Actions

2046-09-05 Lady Tiffany Von Baphomet the Six Hundredth and Sixty-Sixth

From X-Factor

Lady Tiffany Von Baphomet the Six Hundredth and Sixty-Sixth
Date Posted 2016/09/05
Location ABC Urgent Care - Mutant Town
Participants Ian, Tiffany
Summary Tiffany fell down and hit her head. Ian fixes her ...well, aesthetically speaking, anyway.
 
IaIanEller.jpg Tiftiffany.jpg
The red light over the door indicates whether the clinic is in service and someone is in. The unsettling carryover from the building's previous usage does clearly note when someone is in and taking patients, even if a few wayward tourists have been known to get confused. Although small and having seen better days, the little clinic is scrupulously clean. There is no proper front desk, a mixed pair of chairs makes up the waiting room's decor, just a sign-in chart on the wall next to another door. Through that door is the consultation room with a worn table, neat cabinets, and a claustrophobic bathroom.


It is a summer evening. The weather is hot and fair.


In deference to the summer evening, the door to the clinic has been left open to circulate some air throughout. Or at least to help aid the beleaguered fan in the front room. The observation room has an air conditioner, but Ian hasn't had one put in the front so it lives via fan. For his part he stands at the small divider looking through some digital files, dressed in an oh so professional t-shirt and jeans. The t-shirt is a fade screen print depicting a nautical crest.

Apart from her usually more heel-centric attire, Tiffany has opted for minimalistic charcoal booties that hardly raise her up very far from the ground at all. They still click as she enters, which is the important thing.

The young woman wears a sleeveless black dress with a cowl neck. Coming down to about mid-thigh, the relaxed knit fabric is wrinkled from the night before. Her exposed legs are deeply tanned thanks in part to a strict regiment of rooftop napping.

With blackish brown hair and dark eyes, there would hardly be anything colorful about her were it not for the lovely purple contusion blossoming into being just above her right eye. Ducking down as she glances around, Tiffany's hair whisps over to partially conceal the swollen wound.

At the decisive sound of heels clicking, Ian looks up from his work to flash Tiffany an easy and professional smile. "Good Afternoon," he bids. "Can I help you? The sign in is right over there if you need medical attention. You won't have to wait long if that's the case." There is a slight narrowing of his eyes as he catches a little of that bruising, gesturing towards the sign-in sheet.

Half-skeptical and half naturally bitch-faced, Tiffany makes no move to return Ian's smile. "Oh, yeah," she draws out casually as she makes her way cautiously over to the sign-in sheet. Drumming the stylus, she looks down at it with a smack of her lips. She still managed to reapply her lip gloss. Don't judge her. She signs in as 'Lady Tiffany Von Baphomet DCLXVI.' "I like, might need medical attention," she adds in a casual monotone, rolling her eyes. Whatever. "I'm not sure."

Tucking his tablet under an arm, Ian goes over to examine her sign-in name with a bit of a sigh. "Alright. We'll, let's get that taken care of first and we can finish filling out the paperwork after, Miss Von Baphomet." He mostly doesn't stumble over the last name. "I'll be the judge. Through here please."

"It's pronounced Baphomet," Tiffany corrects Ian with some arbitrary, totally incorrect, and completely impossible new pronunciation. Disguising her deliberately slow pace with a cool, confident sashay, the poet slides her eyes along the familiar details of the small clinic. "Is Dr. Rutledge not in?" She asks only mildly, ringing her small hands.

"Sorry about that, then." Flashing her another easy smile, Ian opens the door to the examining room and gestures to the table. "She's not today. If you'd like to wait to be seen by her I can put you on the schedule?" He offers. "I'm Ian Eller the resident nurse."

"That's okay. I can't come in tomorrow and you seem, like ...super non-threatening," Tiffany presses the small of her back against the examining table. Pressing the heels of her hands down into it, she lifts herself up. At the same time, she crosses her legs. Her dark lashes flutter as she combs back her hair, revealing the fresh bruise beneath.

"That is kind of the goal. No white coats or anything for us nurses," Ian says lightly, pulling on a pair of a gloves as she takes her seat. His eyes narrow at the injury. "Ouch." In his medical opinion. Tell me about what happened? What symptoms are you experiencing currently?"

