Arthur Carey
February 13, 2011 6:04 PM
Seeking assistance by Arthur Carey
He had initially tried to pass part of it off as his head spinning because of Alice, but by the end of his second class after Transfiguration, Arthur had to admit that his head was just spinning. His peripheral vision was throwing him off, too, he kept thinking he saw dark shapes, and when he touched his head, he thought he could feel his brain squeezing itself in hard and then expanding outward, again and again. When lunch rolled around, he was forced to concede that he did, indeed, have time to seek out the services of the medic.He did, he supposed, have an advantage over most. He knew he had cousins who would have been anxious about seeing a woman for medical things, but Arthur's mother had gone through mediwitch training while Father was still married to and then in mourning for his first wife, and she was the one who looked after him and his brothers unless it was really bad, which it seldom was. So he was accustomed to the idea that a woman medic could do an adequate job so long as his fever stayed below 103 degrees, and he didn't even have a fever today, just a headache.
The family didn't like professional women, which was unfortunate now that the first matriarch of a branch in about a hundred years was one. Arthur wasn't sure where he fell on that issue. He found the idea of women working in public, for money, strange and alien, but he also found it interesting so long as it didn't hurt him, which, so far, he didn't think it had. His first teacher here had been a woman, and she'd hardly gone soft on them. He'd also read that Sonora had gone through several women administrators, some of whom hadn't even been old maids. That implied the rest of the world didn't agree with the family, which suggested that one of them might be wrong, but his parents, presumably, with the approval of Anthony IV, had sent him and Arnold here, where ideas they didn't agree with were played out. Fact contrary to idea, like a delusion, or a lie – he wished he could discuss it with Father….
His thoughts were still defying control and organization, so he was sure he doubled back on himself at least once and ended up asking the same portrait for directions twice, but in the end, Arthur found himself walking into what he was reasonably sure was the hospital wing. He'd never been in an open ward in his life, or in a real hospital at all, Healers always came to him once they heard he was a Carey, so it did not look at all like what he thought of a sickroom as looking like, but he'd seen pictures of this place and thought he could still trust his memory no matter what.
It was empty at the moment, though, and so peaceful, which was very much to Arthur's liking. School had not been peaceful so far, which was why he was here in the first place; less than twenty-four hours in, he was missing his suite, and the relative scarcity of any kind of other human being, and being able, within limits, to go where he liked, when he liked. If the lady in charge, Medic Rocamboli, he thought it was, proved to be an agreeable person, he thought he might spend some time here even when he wasn't ill. Arthur felt more comfortable around adults than he did other children anyway, and it would be nice to have somewhere to go when he could stand no more of them.
He couldn't see a bell or any other means of calling someone, so he decided the intent was for him to raise his voice. “Excuse me,” he said, trying to be loud and polite at the same time. He still came closer to polite than loud, Arthur was not a loud person, but he was louder than he usually was. “Is anyone here?”
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Arthur Carey
Seeking assistance
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Arthur Carey
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Medic Cleo Rocamboli
February 15, 2011 3:43 PM
That's my cue by Medic Cleo Rocamboli
Change was apparently the word of the year. The staff had all known about Sadi leaving for a while, but Cleo had still been sad to see her former boss go. Sadi was, after all, the one who had hired her. That wasn't to say that Cleo was having trouble adjusting to David as Headmaster—he was a good leader with good ideas, and Cleo of course respected him a lot—but she did miss her friend. Hopefully, Sadi would stay in touch even though she was no longer at the school.There were also staffing changes, but they were more in the line of hiring new people, not firing old ones. Natalie and May had both left Sonora, but the positions hadn't stayed empty for long. DiAnna Diaz—who seemed very, very nice—was the new librarian, and there had been two new groundskeepers to replace May: Juan Sanquez and Seth Brockert. Cleo thought that they would fit right in at the school. Declan Chatterjee, who had apparently taught at Sonora before Cleo was there, was returning to his position as Astronomy professor. Although the medic hadn't really gotten to know any of her new coworkers, she didn't think they would have any trouble getting along.
Speaking of getting along, the biggest change for her family had happened last May, when her older brother Jarrett had married his fiancée Laurel. It was about time, Cleo thought; Jarrett was forty-three, two years older than his sister, and he had never married even though he and Laurel had been together for seven years. Cleo knew her mother didn't really approve of Laurel since she was almost a decade younger than Jarrett, but Cleo really liked her thirty-four-year-old sister-in-law. Laurel was bright and good-humored, and Cleo thought that the Herbologist fit right in with the Rocamboli family.
And, speaking of fitting in…well, Cleo didn't know if he would fit in with the family, but she'd started dating again. His name was Roger O'Leary and (besides having about as many freckles as the very speckled Cleo) he was a Healer who specialized in Spell Damage. Cleo had met him at a Healer's conference over the summer, and she hadn't been able to get the auburn-haired forty-two-year-old out of her head. They'd gone out a few times and so far he'd only made her happy. Cleo was just hoping this relationship would work out a lot better than hers with her ex-husband Teo.
