Off To See the Nurse

Off To See the Nurse
Date of Scene:	28 June 2014
Location:	Papaya Island - Hospital
Synopsis:	After getting mauled in the face by something outside the WMAT, Lucatiel goes to visit the WMAT's excellent medical staff.
Cast of Characters:	22, 66

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Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
Welcome to the World Martial Arts Tournament's medical facilities. They are very clean, organised, and advanced by their world's standards! Also, well-staffed. That tends to happen when you have so many people from so many different worlds working under the same roof.

There are a lot of patients here. To be expected, in a tournament this big -- there are plenty of people competing, and plenty of people keeping the medical staff busy. (Job security!)

One patient is sitting patiently in the waiting area's bench, probably near Medusa's personal corner of the place, arms folded over their chest, magnificent broad-brimmed hat tipped down over the figure's face. The face itself is hidden by way of a brazen mask in the guise of a stern, neatly-bearded man's slightly exaggerated features.

That fine, white silk shirt is neither fine nor white any more, slashed up pretty good in the melee. The white is stained red more often than not, and while none of the cuts are particularly life-threatening, there are a lot of them, and the warrior's probably lost plenty of blood.

Oh hey, isn't that the Masked Warrior, the one who fought against Onikaze Kenshin? A mysteeeerious figure, by the sound of it. Nobody seems to know anything about them; just that it's a woman (maybe, the jury's still out on that one) and that they are, evidently, quite skilled with a blade (of which there's definitely no question now).

Also pretty patient, too, by the looks of it. They've sat there waiting their turn, never once showing impatience or trying to crowbar their way to a faster place in the queue; content just to wait.

Actually, they must have gone and gotten themselves cut up somewhere else, because it's been a while since their tourney match... one wonders /what/. Goodness, they look a mess.

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
People are always so impatient when it comes to getting treated after their fights, which isn't so weird. Few people enjoy being injured after all.
The snake witch has been busy handling injuries, mostly those of people in the Confederacy. Do the Union fear her this year? If so, that's too sad... after all she's encouraged them to seek her out for medical help. The rooms she is in charge of are mostly full, but when the medical personnel in charge of delegating patients asks her to check on somebody who has been waiting for long, Medusa agrees to inspect this person. It's somebody Medusa hasn't gotten to meet yet, and she can't watch all the fights at once, now can she? So as she approaches Lucatiel through the rows of patients, she cants her head. A man? The mask is certainly masculine enough, and the witch smiles as she cants her head slightly to peer underneath the brim of Lucatiel's hat. "Excuse me, Masked Knight...?" The temptation to refer to this person as 'Sir' is there, but might as well go with their alias for this tournament. "I'm ready to see you know if you would come into my office," she says tenderly and gestures to one of the nearby examination rooms. "I still need to look over your form, we are quite busy nowadays as you might be able to notice~" Still, the witch seems to be in a good mood and not too tired.

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
The hat lifts just a little when a voice sounds, not too far away. Whoever it is under that mask and hat must have heard; there doesn't seem to be much surprise at the nurse's sudden appearance. And whoever it is, they must not know of her dreadful reputation, because there doesn't seem to be any unease. Just a slow lift and what must be a flat stare behind that mask -- though there are holes for the eyes, covered by vertical slots, not much can be seen. Just the reflected light from those eyes; only enough to confirm that there ARE eyes.

Without a word, the figure climbs to their feet -- and wobbles a little, unsteadily, but finds their balance and moves along after Medusa. It's the gait of a warrior, albeit a little unsteady, probably a little dizzy from blood loss.

It's not until the examination room is made secure that gloved hands reach up and lift the hat off, revealing blonde hair under that. While it /could/ still be a man, most men don't wear their hair that long. Gauntleted hands reach up to unclasp the fastenings on the back of the mask, which appear to be a simple buckled leather strap around the back of the head, lifting it off.

The first thing immediately obvious is that the Masked Knight is in fact a woman, slightly older, with features some might call pretty.

The second thing immediately obvious is that those features /were/ pretty, once, and the entire left side of her face, starting around the eye, is entirely dead tissue. It isn't even scar tissue: It genuinely looks /dead/, albeit not quite rotted, dry and lifeless like the skin of a preserved corpse. The eye on that side is a blind, milky white; the other eye is the crisp, clear blue of a summer sky.

