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You say "Ela? It's Clara...I'm sorry to bother. Are you busy, by any chance?" into the communit.
Your communit crackles to life and blares "Hello Clara, no, no I'm not. I'm on a break between half-shifts at work. How may I help you." in Elasia's voice.
You say "Actually...gosh, I hate to ask this, but I sort of need a favor. Remember how we'd talked about me learning a bit about cooking from you? Life sort of went haywire after that...but I was hoping we could maybe set up a time to just spend an hour puttering in a kitchen." into the communit.
Your communit crackles to life and blares "*chuckle* That sounds like a great deal of fun actually. I've the time now, certainly. Anything in particular you'd like to cook?" in Elasia's voice.
You say "Really? Ela, you're the best. I haven't a clue, actually. *laugh* I know what I like to eat, and haven't a clue how any of it's prepared. Should I meet you upstairs, or did you want to come down to our quarters?" into the communit.
Your communit crackles to life and announces "Do you have much of a kitchen?" in Elasia's voice.
You say "Ummm...we -have- a kitchen. I think it has all the normal kitchen stuff. Like a stove and all that? And we have a microwave. Neither of us has had a chance to do more than nuke fast food or make tea since we moved in, though." into the communit.
Your communit crackles to life and blares "Why don't why try up here then," Ela chuckles quietly, "I have pans and all that, and a decent sized kitchen." in Elasia's voice.
You say "Gotcha...what should I bring with me?" into the communit.
Your communit crackles to life and says "Um, just yourself and clothing you don't terribly mind getting something on." in Elasia's voice.
You say "This I can do. I'll be up in a few moments after I change." into the communit.
You knock on a door.
Elasia calls, "Come on in, beware the kitten."
[travel to Niko and Ela's snipped]
Elasia is standing in the kitchen area, which is indeed rather large. She's attempting to slice a pan of brownies into neat squares. Offering a wave and a smile she turns away, toweling her hands crumbless. "Hi. It's nice to have you up when you're not here to put Niko back together."
The door sliding shut behind her, Clara is already scanning the floor for said kitten, eyes wide with delight. "Oh, that's -right-. I'd forgotten about the kitten." She heads over towards the kitchen, eyes widening more. "I'd say this is bigger than our kitchen, oh yeah. A lot. And you have made something chocolate. That's -evil-, Ela," she teases with a grin. "It's nice to visit without someone being broken."
Offering the plate of brownies, Ela grins. "Niko conned me into making some for the people he works with, I decided I wanted some as well. Would you like one?" She nods with a bright grin, "Scutter would be the small butterscotch colored purr-demon over there by the couch eyeing your shoelaces."
Clara looks decidedly tempted, then bites her lower lip and shakes her head. "Thanks all the same, but just smelling them is good enough." She blinks over at the kitten, then chuckles. "I'll wear my combat boots next time, then. Big floppy laces."
Elasia settles the plate aside, nodding. "Would you like something to drink perhaps?" She goes to rummage in a drawer, hauling out a thick and well tormented cookbook and a small carved wooden box.
Clara leans against a counter, watching with definite interest. "A glass of water, perhaps? I've enough adrenalin going right now, caffeine would have me bouncing off your walls. The box is lovely," she adds.
Elasia snags a glass from one cabinent, adding ice and water before proffering it with a smile. "Thank you, it was a gift from Niko's gigia. I am somewhat daunted by the gift I will admit. She's supposed to be an amazing cook indeed." She settles both box and cookbook on the counter, grinning. "Rule number one. If you can read, you can cook." There's a pause and another sunny smile, "Although practice does help too. Most of it though is just following instructions."
Clara accepts the glass with a murmurs of thanks, taking a sip as her eyes roam over various parts of the kitchen as if seeing them for the first time. Truth to tell, it's likely the first time she's ever really -looked- at them. "I can read," she promises, a grin quirking. "And follow instructions. That's how I've had to do a few surgeries, a few years ago."
Elasia flips through the cookbook, neat brows slightly lowered as she considers it. "Hrrm, any preferences? Pasta? Chicken? Stew? I'd suggest something from Hellas, but it might be best to start with something you're more familiar with."