"You're a nurse?" Tiffany asks with neither inflection nor venturing from her stoicism. Pressing her peach-painted lips together in thought, she turns her head on her neck so as to give Ian a better view of her forehead. Her lashes flutter as she looks away towards anything else in the room, "I fell. I... fall a lot because of my mutation. But this time I was out for a while. My roommates were ...on a road trip." She narrows her eyes. Yes. A road trip. "I have... a thing in a few days. A book signing. And I was hoping you could take care of this before then." Because this is akin getting something tailored ...another thing that Tiff can barely afford, much like health insurance. Tiffany's attention snaps back to Ian, "I don't have brain damage. This is how I normally speak."

"Yes. I am. I work as the Charge over at one of the nearby hospitals in addition to running this clinic." Ian's words are soft and distracted as he works, inspecting the wicked contusion. "Look towards me please?" A light clicks on so he can check the dilation of her pupils. "How long were you unconscious for?" He asks, brow furrowing with concern. At her quick snap back to him, he nods and makes a note on an Eye version of a chart. "Any other side effects you've noticed? Dizziness, nausea, pain beyond the impact site?"

"A few hours, maybe?" Tiffany both shifts and rolls her eyes in the same movement. "Maybe longer." Clearing her throat, she presses her palms back into the table to lift and subtly re-adjust her seated position. "No nausea. And, yeah, just like... where I crash landed." She gestures vaguely towards /the impact site/. After some ernest hesitation, Tiffany confides, "I can't speak for any increase in dizziness." She fidgets with slowly growing discomfort at being under the man's microscope. "Look. I just need the swelling to go down and a Sephora gift card, then I can be out of your hair," she heaves her chest in a sigh before adding in a whisper, "Maybe I can pull off bangs."

Ian makes a note. And frowns and makes another note. "Do a couple tests for me?" He requests, gesturing for her to briefly hop down from the table to do some reflex checks to see how she responds. "How long have you been experiencing dizziness for, Miss Von Baphomet?" Clear green eyes regard her firmly at the suggestion that a little makeup and swelling reduction will fix her problems. "Honestly, I'd like to do an MRI or an X-Ray and some blood work to check things out if this has been a continuing problem. Ice will bring down the swelling, but reoccurring falls can result in serious brain damage."

With a twinkle of vulnerability, her large eyes settle on his before shying away. "And before you give me the spiel about compensating with glucose, I should just tell you now that there are cracks in my mind's psychic barriers. I'm going to be comatose before I'm thirty or something equally bleak. I already know. You're not going to be able to do anything about it with an MRI. I just... really don't want there to be a bunch of pictures of me floating around looking like I just lost a bar-fight or whatever." Flapping a spindly arm in protest, Tiffany goes along with any reflex test begrudgingly. ...And also, because she's not a nurse or a doctor. "Ice will bring down the swelling," she murmurs, both unimpressed with Ian's perfectly reasonable suggestion and with her own inability to have come up with it on her own.

Tiffany snakes down from the table. Her booties click as she lands. "Since I was in High School," she brings up both hands to tuck her hair behind her ears. Upon realizing that only one earring appears to have made it, she feigns a look around by her feet as if it might be there. It's long gone, Tiff. "I'm a psionic."

With a twinkle of vulnerability, her large eyes settle on his before shying away. "And before you give me the spiel about compensating with glucose, I should just tell you now that there are cracks in my mind's psychic barriers. I'm going to be comatose before I'm thirty or something equally bleak. I already know. You're not going to be able to do anything about it with an MRI. I just... really don't want there to be a bunch of pictures of me floating around looking like I just lost a bar-fight or whatever." Flapping a spindly arm in protest, Tiffany goes along with any reflex test begrudgingly. ...And also, because she's not a nurse or a doctor. "Ice will bring down the swelling," she murmurs, both unimpressed with Ian's perfectly reasonable suggestion and with her own inability to have come up with it on her own.