Lucatiel of Mirrah stares straight at the nurse with a no-nonsense expression as she sets both hat and mask aside.

"My form should be waiting. I've submitted the proper paperwork, as was expected." Her voice is low, very low for a woman, and a little husky around the edges. It, at least, sounds pretty normal otherwise. "You are... Nurse Medusa, are you not? I thought I had seen your name listed, and I thought I had seen a picture."

She twists her head slightly to one side, inclining it politely.

"Outside of the tourney ring, at least, I am called Lucatiel of Mirrah. I come from Mirrah, a land of knights." She pauses, and when she speaks again, her voice is just a little less confident. "This tourney, this Multiverse, is quite a shock."

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
The witch is patient as the mystery patient gets to their feet, smiling and watching. Rather than offer assistance when they try to get their balance, she observes quietly, taking note of any particular movement which might explain /why/ they are wobbling. Once in the examination room and the door is closed, Medusa gestures to a bench, indicating that they should go lie down there. "Lie down, please."
As the hat goes off and blonde hair is noticed, Medusa arches an eyebrow slightly. And she chuckles a bit when the mask is removed. Well, it does seem like the mask was indeed just that... a mask. And the left side of this fighter's face... well, it certainly seems like Medusa is curious about it as she walks on over. "Yes, I have your form here, dear... I merely stated I didn't have the time to prepare beforehand since we are rather busy here today... And yes, I am Medusa Gorgon."
It is nice to be given a name, but it should probably only be used inside these walls for now unless Lucatiel states otherwise. "Indeed it is... but you get used to it. Now..."
Medusa stops in front of Lucatiel, smiling pleasantly. "Why did you come here today seeking medical help? I couldn't help but notice your movements, as well as your face...?" No, why avoid such an interesting topic? Besides, if Lucatiel wanted to hide it from her, she wouldn't have taken off the mask? Besides, she's a nurse. It's her job to ask uncomfortable questions.

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
Apparently the knight is perfectly content to follow orders; she kicks back on the bench without much complaint, though there's a wince or two. Some sort of bladed implement must have sliced through that shirt. What a pity. It was fine, white silk, and it must have been costly when it was still in one piece.

She must go through a lot of those shirts. Then again, the idea is probably not to be /hit/ while wearing a fine garment like that, so something must have mauled her pretty good.

Lucatiel glances over, and though she's looking at Medusa from the left eye, she seems to be able to see well enough through it, tracking the nurse's movements without any evident trouble.

After a few seconds of uninteresting observation she lets her head sag back, exhaling long and low. You know what? It's nice to not be upright. Her eyes drift closed, though it's clear she's still listening; still a little tense. Guarded, this one is.

"I came here seeking medical help because I have not the means to administer such to myself." That milk-white eye opens and peers at Medusa. It may be extremely unsettling to what few people have been exposed to that dead eye, but probably not this nurse! "I left the tourney grounds for a time, and had an unfortunate incident involving a drake. At least, I am to believe it was a drake. 'Twas a large reptile with leathery wings, breath of fire, and these." She reaches into a pocket and produces a large, curved talon that probably came from a foot.

Welp, there's probably not much question of what happened to it.

She gives a low, breathy little laugh. "I do not appreciate such beasts attempting to make a meal of my steed. I invested a great deal of time in Naruiel's training. You will find a great deal of claw-and-tooth marks, though I was able to avoid the flames."

As to the face, she just glances at Medusa again with that blank eye.

"That is a... how do you say? A 'pre-existing condition.'" Lucatiel's brief smile is not very nice. "Have you heard of the undead of my world? An unfortunate condition that afflicts these wretched souls. One does not truly die under this curse. They revive for every death they suffer. And every time, they lose a little more of their humanity. Memory is the first to go, oldest first. Eventually, they lose their humanity, and they become Hollow, a cursed creature that exists only to prey on the living. And a Hollow can never be human again."

She lets that sit for a few seconds before continuing. The smile is gone, and her expression is stony.

