Ronan was in the clinic, ready for anyone who needed help; today, he'd decided just to relax at the front desk. He had a novel and a cold glass of cola, and the nurses rolled their eyes at him as they bustled around doing the work he should have been doing to make sure the exam rooms were stocked.
[I'm around-ish, but flying OCD-free and there
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There were, yes, broken knucklebones, and the muscles were torn and torqued. "... Yeah, this may definitely hurt," he added. "I, uh. Most of my healing spells require blood? So don't freak out, okay?" He pulled out his healer's knife and flexed out his left hand; the healer's scars, three thin lines down the heel of his palm, stood out in stark relief.
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[[ but, yes, it's mostly just hellish omfg bruising and owies. ]]
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