(2016-01-18) A Little Lucid
A Little Lucid
Summary: Quinton and his fevered ravings…though at moments he is lucid
Date: 1.18.2016
Related: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank. You have to use full URLs, like http://mushname.wikidot.com/logtitle)

First Aid/Medical

This three bedroom apartment is nothing exciting. The inside is a decade or two more modern than the outside at least, but drab. Beige floors, off white walls leaves the place looking a bit institutional. At least the previous occupant tried to liven it up a bit with modern furnishings.

The kitchen is divided from the living room by a breakfast bar and a window lets in light from outside. Three furnished bedrooms and bathroom lead off the living room.

Two bedrooms are used for patients, the third for the doctor on duty. The two patient rooms are furnished sparsely with three twin beds each and several candle heaters to keep the rooms warm in the cold of fall and winter as well as to provide needed light. A small nightstand sits next to each bed with an additional lantern for light.

The room is grey shadows and muted colors, signifying that outside it is probably similar. The sound of pelting rain on the ground and windows pretty much confirm the same. The combination makes it hard to pin down time of day. A damp chill has started to invade the room though from other sounds, soft singing, the rough sound of a lighting match and smell of sulfur, suggests that someone is moving about and taking care of the problem. Soon the warm glow of candles in their little claypot heaters drive some of the gray gloom back, but it will be a little bit before the chill is driven back.

Quinton's been in and out of conciseness the past few days. With the fever bouncing around, the main thing everyone has been worried about is him dehydrating. Even with the IV. Thankfully he's not screamed since the 'operation'. Eli's not earning any points with the poet. Pale eyes are open and trying to adjust to the room and he doesn't call out, instead shivering and thin hands trying to grab at the blankets covering him.

<FS3> Pied-Piper rolls Mind: Good Success.

It isn't often that Piper is left alone in the infirmary, this is maybe the second time that Elijah and Kayla have left her to tend to the wounded poet by herself. Something she isn't going to complain about, try as she might she is unable to get through to the woman so her not being around is a releif.

With the last of the candles replaced and lit, Piper moves to return to the chair near the bed to find Quinton awake…though she isn't quite sure of his mental state. The movements are recognized though, "Let me.." she says to him softly as she leans over to pull the blankets up and secure them around him, before removing the afghan draped over her own shoulders and adding that to the ones covering him "I'll get you a drink."

Quinton blinks, unsure of anything. But there there's Piper, and certain things crash down on him. Strangely rethought, his hand goes to his face, in a weak but specific motion. Almost like he's wiping. "…N…no…." To the drink? Blankets? piper?

One stammered word isn't much to go on and Piper looks at him in confusion, "No what?" she asks "You really should drink…something. You lost a lot of blood." probably something he has been told, but she doesn’t know what in the last few days he remembers and what he doesn't.

Blood, that word makes him cringe, which then makes him wince in pain, "No…you…" He tries and fails to push himself away from her, "…Catch…" He seems a mix of panic, worry and honest terror.

"Me?" Piper questions before she mentally flashbacks to their last conversation, she was leaving and he was not taking it well. She can only assume that is what he means "I didn't leave. I'm here, to stay." the other bit she isn't sure about so she has to ask, "Are you still falling? Is your plane still crashing?" she has noted that seems to be the theme for his panic attacks. There is a look there, like she wants to reach for him, but she doesn't want to make it worse.

An almost strangles sound comes from him, "no…." There's honest concern and worry, "No…you…blood…no…" He can't seem to get what it is that's scaring him so much out. His hand again reaches up, wiping his face and then looking at it, like he's expecting something to be there.

"Please calm down." Piper lowers herself to sit on the edge of the bed, watching him with a mix of confusion and worry "There is no blood." she puts hands to her stomach and then holds them out for him to see "None. Was it a nightmare?" she tried her best to keep those at bay, but with or without Kayla around and hovering, she can only do so much add the fever and most times she was helpless in that regard.

<FS3> Quinton rolls Mind: Failure.

Quinton's eyes close, struggling to make words. He's pretty much doing the opposite of calming down. "No!" He tries to shake his head to emphasize, but it just comes across as pathetic. "…no….blood…" His hand is help up, maybe he's seeing something she's not? "No….no catch…"

<FS3> Pied-Piper rolls Sense Motive: Success.

