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[Laufey]

On Call

Oh, this is just wonderful. I’m on call again, for the second time this week…and this is the weekend too, which means the long shift, dawn until dawn. And it seems that every sick, wounded, disgruntled or sometimes plain insane individual in the entire city of Athkatla just has to come in on the nights I work too. It’s an outright chaotic mess of human misery, let me tell you, and I’m supposed to somehow fix everything for them.

Don’t get me wrong, I do love my profession. I really enjoy curing somebody, and knowing that I have made a difference to them, made their lives better. I like to think it balances out my other occupation as well…there is a certain symmetry to that. And it is fascinating too, the way the human (or elven, or dwarven, or whatever) body works, how cleverly it is constructed and all the many things that can go wrong with it. Which also helps, incidentally, in my other line of work.

Sometimes I can get a real rush from working. Not, however, at times like this. Not when it's three in the morning, I haven't slept since last night and likely won't get to sleep until tomorrow, I can't remember when I last ate, and I need a bath. Badly. Mind you, I still try to perform as well as I can, but let's just say that if somebody turns up at a time like this with a simple head cold, or wanting their ears cleaned out…well. The milk of human kindness tends to turn to yoghurt in such cases.

Oh, I still do my duty. I am a professional, after all. But I can think whatever I like, can't I? And what I am thinking right now, as I'm listening to an elven patient complaining about her aching feet, and the scars on her back from some old trauma, and how some man she's set her sights on simply won't give her the attention she thinks she deserves, because he's being influenced by 'some mean old bitter woman' is that the day after tomorrow I'll be on my other night shift. Clerics of Mask are allowed to use bladed weapons, you know. And as the elf goes on and on about the way her 'entire body hurts, everywhere, oh how can I possibly go on like this', I decide that I would be happy to deal with her again, should somebody pay me for it. Maybe even for free. Not tonight though, that would be against the rules.

So, I cast a minor healing spell on the tiny blister on her big toe. Turns out that she is a cleric too, temporarily out of spells and potions, and isn't that typical? People who work in the field can often be the worst patients of all. Either stoical to the point of death, ignoring fatal wounds or diseases, or raving hypochondriacs. She starts going on again, about her 'poor lost wings' and about how none of the clerics she ever sought out was ever able to cure her. I send a few sympathetic thoughts to every single one of my colleagues in different clergies who ever had to listen to the grating voice of this woman, especially at this time of night. We work nights for the sake of emergency patients after all, not for longterm therapy. Oh dear…and now she's complaining about how she had to wait for two hours, because there were sicker people needing help before her. She starts going on and on about how nobody could possibly be suffering any worse than her, and what a scandal it is that she should be kept waiting, and how she's going to report it.

That does it. I smile at the elf, my very special smile, and I politely tell her that that is her choice to make. The smile works too, as usual, possibly helped along by the fact that I'm fingering a scalpel at the same time. After a few stammering squeals, the elf rushes out the door. By this time her feet seem able to move very fast indeed. Yay. I've worked a miracle.

All right…break time! I might be able to finally get some food! Yawning, I run my fingers through my long dark hair, then tie it up again to keep it out of the way. I want that bath…oh how I want it. But that will have to wait until I go off duty tomorrow.

Food, food, food…oh, what now? Another patient just came in the door, and is striding towards me with a desperate expression on her face. Can't see anything obviously wrong with her though. Healthy looking, quite pretty brunette, about my age. Nice red dress too…my own favourite colour. A bit too many sequins on it for my taste though.

"You!" the woman says, in a far too demanding tone of voice as I see it. "You will help me, at once! (Gah, how to explain this one…I'd rather not go into details.). What are you waiting for, you bedraggled simian? Cure me!"

I grit my teeth, and I find myself adopting the Smile again as I answer. "Well, I would of course be happy to help you, lady," I say. "There is just a tiny, insignificant obstacle to deal with first though, namely the fact that you haven't told me what your problem is. Usually, that is a good way to start these conversations, trust me. Or perhaps I should try to find a Mind Flayer to extract the relevant information directly from your brain, via a small straw? Just let me know once you're done considering the alternatives."

Yes, I know. We're normally supposed to be politer than that. But you try being polite at three in the morning to some woman who just called you a monkey, and see how well you do. Anyway, the brunette blinks a little, but then she actually smiles a little, as if she approves. "It is complicated," she says, still sounding haughty but more respectful than before. "You see, I am not really a woman at all."

My spontaneous thought is 'nutter'. But then, as she carries on with her tale, I find myself taking a greater and greater interest. Oh yes…sometimes you do come across a case that is far more than routine. This is definitely worthy of a case report…it's one for the literature even, I would say. And besides…I do like helping people. Really. And I have a feeling she'll look even better as a man. Sleeping can wait.