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Post by Aimee Kensington on Aug 19, 2006 9:21:21 GMT -5
There were so many things that made leaving St Mungo’s at the end of a shift hard. For Aimee Kensington defining herself without her job was impossible. She lived for the satisfaction as patients began to bloom before her eyes, lived for their smiles, the tears of gratitude shed by their families as they watched their children, parents, siblings, grandparents and friends show glimpses of the selves they had lost. Aimee worked on the Spell Damage floor where the majority of patients were long term. Improvements in her patients were something that few could recognise. Even those that were trained in medicine but not specifically treating and caring those of more permanent damage struggled.
Aimee’s patients were the kind that couldn’t be cured by simple removal charms or healing potions. The patients on the Fourth Floor suffered under unliftable jinxes and many were tortured by the Unforgiven Curses. The majority of the patients lacked memory and sanity. While some took to odd behaviours like thinking they were a tea-pot, others slipped into silence sitting by the window and gazing out as if waiting for someone who would never come. It terrorised their families to see them so lost within themselves, so confused and pained. It hurt them when their closest friend, their own flesh and blood, the child they had carried or the mother they had loved so dear, could not recognise their face, nor respond to the memories they told them. The more distressed patients were put on closed wards, where visitors were limited to a short list. They were a danger to themselves and watched tentatively as often as was possible. Aimee knew what it was like for those families. To walk in the door for the hundredth running, to look upon the person they had shared so many moments of their life with and for them to crease their brow and ask their name. Aimee knew, because she was apart of one of those families.
When Aimee was twenty-four her mother was found unconscious in her office. After being rushed to St Mungo’s they had waited it out as a family, all four daughters supporting themselves and their dad who was sent into violent sobs just at the sight of his lifeless wife. Back then they hadn’t known how serious it was. But that was five years ago now, Aimee was now twenty-nine, a fully qualified Healer specialising in the care of those who had suffered serious injury through spell damage. Now, she understood.
Aimee traced the names on her clipboard. Lydia Raymond, the name of her mother.
The ‘accident’ had left Lydia with no memory past her fifteenth birthday. She knew none of her four daughters, nor the face of her husband. The family visited regularly, Lisa had moved back in with their father as a means of support. The man was so struck and dependent his use was measured. Lisa did everything for their father and in her thanks Aimee toiled over their mother. She enjoyed it. Forming anew relationship with the woman that had raised her but killed her inwardly to watch the woman who had once glowed with such passion, that lit the room as she entered it, shining in radiance, love, a timeless beauty. She was wavering now. The mind of a fourteen-year-old girl trapped in a much older body. But for a while she had shown improvement, remembering events that sent tears to Aimee’s eyes as she slid closer on the bed towards her patient, towards her mother.
The insane thing was that no one else knew it was her mother. Not a single soul. And that’s the way she wanted it. Aimee had done some things in her life she wasn’t proud of, but she never wanted that to be reflected on her family. Her mother would get the treatment she deserved at all costs.
Standing at the front of elevator Aimee taped her foot restlessly. She didn’t have time for this. Her trainee was late and she had rounds to do, people to save. I mean really, who was late on their first day? With a grumble she looked to her watch. If he didn’t arrive in five minutes she was going to leave without him. Stupid boy.
Straightening her lime green robes Aimee glanced around the reception around on the ground floor looking out for familiar faces. She saw no one.
Everyone else was probably doing their job. Everyone else probably had a trainee that showed up on time.
[[Post is partially recycled. -Grins- But I wanted to post an open Rp. Anyone is free to join, it's in Ground floor at the beginning of the day so it shouldn't be hard to fit your character in. -Bounces-]]
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Lynne Butler
New Member
Healer-in-Charge
And I would have stayed up with you all night had I known how to save a life.
Posts: 24
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Post by Lynne Butler on Aug 19, 2006 14:28:40 GMT -5
Artifact Accidents: We specialize in curing the ignorant.
