Snippet #1330891

Choosing to judiciously ignore the comment about hormones (age had nothing to do with one's sense of propriety after all, and she was genetically cursed with skin that could turn from white to red at a moment's notice anyway), Pandora took in the rest of the strange doctor's words with interest. The liquid-filled vials she could not tell the contents of any better than this man could manipulate magic, but certainly medical science was of more than a passing interest to her. Anything that could help the people she worked for was a most welcome addition to her day, and though she found it peculiar that he should choose to idle time here of all places, she certainly wasn't going to say no.

The syringe, she wasn't entirely sure of, but then now wasn't the time to get squeamish, and she sighed inwardly. He had been right, in a way, when he had implied that she was quite immature. Sometimes she had absolutely no idea what she was doing, and on occasion, it became rather painfully obvious. Insecurity, though, was an indulgence she could not afford, not when it came to her work. Certainly, there were a few other healers down here, but Pandora knew that of them, she had the capacity to do the most, as she had discovered in her days being educated at the Facility. Unfortunate as some of the realizations she'd come to back then were, the knowledge she had gained was invaluable, and with it came what she viewed as an obligation to use it the best way she could.

"Any assistance you could provide would be most welcome," she replied, choosing to spend the intervening time tidying up what little clutter had accumulated over the course of the morning. Her next major influx of patients probably wouldn't occur until lunchtime, which was not too long from now, but enough time to let her vision clear. Maybe she could even afford some food for herself- no. That money was going straight back to that permanently-hungover...person when she saw him next. With a few choice words, too, assuming she could find the guts. Oh, who was she kidding? There was no way she was going to be able to stand up to him. She couldn't even stand up to particularly stubborn and willful children, let alone anyone else. Medical supplies, then. Maybe the man currently seated in one of her chairs would have some recommendations for good basic sorts of things.

"Actually... there is one patient I would very much appreciate you taking a look at, if you would. As far as I can tell, she has the same lung disease as everyone else, but normally, I can take care of that for a good few months with just one session. I have to see her just about every week or so. She should be in shortly." One of the downsides to magical healing was that though Pandora could generally feel out what was wrong and fix it, she could not diagnose, and so often had nothing in the way of prevention advice. How did one tell a Delta occupant to stop breathing the air, after all? But maybe if the problem was dietary or something like that, the doctor might be able to help where she could not.

She might have said more, but at this point a young man, perhaps eighteen or so, stumbled in, and Pandora nodded to the masked physician before venturing in the youth's direction. That was odd; she'd never seen this particular man before, and she knew most of her regular patients by name. It was something of a rule, actually. If she saw the same person more than once, she pestered them (gently, mind) until they divulged that little piece of information. "Hello," she greeted cheerfully. Maybe a little overly so, for the shaggy head of brown hair snapped up, and the person appeared to try focusing on her, but his eyes were just a little too gazed over for that. Her first thought was that he might be intoxicated; his clothes were nice enough that he clearly belonged closer to Beta or Gamma than here, and the only cause people had for visiting Delta (doctors excluded, apparently) was for the exceedingly cheap, exceedingly toxic liquor or a visit with one of Ishtar's daughters.

He replied by collapsing on the floor, and Pandora immediately knelt at his head, trying to focus her senses on what exactly was troubling him. The answer was troubling, and she bit her lip, glancing up at the still-unmoving physician. "I think he's been poisoned." The feeling of wrong-ness that usually informed her where an injury was informed her that whatever was ailing him was spread across his entire system. Immediately, the hands at his temples began to glow blue, and she focused first on his vital organs, trying to clear whatever was infecting him out of there first, or keep them from becoming infected in the first place. It would slow the process, but she was unsure she had enough power to chase it out entirely, and most poisons didn't require as much to kill as this poor fellow had been pumped with.

"I don't suppose you can diagnose and neutralize this, could you?" she asked, voice strangely lacking in all identifiable emotion. It had to be, lest she lose control of her magic by putting too much of her attention on anything else.

-=-

District Gamma

The claustrophobic, dingy little apartment in Gamma was one of those places that nobody ever really looked twice at. The windows were clean enough not to look like they belonged in Delta, of course, but the facade was rarely-washed, due to being on the top floor of a building that was equally-cramped in its proximity to its neighbors. The third window from the right was about as unassuming as one could ask for, actually, which suited its present occupant just fine.

The inside was considerably less messy than one would expect, at least if one was one of those Alpha scum who thought that the lower classes periodically lived in nothing but their own filth. Oh, there was plenty of squalor around, but generally speaking, people did what they could to keep their own residences tidy, even if everything was rickety and covered in several layers of rust. This room wasn't much different, save the oddly-labeled bottles of chemicals that lined one shelf, alphabetical designations scrawled in a spidery, sharp hand. Strange bundles that only the initiated would recognize as wicking were piled below the shelves, and assorted weaponry occupied a corner all its own, all of it immaculately maintained.

On an old, but thankfully clean, straw mattress, a head of dark red hair was the only thing visible, the rest of the curious dwelling's occupant being hidden beneath a pile of blankets, woven, knitted, and stitched into various colorful patterns. As the sun reached the midway point across the sky, the encased figure stirred, uncurling in the manner of something feline, before emitting a soft groan and crawling out into the real world.

Zade's first thought was that she really needed to start completing jobs before dawn. Her second thought was that she needed to find the troupe again, and get back to the job she liked better anyway. Hopefully, they'd all be ready to go again. Maybe that one woman, the one with the purple eyes who really liked throwing pointy objects around, would join them for a show again this time. That had been surprisingly fun, actually. Zade wasn't exactly sure if she'd been joking when she threatened to use that heckler as a target, but it had amused the rest of the crowd either way.

Her stomach reminded her that her payment for last night's stolen artifacts was in fact substantial, and she was quite hungry. Well, that at least was easily-enough remedied; there was a small shop up in Beta that sold some really nice fruits. A bit of indulgence for someone of her income, perhaps, but one she was all too willing to pay for. Most of the stuff down here was a few days too old. She didn't want to think about what people in Delta ate... if they ate.

Well... let's see... Beta. S'pose I'd better tone down the color a bit. she thought idly, selecting something from her surprisingly extensive variety of clothing. White shirt, loose sleeves, that was boring enough. Russet skirt, sure. Brown vest and some slippers, just because she frankly despised boots. That would do, she supposed. It was best not to stick out too much around the inner districts; someone might get the idea that you didn't belong there.

A few minutes later, Zade was padding her way down to the main bridge between the two districts. They liked you to take the train, for the most part, but there were plenty of people who walked anyway, especially if they frequently did business between the two, and this was easily the most open division of the lot, since many of the less-profitable merchants had businesses in Beta but resided in Gamma.

"Mornin', Two-tone," she greeted the attendant blithely, raising a hand in greeting. She didn't know his actual name, not being the sort to ask really, and simply referred to him by his most notable trait: the fact that his eyes were different colors. She was actually pleased the store was actually open today; on more than one occasion, she'd shown up only to discover that the place was closed. The tailor next door said it was because Two-tone had a sick family and so he had to take care of them sometimes. Because she knew all too well what that one was like, she never heckled him about being irresponsible like she might have jested with someone else. It was possible to turn her sarcasm off, she just didn't bother with it too often.

"Anything interesting today?" she inquired. Zade's tastes ran along the lines of more tropical fruits, things that beta only saw infrequently, and usually charged exorbitantly for, but it was always worth asking.