fandom_clinic | Fandom Clinic, Monday 3/17

Fandom Clinic, Monday 3/17

The nurses and Stabby were all wearing green today. Stabby's green was a ridiculous tiny hat but it still counted.

"He's gonna pinch you," a nurse warned Stark. "Don't get close."

"I have a green shirt!" Stark protested.

"You've met the crab. Do you really think wearing green will prevent pinching?"

Stark gave the tank a wide berth, hoped Stabby wouldn't leave said tank, and settled in at the desk.

The clinic was open. The crab was pinchy. The alien was in.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Stop by to say hello, get pinched, or request medical attention. Things like that.

Sometime around mid-morning, Quinn staggered in with a machete in her hand, trailing a line of blood from her shoe and stinking of smoke.

"I'm told I can maybe get my toes sewn back on here."

Honestly, they were all lucky she hadn't tried to do it herself at some point.

"If you haven't got a surgeon in, I can do the work," Hannibal offered. Unlike Quinn, he at least had the experience and license. He wasn't sure what staff was in today.

The clinic was often suspiciously quiet. Not today, it seemed.

Stark jumped up, startled, and blinked several times at the newcomer. You just didn't see machetes all that often. Then he moved quickly towards her.

"I...that might be best. I've never sewn toes I wouldn't know how. But you shouldn't be walking on that foot! Can I help you? Or get a chair. Or we can just get you onto a bed in one of the exam rooms? But off that foot!"

Quinn couldn’t help but lean away from Stark, her eyes wide.

“Bed’s good,” she said. “I can —“ She should probably actually stop trying to insist on walking on that foot. The shock was bound to wear off soon, after all.

You know, unless she was dead.

“What’s with the mask?”

It wasn’t a clown mask, which was for sure a point in Stark’s favor. And the primary reason she didn’t have the machete aimed at him.

The fact that she was too tired to raise her arm was . . . also a factor, yes.

Edited 2025-03-18 01:10 (UTC)

"Which room should we take?" Hannibal asked. He held out a hand to steady Quinn if she moved too quickly.

"Sorry, sorry." Stark took a step back from Quinn, hands raised. "I...leak energy. The mask keeps me contained. Sorry. I'm Stark. I work here. I just want to help."

"And...all the rooms are free. 1 is closest."

Quinn nodded. “I’m leaking energy too.” She glanced back at the bloody track she’d left from the door. “And probably other stuff.”

"Blood, primarily," Hannibal noted helpfully. "Room one it is." He rattled off a list of what he'd need to Stark. "And do you know your blood type?" he asked Quinn.

"My leak is less messy," Stark said with half-smile. "I'll make sure you have what you need."

Mostly because one of the nurses had already started prepping because they were all very very good at their jobs.

"This way," he said, gesturing towards the exam room for Quinn's benefit. "Not far. You'll be taken good care of here."

“If you say so.”

Quinn stumbled away in the general direction of the exam room.

“If it’s more than duct tape I’ll be impressed.”

"Duct tape is only for field dressings," Hannibal said, deadpan. "In a clinic, we're classier."

For medical attention. Maybe due to pinching. Or stabbing if Stabby's really in a mood.

For the reattachment of toes and such, ew.

Quinn managed to get herself all the way to the bed. She hopped up on it — and promptly fell over in not quite a faint.

Ah. There was the crash. It was about time.

Hannibal just nodded, first to Quinn and then to the nurse, as he went to scrub. "We'll have to cut the boot off, I think. To retrieve the toes if nothing else."

He wondered if she'd mind if he got creative with them. Although with limited time...probably best not to.

Holy shit would she ever mind. Fortunately she was not at all the most cogent right now.

“Those are my only boots.”

"We can find you a new pair," Hannibal assured her. "You're not walking on that foot for a while yet anyway. General anesthesia or local?"

“Just gimme a lidocaine,” Quinn said, trying to prop herself up and nearly stabbing herself with her machete.

Hannibal sighed. "Please try not to wound yourself further. And you'll get a spinal and epidural and like it."

The nurse went about setting up an IV and blood for her as Hannibal started carefully snipping off the boot.

"I'll do my best to replant these, but if they don't take, you may need prostheses," he explained. "Or we can speak to some of the island's less or more scientific practitioners; I don't know if their talents extend to regrowing limbs. Do you have any experience with or aversion to magic or aliens?"

“Um.” Quinn gave up and flipped back down. “I hate clowns.”

That was . . . sort of an answer?

"I don't know of anyone who actively likes them," Hannibal said, "but duly noted. No clowns." He tried to think if they had any clowns (actual rather than metaphorical) on the island at present, but couldn't recall any.

And there were the toes. Well, he had his work cut out for him. Pun fully intended. He let the nurse handle the anesthesia as he began carefully cleaning them. "Any other aversions?"

“Stupid rot-brained Reddit fascists,” Quinn grumbled, her speech slurring a little as the anesthesia started to hit and the pain faded.

She remembered Janet, woozy from her own blood loss, crouched in the corn, mocking Rust just to stay conscious.

“‘Pew pew!’” she said, in a pitch perfect imitation no one would ever know she’d managed. “‘Small pee pee!’”

Then she started giggling.

Hannibal shook his head in amusement. "We do try to avoid those here." He moved to cleaning her foot. "I gather you're feeling no pain, but do let me know if that changes." The nurse came to help, and they worked as quickly as they could, though this wasn't going to be fast.

"If you have a phone, you might want to put on some music or pick a favorite game."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Front Desk

Re: Front Desk

Re: Front Desk

Re: Front Desk

Re: Front Desk

Re: Front Desk

Re: Front Desk

Re: Front Desk

Re: Front Desk

Re: Front Desk

Re: Front Desk

Re: Front Desk

Exam Rooms

Exam 1

Re: Exam 1

Re: Exam 1

Re: Exam 1

Re: Exam 1

Re: Exam 1

Re: Exam 1

Re: Exam 1

Re: Exam 1

Re: Exam 1

Re: Exam 1

OOC