Lynne Butler, though she wouldn’t dare say it, wanted a sign to be posted outside her ward that said just that. Artifact Accidents probably wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for the stupid. No matter how intelligent a country could be, there was always the minority of those who lacked brain matter underneath their thickly layered skulls. Lynne wasn’t one who believed that her entire ward consisted of idiots, because that would be false. Sometimes there were genuine victims of wizard products that weren’t properly made. Those patients usually filed lawsuits and ended up ridiculously rich, but the true victims were rare occurrences. Stupidity plagued the ground floor of St. Mungo’s a lot of the time. Enter at your own risk, for you might be flogged by it and a few brain cells may pop in the process.
No one- with the exception of Frederick, her equally distressed fiancée- knew this cynical part of Lynne’s mind existed. But it did, and it was at work, even at this hour of the morning as she treated her first patient of the day (Lynne got down to business when she got to work- no fooling around, thank you very much). Raphael Gutenberg, broomstick incident. Lynne scratched her nose. She stood beside him, not having any desire to sit. Her pregnancy constantly fueled her energy, thus she couldn’t sit still for any amount of time. “Mr. Gutenberg. Indulge me on how this happened,” she said benevolently, despite the sinister thoughts her mind harvested.
Raphael’s hands were so full of splinters that he couldn’t even move them. “I was showing off a broom I just bought to my mates. Before I knew it, I was headed for a tree. I didn’t let go of the broom. I couldn’t. Thought I could save it, y’know?” He looked like he was on the verge of tears.
Boys and their brooms. Lynne would never understand it. “Of course,” she said gently, taking in a deep breath to say something else but then stopping. Did she smell…whiskey? Her stomach churned in longing for alcohol, but what was inside her stomach at the moment kept her in check. Snap out of it, Lynne. “Mr. Gutenberg, have you been drinking?” Her hazel eyes flickered from sympathetic to dead serious in a snap. Lynne received a sheepish twitch of the head in response. Lynne shook her head in a scolding manner as she put his hands into a scalding bowl of water and took out a pair of oversized tweezers. Splinters could be removed via wand, but this was an extreme case.
Thirty minutes later, Gutenberg’s hands were removed of splinters and replaced with bloody lines of where the shards of the broom once remained. Lynne speedily wrapped some gauze around his wounded hands and- at his request- let him keep the removed splinters in memory of his late broom. Jesus, if only men treated their women like they did with their brooms! Lynne, head spinning, walked to the reception area where Mr. Gutenberg’s girlfriend was waiting and contently assured her everything was A-OK. After allowing what’s-her-face to go see her splinter-ridden husband, she picked up her chart that was sitting on the reception desk and glanced over it. Alyssa and David were getting set up. This place shouldn’t be quiet for long.
Her eyes traveled completely over her chart and locked on a familiar figure near the elevator. Aimee was looking around the reception area, appearing to be anxious. Maybe even a little pissed? Smiling courteously, Lynne trotted over to her. “Hey, hon. Someone I can help you find?” she inquired. Lynne would be honest. Aimee wasn’t one of her favorite people because of the decisions she made, but she was the kind of person who didn’t let emotions affect her work (when she could, at least). It was too early to start this day off on a bad note.
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Post by Ballard Fisk on Aug 19, 2006 20:35:02 GMT -5
Ballard Fisk never had a problem seperating work from play. It was simple really, his work never got him beat up, his play, did. Like last night.. You see, Ballard dear had a slight, ok huge, gambling problem. He liked to place best, play cards, that kind of thing. And you see, last night he had this underground, high stakes poker game to attend. He did pretty well for himself, he ended up walking away with a lot of money, he ended up walking away without a fight for one. You see, the beating came a little bit later.
Ballard was in debt to many of his bookies, but he decided he'd take his winnings and pay off the one he feared most, good plan right? Well he sure thought so. He paid off his dept and walked away, without a fight. He even got through the rest of the night without any problems. You see, the fight came on his way to work. It seemed that another one of his bookies found out that Ballard had paid off something who wasnt him, and didnt like it very much. So, on his stroll to work he was scooped up into an alley, and tought a lesson.
Ballard was now late and in pain. He had half a mind to just turn around and go home, but he couldnt do that. He sucked it up and headed into the hospital. Glancing around it didnt take long for him to spot the face of Aimee Kensington, his new boss. He let out a soft sigh as he limped over to her. He tried to muster up one of his handsom little grins, but it was a bit hard in his current condition.