Cleo's quarters were adjoining to the Hospital Wing, and she was trying (and failing) to braid her russet hair when she heard an unfamiliar student calling her. “Excuse me. Is anyone here?”
Unfamiliar was a term that applied to most of the student body, actually. Cleo was kind of isolated in the Hospital Wing, and there were a limited number of students who Cleo could recognize just by their voices. Now that Holly Greer had graduated, the medic really only knew Cooper Abramson and some of the more accident-prone Quidditch players by sound.
Raking her fingers through the half-formed braid so that it smoothed into a ponytail, Cleo answered loudly, “Yes, just a moment.” She stepped out into her workplace, her white medic's robe brushing her cotton-clad shins. Cleo was wearing white pants and a bright pink blouse under her robes; even though the blouse probably clashed with her rust-colored hair, the medic didn't mind that too much.
“Hi,” she said with a friendly wave, approaching the student without getting close enough to shake hands. Since he'd come to her, it probably wasn't a good idea to shake his hand until she figured out why he was there. The boy looked like he was a second-year at most; he seemed very polite and reserved, so Cleo was more inclined to think he was a first-year.
She launched into her customary introduction. “I'm Medic Rocamboli; you can call me that, or Medic Rock, or just Cleo. I know my name's a bit of a mouthful.” She'd always had to correct the pronunciation of her name (even though it was phonetic), but Cleo had never wanted to change it, even when she'd gotten married. Now that she and Teo were divorced, Cleo was glad that her name was still “Rocamboli” and not the much-simpler “Ma”.
“Anyhow, what can I help you with?” she said, moving to her desk to collect her eucalyptus-wood wand. Whatever this student was here for, Cleo would probably need it.
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Medic Cleo Rocamboli
That's my cue
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Medic Cleo Rocamboli
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Arthur Carey
February 15, 2011 11:06 PM
An admirably timed entrance by Arthur Carey
Arthur looked, a little blurrily, back at the medic. “Good day,” he said, bowing slightly and very carefully, then raising his right hand in an awkward imitation of her gesture. He wasn't sure what he thought of working women, but it was always best to cover his bases and be polite to the person mixing his drugs. He didn't think she would poison him, he wasn't that paranoid, but he was reasonably sure there were things that could be done to make things taste better or worse.He decided to ignore the trousers. “Medic Rocamboli,” he repeated, not considering her suggestions about other things to call her. Calling an adult by a nickname when it was just him and Arnold was uncomfortable; doing it to the adult's face was unthinkable. Even Mother, who was much more laid back than the rest of the family, would scold him if he spoke that way to a school employee. “My name is Arthur Carey, of the South Carolina Careys.”
Names. Interesting. Rocamboli, that was Italian, but Cleo was…French? Maybe Greek or Egyptian, derived from Cleopatra, the Ptolemies were basically Greeks, but maybe not at all. Arthur – British, he thought. Anthony was usually considered Italian, like Rocamboli, but he knew he'd seen English examples in the sixteenth century. Carey was, he thought, originally Norman; his great-great-great-great – was there another one? – grandmother had been Scottish. Where had the tradition of using state names come from? He couldn't find it anywhere else, even in other English speaking ones…
He shook his head slightly. He needed to pay attention. To one thing. Names weren't that thing. His was especially irrelevant. He also certainly looked at least fifty percent out of it, since he felt about ninety percent, so it was even more important to be as on top of things as he could be, if he wanted to have any chance of being taken seriously. He didn't think she had the authority to make him stay here unless he was in clear danger, which he wasn't, but he preferred to sound like he was sure of himself and could be trusted so he wouldn't have to argue about it.
“I hope so,” he said. “I have a headache. I wasn't able to sleep in a crowded room last night, so I have a headache.” Repeating words. Shouldn't do that. “I'd like a pain potion. I'd prefer it if you'd leave out any sopophorous bean elements.” He had afternoon classes. He couldn't go to sleep yet. “I'm planning to go to lunch from here.” There was something else he meant to say; he had to think of it. “Oh, yes. I'd appreciate it if you could include something for alertness. Enough to last until suppertime, thank you. I'll go to bed then.”
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Arthur Carey
An admirably timed entrance
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Arthur Carey
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Medic Rocamboli
February 21, 2011 1:36 AM
Why thank you by Medic Rocamboli
Cleo tried not to judge people—especially herStill, Cleo wasn't here to network. She was here to practice medicine, so she focused her attention on what young Arthur said after his introduction. She suppressed a smile at his initial response to her question; “I hope so” wasn't exactly an answer she'd been looking for when she'd asked what she could help him with.
