doc_smith (ex_doc_smith506) wrote in the_colony, @ 2010-12-13 15:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | ^ week 23, louisa may smith, meghan callahan, | louisa may and meghan |
WEEK 23: Tuesday
Characters: Meg Callahan and Louisa May Smith
Location: Louisa May’s trailer.
Summary: Meg gets treated for her goat bites
Rating: PG-13 for the swears
Usually, showers made things better, but besides washing the animal stink of goat from her hair and skin, all it had served for Meg was to more accurately remind her of everywhere the cloven bastards had gotten her. So much fun, standing naked in the bathroom, taking inventory of every place a hoof or pair of jaws had torn her skin by way of slowly traveling fingertips, trying to stave off the cold long enough to catch everything and finally put her clothes on. Thank god Tom excused her from fucking goat duty for a long time. Maybe indefinitely.
Seriously, Meg was about to barbeque all the little dirt-bags.
As per her end of the bargain with the older man, the blind woman found herself and a lethargic guide dog at the steps of the Doc’s trailer--half frozen from the time it took to actually find it. Meg knew it was close by the way people talked, but she and Sarge hadn’t yet mapped out the new layout of the yard and it’s new resident, and ‘Trailer’ wasn’t a command the mastiff knew yet.
Chilled fingers curled tight around her collapsible walking stick, which tapped on the trailer (near where the door was), in proportion to the steps she had found with her shins.
“Hey Doc!” Christ she was cold. The wool hat on her head wasn’t much of a help, given still damp hair. “Freezin’ my tits off out here.”
Louisa May was sitting on a stool, putting away supplies -- boxes were scattered here and there on the floor -- when she heard a voice calling to her. She moved quickly to the door and swung it open.
“Meg! Get in, out of the cold. What can I do you for?” She eyed the big dog, groaning to herself at the thought of having to re-sterilize everything every time Meg came to visit, but that was part of the job.
She pushed aside some of the boxes with her feet to clear a path for Meg. “The couch is to your right, have a seat.”
Meg let the dog amble up the steps first, considering his sluggishness, she curled a hand under his back haunches and helped hoist him up with a grunt of effort. This winter was murder on his old, over-sized joints, but once inside, she let his lead go and found the couch with a quick swing of her stick.
“I’m here on orders.” She said with a mildly pleasant sarcasm, folding the stick to put in her coat pocket before she started shedding outer layers, like the hat and jacket. The t-shirt beneath revealed a nice stippling of forming bruises and little gashes courtesy of over zealous barnyard animals. “The goats mobbed me.”
Louisa May’s tongue clacked disapprovingly. “Those sons of bitches,” she replied. “I’m gonna take a look-see, disinfect any open cuts, and see if I can’t give you a little something for the pain.” She lifted up the stool and carried it over so she could sit right up next to Meg. “You mind if I touch you?” she asked, more to give the blind woman fair warning than anything.
“S’what I’m here for.” Meghan actually chortled at the clicking tongue. Louisa May suddenly reminded her of Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. She plopped down on the couch, finally down to the tank top and her jeans. Damp, curling hair half obscured the recent injuries, as well as the wide starburst of scar tissue at her shoulder--the old one. “And I don’t need any pain pills. It ain’t bad.”
“Okay. The thing we gotta watch out for most is infection at this point. I’m gonna start on your arms.” She turned the woman’s arms gently, looking to see where the damage was. The worst of it was on her forearms, where, no doubt, she’d tried to fend them off. “And now I’m going to look at your back -- if you could turn away from me,” she asked. “And I’m going to raise up the back of your shirt to check and see if there’s any broken skin there, okay?”
“Gotcha.” Meg complied without complaint, besides the relative stiffness of bruising and a small jerk when her own cold hands grazed the skin of her lower back when she turned. Infection was definitely something she knew about, and wanted to avoid at all fucking costs.
Louisa May’s hands were warm, however, and they ran carefully over the other woman’s back looking for recent wounds. She paused upon seeing the scar tissue on Meg’s shoulder, but it was long-healed and the other woman didn’t seem bothered by it. “Just a few spots here and there,” she narrated, pointing out the places on her back where a few of the goats had gotten around behind her and nipped her. “None of them broke skin in the back, though. Does your scalp hurt?” She touched Meg’s shoulder, directing her to turn back to face her again.
Meg had pushed her glasses into her hair, leaving the snow-glare from the windows to light the milk-blue wash of her eyes, aimed straight forward as usual. “Not anymore.”
“I’m just going to make sure we don’t have any hidden surprises,” Louisa May replied. “Let me know if I get to a sore spot.” She started running her fingers through the base of Meg’s thick hair, feeling for any bumps or scrapes along the surface of her head. Scalp wounds tended to bleed profusely, and she didn’t seen anything to indicate she’d gotten any head wounds, but if it was a minor cut, her hair would hide it and it may go unnoticed otherwise.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have taken a shower before coming here?” But it had to be done---God, the smell of goat was horrible. A little tender spot pinged under the doc’s fingers, to the right of her temple. Meg winced away from it, hissing through her teeth.