"I seek a cure, for I do not wish to become Hollow." There's an undercurrent of something to her voice, something that almost approaches fear -- but she hides it well, considering she's unliving and that rot on her face is probably consuming her from within, a little bit at a time. Slow and unpleasant way to go, indeed. "If you should know of some means to lift the curse, I would be in your debt."

"However, I would be grateful even for a means to slow it. I left my home of Mirrah to travel to Drangleic. I am not only seeking a cure, but I am searching for my brother, Aslatiel of Mirrah..."

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
The eye is certainly something to focus on, indeed. Medusa watches Lucatiel, and rather than moving into what ought to be the best place for her to watch the nurse from her right eye, Medusa moves to the left of Lucatiel, noting how the woman seems to indeed have sight in that eye. How... peculiar. When her patient lets herself relax just slightly on the bench, Medusa heads over to the nearby cupboards and starts finding various items. Saline solution, bandages, tweezers and sterile woven cotton swabs, as well as some of the private medications she brought with her. The ones she is not sharing with the other medics here at the WMAT.
A witch has her secrets, after all.
So... this woman is unable to give herself medical help? Strange. The tale of the drake, as well as the revealed talon does make the witch chuckle slightly. "Well, that explains the blood I guess. I doubt that many other creatures would reach such a size to have talons like that. I will tend to your injuries and patch you up then, blood loss can be... nasty."
Regarding the pre-existing condition, Medusa seems a bit more interested in that. She shakes her head. No, she hasn't heard of the undead in this woman's world, rather she doesn't know which world Lucatiel hails from. But the curse... now that catches the witch's attention. "Really? I haven't heard of something like that before..." Medusa turns away from the cupboard, her arms full of various equipment that she sets down on the table next to bench that Lucatiel is resting on. "It must be rather unpleasant... just how does one catch this curse? Should I wear gloves when touching you, dear~?" she jests with a wicked glint in her amber eyes as she leans down a bit.
A cure, huh. Medusa narrows her eyes at that, and she then turns to head over to the sink in the room, pulling up the sleeves of her medical coat. "Please take off your shirt." And as she washes her hands, she looks in the mirror and at her patient's reflection. "Is that the reason why you asked for me personally?" she inquires. "Because I fear that... conventional medicine alone might not be able to treat your case." Then she smiles. "I must admit, I am intrigued however~"

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
The knight doesn't move, but her mismatched eyes follow the nurse as Medusa goes about gathering up the proper supplies. It's hard to pick out much in the way of identifying features from the dead portion of her face, but a shadow lies under her normal eye, suggesting a certain lack of sleep. She must have been waiting here for quite some time indeed.

Does she not feel pain because of her condition? Or is she simply patient through self-discipline? It's hard to say through visual examination, because she does seem to have a certain temperance about her. Certainly sitting and waiitng there for so long must be impressive, if her injuries do trouble her.

The blood looks normal, though its properties might come up a bit strange. The closer to the undeath it is, the more slowly it seems to move and flow, as though it were somehow more viscous there. It is, at least, red and not black or green or some other freaky colour.

Lucatiel eyes the equipment, mos of it unfamiliar to her, but she doesn't comment on it.

"If you think it may protect you, than by all means, wear gloves. I do not know. No one knows. I believe I must have contracted it beyond Mirrah, but before reaching Drangleic. By then it had already begun its work." She gestures slightly, indicating the whorl of discoloured, dead tissue around her left eye. "Drangleic brims with powerful souls. They are said to ease the curse, somehow, though I've no notion how."

Without complaint, Lucatiel sits up and carefully unfastens the leather cuirass. It's a pretty thing, carefully and artfully embossed, shining with gold and silver tracing in intricate patterns. It looks pretty solid, too, so it must not be purely decorative; when she lowers it to the floor, she does so carefully. The pauldrons are given much the same treatment, though one of them looks like a claw tried to take a ragged chunk out of it; torn through the careful embossing and the black-dyed leather, revealing grey beneath.

The bloodied silk shirt is carefully removed, too, tossed a little more carelessly over by the hat and mask. It's probably a candidate for the burn pile, given how much blood stains it, and all the little holes here and there. That critter must have given as good as it got.