One of his hands cluched his ribs, while the other held his bag in which his uniform was in. His eye was begining to blacken, and he had popped a blood vessel in it. His lip was swelling and bleeding a bit. He looked rough, but for him it was pretty much just a typical day.
Now, Ill bet youre wondering why a guy like Ballard, a gambeler, would want to be a healer. Well, it was simple really, he came from a long line of sucessful muggle doctors, enough said. No not really. Dont get me wrong, the pressure was put on him by his family to become a healer, but he really did love to help people. And he was very good. He got top grades through school, and was always the smart kid, and always the one getting in trouble. He was good at taking care of people, however, he sucked at taking care of himself.
Anyways, he tired to grin as he reached Aimee.
"Im really sorry Ms. Kensington, I.... fell."
Big lie, it was obvious, but he couldnt help it. Ballard was a really bad lier.
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Post by Aimee Kensington on Aug 19, 2006 20:55:11 GMT -5
-Bounces- Yaya! Replies! -Cackles- -SnugsAll-
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Post by Aimee Kensington on Aug 19, 2006 22:27:27 GMT -5
Aimee hated lateness and in that sense she was a hypocrite. It seemed as though she was always late, always that one step behind everyone and everything else. When Aimee was twenty-four on the night that Lydia lost all memories past her fifteenth birthday, Aimee had been late. She was supposed to take her out for dinner, she was going to pick her up from work at the Ministry and then she was going to take her to the Muggle Thai restaurant that had been one of their favourites since they had first moved across from Australia. But she had been late and by the time she got there, there were investigators crowding her mother’s office and she was being asked questions. There was always that reminder in the back of her head that she was late, that perhaps if she hadn’t been her mother would be the one who visited her at work instead of Aimee having to visit her hospital bed every day.
Problem number two; she fell for a man who was married. Again, she was late, had it been several years earlier that she had stumbled across bachelor Sean Andrews, perhaps things would have been different. There wouldn’t have to be any of this sneaking about, any of this lying, and none of this backing down from what she believed was right in a case where everything was so wrong. She went against everything the night she had given in to sexual tension and lust, cravings that rose in her stomach, surrounded her heart, burnt her lips. She went against how she was raised, the laws of marriage, her morals, herself and those she called ‘dear.’ But it hadn’t stopped there, it was nearing the end of the month now, marking almost a month their secret had lived under wraps, had scorched her mind and ruined her soul. If Aimee was one to believe in heaven and religion she knew this was something you just didn’t do, this would be the sin to leave her damned. And because she was female, a gender mistreated and described so inferior in the pages of the bible, it would be her who stood for the days of judgement. Her who was the snake, the temptress, the woman who had led the man from the arms of his wife, his garden of Eden.
Lateness, how she hated it. However let us remember; when you put a finger at someone else, three point back at you, literally and metaphorically. All in all, the things you see bad in other people, often reflect back on yourself and your own personal flaws.
Aimee’s eyes rested on the entrance of St Mungo’s and slowly drifted to the clipboard in her hands. She flicked the pages until she came to the forms filled out in a male print. Ballard Fisk, age twenty-seven. A picture of him was paper-clipped to the left corner and for a moment, she allowed her eyes to linger, taking in the messy brown hair, the dark eyes. He had a beautiful face but that didn’t let him off the hook. By the time Aimee had looked up from the picture, searched the door once more for any trace of a similar face, a voice rose from before her. Lynne. Lynne was the one who knew, the only one who knew. And Cassandra, Cassandra was her best friend. All around them Sean and Aimee were causing havoc for others. And still here Lynne was, her chart of patients names in one hand, her swelling belly concealed underneath her lime green robes. Aimee had to prompt herself to meet her eyes.
They were professionals. Nothing could get in the way of their work.
“The thing about being a Trainee is you know, you’re supposed to be training because you want to become a Healer. Which generally means that you arrive on time. And if you absolutely have to be late then you contact your trainer so they don’t have to wait by the damn elevator when they have a job to do.”
Irritation wove its way through her tones. Funnily enough Aimee had been late on her first day too and her first day properly working at St Mungo’s and most of the days now, well she arrived thirty seconds before her shift started, cranky and craving her coffee but still.