Clara's eyes alight at the various mentions before her brow furrows in bemusement. "Well, that's a really good question. See, I'd like to learn something I can make for Riley when he gets home tonight. He'll have had a hard enough day as it is, and I'd rather not have fast food again. And something from Hellas is fine," she adds amiably. "I've learned to eat anything since joining the military, and the anything's from y'all's culture are just heavenly."
Elasia considers this a moment, one tennis shoed foot tapping thoughtfully. Yes, it's Scutter-torture. "Lemon-chicken pasta maybe? It's easy enough, but terribly tasty. And..." She flashes a grin, "I happen to have the stuff for it here."
Clara nods in pleased cheer, setting her water on the counter. "That sounds terrific, actually. Not only that, it sounds like something they'd make back home. So it's what...just pasta and chicken with lemon on it?" Eager she is, but dumb as a brick when it comes to food preparation.
Elasia rummages in the fridge, grinning back up at you. "Just about. Although there's some more stuff involved too so as to get the sauce and all. You'll see. And I'll make a copy of the recipe for you as well." Snagging a packet of chicken, some lemons, milk, that kind of thing...she settles these things on the counter in front of you, and then goes to haul dry goods from the cabinets. Then she goes to the book, flipping to the appropriate page. "Okay. The first trick is to read the whole recipe through from start to finish -before- you start."
Clara's brows scoot up at the plethora of ingredients as she nods distractedly. "That makes perfect sense. I'd not want to start an operation without knowing the whole procedure from incision to closeup either." She edges over to attempt to peer at the recipe. "That's all? It's only a page long..." she observes, astonished.
Elasia grins at the astonishment, "Cooking is really far easier than it sounds, promise. Just a page." She glances at the recipe, pulling down appropriate pans, getting everything set up. "It also helps to go ahead and set the pasta on, the chicken doesn't take long, but it takes a while for the water to boil." She sets a large pot of water on, "And the rest, you get to do."
Clara continues to read through the recipe, then blinks at the various pans in thought. "You put the pasta on first so it'll be done at the same time as everything else? So it doesn't get cold? What happens if you have to reheat the pasta?" The last comment gets another set of wide green eyes. "Me? All -right-!" she exclaims, thrilled.
Elasia explains amiably, "You don't hafta' reheat the pasta. It's cheating, but just dump the hot food and sauce on top and it'll be warm. If you do try...well it gets kind of gummy." She grins at the enthusiasm, "I'll just stand over here and make unhelpful comments."
Clara blinks for a moment, then laughs, shaking her head. "Of course, heat conduction. Pasta's lightweight, high surface area." She pauses for a moment to peer at the recipe again. "Um...julienne the chicken? Who's julienne?"
Elasia doesn't profess to exactly comprehend the science of it, but she's game and amused. "It means to cut it into strips. Kind of french fry shaped." She leans back against the counter, out of the way. "You hafta be careful with chicken, and wash your hands afterwards. Salmonella's nasty stuff after all."
Clara selects a knife, holding it up to the light briefly to check the edge as she would with a scalpel, then nods and sets a chicken breast to a cutting board. "Strips. Narrow ones...how hard can it be?" Fortunately, she has had experience with cutting similar substances, and manages to incision neat slices while nodding. "Salmonella, botulism, dysentery, diverticulitus...none of it's pleasant. I would imagine washing your hands between dealing with either meat or vegetable would be smart? And the cutting surfaces?"
Elasia nods to this, watching you closely. "Exactly. This is a lot easier than teaching my sister was. Maybe I should've insisted she get a medical degree first."
Clara snickers, eyes still on the chicken being mutilated and hand rock-steady. "It helps, I think. And I don't even have to anesthetize this before hacking into it." Chicken appropriate julienned, she scoots it off onto a plate and moves to wash both cutting board, knife, and her hands in water hot enough to steam, not really seeming to notice much. "Now...uh.." Uh-oh. Train wreck. She's lost.
"Now back to the recipe. You want to add the lemon juice and the dollop of oil and all the spices to the pan and let it heat up. That'll end up being your sauce, and you'll cook the chicken in it." Elasia tucks her hands into her pockets. "So far you're doing much better than I did at first. I learned from the vid, and I didn't think of taping the shows at first."
