mental link: you're welcome.

[sistershoggoth]

( Who's the medic around here, I think I for serious picked up some fuckin' alien STD from getting dunked into that thing's throat. Like, this ugly fucker in my chest has been sealed for years but it's dripping green. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. )

Comments

[hymnals]

( If you need healing, I can help you. )

[sistershoggoth]

( What's-his-fuck says I don't smell diseased, but I'm down for a second opinion. )

[hymnals]

[ EVOCATIVE ... ]

( I'm in the gardens. Where are you? )

[sistershoggoth]

( Of course you are, freaking elves... )

[ It's not that she's actually against elves so much as kind of exasperated by the entire concept of any of the fantasy lander stuff being real. She regularly accuses Noctis of talking about imaginary shit when he tells her about his world.... ]

( I'm coming, hang tight. )

[ She's easy to spot on approach, the stain down the front of her shirt is in fact bright fucking green. ]

[hymnals]

[ Adra can't deny it: he loves flowers. Herbalism is one of his professions, okay.

He looks a little alarmed at the slime oozing from her body, but he can't sense much malevolence from it--magic or otherwise. Frowning slightly, he approaches her, his long ears twitching. ]

When did this start?

[sistershoggoth]

Like... a couple days ago, when we got back here. I dunno, figured I'd just gotten into something on the ship out, so I just scrubbed up, but it keeps coming back.

[ She pulls at her shirt a little to expose the length of it, looking down with a frown. Was she like... having an allergic reaction to some alien foodstuff? The fuck... ]

[hymnals]

[ There's a frisson of discomfort at seeing her exposed skin--that's private, that's not for him to see--but he lets his training as a medic supersede his interest in propriety. He observes the slime with a clinical eye, notes not only the absence of a magical pulse but also the way there's no obvious wound--no blood, no inflammation, nothing to suggest a traditional illness.

Still, he lifts a Light-limned hand. ]

If you're sick, I can purify your body.

[sistershoggoth]

[ She gives his hand a suspicious look, but the other elf hadn't hurt her either. No pain, no gain. So she steps forward, to let the bastard's Light settle on her. It feels nice. She supposes, like sun hitting a part of herself that rarely receives it-- The alien world that is she had a thick, wet atmosphere. It was not known for its light nor its warm, but neither does it shun that. She shivers with enjoyment, like a plant stalk rarely exposed. ]

Mmm...

[hymnals]

[ Adra's healing is both hot bath and cleansing flame; it comforts as it purifies, it cradles as it cures. His magic seeks out what's wrong in the body and turns it right, whether that's torn flesh or diseased organs. But in the absence of anything to correct, the magic is simply a neutral balm. He channels the Light for a few minutes--in other words, until he feels the pull of exhaustion on his mind and body. He cannot cast indefinitely, not without cost. Sweat prickles his throat, dots his forehead. ]

You aren't sick.

[sistershoggoth]

Then what the fuck is this shit.

[ She motions down at her shirt, stained lime green. ]

[hymnals]

[ He is, in fact, something like a doctor, and he has a fairly deep knowledge of most humanoid anatomies, of various ailments magical and otherwise. But he has to admit ... this is something he hasn't seen. Slimes are common enough in Azeroth, but they don't usually grow out of a living person. ]

Beats the hell out of me. But if you're not in pain, and you're not running a fever, then something else is happening to you.

[miscreant]

[Annie, that's racist.]

[sistershoggoth]