Again, a voice disturbed her but when she diverted his eyes this time away from Lynne, she saw the person she had been waiting all this time for. And when we say saw, we mean recognised and so all observation of his injuries were left otherwise.
“Mr Fisk I do believe we need to have a talk about how to read a clo- What the hell happened to you?”
It was then she noticed. The swelling purple around his eyes, the way he clutched at his rib, wincing as he breathed, dark red dried on his lip. All in all she could not take him for rounds until he was all cleaned up. Aimee turned to Lynne and motioned to the young man. She somewhat hoped the elder woman would offer them help when it came to making the boy presentable.
“Mr Fisk this is Ms Butler, Healer-in-Charge of the Artifact Accidents floor. Lynne this is Mr Fisk, the trainee I told you so much about. “
She smiled at Lynne and waited. Aimee glanced back to Ballard. She needed to clean the poor guy up. All memory of his lateness deserted her.
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Lynne Butler
New Member
Healer-in-Charge
And I would have stayed up with you all night had I known how to save a life.
Posts: 24
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Post by Lynne Butler on Aug 20, 2006 1:09:29 GMT -5
It was an ironic thing. Here stood a woman who could very well ruin Cassandra’s life and trust for all eternity, and yet Lynne was able to comprehend this “other woman’s” frustration and sympathize in a manner. Sympathize? Mary, mother of God. Perhaps this newfound sympathy was the result of her hormones being all over hell or because Lynne took her job seriously and also got pissed with setbacks. Lynne didn’t think she had the same standing towards Sean, though. Aw, hell no. Pregnant or not, she’d rip his throat out with her nails if she got the chance. Lynne knew one-siding was two-faced bunkum: an affair takes two people, not one. One should not be sympathized. Either of them should receive any sympathy or empathy, actually. But part of Lynne questioned if Aimee knew just what she was doing. Sean knew, but did she truly comprehend this battle plan of him using her? If Sean loved her as much as she thought he did, why was Sean still married? Why was he keeping this little rendezvous secret? All Lynne could hope was this was some dark phase and she’d eventually come to her senses. Aimee was a pretty girl, Sean was a dirt bag. She could do better and she had potential, unlike him. Lynne’s mind was spinning. Her brain was always on the verge of an aneurism whenever she came across Sean or Aimee.
Lynne snapped out of the darker thoughts inhabiting her mind and idly glanced around the reception area. “I’m sure your trainee will be here soon. If not, you’ll rat him out so it won’t happen again. If it does, well…” Lynne gave a small heave of her shoulders and tugged at her already too-tight Healer robe. She’d been putting off going to a tailor to make adjustments for her growing belly. “Not all trainees graduate to the real thing,” she said quietly. It was true, though. One often went into the field of medicine with their head held high and ran screaming out the door with their tail between their legs. Unexcused absences at St. Mungo’s were unacceptable, though. Plain as day.
Lynne shifted her weight to take in a beaten up figure. Her hazel eyes slightly widened. She tried to match up his explanation with his injuries. Close but no cigar, buddy. Lynne, before her pregnancy, had been an avid high heels wearer. And every day she had to walk down the spiral steps of her patio apartment, resulting in many falls. Never had she received such injuries that this young man boasted. Nevertheless, she beamed civilly at the Mr. Fink she was introduced to. Seeing he wasn’t in much of a position for a handshake, she lightly clapped him on the shoulder.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Fink! I advise you not to go anywhere before you get checked for internal injuries. Specifically those ribs,” Lynne nodded at his chest. “If you snapped one, it could puncture something nasty. If it’s alright with your superior, would you care to follow me to get cleaned up? The more walking in your situation, the riskier.” If Aimee hadn’t been there, Lynne would have tackled him the moment he would have come through, but she wasn’t in charge of him. Lynne needed to be a good girl and get the "go ahead".
