The clinic was a small and quaint place located in the Lower Docks of Limsa Lominsa with wooden floorboards and drab stone walls like most of the other buildings, but a few plants were sitting in the window and a colorful little banner hung from the outside to make it look better. Inside, there were four snow white cots lined up at different parts of the main room with a brick stove in the center where she usually prepared her meals while a few cabinets lined the connection of the wall to the ceiling to the left and right of the entrance. There was a large rug spread out across the middle of the room that likely would have been vibrantly colored if it age would have spared it, but now the dyes were vanishing from the tightly woven cotton threads and they had become only a dusty variation of sky blue, sun-bleached yellow, and a pastel pinkish color. A bookshelf in the back right corner was lined end to end with various books of random varieties and stood next to an open doorway protected only by strings of beads hanging down from its top. A long unopened door was to the left as well as a small staircase that lead to a place the outside suggested was an attic.
Catharine had lived here since she was just five winters past, and it for the most part stayed just as it had looked a very long time ago. Some things had been repurposed such as the glassware ware cabinet which had basically turned into her medicine cabinet; the lines of bandages and salves lined the little shelves visible through the little porthole window made this apparent. Her aunt had taken some of the stuff when she left, but she had not carried away too much and what was gone had been useless to Catharine anyhow. Other things, like the books on the shelves for example, were left alone or kept the same way. In fact, she had actually read most of them but she made sure to put them back in the exact same and incongruous manner her aunt had placed them there.
Today was not a day different than any other, and the singular nurse of the clinic did not appear any differently than she usually did. Her long, silvered hair was left trailing down to her shoulder-blades and was only kept out of her green-flecked cerulean eyes by a modest, petite headdress that complimented the faded blue longcoat she was currently wearing. Underneath she wore a black, sleeveless tunic hanging down to her middle thigh where she was wearing simple, drab, and equally loose cotton trousers that made it only about to her middle-shin. She was wearing a simple pair of sandals upon her feet that added to her modesty and her overall carefree appearance.
As result of her lax dressing manner, a hand made of ash wood could be seen hanging from her left sleeve in a loose and open position. Each section of the finely shaped wooden fingers were separated, held in place by what rarely ocurring glints of light would give off as metal. A closer inspection showed all the various scratches and burns that it had taken from time to time in its extended use as a replacement for a limb. She would have bothered to try and hide it, but she was currently in the company of someone who knew it was there and had seen it in full.
He was a hairy, slow Sea Wolf Roegadyn named Dyrsteyn, a fitting name since he spent most of his time posted around the Drowning Wench and had a real penchant for alcohol and a difficulty and getting drunk. She had already finished bandaging his wounds, and he was lying on one of cots now with both of his hands cushioning his head and displacing windswept hair. It had only been two knife cuts, neither really deep or close to any vital area, so he had really just come in to stop bleeding all over his outfit. She was lucky that all of her cots were made to take heavy loads for he would have easily snapped one made of weaker lumber.
“I’m sure glad yer still around, Missy. Hel- er, I sometimes don’t know what me and the guys’d do without ya fixin’ up the cuts ‘n bruises the other medics don’t bother with,†Dyrsteyn said, looking straight at the roof from his relaxed position.
“Honey, you just about broke my poor little heart not coming back to visit me and now you up and walk in more cut up than a bunch of leather strips. It’s been what, more than a year now?†Catharine replied with her mannerisms, as she sat on her stool nearby stitching the two cuts in the Roegadyn’s bright jacket with thread of the same color supplied by the Maelstrom.
“Ah think ye’ve done lost your sense of time- it ain’t been but a month or two since I las’ came in here. I ain’t gonna argue about me battle wounds, though!†This statement set the deep voice and the bright voice laughing simultaneously, causing a partway harmony in their joyous laughter.
“Oh hush, you. It felt like a year to me in this little clinic of mine. You ain’t swearing like you used to, are you?â€
“Naw, Missy, ah used to soun’ like a real scurvy dog, but I’ve cleaned up now. Ah give ye m’ word!â€
These exaggerations had become common between her and most patients, forming out of her fussy, motherly attitude, and the laughter it caused was some of the best medicine. She knew Dyrsteyn was telling a bald-faced lie given that she had overheard him not a week ago blathering a stream of profanity just “like a real scurvy dogâ€. She disapproved of it heavily, but she had been spying on him so she was just about as guilty as he was right now.
“Good, I know I didn’t teach you to be a fibber and an uncouth man like some of these kids running around the streets now.â€
“…D’ ya think I can get me one of yer delicious dinners to take with me like las’ time?â€
“Now, hun, you’re like my child, but last time, you came in here with a bullet in your chest and another in your shoulder; this was nothing but two scratches. Don’t they feed you up there at that bar?†she asked with a smile as she finished the stitching on the jacket. Reaching up into the sleeve, she pulled the lever on her arm and unclamped it from the fabric.
“Sure, but I hafta pay fer that and it ain’t nearly as good as yers!†replied the hulking man as he sat up with an indignant expression on his bearded face.
“…Aw fine, I know they don’t give enough food up there for a growing man like you. Here, let me get a fire started so I can cook some fish up. Put your shirt back on or else I won’t give you any,†she said, as she lightly tossed the finished yellow-jacket back to Dyrsteyn. He caught it and began to put it back on without protest, being content with the fact he was getting some of her delicious cooking. As soon as it was on, he went back to resting in the cot at staring at the roof.