Piper shakes her head "No blood. No catch?" she doesn't get it "Catch what? Someone falling? Doing something wrong? Catch..me?" she really isn't asking him, more like thinking out loud. "No that's not it…blood…catch. Illness…the plague?" good thing she is having a really good brain day, she may not have gotten it otherwise "You don't have the plague. Your wound was infected, that caused the fever, that's all" now that she knows what the problem is she can actually work at calming the man. A soft, reassuring smile is given and she will make a gentle attempt at taking the hand he is sure is covered in blood "No blood. No plague."

Another small whimper escapes, The kids…they can't get this! Piper can't! Kayla can't again! Why haven't they just toss him? they should. His hand is radiating heat from the fever, and is shaking when she takes it. Her words register, but he's confused, "No….shoulder…" He's very messed up, poor guy. The idea of the plague returning terrifies him, the idea it could leave him worse, well….he'd rather be dead.

Well in Piper's case can't is quite literal, but he probably doesn't know that. Once more his words make no sense, though his panic does. A free hand goes to feel is forehead and then scruffy cheek "You are still running a fever." that is concerning for her. "No shoulder. You aren't ill. Just wounded." she doesn’t know what that no shoulder means but she will appease him by saying whatever it's going to take to calm the man. Looking around she grabs the sweater she found from where it sits on the bedside table, putting it in his other hand hoping the mix of her words and that knitted patterns of the top will do. "I should get a cool cloth for your face…

Quinton was shot in the shoulder, and that wa healed he thought. Even as he's protesting her being there for fear of her getting sick, his face instinctively turns into her hand. it's cool and feels so nice. A soft sob, he holds onto her hand with no real strength as she presses the knitted material into the other. It's a sob, but he's not arguing at the moment.

The urge to curl up beside him to calm and comfort is strong, but he needs medicine, a cool compress and the wound needs to be tended, the bandages most likely need changing. Her cool hand cups his cheek again breifly before she pulls both hands away and she starts to get up so she can work on one or all of those "I'll get something for the pain and fever and then I'll look at that stomach wound of yours."

Quinton has no idea what she's talking about. It's the plague, not a wound. He lets her stand, it's better if he's not touching her. Well, better for her chances, not really better for him. Glassy pale eyes watch her, but he doesn't respond. Instead his hands both grip the sweater, like it's a life line.

Piper doesn't have to go far, just into the front room briefly and she returns with a mug with a straw sticking from it in one hand and a jar of weird goo in the other. The bandages she may need are on hand, kept on the bedside table as well. Sitting back down on the bed, she holds out the mug with it's bitter willow tea, heavily doused with honey and mint to make it more palatable, the straw is held as well so all he has to do is lift his head slightly to take a pull. "It seems not to hurt as much?" she questions, her eyes moving from his to his blanket covered stomach.

Quinton doesn't seem to have a reference to compare the pain to so he doesn't answer. If it isn't the plague…he still wants to die, but maybe he doesn't need to? He struggles and manages to lift his head enough to take a sip, but that's all he's able to do before laying it back down with a soft grunt. His fingers are slowly digging into the sweater, between the stitches. "I'm adrift again….tumbling on the wind and sea…." Ut-oh…here comes the poetry again.

Well it's a start and while he didn't drink much, she'll take it. The cup is set aside and Piper pulls the blankets away, looking at him briefly when he starts to spout poetry, before she responded with lyrics, matching his words with words from songs she knew. "You will always be there? I can feel you in the wind.." are they lyrics or are they her words, whichever the case her hands stay busy, easing the bandages from the bullet wound and winces at the angry looking flesh sewn together there.

Ah, the poet is definitely not the doctor's best work. He groans, shivering as the blankets' warmth is taken away, "…that his heart ….Was darkened with her shadow, and she saw…That he was wretched…" Another shiver and he turns his head away, eyes closing. His stomach quivers as she touches it, although it's uncertain if the pain is from the wound or the fever…or both.