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Carrie Martin
Junior Member
Healer
Pffft....you know I look damn sexy in my work uniform
Posts: 107
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Post by Carrie Martin on Aug 20, 2006 20:55:57 GMT -5
-dies- wants to join -pouts- but how to incorporate the carrie... -sigh- will do later...so tired now -bounds out-
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Carrie Martin
Junior Member
Healer
Pffft....you know I look damn sexy in my work uniform
Posts: 107
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Post by Carrie Martin on Aug 20, 2006 21:50:48 GMT -5
Caroline Martin practically sprinted down the hallway, wheeling a cart with a five year old girl on it down the hall with the help of two trainees and a Healer-in-Charge on standby. What had started out as a harmless case of the dragon mumps had lowered the girls immune system pariously, allowing her to be suseptable to the unidentide disease that was slowly spreading around the second floor of the hospital. Come on, come on! Carrie kept tossing glances at the respirator attached to the girls arm. Don't die on me! On the one hand, this disease had to be isolated to prevent spreading to other floors, but all the isolation rooms on her floor were filling all to quickly. A special request was called down to the floor just below to isolate the girl down there, but Carrie feared the girl wouldn't make it down the elevator ride. Her heart rate was increasing rapidly, and her fever had spiked, just like every other patient who had fallen into the disease. The same disease that kept Carrie up late at night, studying patient notes and pouring over various text books, trying to piece together this mystery illness. The same disease that had her working for twenty-eight hours now, long past her normal shift. She hadn't slept in days, but at this point, wheeling the little girl down the hallway towards the elevator, she didn't care.
"I'm going to need an IV and two quarts in case a blood tranfusion is needed. She's A negitive. I don't have the proper forms from the parents yet to use magic, so put your wands away. We're going to do this the muggle way."
Despite the urgency and seriousness of the situation, Carrie felt a slight smile tug on the corners of her mouth. Of all her training, Carrie had enjoyed the muggle ER lessons the best. It was so real, so vivid and posed a real challenge. Carrie made sure from day one that all her trainees knew how to handle muggle untensils in the hospital, in case operation was required and no one was around to sign the patient's wavers signifying magical assistance. Afterall, so much could go wrong if a healing charms backfired. She looked quickly to the trainees whose faces read sheer panic. Looks like she was on her own for this one.
It seemed that minutes passed before she reached the elevator. Truly, apporating would have been faster, but it was too risky, especially with a girl who was so disoriented and had never used magic before in her life. In matter of seconds, they menuvered the cart into the elevator, and Carrie was just about to step into muggle contraption when the Healer-in-Charge stepped in front of her. For a second, Carrie tried to steer around him, but he side stepped and stood in her way. Her brow furrowed and she stepped to the other side, but he mirrored her action. They continued this dance for too long according to Carrie's patient-time-clock, and she finally looked up at him. His frown matched her own and the elevator doors began to close, a different Healer holding the girl's hand. It should be her.
"What are you doing!? That's my patient, I have to go down there!"
She was yelling. It wasn't unusual. When Carrie got into her work, she threw herself into it, fully committing. The Healer-in-Charge who she couldn't place a name to at the moment gripped her shoulders, holding her back as she tried to lunge into the elevator.
"Carrie, no. You've been working all day, you're exhausted. Have you looked at yourself lately? You're a wreck. I'm ordering you to go home. You're prone to be reackless and I can't risk lives."
"What!? No way! I feel fine! I'm not going anyway unless it's down that elevator."
"I've already given trainees and Healer's alike an order not to let you touch a patient for atleast six hours. Take a break, at least, Carrie."
His eyes reflected concern, not anger and her let her go, prying her clipboard away in the process. She looked down at her hands, feeling useless. Coming down from a shift was the hardest thing to do, and she didn't know where to go from hear. She stood in the hallway as people bustled around her, all doing their jobs. What now? It was about time for her next real shift, though she had worked for two shifts straight, but it appeared she had a small break...yet she couldn't bring herself to leave the hospital. The flat would be abandoned right now, as would the bar. All her friends were hard at work, having already rested while she stressed over the unsolveable disease.
Carrie felt her shoulders slump and she sighed, shuffling to the lounge only a few paces away. Once inside, she flopped into an uncomfortable chair, realizing how tired she really was. The adrenaline was slowly draining from her body, a feeling she hated. She made it a habit to never let that happen. Carrie was always bouncing off one wall or another, having a true taste for life itself and saving the ones around her. Looking to the mirror not to far off, she realized how horrible she looked. Her hair was disheviled, falling into a sloppy bun with too many loose strands, and her green robes were slightly smattered with some kind of bodily fluid. Circles were under her eyes, and she was slightly paler than usual. But despite all that, she seemed to pull it off. Carrie had a way of pulling off that "I'm to tired to care" look that actually made her look attractive. She smirked to the empty room, closing her eyes temporarily. But that wasn't smart. The second she did, her thoughts betrayed her. The flew all around the hospital mentally, wondering for her patients lives before making a check list of all the patients she had gotten to that day. Too many to count, as if the list went on for enternity. Mikey Kline, Thamuel Foster, Ronald Juniper, Rebecca Stewart, Mr. Mckormin....