"I had heard you were knowledgeable in a great many things, and not averse to sharing that knowledge," Lucatiel says bluntly. "I do not care by what means; I only wish for an end to the curse. It will consume me, sooner or later, without measures taken against it." Her sudden smile is blade-thin; and short-lived, fading almost as soon as it's done. "And I would sooner find a cure whilst I have some humanity left."

"If you have the means, I welcome you to try. But I do not know of any others in this Multiverse whom you might ask about the curse. To my knowledge, I am the only one abroad of my world, though I suspect my dear brother has struck out beyond Drangleic and Mirrah's bounds. Where, though, I do not know. And in what state..." Her expression turns grave; somber. "I cannot speak to that, either. Human, still, I can only hope."

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
Returning from the sink, Medusa tries her hands though she doesn't pull down the sleeves of her coat. Instead she pulls over her chair, setting it next to the bench so she can sit while she works. There is a lot to do here, after all. Equipment is opened and taken out of its packaging, and Medusa listens as she prepares for the examination and the treatment alike. "Not all of my knowledge can be shared easily... and some of it I do prefer to keep to myself~" After all, some knowledge is useless without the proper experience.
But this is quite an opportunity, isn't it? Lucatiel giving her permission to do what she deems necessary to remove the curse from her flesh... She is living on borrowed time, after all. So it is understandable. After Medusa has put on a pair of gloves she begins drenching some woven cotton swabs in saline solution, then uses those to gently wash the wounds on Lucatiel's torso. All while she presses her index finger against the skin in certain places, watching intently after she pulls her finger back. "Hmmm... normal capillary reaction. No sign of necrotic tissue in the wounds either. I will suture them closed. Now dear... have you noticed any side effects to your... condition? Any pain or discomfort? Any change in bodily functions?" Medusa inquires further even as she begins cleaning out the wounds. She will have to inspect the woman's face later. For now she has her hands full, and she is busy observing other things. Like the fact that Lucatiel still has circulatory functions intact considering she still bleeds. And she breathes, which means that the lungs are still functional, at least to some degree. There is no sign of cyanosis, and while the woman's face does look dead, it doesn't appear to be fully necrotic and rotten.

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
Aside from the occasional reflexive flinch of pain, the knight shows no particular reaction to being poked and prodded. She came from the streets of Mirrah and proceeded to win her place by fire and sword; modesty was one of the many traits beaten out of her. She didn't have time to indulge in that nonsense, and still doesn't.

She does grit her teeth at the sting of saline solution, though, because ow.

"No changes that I have been made aware of." If Lucatiel has any objection to the terms of endearment used by Medusa, she doesn't say anything. Well, aside from a slight thinning of the lips, anyway. "Aside from not dying when I should be dead, not at all." She tilts her head, slightly. "I come back to my senses; sometimes where I'd fallen, other times someplace else. My thoughts and memories grow more hazy for every death, and soon, I will not be able to recall them. Already my oldest memories grow dim."

She reaches up around whatever Medusa's doing to run two fingers over the ridged, dead part of her face, and shudders. If anything can be said to not be natural, it's that dead skin.

Lucatiel exhales and lets her hand drop.

"I sleep little, but how much of that is an effect of the curse, I could not say." She's always been patient, and her training's made her capable of functioning on very little sleep. Travel also has a way of keeping her moving.

Thankfully, no, it's not completely rotten. That would be even uglier. And probably smell pretty bad, too. There doesn't seem to be any particularly odd odours about her -- leather from her armour, and oil from her leather armour; the blood of her wounds, old sweat. Something that might be lavendar or rosemary, perhaps from washing her hair, very faint.

"Hmmmm. But no. Nothing as you say that I have taken any notice of."

