Every act creates a ripple with no logical end. | OPEN.

[aldabeyoun]

It's a little odd to work out of her livingroom, but in Njoki's experience it's a good idea to have regular clinic hours set up for those that aren't comfortable with house calls. Most of what she does during these times is a bit of basic consulting, the occasional spot of under the table first aid, and listening to people talk through their own worries. It's never very busy, but this is her calling, not her job. Some of her friends and family have been helpful and discretely passed out her contact information and she knows that a little pocket money is a fine thing, but she doesn't believe she'll ever make a living off it.

As she fills and puts the kettle on, she huffs in amusement. At least it's a good excuse to make sure her flat is scrubbed and clean enough for company once a week.

Comments

[reticence]

"Just physical," Faolan confirms warily. "No need to worry about anything coming after you for treating me, if you are." He falls silent for a few moments, trying to assess whether he can actually trust her with this or whether he should just get up and leave, take himself to a hospital, and risk the discomfort that comes from putting himself there instead. He knows that meeting with her isn't smart, given the company she's been keeping. He knows that letting her practice on him is probably even less smart. But what other choice does he have?

"...I'm going to need some help with this jacket though," he admits. "If you're going to want to take a look at it yourself." Possibly with his shirt as well, but he might as well start small and work his way up.

[aldabeyoun]

"Physical is messy, but easy. It's when it starts getting metaphysical that everyone gets a headache," she says with a wry twist before standing and moving to help him with his jacket. "I can't really help you out with painkillers either. If it's bad, I've got a little, but they're not something I can easily carry, you know?"

And most of her clients don't need or use them.

[reticence]

Faolan gives a one-shouldered shrug, ginger with his movements of the other one. It should be pretty obvious where he's hurt, once the jacket's slipped off. The shirt is torn and blood-spattered, with a makeshift bandage wrapped around the lot of it. He did the best he could at the time, but he's no medic. He knows when he's been beaten.

"I can manage," he says. "I just need this taken care of. Sooner rather than later. And I'd like to avoid hospital, if possible." He glances at her. "I've already been attacked once by a 'wild dog' this year. Two might be pushing it. Can't exactly tell them it was a vampire this time, after all."