When she opened her eyes, she watched as little Susy Mckormin passed by the lounge and waved through the window. Carrie waved back, warily. Susy visited her father every day, who was slowly wasting away from the same disease that was keeping Carrie in hospital for so long. She felt that she would never leave the walls. She had grown so accustomed to the hospital smells; too clean and yet a distinct sickly oder, that she was almost afraid of fresh air. But that was silly, wasn't it? She shook her head, and Susy was gone. She blinked, waiting for the tears. Susy didn't know it, but her father was in a coma. For the first time since the elevator, Carrie was relieved. She would hate to be the one to tell little Susy the bad news.
And suddenly, she realized the sudden spurt of work-aholic-syndrom. Sure enough, glancing at the calender that hung omniously on the blank walls, the sinking feeling in her stomach was confirmed. She had thrown herself into her work to avoid the anniversary of the day her father had left her family, and never came back. But it had found her anyway. Refusing to feel any lower than she already did, she stood, leaving the room and its abandoned state. It was too empty, too ready for her to break down and cry. No. I will not give him that satisfaction. Bolting out of the room, she made a beeline for the elevator. She would spend her break with Lucy, the ever bubbly receptionist, who would talk her out of this mood.
Hesitating once inside the door, she briefly thought of pushing the button to go to the first floor and check in on the little girl, but managed to resist. It wasn't that defying a Healer-in-Charge was too bold of a move for Carrie to pull. Actually, it was almost expected. Instead, she just couldn't find the energy. It was amazing how tired she felt now that she wasn't working. It didn't take long before the elevator pinged and signaled the lobby. Stepping out into the ground floor mayhem, she was comforted by the bustle, and was able to smile again. Holding her head high, she strut her stuff out of the elevator, surveying the room in envy. What she would give to be one of the busy bees in the room right now. She didn't loosen her smile when she noticed that Lucy wasn't in yet, but her heart sank a little. Now what?
Her answer came when she heard the familiar voice of her best friend, just a few paces off. Turning, she slid up behind Aimee, bumping her own hip to Aimee's.
"Good morning, lovely. Or is it good afternoon? I don't even know any more. What's the date of today?"
She tilted her head, making it seem like a joke, but in all honesty, she didn't even know any more. Smirking at the sillyness of it all, she looked at the small group that had assembled. There was Aimee, of course, and some boy who by the looks of it was a trainee. Aimee had spoken about him, but not much. Her gaze then flicked to Lynne. Her smile widened. It seemed like ages since she had seen Lynne. Her stomach was getting bigger, and she smiled even more.
"Lynne! How are you?" She beemed, feeling her naturally bold personality leeking through even in her state of utter exahaustion. She then bent down and started talking to Lynne's stomach. "And how are you?" Carrie wasn't one for baby talk, but she was only hours away from mental break down if she didn't get sleep soon.
[[eh...long. didn't know if anyone knew Lynee was preggy. will edit if no one knows...]]
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Post by Aimee Kensington on Aug 21, 2006 7:23:25 GMT -5
[[Wanted to let you guys know Kel is gone for about a week but she might be able to come on sometimes during that week. And yeah. -PokeGrin- So I'll post now ye? Any protests? No. Good.]]
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Post by Aimee Kensington on Aug 22, 2006 9:19:02 GMT -5
Okay so I owe this thread a post. I just wanted to wait...for no real reason. -Snorts- I'll post sooooon. Swear. -Grins- Or if Sara wants to, she can. ^^
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Post by Ballard Fisk on Aug 23, 2006 9:20:20 GMT -5
"I fell."
