5 June 1895 — St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies; Potion & Plant Poisoning Ward

Bash, as it turned out, had very little faith in healers he hadn’t worked with previously. Having been burned (quite literally) more than once, it was a wonder he didn’t have a personal healer on retainer. The idea had come to him more than once, but frankly he wasn’t in any sort of mood to begin that sort of search. So he had come to the next best place: St. Mungo’s. Well - in his estimation, it was the second best place. The first one was to get Sybella if she was free, but the last time he’d demanded her services at the last minute, she’d promptly told him - in extraordinary detail - where to stick his wand.

So St. Mungo’s it was, if he wanted to stay in the Italian Artifact Healer’s good graces.

Which he very much wanted to.

Thankfully, his memory had served him well in recalling that she’d mentioned another great healer in the Potion and Plant Poisoning ward; a Healer Hunniford? Well he was here in the room and waiting for this healer to arrive, having come fresh off the job. He’d already taken his shirt off to reveal the large welts that snaked all over his torso from the venomous tentacula hybrid someone had planted to guard one of the treasures he’d been contracted to retrieve.

It stung. It hurt. And while Bash was fine with pain, it also itched like no other, and he was in danger of tearing through his skin if he was made to wait any longer.

So when the door finally opened, he snapped through gritted teeth, “Finally. Was someone bleeding out on the floor out there, or is it just that common to keep patients with severe injuries waiting this long?”

Rosalie Hunniford

  

---

Mr. Highbottom's wailing had finally been confined to his room, a miracle unlike any other. Rosalie was trying to be understanding to the new spirit, but after two nights of restless and grief-addled sleep (he was, after all, her patient) her patience was worn thin. She needed space to pour over her notes, to understand what exactly had gone so terribly wrong that they weren't able to save him in time, and having his ghost wailing throughout the entirety of her shifts wasn't allowing for such space. If anything, his behavior was making her silently resentful and glad for his passing.

(Rosalie was, in fact, not at all glad for his passing but was in dire need of a tonic for her headache and a nap.)

Still, there were always new patients to see, so she allowed herself but a moment to plaster on her kindest expression and entered her next patient's room
.
Immediately, Rosalie regretted every one of her decisions.

The man on the bed was shirtless with welts that made her flinch inwardly. Ordinarily, Rosalie would have been extraordinarily sympathetic to anyone suffering from such a terrible affliction, but his rude behavior sucked every ounce of sympathy from her. “My apologies,” she muttered, pausing to glance over the file before making her way closer to his bedside. She'd read the file thrice while walking to his room and already had a repertoire of potions to feed him to counteract the venom. Still, it didn't hurt to make him sit in his pain a moment longer for lashing out at a complete stranger.

“I am Healer Hunniford, and I see here you had the misfortune of encountering a venomous tentacula.” She noted, skipping straight past his rudeness to address his injuries. “Do you happen to know what variety it was? Was anyone able to collect a sample?” Even as she asked her questions she was reaching into the bag she carried to unstop then hand him an anti-itch tonic and a pain relieving one. Neither would be a long term solution, but maybe he wouldn't be so grouchy.

---

  

---

stunning set by Lady <3

Well at least she didn’t beat about the bush. He needed treatment and he needed it about a half hour ago. Next time he’d suffer Sybella Capobianco’s wrath and just drag her off the job as opposed to waiting this long for some help. Sitting on the table, he gripped the sides, bent over as he breathed through the great amount of discomfort he was in.

“It was a hybrid, exclusively bred to protect the artifact and nothing else.” He pushed through gritted teeth, his fingers digging into the edge of the table. Was she moving at all, or merely standing there regarding her notes? His gaze snapped up only to see that she was indeed pulling out a few vials. As soon as she unstoppered them, he snatched them from her, downing them without question.

“Sample’s in my bag,” He rasped, holding his arm out, pointing at the satchel on the chair whilst simultaneously watching to see if the welts on his arm disappeared. “Front pocket to the right, do not go in the left pocket, the idol in there still might be cursed.” He was working on it. There were multiple computations he was still working out in his head.

Rosalie Hunniford

  

---