Clara's gaze flickers up as that hits her. "The vid? They have holos on this?" Not something she'd ever thought of, obviously. Hefting one lemon, she regards it solemnly, then dutifully slices it in half. The proper amount of oil goes into the skillet with the spices...although she sniffs the garlic, grins, and dumps in a little more stealthily. A lemon half is picked up, regarded again, then shaken over the skillet. "It's broken, I think," she announces, frowning at it.
"You've never watched cooking shows?" Elasia asks, sounding a bit puzzled. "They're really a great way to learn if there's nobody to show..." She trails off at your attempts, and cannot stifle a laugh. She takes up the other half, squeezing it and adding a twist to send the juice into the pan. She snags the seeds carefully. "I apologize, I shouldn't laugh. You have to squeeze it."
The squeezing gets a bland stare for a moment before Clara starts to laugh as well and squeezes her own half. "Hello, and welcome to can't see the forest for the trees. That just made too much sense," she decides, then scans the stove, hunting for the controls before pressing one. High. Very high. Popping oil high.
Elasia erks softly, shaking her head slightly. "No, see, the recipe says medium, you're going to want to turn that down or you're going to end up burning the oil, and the chicken as well." Elasia steps back, resisting the urge to adjust the dial for you.
Clara doesn't panic, at least, and merely nods and studies the controls a moment more before turning down the heat. "I guess it won't just get done faster if we turn up the temperature?"
Elasia shakes her head, grinning, "Well, it'd get -done-. But it wouldn't really be -edible-. When they say blackened chicken, that's not what they mean. Until you're comfortable with it, it's best to stick with the recipe. Then you can play around. Except with baking. It's really important when you're baking to measure exactly, and follow the directions without fail."
"What happens if you don't follow the directions in baking?" Clara asks absently, regarding the recipe again before dumping in the chicken to the oil and splattering herself. She blinks down at her sweater, then smirks. "Ah. Object lesson just learned. Stir?" she asks, peering at the recipe again. "It's chicken, not tea. How do you stir it?"
Elasia decides this is probably one of those things best demonstrated. Stepping forward she takes up a wooden spoon, gently stirring the pan's contents. "Stirring's something of a misnomer, it's more like concerted poking." She then proffers the spoon to you. "In baking...well your cake could fall flat. Or be gummy, the consistency is very important."
Clara takes the spoon and copies your motions, somewhat jerkily at first, then gaining confidence. "Flat cake isn't good, no. Nor is gummy. Unless it's chocolate...anything chocolate is perfect by definition." The water gets a glance. "When does the pasta go in the water?"
"When it starts boiling," As the water does so, Ela adds the package of penne pasta. "The instructions are on the back of the box. They're very kind people. I'd've never managed to learn otherwise. My mother certainly can't cook, or at least if she can, she never had the time."
Clara ahs with obvious relief. "Instructions are a wondrous thing. Honestly?" And yes, she blushes here. "I've never even read a cookbook before. Niles kept his locked up at home, and we didn't need them in the Academy." She pauses, eyes widening at the chicken as she stirs it again. "It's changing color...how do you know when it's done?"
"When it looks like chicken you would eat instead of something rather disturbing," Elasia offers, "The recipe usually specifies. In this case, you want it to be golden brown."
Clara scans the bottom bit of the recipe, dutifully poking at the chicken. "Nearly there, then. And then, the pasta gets out of the water...uh...how? -Surely- not one piece at a time?" she asks hopefully.
"No, goodness, not. That'd take forever." Elasia snags the colander, settling it in the sink. "You dump it into that, then run a little cold water over the drained pasta to keep it from sticking to itself."
Clara sighs with relief, then seems at a loss for a moment before snapping off the heat under the chicken. "Okay, that's done. How can you tell when the pasta's done? Can it get overcooked? Like if all the water evaporates?"
"It can get overcooked very easily, it's one of those things you have to time." Elasia's watch chimes gently. "That for example, would be the time."
"Ooh, it's timed? That's -helpful-," Clara exclaims, snapping off the heat under the pasta and unceremoniously dumping it all into the colander, splashing herself again. "Uh-huh. Gotta learn not to do that," she mutters, then runs it under cold water. Or starts to...before her comm unit blares at her urgently, words like 'stat' and 'inflamed' spouting forth. "Oooh, -bother-." She peers over with a profusely apologetic look. "Ela...they need me down there. I'm so sorry about this," she adds, giving the food an almost panicked look.