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
It's always good to know these things, just to make it easier to figure out the nature of the curse that has befallen this warrior. Though she can't help but chuckle, giving Lucatiel an amused look. "It sounds to me as if you are... very prone to accidents if it's happened several times. Might I ask how many times you have died, dear...?" Many people would prefer undeath than to dying, she imagines. At least those with no knowledge about it.
With most of the cuts washed and cleaned, Medusa prepares a syringe, taking it from its packaging as she adds a needle to it and then finds an ampule of clear liquid. "Since you still are able to feel pain, I should probably give you this before I begin stitching you up..." Once the syringe is prepared and ready, Medusa uses her free hand to grab the back of Lucatiel's arm, pinching the area before she stabs the flesh there with the syringe, getting it pretty far in before she slowly administers the shot. "It will be working within a few minutes. Be patient." Which she is, considering she didn't throw a fuss about having to wait for medical care.
Meanwhile Medusa prepares the thread and the hooked suturing needle, as well as bandages to put over the stitches once she is done. "If that is so, then that means that some conventional medicine can be useful. Whether it's the aspect or theory, or medicine itself, remains to be seen. I do not know whether you are aware, but I have my own specific medication and potions that others do not use, and I am certain I can find something to slow it down at least. Though..." It doesn't seem as if Medusa is intent on waiting too long to suture the wounds as she prepares the needle and uses her left hand to pinch the sides of one of the cuts together, "I will need to take samples, both tissue and blood. I will do that after I am done here."
Then she sticks the needle into the edge of the cut. It should be painful, but not unbearable.

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
When asked how many times she's died, Lucatiel seems to go quiet, maybe thinking about it. In truth, she's not sure. Her mind seems to want to rebel against such an impossibility; her memory is faulty about it, and there are gaps in her recollection of such.

"Hmmm." The knight's tone is thoughtful. "More than two. Less than ten. On that I can be no more specific. I do not recall the cause of my first death, though I would not be surprised if it were highwaymen. Hm." It's more a breathy laugh than a thoughtful sound. "One can hardly fault their lifestyle. Drangleic has naught to fight for but scraps, and even those are won dearly."

Lucatiel seems to do patient pretty well. Not a word of complaint nor a fidget is offered while she waits for the anesthesia to take effect. She doesn't even complain when stabbed with a syringe! Apparently she doesn't mind needles.

"You are free to," Lucatiel responds evenly, regarding the samples. Her voice goes a little more husky, and one hand clenches into a fist, leather gauntlet creaking under the strain. Other than that, she gives no real indication of pain. "The blood seems different nearer to the afflicted area. Perhaps you might sample from there. Near the jaw." She tilts her head, very slightly, to indicate the ropy and vaguely dark greenish tissue just along the jawline. "Slower, it seems. It bleeds little and less than anywhere else. As though there is little blood to be lost."

In spite of what is probably an unpleasant process, she simply lies there, watching the ceiling placidly with her mismatched eyes.

"You are with the Confederacy, are you not? I have heard of your reputation, some, but little of you yourself." Those mismatched eyes proceed to slide over toward Medusa. One brow rises slightly, and though she doesn't smile, the expression seems to be an amicable one. "You have heard about me, and now you have me at somewhat of a disadvantage."

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
So... she's died a fair amount of times. Medusa nods in acknowledgement, not seeming disturbed by this. At the mention of highwaymen, she can't help but chuckle. "Some people do get desperate for coin, indeed. I have even died once myself~" she informs her patient, even as she starts suturing Lucatiel's wounds. Her fingers are controlled, just using enough pressure to get the needle though the flesh as she carefully and with great precision sutures the wound closed. "You will need to take medication for this, dear. Just to ensure that no infections build up here, otherwise it will be painful for you and bothersome for me."
Why create more work for herself, especially boring work like this?
The witch does glance upwards as the cursed woman tilts her head. "Hmmm, yes, that seems like a good spot. If the tissue there is decaying slowly, then that would explain the decreased blood flow." Luckily Medusa stitches quickly, she's nearly done with the biggest cut on Lucatiel's chest.
As for her ties to the Confederacy? The witch smiles softly. "I am~" All in all, she looks amused. "And you know what's the most important to know about me. I am in the Confederacy, I am a nurse... and as some people will tell you, I'm a horrible witch." Somehow it doesn't sound like that fact bother her.

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
When the nurse reveals that she's died once, too, the fencer cocks that milk-white eye at her in evident curiosity; one brow lifting. What? There are others who suffer the curse of undeath? Though the way she mentions it suggests that it's not quite the same thing. The Multiverse is a strange place. Mad, though perhaps in some ways, not quite as mad as Drangleic.