“No -- no -- that’s fine. Keeping everything clean is good, and it means you won’t wash the disinfectant off later tonight.” Louisa May parted Meg’s hair to get a closer look -- there was a small cut just inside her hairline, still spotting with a little blood. “Yup, you got yourself a little love bite here, but it’s not big enough to need stitches or anything.”
“S’long as you don’t shave my head.” Meg chuckled lightly, biting back the reflex to rub at the spot the parting of her hair irritated. “I need that to keep warm.”
“Okay. What about your legs? Do you have any bites on those?” Louisa May paused. Meg might feel uncomfortable taking off her pants, but it was important to check everything out. “Did you feel any stinging when you showered?”
“Couple around my feet, nothin’ too bad though.” Just in case, Meg settled her weight back and shimmied up a pant-leg.
There were some distinctly bite-shaped marks on her left leg by her ankle -- none bleeding, but they did look red and inflamed. “Yeah, I’m gonna disinfect that too. Okay, and now we have you torso -- ribs and stomach. I’m going to lift up the front of your shirt to check it out.”
“No drinks first?” Meg teased warm-heartedly. The doc would have to forgive her. Meg’s primary defense mechanism was making jokes. Not that she was nervous, just a little more physically uncomfortable than usual, thanks to being brunch for about fifteen goats. She complied, though, even as she teased, easing back against the cushions and hoisting her shirt hem up to the bottom of her bra. Nothing besides a few hoof-shaped bruises.
Louisa May took the joke in stride -- from what little she knew of the other woman, Meg tended to have a rather pointed sense of humor. Nevertheless, she was acutely aware of the fact that Meg was one of two people at the farm that knew she was a lesbian, and she didn’t want it to interfere with her ability to do her job. Biting her lip, she decided to go with it. “Nah, I like to go right to second base,” she replied lightly, checking to make sure none of the marks had broken the skin. “Okay, stop flashin’ me,” she continued, to let Meg know she could lower her shirt. She did, chuckling warmly in the process.
“I’m gonna get me some alcohol disinfectant. I don’t want to waste antibiotics unless it really looks like we need ‘em, so let’s just keep an eye on these bites for the next coupla days, and if they stay sore or get swollen, we’ll hit you with the pills.” Of course, Meg groaned a little.
“I hate pills.” She said, honest, but defeated. “I always seem to get the worst side effects.”
“You allergic?” Louisa May asked briskly, digging around in one of her supply cabinets for the alcohol and cotton swabs.
“Nah...” Meg ran a hand through her hair, tending to the irritating achey-itch where something had either bitten her or stepped on her. Then rested her hands between her knees, braced from elbows on her thighs. “Just a weak stomach.”
“Good to know,” Louisa May replied. She really needed to start a file on everybody -- blood type, allergies, family histories... so much work to do. Thank goodness Abigail was around to lend a hand.
She walked back over to Meg and sat down on the stool. “Okay, here we go. This is gonna sting, but believe me, it’s a good thing, getting all this cleaned out now will save you a lot of trouble later on.”
“Goodie.” That word ended on a hiss. Yeah--that stung. The doctor worked as quickly and gently as she could, disinfecting everything that could possibly be broken skin. She felt for the other woman, and as she went, she tried to prepare her for where the next sting would come.
“Okay, savin’ the best for last, let’s get your head.” She parted the woman’s hair once again and gently applied the disinfectant with a cotton ball, which sent a shiver down Meg’s spine.
“Damn, that’s cold.” When was rubbing alcohol not cold, of course...
“Sorry, honey, can’t be helped.” Louisa May tossed the cotton ball into the garbage. “You sure you don’t want some Tylenol or something? You’re gonna be pretty sore in the morning.”
Heh. Sore. Every little ache and pain Meg had experienced since the state she had been in when Alice and the rest of them found her in the desert had been compared to that particular torment. Not that Meg was trying to be a badass about it, but she really felt like if she survived that, she could handle some bruises.
She smiled in Louisa May’s direction, a little off center as always. “M’good, Darlin’. Just not in a hurry to catch frost bite yet.” Sarge, laying by the trailer door, snorted lightly, as if he agreed. Then, he seemed to go back to sleep.
“Okay. Well, you be careful. You get a fever, or something gets a lot more tender to the touch or starts to swell, you come see me right away. Even if you just think it’s that way. Animal bites got a lot of nasty in ‘em.” She leaned back. “Can I help you out with anything else before you brave the cold again?”
Meg pressed her lips together in a show of thought, then breathed a miniature sigh, arching both brows in question. “Help me avoid chores in the name of socializing?”
“Well, sure, that I can manage,” Louisa May replied. She really hadn’t had a chance to talk to the other woman since their rather explosive conversation with Derek a while back, but she figured they’d both shared enough personal information in that ten minute period than she had with nearly everyone else at the farmhouse, Tom included, so a social call wasn’t entirely out of order. “Anything in particular you want to socialize about? I can take you on a very short tour of my trailer if you’re up for it.”
“Actually...” Meg’s brows shot up another level. “That’s not a bad idea.”