Elasia shakes her head, moving in to relieve you of the colander. "Don't worry, I understand. Go ahead, I'll take care of this. You'd finished anyhow. Congratulations."
Clara actually hesitates at that, eyes widening. "It's...done?" The food gets another look, this one astonished. "I did?" A brilliant smile grows to accompany the faint panic as she releases the colander. "I can't thank you enough...Oh, I'll have to-..." The comm blares again and gets a gust of sigh. "Oh, all -right-. I'm coming, I'm coming. Thanks again, Ela!" she calls, dashing at full tilt out the door.
You leave the room, pulling the door shut behind you.
[A few hours pass here as Clara goes off to perform some sort of surgery or another]
DIPLO> Tarrant walks here from the Central Atrium.
DIPLO> Tarrant comes limping in. Well, he always limps, but now he's -really- limping. He seems intent on reaching his way to the nondescript and unmarked office doors near the far end of the hall. Well, on that and on scanning the hallway itself, searching for something or another.
DIPLO> Corian is absorbed in her portable terminal, though there seems to be a hint of distraction about her manner. Maybe it's that distraction that causes her to look up and glance about the room, gaze eventually settling on you. She blinks, a hint of alarm touching her features, but is fairly unobtrusive as she makes her way to your side. "Van'chela," she says quietly, "You need medical attention."
DIPLO> And bingo, that would have been the other thing Tarrant was searching out. "Corian," he sounds exceptionally relieved, pausing in his halting trek. "Needed to find you first. I was going to ask where you..." He shakes his head, forcibly pulling himself back to the subject at hand. "I found out..." There's a quick glance around and then Tarrant lowers his voice. "Sarducci, you have heard the name?"
DIPLO> Corian inclines her head, though she really seems more concerned about your current condition than anything else. "I have, yes," she replies, voice equally quiet. "Van'chela, whatever it is, it can wait until someone has seen your foot."
DIPLO> Tarrant blinks several times, perhaps taking a moment to register and comprehend this. "Are you sure?" He does not seem to be objecting, merely requesting an answer. "This's important, hasta' be."
DIPLO> Corian inclines her head, reaching as if to offer a bit of support. "I am quite sure. You can tell me later, whatever it is. Please."
DIPLO> Tarrant seems willing to accept support, it was an adventure getting this far. Medbay's even further. "Okay, later. Maybe tell Dr. Aleron, if I can think of a way. She'd care too. Just gotta leave bits out. Yeah, bits out."
DIPLO> Corian carefully slips an arm around you to help you out of the hallway, meeting a few curious looks with a pleasant smile, as if this sort of thing happens to her every day. "There's more than enough time to determine what to tell her, van'chela," she urges quietly. "Let us concentrate on getting upstairs first, yes?"
Corian arrives from the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.
Tarrant arrives from the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.
Despite a limp off his left leg, Tarrant walks as if he is perennially on stage, ever observed. He isn't a short man, but neither is he excessively tall. He is wiry of build, but not so much so that he could be termed skinny. Rich auburn-brown hair is combed back into a slightly old-fashioned cut, too long to be corporate, too short to be daring. Intense eyes of a grayish-green lurk beneath neatly aristocratic brows. His facial features are almost upper-class, although a great deal of that is because of how he carries himself. He moves with a swagger and dramatic bearing. His voice has a distinct drawl, a purred tone to it, although he is still comprehensible.
Tarrant is dressed in his usual archaic style, but perhaps a bit more practically than usual. He wears a shorter tailed jacket of non-descript deep brown over a white button-down of combed cotton. The collar of the shirt is high, and held shut by a simple silver-toned clasp. Dark blue jeans fall to single turn cuffs over square-toed boots of a rich deep brown.
Tarrant appears to have tangled with something larger than he is . . . like maybe a mountain. His clothing is dirty and stained, and small rips are located here and there. What exposed skin is visible is obviously mottled with bruising. The cuffs of both pantlegs are torn and stained with rust. He is leaning on a singly curved strip of wood as a cane, unsurprising as his left foot appears to be hanging at an angle that is not just awkward, but would seem to be impossible. His complexion is decidedly gray in hue.
Clara is standing by the door into the operating room, discussing something quietly with Kramer. Both doctor and nurse are attired in scrubs, although in an unhurried, post-operative manner. At the sight of the pair coming in, she starts a half-smiled greeting that is rapidly replaced by brisk concern as she strides forward. "Let's get over to the bioscan. Kramer? Start a pint of synthplasma."