Lucatiel glances down to the suturing work, apparently undisturbed by the sight of her own skin being sewn shut. She's been in some unpleasant situations before. Becoming undead tends to lend one a slightly different perspective on what constitutes 'icky.'

"Yes, of course." She exhales quietly; a breathy half-laugh. "Just because I suffer the curse of undeath does not mean I am reckless, nor that I wish to die. On the contrary. I avoid such a fate where I can." The humour fades from her. "Every death brings me closer to oblivion. Perhaps I may stave it off longer than the average person, but I have no wish to court with it any more than need be necessary." Ironically, because she can keep coming back, she tries to avoid death as much if not more than the average person. Lucatiel's voice quiets. "I do not wish to become Hollow; or to lose my humanity."

A horrible witch? Lucatiel continues watching the nurse, head tilted slightly in evident curiosity.

"That you are with the Confederacy does not matter to me. A witch, though... and what does that mean, exactly? 'Witch' is a common enough term. It seems to mean many things to many more people... especially here, in the Multiverse. It can be the mad old woman in the marketplace, shouting about doomsday. Or it can be the woman who schemes her vengeance on lovers who scorned her, perhaps." The knight's mismatched eyes settle on Medusa, apparently more curious than fearful. "And what of you?"

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
It certainly doesn't look like Medusa suffers from any undeath. She's warm, breathing, no flawed skin to be seen, her eyes full of life... and she doesn't say more, seemingly ignoring that raised eyebrow.
"Of course you do not wish to become Hollow or lose your sense of self, that is quite understandable. Either way, you are still alive. What if you manage to live to old age... what then?" It's a valid question. Eventually Medusa finishes with stitching up the major wound... and then she cuts the thread, putting aside the hooked needle until she plasters a bandage over the stitched wound. Next she begins using medical strips to close the other and smaller wounds. And as she works, she listens to Lucatiel describe the witches of her world. "Oh, I mean it in the literal sense. I am a witch, a person born with innate magic. Or souls are different from those of ordinary people. And well, /some/ witches might be mad, but most of us have better things to do than to shout in marketplaces or scheme vengeance over petty things. Most of us have destructive powers, which is why we are hunted down. But I have managed to evade them for a good while, and here in the multiverse the Confederacy offers me assistance and help should I need it. And I in turn offer my magic, knowledge and experience." With the minor cuts kept together with the strips, Medusa offers a smirk to Lucatiel. "And medical aid to those who need it. My magic I offer only to those whom I have a personal interest in helping~"

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
"If I do not find a means to lift the curse, I will not." Lucatiel shrugs. It doesn't seem to be pessimism so much as a simple statement of fact. "The curse progresses regardless of what I do. Death only encourages it to do its work more... quickly. This has spread in the span of only a few months. I do not expect it to allow me the luxury of old age.

She is patient while Medusa continues her work; never once complaining, and flinching only through reflex when something the nurse does happens to sting. Her reactions suggest acclimation to physical pain. This Lucatiel of Mirrah is clearly no stranger to battle.

"Hm. I have seen my fair share of those, as well. Many are knights. There is only one way up in Mirrah: Join the order, and prove yourself in battle. Many do just that." She shows a fleeting smile, blade-thin. "I had done the same."

Lucatiel's head tilts very faintly when Medusa mentions her soul is different. For a brief instant she seems to think on that for a few seconds, evidently dismissing whatever it was she'd been considering, listening intently once more.

The smirk is returned with a bland expression. If she has any judgement to pass on the witch, she isn't showing it.

"Or those poor souls whom you wish to study," she adds. There's no self-pity in the statement. Maybe a little resignation, though. She seems to know exactly what she's signing up for. "Yes, I will offer you the opportunity to study this curse, and I ask that you do what you feel necessary, but not without conditions."

One forefinger rises. "I will be treated with respect. I am a Knight of Mirrah, and I am not so desperate yet as to sacrifice my dignity." Her second finger rises. "Whatever cure you find, I ask that it be made freely available. No one has any wish to cease existing this way."

"Those are my terms," she says evenly, mismatched eyes fixing on Medusa.

