Kechaiya was making her way through the alleys and streets, munching on an apple for her dinner. It was fresh, barely bruised, and delicious. She'd been saving it all day, not for a lack of money or food, but time. From sunup she'd been busy, yet again, patching up gang members that felt it completely necessary to kill each other. It was no water from her skin, but still left her body tired and her coin purse a little heavier. She'd already made more money in the last few days from the outbursts in violence than she had all last season. If the gangs ever stopped fighting like this, she would be sad. But if she managed to keep them alive, they could fight another day, and be a repeat patient.
She turned a corner and tripped on something that was hard and soft at the same time, nearly losing her balance. She turned and looked, only for a deep sigh to leave her lips. She was looking down at a man that was dead, drunk, or knocked out. Kechaiya secretly found herself wishing he was dead, just so she could get home to sleep. She set her supplies pack down, and knelt, grabbing one of his arms. Pulling toward her, she slowly walked backward, cursing in Tawna at how heavy he was compared to her small frame. Finally getting him on his back, she could instantly see that he wasn't dead, but could be soon. His chest rose in short, ragged breaths.
He had a small stab wound, likely from a very small knife of some sort in his side, and the most severe of his injuries. There wasn't much blood around, which was good for him, because it happened either recently, or was a very minor wound. It certainly wasn't enough for him to pass out. Her hands immediately went to his hair, gently feeling their way through, until they came across a rather large bump. She nodded, knowing that explained it. The final injury looked as if it occurred from the knock to the head. His nose was soundly broken and bleeding. He'd have love black eyes from that for several days. But she had business to attend to for now. He wasn't dying right away after all, and if he did, then it certainly didn't matter. Her hands searched his pockets, looking for his mizas. Success. Smiling, she plucked what she felt would be fair for her treatment, three golds. She left the rest, after all, she was a doctor, not a thief.
Placing the golds in her own pouch, she began her preparations. There was little light, just that which shown from Leth, but she could make do. She quickly splashed and rub-dried her hands in the grain alcohol from her kit. Lifting his shirt, she eyeballed the wound. It was small, not even as wide as a miza. It was bleeding, but very slowly. She needed to get her fingers in there though, so she could feel just to be sure. But to do that, she needed to wake him first. If she didn't do that, he might wake from the pain and attack her. She heard his breathing begin to labor, only to realize that he might be choking on his tongue, his mouth sputtering. She quickly bent his right arm up toward his head, bringing the other hand across the body, and placing it against the opposite cheek. She pulled his left knee up so it was bent, then pulled him onto his uninjured side. She then tilted his head back a bit, and stuck her ear next to his mouth. It sounded as if his breathing normalized.
She reached into her back, into her healer's kit, and grabbed a small pouch. She brought the pouch over to just beneath his nose, and opened it, hoping the smelling salts within would resuscitate him, so she could continue working on him.
by Virga Dominatio on October 7th, 2014, 7:51 pm 
