Who: Orion and Rose Where: The Burning Palace When: Midafternoon, October 22 What: Healer talk Warnings: Probably none
Rose wasn't thrilled at the thought of being inside the grounds of the Tower, but she wasn't mad about the weather. It reminded her a little of the start of winter back home, which was bittersweet as always. More importantly, it was another excuse to get out her most comfortable sweaters, which felt at times like cashmere armor, insulating her against the literal and metaphorical cold. Today's was a deep plum, impossibly soft and with the unfortunate habit of sliding off one shoulder to expose the charcoal tank worn underneath. She twitched it up again as she made her way with a full bag from the Bandaid Station to the Burning Palace, her walk brisk and businesslike.
She made her way inside, the tent warm even though the night's performances were hours off. It had become her habit to stash medical supplies out of the way at all the attractions, as speed was often a critical factor in case of an accident. The sooner an injury could be treated, the less work there was to be done when the injured finally made it to the infirmary - and, hopefully, a faster recovery.
For the Burning Palace, she'd put together a kit with extra emphasis on burn injuries - even if the performer was immune, an overzealous guest likely wasn't. Nonstick bandages, sterile gloves, antibiotic ointment, pads for cool compresses, a basin for soaking, aloe vera gel, painkillers, gauze, and interestingly enough, a roll of plastic wrap. It was this last that she was having difficulty fitting into the supply box, a red and white plastic thing that was sturdy enough to survive being accidentally kicked around and bright enough to notice when needed.
"Come on, you bastard," she muttered to herself, taking most of the supplies out again to try yet another configuration that might work. "This is your house now, live in it."