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
"So this curse does progress whether or not you die... I understand." Medusa nods as she finishes up treating the cuts and wounds. And the fact that Lucatiel cooperates and handles pain easily makes it far easier for the nurse. When she's done she gives a nod, then gets up from her chair. "I am glad to hear that you have proven yourself then, dear. Some of us prefer to do things our own way however." And Medusa even did things different from other witches.
For now she is busy gathering some other syringes, a scalpel and some small vials. The accusation though makes her chuckle. "If you do not study, then you do not learn. And that would have made my existence rather boring after all these centuries..." she sighs, plucking a wrapped set from the cupboards. When conditions are are mentioned, she does glance over her shoulder back at Lucatiel. And when those two conditions have been voiced out loud, she smiles warmly. "Of course. I always treat my patients with respect~" With items in hand she walks over to Lucatiel again, sitting down. "The cure might take a little while to make." She is a busy woman after all with many things to do.

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
"It does." Lucatiel inclines her head slightly, regarding Medusa with evident curiosity. "Why do you think I seek a cure? It would be another matter entirely if the curse did not do its work on its own. But it does. Death merely speeds it along."

The knight's head tilts, regarding Medusa with evident placidity. If the prospect of the unpleasant potentialities to come disturbs Lucatiel at all, she hides it very well.

"I understand." This is given simply enough, in a bland tone. "I have spent these months searching on my own. I do not expect it to be instantaneous, as much as that might be preferable. Such things do not happen overnight." She reaches up, absently rubbing at one forearm with the opposite hand, as though cold, or perhaps self-conscious, though she hadn't seemed such up until this point. Maybe it's just a nervous gesture.

She looks over to the equipment again, before glancing back at Medusa. "Actually, the reason I entered the tourney was to search for my brother. He is called Aslatiel of Mirrah; he is a greater knight than I am, and would be wearing the same attire. I don't suppose you've seen his like here...?"

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
No, the woman's reasons for seeking a cure do make sense, and Medusa merely nods, the matter clear. Instead she focuses on preparing the new items. A scalpel. A small needle and several vials to connect to the needle. Bandages. several test tubes. Disinfectant.
"I am sad to say that I have not seen anybody like you nor heard of your breather before. But if I do learn anything, I will let you know on your private frequency, okay~?" The nurse smiles encouragingly. "Now... I would like to take some blood and tissue samples. Tilt your head back so I can get to the veins, please~?" Somehow she seems a bit eager to get these tests done with. But even so, Medusa is careful. She disinfects the Lucatiel pointed to earlier, then manages to find a vein that she stabs gently with the needle, then connects the vials onto it so they will be filled with various blood samples. "Now I will take some tissue samples. Keep your head like this..." she cautions Lucatiel before she readies her scalpel, scraping off some of the top layers of skin into one of the small test tubes.

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
"I would be appreciative, Nurse." Lucatiel tilts her head back as indicated, baring her throat. There are a few tendrils of rot that have begun to round the curve around her jawline and creep down the skin of her throat, but none of them have quite reached the collarbone yet. Interestingly, it almost seems like a spiral pattern in how it spreads, with clear curves.

And then she's stabbed with a needle yet again, but as before, the knight offers no complaint other than the tightening of jaw muscles.

When the scalpel's turned onto the ridged skin of her face, she does flinch this time, though she doesn't make a sound. Just like the syringe she just sets her jaw muscles, working those until her teeth creak instead of making any noise. Medusa might not be taking very much, but that scalpel /is/ pretty sharp.

"What do you intend to do with these?" Lucatiel's tone is a little odd; mostly because she's being very, very careful not to move while she speaks. Having that scalpel go awry and cut something that's not supposed to be cut wouldn't really be fun times.

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
What a silly question. "I intend to analyze them, them of course. Figure out exactly what's happened to you. If there is anything here to cause the decay, if it's a natural reason or if it's caused by something else," Medusa says calmly as she puts the scalpel aside after getting enough flakes of skin. Her hand picks up another syringe, and she cants her head slightly as she oh so carefully sticks it into the flesh underneath Lucatiel's jaw, drawing out some tissue there. Once that is done, she smiles and reaches up to pat the woman's cheek. "There we go. Put your shirt on. Keep those bandages dry. I will find some medication for you. Take it four times a day while those wounds heal up."

