17120/Finding Faerie First Aid

Finding Faerie First Aid
Date of Scene:	07 February 2024
Location:	The First Aid Kit
Synopsis:	Phoebe heals a fairy!
Cast of Characters:	Glamour, Phoebe Beacon

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Glamour has posed:
"Ow."

It's been some time since she'd been stabbed by that knife. Right in the side, honestly, by self styled faerie hunters. Turns out, she really *is* vulnerable to a certain kind of metal! Who'd have thunk? Aside from the voices in her head that specifically *warned* her that she was, anyway. She had thought it would. All her other wounds did. Just ... slower.

In this case, slow enough to mean 'not at all'. Oh, sure, it's the kind of thing where you THINK it's going to get better, and then doesn't. Day. After day.

And so she started looking for help, the kind of magical help that might be able to deal with someone -- something -- like her.

... and so, after some questions that have been asked and answered, the tiny, wee little thing that is Glamour has found her way here. It wasn't exactly easy. Navigating doors, buildings, lobbies, and hell, the entire world, is rather difficult when you are *literally five inches tall*. Having left a literal trail of dripping fairy blood, fortunately in misicule, glittery drops -- she stops in front of the bell. It looks particularly large to her, but here goes nothing. She grabs on to the string and *pulls*.

Here's hoping, because frankly, she's white as the sheet she's wearing and it *hurts*.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Day after day was a hard time to deal with the pain. Above, in her apartment, Phoebe Beacon had been getting ready to go out for the night on an investigation when the bell rang, and the Curio let her know that someone was in need of help.

    Phoebe purses her lips, and she's through the door marked 'NOT A CLOSET' and draws out through its twin in the First Aid room, a small operating theater that Phoebe maintains for just these sort of emergencies, and half of her considers if it's going to be Robbie, Daniel, or Jason that come through the door... but she's surprised to see... no one.

    That's weird.

    She opens the door and pokes her head out, braids of dusky pink swinging a moment, wearing an under-armor compression shirt and pair of athletic shorts with pink socks, she pauses, about to call out when she sees a faerie, clinging to the pull rope for the emergency bell.

    "-- oh, damn." she whispers, and she holds her hand out to support Glamour's feet.

    "Hey, hey, you're all right, you're in the right place to get help." Phoebe states, looking at the wound and her nose bridge wrinkling at the glittering blood.

    "I'm called Balm. This is my first aid kit. Can you tell me what you'd like me to call you?" she questions, trying to extract the injured fae from the rope to take her into the office.

Glamour has posed:
Bonelessly,, the tiny faerie collapses into the offered hand, rather bonelessly as the saying goes.

The white sheet she's wearing is definitely stained with blood and, well... glitter. Faerie dust. She pulses with a dimly fading blue light.

"...oh thank fuck," she replies, "I'm, uh, Glamour. Nice to meet you. I've been stabbed, as you can see. It was like 'bam! Liver wound!' and then I was like 'wait, do I even have a liver? So, uh. Sorry. It hurts and I'm short a lot of ... glitter... blood...dust... stuff. I've tried to keep myself wrapped up but they don't exactly make bandages this side and I absolutely, adamantly refuse to wear anything that ever adorned a doll."

"... it's humiliating."

She squeezes her eyes shut. "... ow, ow, ow. Fuck." Her hand clamps down over the injury in her side, pushing the sheet against it where a fresh wave of crimson sparkly blood spreads beneath it, threatening to soak through.

Her wings flutter.

"I told you my name, right?"

That's rarely a good sign.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe has never heard a faerie curse. Not that she can remember. Or cares to anyway.

    In they go to the first aid kit room, and it is embarrassingly everything too large for treating such a tiny patient. She's already working work-arounds in her head.

    "All right. Glamour. Nice to meet you. I'm Balm." she states quietly.

    She sits on the stool, holding the tiny fae in her hands.

    "Do you remember if any of the material is still inside of you? That you got stabbed with?" DO tiny faeries have livers?

    Phoebe pulls out magnifying glasses and slips them on. She grabs tweezers.