His apparent confusion with “what” and “whether” was pretty explainable when Arthur gave the reason he'd sought the medic out. As someone who'd suffered from frequent migraines as a teenager and young adult, Cleo knew how bad headaches could get. Luckily for her, she'd never had migraines that started suddenly; usually she had a lead-up to them, some kind of warning that she was about to be unable to do anything that didn't involve sitting perfectly still. It would've been pretty inconvenient during her internship if she'd suddenly gotten crippling migraines about once a week. The Healer had never liked taking potions while she was working. In the past few years, the redhead's number of headaches had dwindled, and Cleo was really hoping this trend would continue. They certainly weren't a phenomenon she would miss.
In addition to being rather direct in his statement of the problem, Arthur Carey also seemed to have a pretty good understanding of potions' abilities and ingredients. At least, his request was very specific, and happened to be something Cleo thought she had on hand. The forty-one-year-old always made sure her Hospital Wing was equipped with all the potions and draughts she could reasonably need; it would be more than embarrassing to be caught without something she should have. Cleo made most of the potions herself, although the more complicated or brand-name ones—like Skele-Gro, which she thus far hadn't used and hopefully never would—were ordered from either the manufacturers or the apothecary closest to Sonora. Like becoming an Auror, Healing required a strong background in many subjects; Potions and Herbology had always been her favorites, but she was also very well acquainted with Charms and Transfiguration. For some, Defense Against the Dark Arts was also an important subject, but it had never been something Cleo particularly liked.
Pain potion, no sopophorous bean, plus something to encourage alertness. He'd said he was planning on going to lunch, which implied it had to be something that didn't interact badly with food. Okay, that was easy enough to work with. Pain potions were pretty rudimentary; Cleo had several on hand, many of which were “non-drowsy”, some of which were designed specifically to cooperate with other substances, and a few that were exclusively for headaches. Only one of Cleo's potions fit all of those criteria, and she quickly removed a vial of that particular periwinkle draught from her supply cabinet.
“Alertness” was a bit trickier of a requirement. Ordinarily she'd just prescribe a Wit-Sharpening potion for that, but if Arthur had an upcoming class—which Cleo was entirely certain all underclassmen had today after lunch—she wouldn't want to give him an edge that might be considered cheating. Then again, Cleo wasn't sure whether the student meant clarity of thought or just general wakefulness, so she asked as she prepared his pain relief potion.
“This should alleviate the headache,” she said, carefully pouring out a dose. “It takes effect within a few moments of drinking, so you shouldn't have to wait too long.” The potion was guaranteed for at least the next twelve hours, so Arthur would be fine through supper and a few hours of sleep, depending on how late he dined. Cleo handed the student the cup. “And when you say alertness…do you mean something to improve focus, or just to keep you properly awake for the next few hours?” The blue-eyed witch wanted to make sure she understood him completely before she prescribed anything else.
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Medic Rocamboli
Why thank you
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Medic Rocamboli
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Arthur Carey
February 21, 2011 11:45 AM
You're very welcome by Arthur Carey
Arthur officially had a favorite adult at Sonora. She might eventually have to settle for tying with his Head of House, but Medic Rocamboli had simply taken his word for it that he knew what he needed and had given it to him, not arguing or treating him like an idiot the way new adults often liked to. This spared him a great deal of frustration and trouble, and Arthur appreciated that. He did glance at the potion before drinking it, and noticed it didn't look exactly like what Mother gave him, but didn't hesitate before swallowing it.That turned out to be not good, since he was doing that when he was asked another question and couldn't answer promptly. Perhaps leniency could apply, under the circumstances, but it still verged dangerously close to being disrespectful to an adult. There were so many rules about that point that it was impossible not to break some of them sometimes, though Anthony really did a better job at it than Arnold or Arthur. Arthur had wondered before if his little brother's expressions of magic sometimes took the form of erasing people's memories of his indiscretions, because it just didn't seem possible that he could be that well-behaved, especially at his age.
He also often, to his shame, didn't really care if some adults felt disrespected, but he liked and needed this one. So he needed to mend fences. That was right. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to make you wait.” He blinked as the potion kicked in; it was always slightly surprising to feel pain just dissolve and wash away so quickly, a sped-up photograph of waves on the beach.
Just as quickly, though, he began to feel exhaustion – held off all day by the war with the headache, which he could not allow to win – slithering, snake-like, through his shoulders and curling into the spaces around his eyes like some unnatural cat. His arms and legs felt warm and soft. His head didn't hurt anymore, but still felt as though it were pounding a bit near the front, and it was almost quiet for once; he was thinking of very little, and it was all heavy, white fog around the edges when he pictured the inside of his head, the dark empty nothing between the curve of his skull and the complicated, off-pink landscape of his brain.
He'd felt almost the same way half the night, right before someone else made a noise and jerked him awake again, but it was enough different that he thought he could lie back and be asleep in five minutes. Stilling his mind usually took fifteen on a good night, so he feared for his conduct for the rest of the day. “Something to keep me awake would be most appreciated,” he said, concentrating hard to keep from mumbling too much.
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Arthur Carey
You're very welcome
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Arthur Carey
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