Tarrant looks somewhat relieved as he recognizes the floor tile of medbay. He's concentrating on the ground you see, as the ground is what has to be traversed. Traversing is not altogether simple some days. As the new direction is indicated he sets about heading that way with a vague nod.
Corian's concern is hardly brisk, but still very much present, despite her pasted-on pleasant smile. She quietly urges Tarrant towards the bioscan bed, one arm still carefully bracing him.
Clara moves to Tarrant's other side, brow furrowing considerably until he's safely resting on the bioscan's bedding. She automatically checks the bed's readings while snatching up her scanner. "What happened? General overview," she adds.
Oh dear, now see here's the part where Tarrant has to come up with something coherent to say that doesn't give anything away really. "My foot was hung up in something, getting it out did not work as planned." Well, that's vague hopefully. He sounds a lot more coherent now that he's lying down than he did when upright.
Clara's eyes are glued to the scanner as she moves it along the length of Tarrant's body, then nods at Kramer to hook up the IV while she continues down towards the left ankle. She sucks in a soft breath, holding up a hand to Kramer. "Scalpel." He slaps said instrument in her hand, repeating the word, and she slits the pants to the knee along a tear. "I'll say it did. If you were a groom at a wedding, I'd say you were trying to get out of the old ball and chain."
Corian moves around to the other side of the bioscan bed, still very obviously worried. There's enough puzzlement in her gaze, though, as to suggest that -she- doesn't know what happened. Maybe that's why she's remaining quiet.
"Something like that," Tarrant can't quite stifle a vaguely amused chuckle at that, eyes closing as he stifles the urge to explain it was attached to the wall instead. They don't remain closed for more than several beats however as he tugs them open to watch the proceedings and give Corian a questioning look. "About what I was saying?"
Corian says quietly, tone rather soothing, "It can wait, van'chela. There is plenty of time to explain it. It can wait until the doctor is finished, yes?"
Clara continues her examination quietly, occasionally murmuring a request to Kramer as the pair go about initial triage. A hiss indicates a hypo going in just above the break before Clara looks up solemnly, Kramer already holding Tarrant's leg at the knee. "Mr. Czolgosz? I just gave you an anesthetic. I need you to hold on now...this has to be set."
Tarrant does not seem certain about the fact, delivering this information has been his driving goal for a while now, but he nods. At Clara's statement he nods, "Gotcha', I'm not goin' anywhere ma'am."
Corian casts a brief glance at Clara, then rests her hand lightly on Tarrant's, murmuring something soothing in, perhaps, an attempt to distract. Right.
"On three," is Clara's quiet comment to Kramer. "One, two, three." Both fractures are yanked deftly into alignment as Clara clenches her jaw at the effort exerted, then exhales a sigh of relief as she runs fingers over the area. "Good. Very good. Regenerator, please."
Thank goodness for anesthetic, but Tarrant still ends up a further shade of gray. He has had better days than this, that's for sure. Corian's presence does however seem to provide something of a distraction, although what variety is perhaps debatable.
Corian winces in decided sympathy, her hand tightening gently on Tarrant's. Her gaze flicks to Clara for a moment before resting, finally, on Tarrant's face.
Clara seems to want this repaired as quickly as possible, trading quiet comments concerning internal hemorrhaging into the muscles in Latin terminology. Stringing electrodes in the pertinent places, she finally covers the ankle with the felt pad. "One last time, sir. This time the regenerator." Corian gets a look of gratitude before she nods at Kramer. "One, two, three." Zzzap. Double zzap, actually.
Tarrant does not pass out, although it is a near thing indeed. He had closed his eyes against impending be-zapdom, and it is a while before he ventures to open them, as they had been wrenched quite tightly shut at the regenerator's use. "Thanks," he manages rather raggedly, eyes moving from Clara to Corian.
Corian gently lifts her hand to smooth Tarrant's hair, a hint of a wince still in her gray eyes. She smiles, though, with a murmur that might, in some language, be 'you're welcome'. Her gaze shifts back to Clara, concern pushing to the forefront once more.
