Weeks. He'd only really eaten or slept when it was absolutely forced on him by his body, and bathing was a luxury infrequently considered.
He was still rather natty, for all that, with well-pressed shirts and a clean face, just that it was a little bit last-minute and patchy. And of course, there was the large bit of glass through his wand-hand. He made a note to himself: don't try new potions-creating strategies without sleeping first. He kept the blood-flow at a minimum with a handkerchief as he hurried in. "Excuse me, hello? I've had a small explosion."
"Bad enough -- I've got half a vial through my wand hand." He peeled back the loosely-positioned cloth to show her. "I suppose I wasn't paying quite enough attention."
Agnes gave him a meaningful look, which conveyed pretty much what she wanted to say right now, which was: 'You're an idiote, boye.'
"Alright, we'll fixe you uppe in a jiffey." she said, pulling out her wand. "Sit downe on the bed." she ordered, pointing to one of the empty ones nearby.
Agnes sighed and looked up. That was just it, wasn't it? People were like carriages. You wait for one to come in maimed for days, and then several come at once. "What's wrong?" she asked, dumping her biscuit unceremoniously on the tray.
"Nothing yet, but there's always that chance," she replied. "I just arrived here - unexpectedly, let's say. Which is well and good, but I'm a diabetic. I need to monitor my blood sugar levels and take daily shots of insulin, and I didn't exactly get a chance to pack. I can get my insulin kit shipped here, but in the meantime I need some kind of stopgap."
She paused and thought a moment. "Unless you wizards have a cure for diabetes you're holding out on us - Muggles, is it?"
Noah Bennet found the hospital wing, after questioning a few house elves on the location. His arm was still in the sling, though he wasn't limping nearly as much as he had when he arrived. He figured that getting his broken arm fixed as soon as possible would not only be good for his health, but would be useful if anything unsettling happened (or arrived) here. He knocked on the door with his good hand and opened it a crack. "I was told this is the Hospital Wing. Is that right?"
He opened the door all the way and walked in, motioning at his broken arm. "I never really had a chance to get this looked at. I'd appreciate any help you could give, even if it's just a plaster cast instead of this velcro thing."
Silas had been meaning to come in for a while, but he had a habit of avoiding doctors, and so had put it off as long as he decently could. He ducked to get in the door--doorframes here all seemed to be at treppaning height for him--and looked around. Spotting Agnes, he inclined his head briefly. "Is this the Hospital Wing, Madame? I was told that you could perhaps help me."
"I am wondering if there is some spell or potion that might allow me to go out in the sun without burning." He pushed his hood back, revealing paper-white skin and hair. "Muggle sunscreen does not work well enough at all, and I am hoping there is something magical that might."
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And calling it 'a while' was pushing it.
Weeks. He'd only really eaten or slept when it was absolutely forced on him by his body, and bathing was a luxury infrequently considered.
He was still rather natty, for all that, with well-pressed shirts and a clean face, just that it was a little bit last-minute and patchy. And of course, there was the large bit of glass through his wand-hand. He made a note to himself: don't try new potions-creating strategies without sleeping first. He kept the blood-flow at a minimum with a handkerchief as he hurried in. "Excuse me, hello? I've had a small explosion."
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"Alright, we'll fixe you uppe in a jiffey." she said, pulling out her wand. "Sit downe on the bed." she ordered, pointing to one of the empty ones nearby.
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"Hello? I'm in need of some help, please."
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She paused and thought a moment. "Unless you wizards have a cure for diabetes you're holding out on us - Muggles, is it?"
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