"Nah, it ain't no aneurysm," Birdie was quick to reassure in her easy drawl. "If'n you had one o' them buggers and it hain't ruptured, you'd prob'ly never know unless we was testin' you for somethin' else. And if it did bust open, you'd have more than a pinchin' headache and the shivers." She wasn't a doctor doctor, leastaways not the kind that went to official schooling to overcharge hard working people and forget all they ever learned about penmanship, but she took it upon herself to learn signs and symptoms of some of the more common ailments, and in her free time, read up on the ones that might sneak up on a body. The less magic she had to use to figure out what was wrong, the more she could put towards fixing it.
Ambling alongside the Oracle, her tone was warm and reassuring, the faint twitch of her fingers betraying her instinct to offer touch as comfort - but not with this woman unless she indicated it was welcomed. Birdie did her best to be considerate of Cressida's particulars about touch in general, and skin to skin contact for sure.
"We'll get you some dogwood tea brewed up and a real soft blanket," she said instead of a pat on the shoulder or an empty reassurance that everything would be fine. Birdie came in a solid five inches shorter than the willowy gamayun, but still sometimes felt like a clumsy, heavy clod in comparison to her gracile build. "Should get you pert near if not plumb if it's just a migraine, and if it ain't do the trick all the way, we'll go from there." Birdie was good at digging down to the cause of a problem like she was at hunting ginseng: all sharp eyes and gentle hands, teasing out the root until it was ready to come up.
She didn't speak Roger, whatever system Cress had of communicating with the little blue feller, but she didn't need to know the language to realize he was throwing a fit over something. She paused with Cressida, scanning around for whatever it was that had set her company's hair on edge like a pissed-off cat. It wasn't hard to spot - a body she hadn't been expecting to see around kissing a copy of the woman standing next to her like she was his favorite dessert.
"I cain't say what I see was fixed to git my back up," Birdie ventured cautiously, eyes squinting a little as she peered closer at the scene unfolding, absurdly enough, next to a tent full of stuffed animals. She had the brief stray thought that it ought to have had a more dramatic backdrop, like one of them old romance movies. Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster on the beach in Hawaii, kissing each other like it was the air they needed to breathe. "But it sure does look to me like Jaime ended up comin' back, at least."
She eyed Cressida, sensing but unaware of the reason behind the emotional current she could feel running through the brunette like she'd grabbed a downed power line. She was curious, so curious, but protective. People in the Cirque were hers to look after, friends or no, and that meant their hearts as well as their health, so when Cressida signaled to move on, Birdie pointed reluctant feet back towards the plantation house - but still, couldn't help but ask. "Ain't you want to know why he's here and hooverin' up your lookalike's face?"