fuckitybye | 017

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[Filtered to the infirmary staff + Claire, Paddy, Rube, Parker (i.e. the people he sort of almost trusts).]

Is there anything at all in the fucking infirmary for a migraine? I feel like sodding Riverdance is stamping and kicking its Hibernian way through my fucking skull.

[OOC: What's this about? Well, perhaps the current general election in the UK (and the corresponding one in his native canon, which will no doubt be closely based on the one in the real world) is sending some kind of psychic fallout across the multiverse, and it's giving Malcolm a big headache. Unless a current copy of the Guardian somehow appears in the library, there's no way he can know about either the real election or the TTOI one, but it seemed only fitting that he react somehow. Infirmary staff, feel free to use this to bully Malcolm into coming in for a checkup.]

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When he groaned at her, Martha just stood there, and when he glared at her, she met his expression and smiled benignly. "That's because your GP was on the right track, everything considered. Given your blood pressure right now, I'm willing to make a wager that you were brought here via a stroke. Do you want to have another one, Malcolm? I'm going to proscribe something, and suggest that you don't do a large amount of salt, and actually try and relax. My friend Inara does things like yoga and tai-chi in the spa; I think you'll like her. Now, are you allergic to any medications?"

Pure incredulity. "...did you just fucking suggest I go to the spa?"

No, he didn't want to have another stroke (or aneurysm, or whatever it was that killed him off), and no, he wasn't allergic to anything and she could damn well prescribe whatever she wanted, but—what?

[OOC: I refer you to this.]

"I didn't suggest it so much as proscribed it out right." Martha said quickly, and calmly, keeping that smile on her face. "Now, for your headache, I'm going to give you an injection that should kill the pain as well as help lower your blood pressure, all right?"

[I laughed SO HARD. I fucking love Malcolm]

Edited 2010-05-07 23:21 (UTC)

"I am not doing any fucking yoga or tai chi," he grumbled as he rolled up his sleeve. "What do I look like, some Chinese pensioner?"

"You look like man who's having far too much stress. I can nearly see the vein in your head popping out over this. I know that people tend to think that things like strokes or heart-attacks can't happen here, but they can. We had one a few months back even. You can die and even if you don't, you can end up paralyzed, which I think for you would be far worse. You need to do something to lower your stress, Malcolm." Martha injected the hypospray at the base of his neck, knowing that was wear it worked best. "You should feel better in a moment."

He'd gotten the "forehead vein" thing from other people before, not least from that bloated ballsack general during the war runup, years ago. And it very nearly earned Martha another earful, except that the hypospray took Malcolm by surprise and he yelped, more from being startled than any actual pain. "Fuck's sake—" he began. He blinked; for a moment his ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton wool, and then the sensation quickly passed, followed by the pain in his head, which receded like floodwaters to a dull throb.

"I'll be fucked." He rubbed his forehead. "That shit worked."

After the hypospray was injected, Martha traced the scanner over him again with a little grin. When he rubbed his forehead, she just shrugged. "Yes, it's amazing how much better we feel when our blood pressure is within normal parameters. Lower your stress however you see fit, and watch the salt. I'd prefer it if you didn't have a stroke on me, all right?" She pulled off the rubber gloves quickly. "Come back if the headache does."

"Yeah, all right." He fixed his shirt and replaced his tie and jacket. "Much obliged, Jones."

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