Clara is already running the scanner over the repaired area, then sighs with unfeigned relief. "Excellent." She moves to the side of the bed to let Kramer undo the electrodes, resting her fingers on Tarrant's arm. "It's going to be fine," she assures both him and Corian. "There's no damage to the musculature, and the breaks healed nicely."
"Very much appreciated, Dr. Aleron," Tarrant murmurs, wiggling the foot experimentally. "I've done enough damage to that leg a'ready, I'm glad to know I didn't do more."
Corian straightens slowly, offering Clara a smile. "Yes, thank you, Clara," she says quietly. "Your help is most appreciated."
Clara can't suppress a smile at that, glancing back down. "Hey, now. Don't move it just yet, all right? Actually, I'd rather you didn't even walk on it for a while. I'm going to cast it up for four days to be safe...-because- of the prior injury and improper healing," she adds in gentle admonishment, then nods at Corian. "It's what I'm here for."
Tarrant winces somewhat at the mention of a cast, that is after all, likely to slow him down. Tarrant only has two settings, 'going' and 'asleep'. Slow is not normal for him. "Not walking on it a while," for a half beat it is as if he is likely to object, but he merely murmurs, "Check."
Corian, as she knows Tarrant well enough to judge what he will and won't find objectionable, goes rather still until he acquiesces. "Don't worry, van'chela," she says pleasantly. "I am sure that you'll be able to stay busy." After a brief pause, she adds, "I can keep you company for some of the time, if you like, to keep you from getting too bored."
Clara merely nods and crouches down, the sound of an opening cabinet and rummaging coming from the far side of the bioscan as she arranges the supplies for the cast, doing her best fade routine to allow the other two to talk.
Tarrant does not perk up too visibly at Corian's suggestion, although the hint of it is there. He is -trying- to behave after all. "Busy I don't think'll be too much of a problem, considering recent events."
"Which you can explain later," Corian replies smoothly, after a brief glance around the area.
Clara goes about molding the clay type substance into place around a cloth sleeve over the newly regenerated ankle, still expressionlessly silent as she concentrates on her work.
Tarrant murmurs quiet agreement, careful to hold the leg, and hence the ankle, as still as possible so as not to interfere with Clara's work. "Yeah, gotcha'. Sure."
Corian absently straightens a rumple in Tarrant's jacket, though the straightening likely doesn't do much for the overall effect. "Do you need to get a message to anyone?" she inquires, expression thoughtful.
Clara finally touches a wand-line instrument to the cast, which hardens instantly in response. Rising, she dusts off her hands and offers a warm smile. "All done. Now, we'll let this synthplas circulate a few moments more to restore any blood loss from all the bruising, and you can go home and get some rest," she offers, then moves away again to work on a chart.
Tarrant starts to answer Corian's question, but then his brows drop. "Maybe not, it might not be the best." He blinks at Clara, nodding slightly and murmuring his thanks.
Corian glances after Clara, with a nod and an echo of Tarrant's thank you. A faint smile crosses her lips before she turns back to Tarrant, with a nod. "As you wish, van'chela. You know the situation, after all."
"Actually," Tarrant says softly, looking rather ruefully amused. "That's the problem. I don't. If I did, I'd know who to send a message to, and who not to."
Clara jots notes in a chart at the counter still, her left hand coming up absently to finally pull her skullcap off and release her hair, curls spiraling out in irritation.
Corian's brows lift at that. "Ah," she says quietly. There's another brief glance about the area, and then she shakes her head, murmuring quietly, "Later." Voice still rather quiet, she adds, "You will tell me if there is anything I can do, yes, van'chela?"
Tarrant nods simply to the question, the un-IVd hand shifting up to check the chest pocket of his coat in a fumbled gesture. "Yeah, will do. Right now I'm not sure about what all needs doing. Hoped you might, or know somebody who would."
Clara finally folds the chart shut and returns to undo the IV line gently. "Okay, that's about it. You'll like feel like you were hit by a shuttle for a day or two, but it'll pass. Can you handle crutches, or would you prefer a wheelchair? And is there anything else I can help with?"
Corian blinks at Tarrant's statement, a baffled expression crossing her face. She shakes her head, but edits whatever it is she was going to say as Clara approaches once more, offering a smile instead.