Taking the jar of goo, Piper gently slathers the cool antibiotic goo on the wound. This time the words make her start, looking up at him quickly. She understands his words, or her interpretation of them at least. And here she was beginning to feel better, hopeful that once he was on the mend they could talk and well she wasn't going to think beyond that. She didn't want to get her hopes up to only have then dashed. Biting her lip she focuses on putting clean bandages on and taping them in place. After her bit of silence while focusing on her task she finally speaks. Her words, said before and she will keep saying them until he finally believes her and will probably continue after that "Not wretched. A mosaic, colorful and beautiful."

Being a poet with a fever is hard…lines roll around in his, half his half not. None what he wants to say, "The Lady of his love was wed with One….Who did not love her better, in her home, A thousand leagues from his,?" He winces in pain again, his whole body now shivering from the fever and exposed air. Fingers reach for her as his head turns back, eyes pleading, "Sharp edges….I'm cut and bleeding…"

Okay, that's confusing, but she tries not to focus on those as she starts to pull the blankets back up, only to have her hands caught with his. "I wish I could take it away," she says softly a bit distressed by his state of body and mind "but I can't. I can only give you calm and warmth." she hasn't made any attempts to calm him with her limited abilties, she hasn't been particularly calm herself.

It's hard to tell how much Quin is really remembering, but his pale green eyes stay on here's. Almost like he's trying to anchor himself from falling more with her gaze. "Cut and bleeding, you deserve better…" That's not exactly right either and her frowns at himself, "You're…my calm and warmth…." Not as poetic, but it's closer to what he means.

He's said it, she's said it, it will become round robin so Piper shakes her head, a soft smile returning to her face, and she strives to keep any sadness out of it "How about we agree that we are both getting more than we deserve?" she will concede that much, even if she doesn't necessarily believe it. His hands are given a squeeze. Her eyes remain locked with his, if that is what he needs, "You are my home." she says, hope that maybe they can and will be okay lighting her eyes..and that this just isn't the fever talking and that he will remember enough after his fever finally breaks.

Or, maybe he remembers too much. Quinton's voice is soft, but strangely steady as he admits, "I'm going to die….you deserve better." Thin fingers try to squeeze her fingers back, but he's just lacking the strength currently.

Oh deja vu, this again though this time it was certainly closer than the others. It's not something Piper can think of though "You aren't going to die. You are strong. It will take time but you will recover." she has to believe this or she would be a sobbing, puddle of hair in the corner "You can't. We need you. Kayla needs you. I need you." like pleading is going to help, but it is certainly better than last time, when she just got frustrated and stormed off angry.

Quinton sees it though. Especially now in his fever state. "Not…" he motions downward at his stomach. But then that same hand reaches up and towards the closed window. Outside. His head rolls from side to side slowly as he disagrees, "No….not needed…." Wanted maybe, but not needed.

Piper takes a deep breath, pushing the anxiety that his words cause away. Catching his hand and puts it to her heart so he can feel the steady beat of it "Needed." she stresses, wondering if she should dare to drop her walls a bit to show him how true her words are, even as she wonders if she should it's enough to thin the veil and leaks a bit of that "I always have." and wanted to, but one thing at a time.

It's enough to get him to quiet down and just watch her, "…so pretty…" Probably not the direction she expected, "…so many dates…"

Yeah it is an unexpected turn, so unexpected that she can't help but laugh, "What taking me to all those nice scavenging sites doesn't count?" the room is finally starting to warm, the candle heaters finally doing there work, but it's only enough to make it barely tolerable, not truely warm in a /warm/ sense. "Let's get you tucked back in." all this cold and being uncovered can't be beneficial.

Her laughter gets a soft smirk from the poet. "Take you…everywhere…" He's starting to look tired and he doesn't fight her when she starts fussing and tucking him in, "Meet…mom…" He's shivering, but it's from the prospect of getting warm now. Even the tiniest of heat is making his eyes droopy.

Now she knows he has slipped into raving and while the smile stays on her lips a sadness touches her eyes. His shivering though decides her and she slips under the covers to snuggle up beside him and share her body warmth. Kayla will probably freak when she returns to find her like that, but at least it will be a response and not the robot she's been getting lately. "I would love to meet her." she plays along, careful to avoid his wound as she drapes an arm over his chest. Compared to him she is quite warm. His warmth indeed.

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