look grumpy, or at the very least deeply serious when being spoken to in English and he did not want to give the wrong impression.

His face retained its practised neutrality as she said, now that they knew each other better, she wanted to know something. Inside though, he had tensed slightly, sure she was about to probe the subject of the Deputy Headmistress suggestions that he knew at least one student more ‘personally.’ But it turned out she just wanted to know about his work. He was slightly surprised, assuming she’d have had a brief overview. Presumably she had, but it was still useful for them to discuss it properly together, especially as she probably had license to make changes as she saw fit.

“Yes- I mean, correct that it is French,” he told her, when she asked about his languages. “But no to any more other,” he shook his head regretfully, “And I think… any of the student that speak French, they will have more better English than me. I think I do not much use it here,” he shrugged. Certainly he would not be of any help as a translator, which what he assumed she was hoping. He was just hoping he would manage in, and improve, his rather ropy second language.

“For last year, I did followed Ms. Kapoor,” he explained. He had had to write a statement to present his usefulness as part of applying to continue his apprenticeship, so some of that English was still fresh in his mind, though once again it was harder to bring it forth out loud. He sort of wished he could have just shoved his resume at Katey and run away to do a stock check. But hiding in the medical supplies closet was not going to get him very far…

“Sort of…” he edited that statement, “It was...the trial period. And the new idea. I…” he trailed off, not sure how to explain that he had ended up there without a real plan without it sounding unprofessional. “Last year, I am not signed as official intern. So, I do more the organisation of things. I did checked the potions and make inventory for expiring dates and so on. I try making - I tried to made more jobs for me myself. I did wrote ideas for Quidditch things. Like, being healthy with warm-up and warm-down,” language knowledge was odd. He had all these technical words for the things he’d worked on, and no doubt would pick up some highly specific medical words whilst he was here, whilst probably being able to barely give a coherent account of his own morning or a useful set of directions. He could remember enunciating ‘turn left at the owl office’ and ‘turn right at the tourist information centre’ clearly in class, but wasn’t sure how well he would break up and rebolt those pieces back together if he had to actually help someone. He would just have to hope that whatever they wanted really was a left hand turn away from the owl office…

“Now this year, there are more permissions. There is consent from parents that there will be the intern. So, I may work more alongside and do real helping. I would like also to talk with the duelling club for seeing if they want first aid. I know they have already Professor Brooding-Hawthorne present but it is a way to offer extra helping,” he stated, assuming that context would make it obvious which Brooding-Hawthorne it was. “Last year, also there was not much purpose in making new medication. But now this is something to do.

“I think, officially, my contact does say that I do any duties as decide from the medic,” he added, inclining his head politely towards her. He hoped he had not been out of line in outlining the things he also wanted to do this year, but he was keen to show he would actually be useful, whereas last year’s trial period had been a bit… improvised, a status which was then compounded by being the end of term. “And Ms. Kapoor already did teached me that a very important element is understanding how my supervisor likes her coffee,” he added with a smile, very well aware of one of the vital elements of being the bottom rung on any ladder.

13 Jean Wolfe I think you're the one who gets to choose 1506 0 5