Tarrant shifts slowly to sit upright, testing his balance carefully as he moves. "I can manage crutches, like as not, ma'am. Should be easier to get around that way, hmm?" He doesn't explain his comment to Corian, perhaps still gone enough to think it doesn't need explaining. After all, -he- comprehends it. "You've been an awful lot of help, I can't thank ya' enough."
Clara starts to turn to go and find crutches, only to come face flush with a pair being held out by Kramer. She grins ruefully and turns back to help Tarrant up. "No need to thank me, sir. Any friend of Corian's is a friend of mine. It's what I'm here for. Corian? Will you be assisting Mr. Czolgosz to his quarters, and do you need help?"
Corian glances briefly at Tarrant, then says smoothly, "I will be, yes. And I believe I can manage on my own."
With assistance, Tarrant manages upright, and sliding from the biobed to stand upright, all his weight on his good foot. He offers Corian a brief, unreadable look, and then sets about concentrating on his footing again.
Clara accepts the crutches from Kramer and moves them to a usable place for Tarrant, smiling warmly. "There you go. You comm me if you have any problems or questions, all right? I even make house calls if properly bribed."
Corian moves around the biobed to stand at Tarrant's side as he rises, hand moving in an arrested movement towards him as he gets his footing. His unreadable look is returned with a quick smile, which is extended towards Clara, a glint of amusement edging out the worry for a moment.
Tarrant slides onto the crutches with a head-nod by way of bow to Clara. "My thanks again." He grins perhaps a bit sheepishly, "Four days you said?"
Clara nods once, stepping back and folding her arms as she offers a pleasant smile. "Mm-hmm. A blink of an eye in the grand scheme. And let me know if it so much as starts to itch so I can fix it. I'm not one to submit my patients to four days of torture, despite what Corian's brother says. I'm lots nicer than that," she adds with a grin at the other woman.
Corian's brows lift at that, though she does chuckle at Clara's words. "If Riley says that, perhaps you should shoot him some more, cha'leket. It is good for the soul to be hit with foam discs, you see."
Tarrant settles onto the crutches gingerly, nodding. "If it itches, call, check." At the mention of foam discs he brightens, glancing to Corian, "Foam discs as in those from the toy store?"
Clara holds her hand in the shape of a gun and blows across the finger tip, slouching into a swaggering stance and looking smug. "Unloaded a whole clip at him yesterday. I nearly have him browbeaten into agreeing to his yearly physical." She adds a grin and nod at Tarrant. "Wonderful, wonderful things."
Corian nods to Tarrant as well. "I thought they would make good gifts for Riley and Clara," she informs him, expression innocent. Clara's news earns her a pleased smile. "Excellent. Then I can be content in the knowledge that my gifts are being put to good use."
Tarrant nods to Corian, looking decidedly amused. "Seems they did make a good gift then, yeah." He chuckles quietly, assessing travel options.
Clara steps back out of the way to allow such travel, grinning. "Fantastic gifts. Now, get a shower, get some food, and get some rest, Mr. Czolgosz. You'll feel like a new man in the morning."
Corian moves to Tarrant's side, far enough to avoid hindering the crutch movements, but close enough to make an attempt to prevent a fall, should the crutches prove to be troublesome. "Thank you for all your help, Clara," she repeats, with a warm smile.
Tarrant nods to the advice, offering a somewhat ragged grin. "Yes'm. I shall look forward to this random becoming of another individual." He attempts a wink, although it doesn't quite come off. "Thank you again." He starts forward, unsteady at first but managing better as he nears the door.
Clara laughs appreciatively, shaking her head as she makes her way back over to Kramer to finish the discussion they'd been having earlier.
Tarrant heads towards the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.
Corian heads towards the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.
2FLOOR> Tarrant makes his way towards the elevators, careful of the crutch-tips on the glossy marble.
2FLOOR> Corian prompts gently, remaining a step away, "Van'chela, your quarters are on this floor. The elevator is unnecessary."
2FLOOR> Tarrant blinks several times, looking somewhat confused. He nods somewhat, shifting direction to head down the correct hallway.
2FLOOR> Tarrant heads towards the General Housing Hub.
2FLOOR> Corian heads towards the General Housing Hub.
Clara and Kramer each break out a can of silly string and take cover behind separate desks, firing shots across Medbay at each other. And you wondered what medics did in their spare time.
Someone in the peanut gallery throws confetti.