    "Do you remember when you were hit?" she asks gently, and her fingers curl, a little protectively, gently under one of her wings to support it up so she can rest it.

    "Okay Glamour. I'm going to try to start healing you. It may feel a little weird." she whispers gently, and she begins using her healing magic, gently peeling part of the sheet away so that it doesn't interfere with the wound closing.

    Phoebe's healing magic should shut down any nerves in Glamour's body -- in theory. Phoebe's not sure if Fae anatomy is going to be like most anatomy she's worked with.

    "You're going to feel a tingling sensation. It's OK, that's my magic making your nerves relax, so that you don't feel things start to knit -- like your liver."

    /DO/ fae have livers if they're so little?

Glamour has posed:
Even though Glamour knew the glasses and tweezers would probably be coming out at some point, she still clearly is somewhat indignant about their need.

"I'd size myself up for you if I could, but it seems my magic is a little ... low-ebbed. Usually, I can grow for a while -- that's how I got stabbed, actually. Fairy-hunters, or something. They staged a little scene, and when I got involved, bam! Out came the knife. Right in the liver -- if I have one. Given how much we're reputed to drink, if I do, it's probably like ... shrivelled with cirhossis or something."

She raises a hand up and puts it behind her head, fingers staining her pale blonde hair with blood.

When the healing magic begins its work over her, she sort of begins to droop. Just a little. The soothing of her nerves, the absence of pain, lets her feel the fatigue more keenly.

"...oh wow, that's like ... woooo."

She puts a hand over her mouth for a moment to not laugh, airily. Her voice *does* have a certain chime-like quality when she does. She hates it.

The answer to Phoebe's question, once she get a good look at the wound through the mangifying glass, is going to be a conditional 'yes'. It's pretty clear that wound isn't healing right, and it's equally clear that the problem is in fact pieces of the knife that were left behind. It's not that Glamour didn't clean the wound, she plainly made proper and appropriate attempts at first aid for herself, it's the knife she was stabbed with /flaked/, and tiny fragments of it embedded themselves too deep for her to be able to see from her vantage point. No wonder she thought she was getting better at times, and then ... didn't. It wouldn't take much for these little slivers and fragments to move, to reopen the wound she bears. This kind of flaking would be rare for a meteoric iron that would be used on her. It's intentional, no doubt about it.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "All right. I can see that there's some little pieces of iron clinging there in side of you. Like the blade flaked." Phoebe explains, setting the tweezers aside.

    "And don't worry about sizing up. It's important right now that you save your strength, because you may be very tired after this." Phoebe replies in a no-nonsense but gentle manner.

    "Glamour, I want you to relax the best that you can. I know it hurts like fuck." she states, and she leans back, her hand resting on the gurney and under the bright lights as she rummages.

    "Someone very close to me came in with a similar injury. I had to think about the best ways to draw the shards out. Luckily, this should do the trick." she brings out what looks like a plastic stick.

    She turns it on with a low electric hum. "You're not wearing anything that could be taken out by a magnet -- no earrings, tongue rings, belly button rings with ferrous material right?

Glamour has posed:
"Hm? No. I don't think I have any piercings." She's checking herself over just to be on the safe side, you know, which is probably funny to see. She flops back onto her wings, making a face.

"Yeah, I'll try. It's a little better since you put me on the magic iv drugs you just gave me, or whatever it is you actually did." Shutting her nerves down answers to some degree the question as to whether or not faeries have nerves. She clearly does, in some fashion.

She's eyeing that stick, as it comes out and starts to hum.

"...I know I have a magnetic personality, but ... "

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "It's for the ferrous material that's still in your body. I'm going to use it to pull some out, and then your wound should start healing. Do you ordinarily heal very fast?" Phoebe questions, and she brings the electro magnet, used mostly for extracting nails from sidewalks and staples from floors and quickly sweeps it over the wound to draw out the metallic fragments.

    "I know some materials can affect my own healing, and we don't want these cold iron fragments inside you when we close up the wound, right?"

Glamour has posed:
"OW."

"OW OW OW."

