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Support Services First Aid Station at Caritas: Saturday Daytime

Don't ask why Francine's hair was still wet when she got there. Just.... don't.

Just come on in if you need a safe place to get away from the gremlins (or the pie rain if you got caught in any late-breaking showers), minor patching up, a re-fuel before you head out into the mess again, or someone to slap you upside the head and tell you to get yourself to the damn clinic already. (And possibly escort you there.)

[OOC: Open! OCD up! Support people are welcome to join in the band-aiding and food-handing-out too - or anyone else who feels like volunteering. Also, your regularly scheduled Caritas drinking and schmoozing post will be up in the evening as usual. This one's separate.]

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"Lounge chair wouldn't hurt you either, you know," Francine answered while giving Merlin's hand the look that she wasn't about to give his face. You know, the oh yeah, THAT'S a concussion look.

"He has cuts on his back," Merlin whispered to her. "He won't say anything because he thinks he needs to be all brave."

No, he didn't realize his whisper was the same as his normal talking volume.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "There are still gremlins on the loose out there," he said, "And it's not too dire. Just see to him and get me some bandages."

It hurt like a bitch.

"Yes, your highness." Francine + sarcasm = ...saying stuff to people that they heard so often in their natural environment that the sarcasm flies right past them. Win. Seeing to Merlin, already in motion. Bandages for Arthur, up next. "Why don't you start with getting your shirt off."

"...me? Or him? I don't have any scratches on my chest!"

Arthur wasn't entirely unused to this context, so he only had a minor moment of sigh before yanking his shirt off. "By all means."

"Him," Francine said gently to Merlin, patting his hand as she replaced the shirt-scrap with something a lot more sanitary. Not that she wold complain, but she'd just be over here chewing and swallowing any wistful nostalgia on that score.

"You're doing a great job," Merlin informed her. Because having nostalgia about seeing her shirtless in public was probably a bad thing.

...especially in front of Arthur. Probably.

He dumped his shirt somewhere on the back of a seat. "Yes," he said, shooting a glance around the premises. "Don't worry too much about getting my bandages right." He'd be back out in a minute.

Which was exactly why she was going to worry about getting his bandages right, thank you very much.

"Thank you," Francine answered Merlin. "Tylenol. Water. Swallow them." The or I will in fact force them down your throat went unspoken for now.

"You look like they used you for claw-sharpening practice," was very much directed to Arthur. Antiseptic. Much bigger bandages. Yes.

"I have herbs too," Merlin informed her, taking the pills anyway. "They don't work as quickly as these unless you want someone to fall asleep."

A beat.

"We should give Arthur some so he doesn't get more cuts."

"I heard that."

Inside voice, Merlin.

"How would herbs stop him from getting more cuts? Are they magic herbs?"

No, Francie.

"They'd knock him out!"

Yes, Arthur. Do tell all about that.

"You are not," Arthur said, decisively, "Knocking me out. You are staying here and getting some rest and feeling bloody grateful I'm going to let that one pass."

Okay, his nerves were shot. Shut up.

"Merlin, we don't tell people we're going to knock them out. It's not--" Practical if you want to succeed at it. "Nice."

Francine finished the bandaging job as well as she could, which yeah, was not professional, but it would do for going back out and getting himself beat up again.

"He won't listen otherwise!" He frowned over at Arthur. "You won't."

"Of course I won't," Arthur said, flexing his arm to see if the bandages still allowed him range of movement. They did. Good. "I need to see what I can do while I can. I don't want to see you until this concussion business has cleared off. You're hard enough to keep track of when you're in the right mind."

... Why, yes, he was going back out there like this.

Of course he was. Because he was a dumbass. The narrator would like to point out that for once this isn't merely authorial commentary; Francine firmly believes that too. Fondly, but firmly.

"I'll take care of him. You take care of you." To Merlin, she said, "There's oatmeal raisin cookies."

Because if anything would keep him in here at least...

"Really?" Damn his weakness for biscuits. "I can tie him to the chair if you like."

Oh, abuse of magic.

"No, you won't," Arthur informed him. Then glanced over him to meet Francine's eyes. "He'll be fine?"

"Do you think I wouldn't carry him to the clinic myself if he wasn't?"

Trailed all the way by Jim's cameraman, because comedy gold.

"...you probably could carry me too."

"Good," Arthur said, casting the boy a second look. "I'll be back in a while to check on him."

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Support Services First Aid Station at Caritas: Saturday Daytime

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