Catharine pushed herself off the stool with her one real hand and went over to the two fish she had wrapped in cloth on the stove. She had cleaned them earlier, so she simply put both of them on spits and went to start up a light cooking fire. She had planned on making them into jerky, but that could easily wait until tomorrow.
It was a nice day and she was sure tomorrow would be as well. For now, the pleasant smell of the wood smoke was beginning to enter the room at miniscule levels and soon the aroma of the savory fish would be filling the room.
Catharine had lived here since she was just five winters past, and it for the most part stayed just as it had looked a very long time ago. Some things had been repurposed such as the glassware ware cabinet which had basically turned into her medicine cabinet; the lines of bandages and salves lined the little shelves visible through the little porthole window made this apparent. Her aunt had taken some of the stuff when she left, but she had not carried away too much and what was gone had been useless to Catharine anyhow. Other things, like the books on the shelves for example, were left alone or kept the same way. In fact, she had actually read most of them but she made sure to put them back in the exact same and incongruous manner her aunt had placed them there.
Today was not a day different than any other, and the singular nurse of the clinic did not appear any differently than she usually did. Her long, silvered hair was left trailing down to her shoulder-blades and was only kept out of her green-flecked cerulean eyes by a modest, petite headdress that complimented the faded blue longcoat she was currently wearing. Underneath she wore a black, sleeveless tunic hanging down to her middle thigh where she was wearing simple, drab, and equally loose cotton trousers that made it only about to her middle-shin. She was wearing a simple pair of sandals upon her feet that added to her modesty and her overall carefree appearance.
As result of her lax dressing manner, a hand made of ash wood could be seen hanging from her left sleeve in a loose and open position. Each section of the finely shaped wooden fingers were separated, held in place by what rarely ocurring glints of light would give off as metal. A closer inspection showed all the various scratches and burns that it had taken from time to time in its extended use as a replacement for a limb. She would have bothered to try and hide it, but she was currently in the company of someone who knew it was there and had seen it in full.
He was a hairy, slow Sea Wolf Roegadyn named Dyrsteyn, a fitting name since he spent most of his time posted around the Drowning Wench and had a real penchant for alcohol and a difficulty and getting drunk. She had already finished bandaging his wounds, and he was lying on one of cots now with both of his hands cushioning his head and displacing windswept hair. It had only been two knife cuts, neither really deep or close to any vital area, so he had really just come in to stop bleeding all over his outfit. She was lucky that all of her cots were made to take heavy loads for he would have easily snapped one made of weaker lumber.
“I’m sure glad yer still around, Missy. Hel- er, I sometimes don’t know what me and the guys’d do without ya fixin’ up the cuts ‘n bruises the other medics don’t bother with,†Dyrsteyn said, looking straight at the roof from his relaxed position.
“Honey, you just about broke my poor little heart not coming back to visit me and now you up and walk in more cut up than a bunch of leather strips. It’s been what, more than a year now?†Catharine replied with her mannerisms, as she sat on her stool nearby stitching the two cuts in the Roegadyn’s bright jacket with thread of the same color supplied by the Maelstrom.
“Ah think ye’ve done lost your sense of time- it ain’t been but a month or two since I las’ came in here. I ain’t gonna argue about me battle wounds, though!†This statement set the deep voice and the bright voice laughing simultaneously, causing a partway harmony in their joyous laughter.
“Oh hush, you. It felt like a year to me in this little clinic of mine. You ain’t swearing like you used to, are you?â€
“Naw, Missy, ah used to soun’ like a real scurvy dog, but I’ve cleaned up now. Ah give ye m’ word!â€
These exaggerations had become common between her and most patients, forming out of her fussy, motherly attitude, and the laughter it caused was some of the best medicine. She knew Dyrsteyn was telling a bald-faced lie given that she had overheard him not a week ago blathering a stream of profanity just “like a real scurvy dogâ€. She disapproved of it heavily, but she had been spying on him so she was just about as guilty as he was right now.
“Good, I know I didn’t teach you to be a fibber and an uncouth man like some of these kids running around the streets now.â€
“…D’ ya think I can get me one of yer delicious dinners to take with me like las’ time?â€
“Now, hun, you’re like my child, but last time, you came in here with a bullet in your chest and another in your shoulder; this was nothing but two scratches. Don’t they feed you up there at that bar?†she asked with a smile as she finished the stitching on the jacket. Reaching up into the sleeve, she pulled the lever on her arm and unclamped it from the fabric.
“Sure, but I hafta pay fer that and it ain’t nearly as good as yers!†replied the hulking man as he sat up with an indignant expression on his bearded face.
“…Aw fine, I know they don’t give enough food up there for a growing man like you. Here, let me get a fire started so I can cook some fish up. Put your shirt back on or else I won’t give you any,†she said, as she lightly tossed the finished yellow-jacket back to Dyrsteyn. He caught it and began to put it back on without protest, being content with the fact he was getting some of her delicious cooking. As soon as it was on, he went back to resting in the cot at staring at the roof.
Catharine pushed herself off the stool with her one real hand and went over to the two fish she had wrapped in cloth on the stove. She had cleaned them earlier, so she simply put both of them on spits and went to start up a light cooking fire. She had planned on making them into jerky, but that could easily wait until tomorrow.
It was a nice day and she was sure tomorrow would be as well. For now, the pleasant smell of the wood smoke was beginning to enter the room at miniscule levels and soon the aroma of the savory fish would be filling the room.
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