Yeah, her nerves are dulled, which is why she's just saying 'ow' and not screaming like a headless chicken as Phoebe collects the fragments with a a magnet.

"Y-yeah," she says, sweat beading her brow. "Yeah, I heal pretty quick normally. Supposedly, I'll heal wounds like this too, slower than others though. At least, that's what the voices in my head tell me."

She laughs, breathlessly. "I don't atually know! I've never been stabbed right up until now -- but hey I healed gunshot wounds pretty quick so one must think 'this too shall pass'." She bites her lip. Hard. This /hurts/, but eventually, Phoebe will be able to clean the wound of those fragments. Their removal certainly seems to be relieving the pain she's experiencing, that's for sure.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe can feel the little body relax after the fragments are removed.

    "All right--" she switches the magnet for a bright penlight out, and takes another look.

    "I got the flakes out. I'm going to try and get the wound closed. I'm going to have to put my other hand lightly on your abdomen for that." she explains "Let me know if I press too hard, okay Glamour?" she questions gently, and then she brings the pen light and tucks it against her palm. She presses her fingers very lightly against Glamour's stomach to complete the circuit for her healing magic, and she closes her eyes.

    "Did you know 'this too shall pass' is originally a Persian phrase? I used to think it came from J. R. R. Tolkien, since I seem to remember Gandalf the Grey saying it to someone. Not sure of it's the Mendela Effect though." she chatters amicably, somewhat to distract her tiny patient.

    Meanwhile, more healing energy is being pushed into Glamour's little body, Phoebe concentrating on closing the wound from the inside-out to make sure everything is clean on the inside.

Glamour has posed:
The wound, now clean, already looks less 'angry' and 'infected'.

"..uh ... huh, yeah, sure," she says, fatigue being something she's still grappling with.

"...hm? I think that was 'you shall not sass' or something. I never got it. I'm always sassy," she muses aloud.

"But was it? Cool. I know next to nothing about Persia, new or old. When it came to geograph, Iran, Iran so far away."

She puts a hand on top of her head. "That is like ... so much better?" She is still pale, sweating, and in considerable pain.

It's just obviously *less* now.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "You shall not pass, he shouted to the Balrog of Morgorth, brought up from the bowels of Middle Earth." Phoebe replies, giving a small smile at the fairy retaining a sense of humor.

    "Good. You're probably going to feel weak and sleepy the next couple of hours. My magic has a tendency to hang around in someone's body. For humans and human-like beings, I usually warn they're going to want to double their protien intake, but you are admittedly the first faerie I've worked on." Phoebe states gently. "I would like to have you overnight, in case of complications. I unfortunately don't have anything small enough for you to wear unless you want a very fashionable sock sleeping bag." she admits.

    "But I can hook you up with some fresh fruits, gummy candy and a warm place to spend the night before you head out in the morning."

Glamour has posed:
"That's okay," says Glamour, "I mostly wear an illusion or two anyway. They doon't make most things in this size. Hell, I don't think they make ANMYTHING in this size, really. Easier to just fake it."

She lets out a breath and r aises herself up to look down at her now freshly closed wound with bleary eyes. Her wings buzz, and she briefly illuminates for a moment in a nimbus of blue light.

"Hey, listen. I won't forget what you just did for me, believe me, and yeah, I don't think I'm going anywhere. I don't think I could fly if I wanted to, and walking is gonna get me exactly no where." She lets out a *huge* yawn.

"What an amazing coincidence," she adds, "I'm my first faerie too!"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe gives a snort.

    "All right. What do you want to eat? I have strawberries, lemon gummy sharks, tempeh, cripsy tofu -- I'm afraid I don't know what you'd like to eat. The other two fae I know are fond of baked goods. I have cookies I could thaw..." she states quietly, carrying Glamour in her hand as if it were the most natural thing to do. "Honey and graham crackers?" she questions.

    "I'll set you up a place to lay down on my work shelf. I have some silk hankerchiefs that'll do for sheets and some granny squares if you don't mind the blankets being uneven, Glamour. Just for the night."