There’s a flex of tension in his knuckles, something twisting in his chest at that immediate offer. Does he hate the fact that he needs the physical assistance, or feel a surge of appreciation for Derrica’s unhesitating solidarity? Either. Both.
“Fair enough,” Strange says and then adds, only half-joking and with the cadence of a quote: “If you want something done right, do it yourself.”
He’s been trying to learn how to relinquish his vise-like control of things like this, but when backed into a corner, maybe there’s no other option. Who else is there?
A slow exhale. “Some part of me truly had thought I’d put medicine behind me, because medicine was done with me,” he admits — it’s an uncustomary flicker of self-doubt, since normally he’s so brusque and sure of himself. “But. I do still have the qualifications. Might as well not let all those years of student loans go to waste.”
Derrica, who has blessedly never heard of student loans, allows the unknown reference to pass in favor of focusing on the whole.
"I saw you at Starkhaven," is weightier than simple observation. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you were capable, and that you understand the importance of what we do."
They are both healers. His hands don't discount him from the work. He had moved so quickly to it, when he was needed.
"With Tevinter camped so close to us, I think it will matter more how this infirmary and these resources are managed."
Case in point: the seeds she is collecting in a little box, ready to plant what they might need to have it readily at hand.
The movement draws his eye, and so he watches Derrica transferring the seeds to a box. And the gears are already starting to turn in the back of his head, positing and answering the question: if you had sovereignty over this space, what would you do with it?
He makes a decision.
“That garden, and maybe getting a lead on a beekeeper to have access to honey, it’s good against infection,” is the first thing which Strange blurts out. “Maybe polling Riftwatch to see what sort of first aid skills people have, since we’ve had some new arrivals lately. I’ll talk to the Seneschal — is it Orlov at the moment? I’ll talk to Orlov — and put my name forward.”
It’s like something clicking and settling into place. He had been lord of his domain once — sometimes aggravatingly so, at the hospital, throwing his weight around with impunity — and perhaps there’s still something good to be scavenged from those traits. And whatever distastefulness there might be in swooping in after his predecessor, the necessity of the thing offsets it. Politeness won’t fill an empty office.
“Did you know him well?” he asks after a moment, though. “Dickerson.”
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portalling) wrote2022-04-02 01:17 pm
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no subject
“Fair enough,” Strange says and then adds, only half-joking and with the cadence of a quote: “If you want something done right, do it yourself.”
He’s been trying to learn how to relinquish his vise-like control of things like this, but when backed into a corner, maybe there’s no other option. Who else is there?
A slow exhale. “Some part of me truly had thought I’d put medicine behind me, because medicine was done with me,” he admits — it’s an uncustomary flicker of self-doubt, since normally he’s so brusque and sure of himself. “But. I do still have the qualifications. Might as well not let all those years of student loans go to waste.”
Ha, ha, rifter humour.
no subject
"I saw you at Starkhaven," is weightier than simple observation. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you were capable, and that you understand the importance of what we do."
They are both healers. His hands don't discount him from the work. He had moved so quickly to it, when he was needed.
"With Tevinter camped so close to us, I think it will matter more how this infirmary and these resources are managed."
Case in point: the seeds she is collecting in a little box, ready to plant what they might need to have it readily at hand.
no subject
He makes a decision.
“That garden, and maybe getting a lead on a beekeeper to have access to honey, it’s good against infection,” is the first thing which Strange blurts out. “Maybe polling Riftwatch to see what sort of first aid skills people have, since we’ve had some new arrivals lately. I’ll talk to the Seneschal — is it Orlov at the moment? I’ll talk to Orlov — and put my name forward.”
It’s like something clicking and settling into place. He had been lord of his domain once — sometimes aggravatingly so, at the hospital, throwing his weight around with impunity — and perhaps there’s still something good to be scavenged from those traits. And whatever distastefulness there might be in swooping in after his predecessor, the necessity of the thing offsets it. Politeness won’t fill an empty office.
“Did you know him well?” he asks after a moment, though. “Dickerson.”