He repeated with a nod when Aimee had asked what happened to him. He wasnt about to go tell his new boss the truth on his first day, Ok, thats sounded bad. Rephrase, he wasnt about to tell his new boss he had a gambling problem on his first day. Now that was better. He flashed her one of his charming, boyish grins, the ones that always seemed to get him out of trouble. They were corny, but they worked. Only this time it was a little lop sided because of his lip.
He looked and Lynne and nodded, holding his side a bit firmer now with her explination of what could happen if he broke a rib. That wasnt too pleasent. He looked back at Aimee and raised an eyebrow.
"It that ok?"
He asked softly. He knew that Lynne was waiting for Aimee to say it was fine, which he hoped she would. For some odd reason he wasnt sure he wanted Aimee to fix him up, she was a bit mad at him, and that never went too well. Now his eye was caught by another. He watched her speak to Aimee, and Lynne, and Lynne's stomach. He couldnt help but let out a little chuckle, which made him wince and take in a sharp breath, which hurt even more. A soft groan escaped his lips and he shook his head.
He looked back around, at all the woman. He had a feeling he was going to like this hospital. You see, Fisk was quite the ladies man. He was forever flirting, he just couldnt help it. He had this kind of boyish charm, thisinnocent nature that had seemed to stick with him his whole life. He wasnt the type of guy you'de expect to be involved in gambling, but then again, if you really knew him you'd understand. Ballard Fisk had an addictive personality, and his additcion just happened to be gambling, which was better then most othet hings he could be addicted to...
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Post by Aimee Kensington on Aug 23, 2006 9:31:33 GMT -5
Okay so I'll post here probably tomorrow. Yeah. That sounds good. Hope Sara hasn't left us. -Meeps-
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Lynne Butler
New Member
Healer-in-Charge
And I would have stayed up with you all night had I known how to save a life.
Posts: 24
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Post by Lynne Butler on Aug 23, 2006 18:29:23 GMT -5
Nahhh. I haven't left. *Shakes head*
School has just been keeping me away. Again.
DAMN THIS PLACE HAS GROWN.
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Post by Aimee Kensington on Aug 23, 2006 18:45:32 GMT -5
-Grins- I know how you feel. And yes! It has! We have patients and shiz. -Grins- I'll reply to this after school. -Nods-
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Lynne Butler
New Member
Healer-in-Charge
And I would have stayed up with you all night had I known how to save a life.
Posts: 24
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Post by Lynne Butler on Aug 23, 2006 19:08:41 GMT -5
All of a sudden, a familiar blonde bounded into their little meeting. A smile instantly lit up Lynne’s face when she realized it was Carrie. Ms. Martin was one of the few in the staff that made somewhere as gloomy as St. Mungo’s light up like a Christmas tree. It was refreshing to see her. Lynne winked benignly at Carrie once she was done talking to her stomach. She didn’t mind that sort of thing. Unless a complete stranger waltzed up and touched her belly, asked when she was due, that sort of thing. Then the mace would come out and the words would fly. Lynne wasn’t a woman that enjoyed being touched by strangers. But the staff at St. Mungo’s was family, so no one would have to face Lynne’s rarely-seen-but-totally-there-b!tch-streak-and-unholy-wrath. She didn’t know how protective she’d be once the baby would be born, though. In truth, Lynne didn’t even want to think about that. The actual concept of motherhood still spooked her, even at 35.
“We’re both getting through quite comfortably, thanks. And what about you, doll?” She asked, beaming at Carrie. She looked dead on her feet, despite that sudden burst of energy, so Lynne could have answered her own question. It only became apparent after Lynne asked it, but that had been a very stupid inquiry to make. Obviously she was about to sleep standing up.
Lynne averted her gaze back to Aimee’s injured trainee, who was attempting to flash a smile. His charm factor was a bit tainted because of that lip of his, but it was a shame he’d gotten so ruffed up. He was a cute kid. Lynne guessed the real reason he’d gotten injured had been a brawl, but making assumptions wasn’t her job. Fixing people was, and that was what Lynne wanted to do so he could get to work. That groan after the chuckle confirmed that those ribs weren’t going to fix themselves.
She subtly rocked back and forth on her ballet flats, patiently waiting. She was in no rush. And, seeing that Aimee was a little ticked, neither was her trainee.
( That's fine. No rush! )
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