"I was going to offer you a gatorade." That slight twinkle of vulnerability is met with empathy rather than an kind of spiel as Ian exhales a long sigh, scratching behind an ear. "That does put a different bent on things, although it doesn't necessarily mean that /physical/ damage can't be as incremental as the metaphysical and psionic." An MRI would check /some things/ although probably not what she's most concerned about. "Have you seen about seeking out a telepath? I'm not... the most versed in that area of psionic medicine, but I could certainly try to look into it to see if there's someone we can't refer you to." To help. Nothing is a fixed end. He nods approvingly at her reflexes. "Good. Mhmm. We've come a long way but it's hard to beat the classics... and if you /promise/ to take care of it with the ice, I can do something about the color of the bruising for you."

"I was going to offer you a gatorade." That slight twinkle of vulnerability is met with empathy rather than an kind of spiel as Ian exhales a long sigh, scratching behind an ear. "That does put a different bent on things, although it doesn't necessarily mean that /physical/ damage can't be as incremental as the metaphysical and psionic." An MRI would check /some things/ although probably not what she's most concerned about. "Have you seen about seeking out a telepath? I'm not... the most versed in that area of psionic medicine, but I could certainly try to look into it to see if there's someone we can't refer you to." To help. Nothing is a fixed end. He nods approvingly at her reflexes. "Good. Mhmm. We've come a long way but it's hard to beat the classics... and if you /promise/ to take care of it with the ice, I can do something about the color of the bruising for you."

"Do you have the red kind?" Tiffany asks with dry but humorous tone. "Really, it's not something you need to get involved in. We have a whole psychic network. We all know each other. It's a lot like being Irish." Ian gets a look as if to say, 'You're Irish, right?' She doesn't miss a beat, bringing up a hand as if to swear on a bible. Y'know, as if she could touch one without it bursting into flame. "I promise to take care of it."

"I can check?" Ian offers with a lopsided shrug. They get kids in with powers exhaustion a fair bit. His brows tip upward in a semblance of disbelief, that doesn't shift under the suspicion that he may in fact be Irish. "Well, we're here if you need the help." He won't force her to take it. "Good. I expect you to go home and put some ice on it. Now. This will only hurt a touch." Pulling off a glove, he carefully lifts a finger and touches the edge of her bruise. The bruised color fades to leave a more natural skintone. "There."

At first, Tiffany leans away an inch. A medical profession taking off their glove and reaching out towards you isn't something you want accompanied with, 'This will only hurt a little.' - or whatever he said.

Afterwards, Tiffany bats her lashes in a few successive blinks. Studying Ian, she brings up her fingertips to grace her forehead with a few testing presses. "I don't understand. What did you do?"

It does seem deeply suspect. "Oh!" Ian says, taking a few long steps across the office to grab a mirror. He hands it to Tiffany without much of an explanation beyond, "I'm a Chromakinetic. So. Color is what I do." In this case shift the color of her bruise. Peeling off his other glove, he tosses the pair in the trash. "I would like it if you come back and see me if symptoms persist. Even if the cause is psionic, we may be able to control some of the side effects."

"Oh," Tiffany pouts thoughtfully as she takes the mirror in-hand. She turns her head to get a better look at the formerly discolored area. "Thank... you..." Tiffany doesn't need to stare at herself for very long. In truth, she's happy /not/ to. Setting the mirror aside, she reaches to take out her one lone earring now that her own reflection has reminded her of it. Cupping it to her flat belly protectively, her heels click as she shifts her footing. "I probably won't," the psionic voices in a soft murmur, watching as the gloves fall into the garbage bin. "But I really do appreciate the due diligence."

"If you do..." The offer is still there. "I'll let you fill a few things out, out here," Ian says handing her the tablet for the the boring part of the visit. "Be sure to keep physical activity to a minimum while that heals and rest when you feel a dizzy spell coming on."

A mundane medical record form? Tiffany will find a way. With a glint of seductive deviousness, she drums her fingers along the tablet's sides as she accepts it. "I'll do my best to avoid anything overly strenuous," the young woman offers, clicking over to a seat. She'll indulge him for a little while until she's able to slip away. He's bound to have other patients.

There is no escaping paperwork. Ian will make sure she fills it out. Then, she can slip away.

This page uses the Log form.