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
Hailing from a world where ritualistic and sympathetic magic are pretty real (or at least pretty well possible), things like tissue samples can be powerful spell reagents in the right hands. Makes them good ingredients for working creepy stuff... so a little curiosity about their fate isn't too bad an idea, right?

The knight is careful once more to remain stone-still when another needle is poked in the general vicinity of her jaw; having that thing go awry and stab something important would be bad, so she understands the value of Not Moving.

Having her cheek patted elicits a flat, borderline unhappy look. Kind of like what a cat dumped into a barrel of water might look like. Apparently Lucatiel is a bit like a cat, and close or affectionate to people on her own terms... and aloof with strangers.

Hmph.

Swinging her legs off the table, Lucatiel retrieves her bloodied silk shirt, inspecting it with a frown and a heavy sigh. Mirrah silk isn't cheap, and it's a shame to see it tattered so. Still, it protects modesty well enough, and she'll worry about finding a replacement (one that isn't bloodstained) later. fFastening the toggles, she glances over at mention of medication.

Hopefully the curse doesn't do weird things to medication. The art of medicine is relatively good in Mirrah; better than in a tumbledown ruin of a kingdom like Drangleic, anyway. Lucatiel's manner suggests she'll probably make a star patient; with patience and adherence to instruction.

She shrugs into her armour next, buckling the ornamented leather cuirass into place, shifting it slightly to make sure it's resting correctly. The pauldrons come next, one arm at a time, tested to ensure they're not loose. "We shall see if I return after the next bracket. I did not expect to complete this one; Onikaze Kenshin is an impressive swordsman, and I had my doubts."

Last comes the hat, one hand raking stray strands of hair out of her face while the other sets the hat onto her head. It casts a deep shadow over her features, and the rot-ravaged side of her face seems especially dark -- but the milk-white eye that peers out is too pale, too bright; almost luminous, even as Lucatiel raises the mask and fastens it into place.

Back to the anonymous Masked Knight once more.

"I would appreciate your discretion regarding my appearance and identity." The head cocks slightly; that hat's large black plume quivers faintly at the movement. Why? She never quite explains that.

The Masked Knight pauses at the doorway, glancing sidelong, enough that she might be eyeing Medusa obliquely from beneath that mask. "Thank you."

And with that, she turns to leave, provided the witch doesn't stop her.

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
As Lucatiel busies herself with getting properly dressed again, Medusa sets the samples aside on her desk, then heads over to her medical cabinet and unlocks it, searching through the many bottles and containers there. Apparently she has something already in mind for her patient, and it doesn't take her many seconds to find the right bottle she was looking for. "Two pills four times a day until your wounds are closed and dry," Medusa informs her when she hands over the bottle once Lucatiel is done putting on all of her clothes and armor. "Let us hope you do not need my help after your next fight, dear," she chuckles amiably with a practiced smile on her face. "And of course. I do not share information about my patients unless it's important for them to know. Your name and true self are safe. I hardly see why anybody else should know~"
For now though, things have been taken care of, and she has samples to test. So the witch offers a polite nod of her head. "I wish you good luck in your next fight, Sir Knight~" Just to show that she will treat Lucatiel differently in this guise. That her secret is safe. For now at least.

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
Lucatiel stops in the doorway, taking the pill bottle when it's offered to her and examining it briefly. Plastic is still a strange new substance she's getting used to, though it definitely has its advantages over glass. The bottle is tucked into a pouch at her belt, but probably not forgotten.

When reassured that her identity is safe, the Masked Knight gives a faint nod, plumes (and the very large black plume) atop her hat bobbing at the movement.

Why should anyone else know? She folds her arms, cocking her head at Medusa.

"Because it's none of their business," the woman answers simply.

At mention of luck, she looks back over her shoulder again, and gives one of those odd, breathless little laughs again. Some might find it creepy. Probably not the nurse, but a few people in the waiting room give the mystery knight the fish-eye and scootch back in their seats a little. (Come to think of it, she'd had a pretty big berth of empty space around her while she was waiting.)

"Indeed. Thank you, Nurse."

And with that, she strides off, losing herself (though not completely, thanks to that long hat-plume) in the crowds of the tourney grounds beyond.